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societyfolklore · 2 months ago

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We Had A Deal

Title: We Had A Deal

Pairing: Dark Nomad! Steve Rogers x Female Reader

Summary: You were Steve Rogers connection to help him disappear after Germany.. but the last time he called, it didn't work out..After almost a year he reappears—bleeding, angry, and needs somewhere safe. But you’re not a hero. Just someone with a skillset. But you owe him and Steve never forgets a debt.

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: /Explicit Content / 18+, Minors DNI, SMUT, Unprotected sex, Rough sex wall sex, fingering, creampie, Slight Dub Con..maybe.. little angst and emotional manipulation.. guilt, shame, Brief mentions of past physical injury (blood, wound care)...

A/N: Set in that two year period of Civil War to Infinity War @buckybarnesfic this ones for you.. hope you like it.. (since we didn't clarify which Steve in the poll)

The lights were off when you got home. Not unusual. You were always the one switching them on, feeling your way through the dark like it was muscle memory. But the air felt wrong, too still. And the window was unlocked. That wasn’t routine. That was intentional.

Your steps slowed. Every sense sharpened. Your hand brushed the wall near the light switch, but you didn’t flip it, letting your fingers just hovered there, the quiet hum of instinct crawling up your spine. Without looking, your other hand slid beneath the hem of your jacket, hand closing around the grip of the compact pistol holstered against your ribs. Safety off. Just in case.

Then you saw him.

Sitting at your kitchen table, a shadow in worn black, broad shoulders hunched but not slouched. Blood dried across his knuckles, crusted at the base of his fingernails. His ruined tactical suit looked darker than black, stained with sweat, dirt, something you didn’t want to name. A backpack sat slumped at his feet, worn and scuffed like it had been dragged through hell.

His hair was longer than you’d ever seen it. Still blonde, but darkened with grime, curled slightly at the ends where it brushed the collar of his suit. A beard shadowed his jaw, lending something feral to his otherwise statuesque stillness. It had been months since you’d seen him. But one look at him now, and the sharp weight of recognition curled low in your chest like a bruise resurfacing. He didn’t look like the man people called Captain anymore. He looked like a man who had nothing left to lose, shoulders rigid beneath the frayed edge of his ruined suit, jaw tight like every word cost him something. His eyes didn’t shift, they just locked on you with a stare that looked straight through skin and memory, like he was cataloguing all the ways you’d changed and all the ways you hadn’t that made it hard to breathe. Like he'd seen too much, lost too much, and carried it all in the line of his spine, straight and unrelenting.

And that stare- flat, unreadable, but heavy. The kind of look that pinned you in place. Like you were the one trespassing. You could feel it in the gravity he carried. Like every step he’d taken since he walked out of your life had weighed more than the last.

And now he was here. Hurt. Waiting.

“I needed a place to stay.”

You dropped your keys on the bench with a sharp clatter. “And you chose mine?”

“You were the closest. You owe me. Remember?”

He shifted slightly, just enough for your eyes to catch it. His hand ghosted toward his ribs, fingers curling in just a little, like he was testing the edge of something raw. The fabric there clung damp to his side, and the tension in his jaw told you everything you needed. He was hurting. More than he wanted to admit.

You crossed your arms. “I gave you a clean house.”

“You gave me a trap,” he said quietly.

Your jaw flexed. “I ran every scan. Every sweep,” you snapped, louder than you meant to. “Don’t pin your ghosts on me, Rogers.”

You could feel your face heating, not from anger, at least not only from that. It was defensive, instinctive, a wall thrown up against the guilt gnawing just beneath. Because deep down, buried beneath the pride and professionalism, was something worse: the sharp sting of failure.

You didn’t mess up. You double-checked that house. Triple-checked. The data was clean. You knew it was. But that didn't change what happened, Steve had gotten wounded Sam too. And so had the only people on your roster who still tried to do good. Tried to be more than just ghosts and criminals.

Maybe it wasn’t your fault. But it sure as hell felt like it.

So no- you weren’t going to let him say it out loud. You beat him to it.

He looked down at his hand. Blood flaked off his knuckles. “You don’t get to call it a sweep when there’s blood on the walls.”

The room went still. Just the hum of your old fridge and the ache of everything unsaid. It felt like something suspended in the air, waiting to break.

“I’m here now,” he said, softer this time. “Because you’re the only one I trust to make it right.”

It was almost worse hearing that from him. Like it was a mercy he was offering you, calling it trust when it was really necessity. And worse still because a part of you wanted that trust. Needed it like a wound needed stitching.

“I didn’t ask you to trust me,” you said. “That was your mistake.”

“And you didn’t say no when I walked in tonight,” he countered, voice lower, more deliberate. “That’s yours.”

The words hit hard, slicing past your pride to land where your guilt still lingered you barely kept buried, where your pride tried to build walls against it. You hated the way it made you flinch inside, hated the way he saw too much with too little effort. Still, you kept your expression neutral, carefully smoothing over the twitch of reaction. If he sensed your hesitation, your guilt, your anger. It stayed unspoken. You locked it behind your eyes and gave him nothing. Just moving away to pull a med kit from under the sink. Tossed it onto the table with more force than necessary.

“Can’t have my most high-profile clients dying on my floor. It’s bad for business.”

His eyes stayed on you. Heavy. Accusing. Unforgiving.

“And you’re all about business, aren’t you?”

That stung more than it should have, because it wasn’t entirely wrong. But it wasn’t right either. The money had always been part of it, sure. But some jobs you took because they reminded you who you used to be. Who you wished you were still capable of being. Jobs that felt like a line between right and survival.

And Steve? He was one of the few that made you want to be better.

Which only made all of this worse.

You patched him up in silence. The gash along his ribs said more than he ever would. You didn’t ask. Just worked- methodical, steady, but not detached. Every time you pressed gauze to his skin or stitched through another layer, you were painfully aware of the rise and fall of his breath, the way his muscles tensed under your fingers, the way he didn’t wince even when he should have.

You told yourself this was just another job. Like any of the others. Keep your head down. Get it done. But the truth crept in at the edges. He wasn’t just another fugitive. He was Steve fucking Rogers. The one you used to believe in. The one who made you feel like maybe you weren’t just profiting off desperation.

Now, you were here, cleaning up his blood in your kitchen while guilt licked at the base of your spine. “Where is everyone else? Sam? Wanda? Hell, where’s Natasha?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just stared like he was weighing how much to give.

“We’ve had to split up for a bit,” he finally said. “Easier if everyone lays low on their own for a while. Can’t afford to make patterns. Too many people watching too many doors.”

You studied him a moment longer, the implication settling like a stone in your gut. They were scattered. Isolated. Probably hurting. Probably hunted. Where they all in places like yours? With people like you?

"Wonderful..." Your voice was quieter this time. Not a surrender. But something worn, something bruised.

He let you work. Silent. Watchful. You wondered if he could feel your shame in the way your hands hovered, just a second too long, at the edge of his skin.

He took the pullout couch. You weren’t noble enough to offer your bed. But later that night, you stood barefoot in your kitchen, watching him sleep. Drink in hand. Guilt rotting in your gut. You couldn't stop thinking.

You hadn’t spoken to Natasha in years when she called you over a year ago. Said Steve needed help. Discreet help. She’d made it clear you weren’t the first call. Just the one she knew would say yes. That said enough on its own. You were reliable, cold-blooded, detached, at least that’s what your reputation had earned you. Just the ghost in the wires. Not someone who got involved.

You’d helped a lot of people disappear, stay hidden. Everyone was running from something- bad choices, bad people, or bad governments. You never asked what. Never cared. Names, locations, and needs. That’s all you needed to know to make someone vanish.

But Steve wasn’t just another fugitive. He was the kind of man people still called a hero, even now. Even after the world turned on him.

That complicated things.

You took your drink to bed. Lay awake staring at the ceiling, the warmth of the whiskey dulling nothing. You tried not to think about how his blood had soaked into your dish towels. About how he hadn't flinched when you stitched him up. About the weight of his stare while you moved around him like you didn’t care.

They were supposed to be the good ones. You were the girl people called when they were desperate enough to pay for salvation.

Desperate enough that you could turn it into currency. It wasn’t heroic, but it kept you fed, off the grid, untouchable. That should’ve been enough. But tonight, with Steve Rogers asleep in your apartment and the ghosts of better intentions clawing up your throat, it didn’t feel like power. It felt like penance.

You'd wanted to believe helping the runaway Avengers would make you feel cleaner. That maybe, just maybe, throwing a lifeline to people who were still trying to do the right thing would tip the scale, erase some of your sins. But all it had done was shine a brighter light on your own rot. You weren’t like them. You weren’t running because you believed in anything. You were running because it was profitable. Because you knew how to disappear, how to survive, how to sell freedom to the desperate.

Helping them hadn’t absolved you. It had only shown you the line you’d long since stepped over. And that- the knowledge of it- curled in your chest like shame with nowhere to go.

~#~#~#~#~#~#~

The next 48 hours crawled.

Tension threaded through the air like exposed wire, taut, crackling, ready to snap, constant, impossible to ignore. It crept into everything: the sound of the faucet, the scrape of a chair, the clink of a spoon against ceramic. Your footsteps shifted from brisk to cautious whenever he was in the room, movements sharper, clipped. You moved through the space like it was still yours, but now it felt shared in a way you hadn’t agreed to. Like you’d rented out your shadow without realizing.

And Steve? He watched. Always watched. Like he was taking notes you didn’t have access to. Not just studying your habits, but measuring them. Measuring you.

You walked around in a towel. Changed shirts in the hallway after disappearing for hours and returning dirty. Stripped your gun on the coffee table wearing just a tank and shorts- your legs bare, your expression unreadable. It wasn’t for him. It wasn’t about him. It was survival. Routine. Muscle memory that made the space yours again, because you had lived in it, built a rhythm in it. He was the intruder.

You kept your distance. Made no move to soften the edges. Didn’t invite misinterpretation or give him anything he could read as permission. Just silence, space, and cold professionalism.

You took calls in your bedroom, low-toned, clipped, all business. The kind of calls that made Steve’s jaw twitch and his silence go heavy. Names slipped out sometimes, familiar ones. Sometimes dangerous ones. You caught the way he stiffened when you asked about biometric locks or listed off chemical agents like grocery items. You never looked at him while you spoke, but you knew he was listening. Judging.

But if he didn’t like your business, he could fucking leave. You weren’t the one who came crawling through a window.

You sat down at the kitchen table, dropping the tablet beside your coffee with a flat thunk- its glow still active from the last call. Steve was already seated across from you, silently nursing his mug of tea, eyes sharp and unreadable. You didn’t look at him. Just tapped open your notepad and started writing out your latest supply list. Med kits, Weapons orders, new ID’s... Standard stuff.

Except nothing felt standard anymore.

You could feel his eyes tracking the screen. Judging. The quiet disapproval rolled off him in waves. It curled up your spine like heat off the burner, and finally, you snapped.

“If you’re going to hang around like some awful smell,” you muttered, not even glancing up, “stop side-eyeing me.”

Steve didn’t blink. “You’re a professional, right? So be professional.”

“You’ve benefited plenty from my ‘unprofessional’ connections.”

“And you’ve made a profit off people like me.”

That shut you up. Because it was true. But also, because you weren’t sure what cut deeper- his judgment, or the fact that some part of you thought maybe you deserved it.

You’d had enough.

You snatched the tablet off the table and stood, grabbing your jacket from the back of the chair. The air felt too tight around you, like his presence was taking up more space than it should. You didn’t need his attitude, not in your own home. Not in the place where you were the one doing the favor.

You didn’t say a word. Just moved with practiced calm, throwing the bolt on the door as you stepped out, letting it slam behind you with just enough force to echo.

~#~#~#~#~#~#~

It broke on the third day.

You were on your way back from a drop off, passing through city center on your way back, instinct coiling low in your gut. Something felt off. Not obvious. Not loud. Just wrong. Your eyes swept casually across the street, and there he was. Standing by a paper stand, pretending to read. Too still. Too focused. You never looked straight at him, but you noted everything; his relaxed stance was a little too rehearsed, the subtle lift of a radio at his belt, and the unmistakable outline of government-issue boots tucked under worn denim. He didn’t notice you clocking him. But you did.

You kept moving. Didn’t break stride. Didn’t let the tension touch your face. Just stormed back toward the apartment with fire in your chest and a bitter taste in your mouth.

The moment the door shut behind you, the air seemed to thicken, sound muffled, movement slower. You stood frozen for a breath, keys clutched tight in your hand, heart pounding loud in your ears. The echo of your own footsteps felt louder than they should’ve, like even the floor was warning you. Your pulse didn’t calm, didn’t fade. Tossing your keys down and tore through the nearest drawer, grabbing one of your burners. The screen lit up with a single blinking message.

'City getting hot. Stay home where it’s cool.'

Initials only. The source was solid.

“Fuck…” you muttered, tossing the phone back into the drawer and slamming it shut hard.

“What?” Steve’s voice came from the living room.

You didn’t answer. Trying to reign in a temper you didn't have a habit of loosing in front of people. You wanted to scream at him to leave, instead you stormed past him as he entered to hall.

“You sticking around’s going to get me burned,” you said, too evenly. “I’ve got clients. People on the books. Some of them are wanted too. You’ve got the damn U.S. government charging you with treason. Ross would love to catch someone like me with my pants down.”

Steve stepped closer.

“You’re afraid of Ross… but not me?”

“I don’t make a habit of fearing men who sleep on my couch.”

You turned, marching up the hallway for your room, needing distance. Needing something solid between you and him before this got worse. Before the weight of him pressed in too close again. You needed walls. Doors. Space that he couldn’t occupy so easily. Because being close to Steve Rogers wasn’t just physical- it was gravitational. He pulled at your balance, at your composure, at every carefully drawn line between professionalism and something far more dangerous. He distorted your centre, made you forget which way was forward, which direction was safe.

You didn’t look back as you spoke. “I’ll get you another safehouse,” you said over your shoulder, tone clipped, brittle. “A better one. One with backup access and line-of-sight coverage. Somewhere that isn’t here.”

“I already had your best one,” he replied without missing a beat. His voice didn’t waver, didn’t shift- like the memory was a static weight in his gut. “And I nearly bled out on the floor.”

You stopped, hand curling slightly against the doorframe.

Behind you, his footsteps followed. Measured. Heavy. He wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.

“You think you can just push me out the same way I came in?” he asked, closer now. “You think distance makes this cleaner? It doesn’t. Not for either of us.”

You didn’t turn, but your shoulders stiffened. He was standing too close now. Just shy of touching as you turned around to glare at him.

“I didn't ask for you to come here."

His jaw flexed, the smallest tic of frustration or restraint. It was hard to tell which.

You crossed your arms. Defensive. Measured. Like you could somehow fold all the vulnerability back into your skin if you just held still long enough. “This some kind of twisted loyalty test? See if I'll sell you out? That it?”

“No.” He took a step closer, boots quiet against the floor. “It’s a reminder.”

“Of what?” Your voice had lost some of its edge now. Less bite. More breath. The words came out quieter, like you weren’t sure you really wanted to know the answer.

“That I’m still here.” Another step. The air shifted between you, heavier. “Still breathing. Still owed.”

You held your ground. Refused to shrink. But your pulse spiked anyway. Your heart had already begun its steady climb toward your throat, hammering at the base of it like a warning. Your limbs had gone tight, tense- not with fear, but with anticipation. Something was coming. Something you weren’t sure you could stop, and maybe didn’t want to.

Before you could speak–he moved.

Not rough. Not sudden. Just close. Too close. He didn’t storm in like a soldier. He closed the space like a storm surge. Inevitable, all-encompassing, quiet until it swallowed everything in its path. It wasn’t violent. It wasn’t fast. But it was unstoppable. You could feel it in the way your breath shallowed, in the way your back hit the wall like it had always been waiting there. He didn’t touch you, not yet, but the promise of it wrapped around your spine and pulled. You felt the energy in the room shift, magnetic and unrelenting, pulling your breath with it.

He backed you into the wall like a shadow, hand braced beside your head. Not touching yet, not claiming–but claiming all the same. His breath was warm against your cheek. His chest nearly touched yours, heat bleeding through your clothes like contact without contact.

You stood your ground, unmoving, eyes fixed on the space just past his shoulder- refusing to meet his. You knew if you looked, if you let him in even a little, you’d unravel. Because if you did, it would be real. If you looked, if you blinked, if you breathed too hard–he’d have you.

“You don’t get to play wolf just because you’re cornered,” you said quietly, but your voice had lost some of its sting.

“I’m not playing,” he replied, his voice low and steady. “And I’m not leaving.”

That was it.

His mouth crushed yours. One hand slammed beside your head, the other sliding to your jaw, holding you there while he kissed you like he meant to end the argument with his teeth.

It was hunger in silence. Control wrapped in restraint. The kind of kiss that doesn’t ask for permission because it already knews the answer.

Your hands didn’t stop him. They pulled him closer.

His mouth was rough- more pressure than finesse. But it didn’t matter. You opened to him anyway, lips parting under the drag of his teeth. Your fingers curled into the cotton of his shirt, holding him there even as your mind screamed that this was a mistake.

But your body had already decided.

Steve groaned low into your mouth as his hand slid down gripping your waist, anchoring you to the wall. You felt the frustration in his touch, the way his fingers tightened like he was holding back too much, like something had been festering under his skin far longer than he could tolerate. The shift of his hips, the heat of his mouth, all of it screamed need, but it wasn’t just lust. There was anger there too. Frustration, guilt, betrayal- everything that had gone unsaid since he walked into your apartment.

The shift of his hips sent a jolt through your spine. He was already hard. Already thick and hot through the fabric of his pants, pressing against your hip with unspoken urgency.

“Steve-”

He didn’t let you finish.

The second you spoke his name, something in him snapped. His mouth found yours again- harder, more desperate this time. A kiss that stole the breath from your lungs, that swallowed the protest before it could form. Like the sound of his name on your tongue had unlocked something primal and possessive.

His hand dropped fast, gripped the crotch of your shorts and tore. The fabric gave with a sharp rip. No finesse. No hesitation. Just sheer frustration and heat ripping through cotton like it was nothing.

You didn’t argue. Couldn’t. Not when his hand was already pushing between your legs, Steve's thick fingers dragging through your slick folds with a possessive thoroughness, like he owned the right to feel how soaked you were.

You moaned, hands slapping the wall as your knees buckled. His fingers sank into you, two at once, pushing your wall out. You clenched around them instinctively, the wet, obscene squelch of your arousal echoing in the quiet hallway. He fucked you slow and deep, but there was no gentleness to it. His fingers curled with ruthless precision, dragging against your front wall until your thighs trembled.

“Hold still,” Rogers growled, those blue eyes blazing into you. “Don’t make me say it again.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“And you’re letting me fuck you against your own wall. So what does that make you?” His thumb pressed up against your clit- circling it with a slow, maddening care that the rest of him didn’t show. The pad of it moved in torturous little spirals, featherlight but exacting, coaxing sparks of sensation that made your knees tremble.

The contrast was devastating. Where his thumb moved with calculated patience, his fingers drove into you with merciless rhythm, wet squelches echoing in the narrow hallway. Each curl of his fingers dragged over your most sensitive spot, and your core fluttered around him with slick, involuntary greed. The soft grunt in his throat as he felt just how drenched you were. You whimpered, your hips grinding helplessly into his hand, overwhelmed by the brutal dichotomy of soft and hard, of care and carnality. He was claiming you in layers- one with his touch, and one with his unrelenting presence.

“What? No comeback?” he rasped, voice low and rough, threaded with need.

You whimpered when he pulled his fingers free, already dizzy from how thoroughly he worked you open. Your hips bucked forward with a mind of their own, chasing the friction even as his touch disappeared.

Steve exhaled a shaky breath, muttering like he wasn’t talking to you- more like he was talking himself through restraint. “It’s been a long time,” he murmured. “You’re the one I call when I need something. Now I need this.”

Then you heard the sound of his zipper.

“Steve- fuck- wait-”

“You want me to stop?”

Your breath catching in your throat and the crackling hum of tension so thick it nearly choked you. "...No."

He pressed in with one brutal, punishing stroke.

You gasped, hissing and cursing at the sheer size of him. The stretch was unforgiving, a searing fullness that knocked the air from your lungs. Your walls fluttered violently around him, not ready, not even close, but he didn’t wait. He sank in like he had every right to be there, like your body had always been his to wreck.

Your muscles clenched, spasming as you tried to take him, adjust to the brutal girth. It was too much. Just the right kind of too much. Your cunt stretched tight around him, wet and tensing.

He didn’t speak. Just groaned deep in his throat, and it vibrated through your chest like thunder. The veins in his arms flexed as he grabbed your thighs and hiked them higher, wrapping your legs around his waist. The new angle made your breath catch again as he bottomed out, your spine arching from the sheer pressure of it.

"Nnghuh! God.."

“Christ” he whispered, voice strained but warm against your ear. “When was the last time you got fucked sweetheart? Feel tighter then a vice.”

He started slow- one, two strokes, deep and measured, like he was testing the fit, feeling how tightly your body clung to every inch of him. Like he needed to feel you tremble around him, to memorize the way you gasped and shuddered just from being filled. But then restraint gave way to desperated need.

His hips slapped against yours with each thrust, heavy and fast, until the drywall behind you trembled. The picture frame above your head rattled violently, the screws groaning in protest.

“You put my people on the line,” he muttered against your lips, voice cracking like he hated saying it. “We needed you. We trusted you. You were supposed to be our failsafe, not the reason we bled.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. A choked sound, barely audible over the rush in your ears as he pushed into you again.

“Yeah?” he growled, grinding his hips into yours with a punishing press. “I can feel how sorry you are, sweetheart." You cried out, unable to stop the sounds ripping from your throat, a tangled mix of shock and release, like every barrier you’d built was breaking loose with each moan. It wasn’t just physical- it was every unspoken resentment, every buried guilt spilling out in raw, breathless surrender. You were a mess of broken gasps, choked pleas and moans you didn’t recognize as yours.

Your fingernails scraped across his shoulders, desperate for purchase, for something to ground you as your body struggled to keep up with what he demanded.

You reached for him blindly, nerves fraying, control slipping like sand through your fingers. He caught your hand mid-air. Laced his fingers with yours and pinned it above your head, pressing it into the wall like it was the only anchor either of you had.

“Steve...please-”

“Begging now?” he murmured, but there was no mockery in it. Just a kind of low, broken awe, like the sound of your voice was something he'd needed to hear for longer than he’d admit.

You trembled against him, your body clenching around the relentless force of him, every stroke driving deeper, harder, spearing up into the sensitive nerves that had already been teased past their limit. Each thrust was a collision of heat and pressure, his cock thick and unrelenting, dragging along your swollen walls, stretching you further than you thought possible. Your wetness coated him, made the glide devastatingly smooth, and the wet slap of skin echoed through the hall in time with your stuttering gasps. Every impact made your spine arch, your breath catch, your mind blur. It was raw. Carnal. The head of his cock kissed something inside you that made your vision white out for a moment, made you choke on his name like it was the only anchor you had. Your body didn’t know how to handle it. Both overstimulated and overwhelmed, nerves fried by the bruising rhythm and the fullness that never let up, never relented. He was everywhere; inside you, against you, all-consuming and there was no escape you wanted.

His breath turned ragged at your ear, voice thick and heavy. “That's right, squeeze me, good girl.” he gritted out, the strain obvious in his voice. “Gonna make you remember this.”

You didn’t respond. Couldn’t. Your throat was raw from crying out, your body alight from the firestorm building in your core. Your muscles fluttered wildly around him, unable to do anything but cling to every punishing thrust. He was burning you open from the inside out, and you welcomed the ruin.

Your orgasm slammed into you like a detonation; sharp and incandescent. A white-hot burst of sensation that tore through your core and stole the sound from your lungs. You bit down on your arm, the taste of skin grounding you as your body shook with it, walls convulsing around him like they were trying to pull him even deeper.

“Fuck- gonna come- inside- fuck-”

His words were broken now, punched out on the edge of climax. He surged forward, slamming into you one last time, hips locking as he spilled inside with a raw groan. You felt it, thick, hot, flooding you, filling every inch he’d ruined. Steve's whole body shuddered against yours, hands gripping your thighs so tight you knew he’d leave bruises.

Neither of you moved. The air around you almost crackled.

Then he pulled back, slow and unhurried. His chest lifted from yours, breath evening as if nothing had happened. Your legs slid down his hips, shaking from the effort of holding on, and you collapsed against the wall for support.

Your core throbbed in the aftermath, his cum already dripping down your inner thigh, sticky and unmistakable.

And without a word, turned and walked into your bedroom.

Like it was his.

And you let him.

You could bring yourself to follow him into the bedroom. Instead, you grab a blanket, soft, worn, one that still smelled faintly like him, though you weren’t sure if it was from the fabric or from the way your skin still remembered his touch. You wrapped yourself in it like armour and collapsed on the couch. Not because it was comfortable. You need the space. You need something that still feels like a boundary. A line he hadn’t crossed. Yet.

You expect him to leave in the morning.

He didn't

Instead you woke up to Rogers in your kitchen. Shirtless. Calm. Like it’s his kitchen and you were guest. The light from the window catches on the line of his shoulder, casting warm gold against skin, highlighting the tension still wound through muscle and bone. You couldn’t help but track the way it moved across him, softening the sharpness of his frame just enough to make him look human again. That flicker of warmth shouldn’t have affected you, but it did. It made something ache- deep and stupid- in your chest, like the sight of him untouched by shadow was a lie your body still wanted to believe. Even the sight of his hair is still damp from a shower, curling slightly at the edges did something to you.

“I’ll be here a while,” he says simply, not even turning to look at you.

You open your mouth, close it again. Looking at the floor. There’s a new weight to the room. Steve then he sets a plate down in front of you on the coffee table. Toast and hot steaming mug of coffee beside it. Looking up at him Steve looked different today. Softer. Probably because he’d worked off the chip on his shoulder when he was slamming into you.

“Like you said... Ross is in the city,” he started taking a seat next to you. “Not safe to go out."

The words hit like punch, knocking the wind out of you.

You felt boxed in, your own home suddenly smaller. Ross outside, danger circling. Steve inside, tension curling in your gut. Trapped with the thrum of last night’s tension still beating behind your ribs.

Steve didn't press, just nudging the plate closer with steady fingers

“Eat,” he said, voice low but firm. “Then you’re in the shower.”

And for some reason, you listened.

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tpwk-formula1 · 7 months ago

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hii could i have a pizza with sicilian crust and alfredo sauce. for the toppings : Oregano, Sun dried tomatoes and roasted artichokes with water and a dessert with max verstappen please <3

Lee-Lee's Pizzeria Menu

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy this! I will write another championship fic soon but I wanted to get something small out there!

TW: unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink, really short! MDNI 18+

WC: 800+

sicilian crust dating alfredo sweet sex oregano "Please, let me cum in you" sun dried tomatoes "Gonna look so pretty pregnant" roasted artichokes “im gonna put a baby in you” water breeding kink dessert yes served by Max Verstappen

Y/N POV

"You did it!" I scream pulling Max into my chest for a fourth year in a row of him winning the World Driver's Championship! A part of me can't believe it but seeing Max be lifted by his team while they celebrate him tells me everything is real.

The following hour is filled with Max and I passing Gin and Tonics between us while he gets ushered around the Vegas strip for different interviews but once we finally can leave Max and I make quick work of making it to the night club where we planned to dance and celebrate the night away.

By the time we stumbled our way into the hotel room Max makes quickly work of stripping me out of my tight dress while he pulls off his clothes shortly after.

Max and I might be drunk but we both know what we want. Max has spent the better part of the night in the club between grabbing my hips and pulling me into his front so I know exactly how I'm effecting him and making sure I have a drink in my hand at all times I can't get to Max fast enough.

"I'm gonna put a baby in you," Max mumbles while pulling my naked body into his while leaning down and placing a soft kiss on my lips and pulling me down onto the bed with him.

"I still can't believe you're a 4 time champion," I mumble against Max's lips making a small giggle escape through his lips.

"I can't either but this is my favorite championship to win. I felt like I actually fought for this one," Max mumbles back making me smile and nod softly which quickly turns into a moan when Max's wondering hand finds my throbbing clit and rubs a few small circles on it.

"Fuck," I gasp as I can feel my wetness start to spread due to Max's wandering fingers.

"Been soaked for me all night?" Max asks with a smirk while pushing 2 fingers deep into my pussy successfully getting a moan to fall from my lips.

"Yes, all for you Maxie, more please" I moan when I feel his fingers graze against my throbbing G-spot.

"Fuck, I love to know I can have you begging for more within just a few fingers," Max smirks while slowly starting to speed up his actions with his fingers.

"Oh God," I moan out rather loudly while arching my back off the bed.

"Fuck, please let me cum in you tonight! I need to see my cum dripping from your pussy," Max groans before pressing his lips against mine not letting me answer.

"Please Maxie, fuck me," I whimper out when he pulls away from my lips.

"Are you sure?" Max groans while staring down at my soaked pussy.

"Yes Max, I want you to fill me up with your cum please!" I moan back making Max groans before slowly lining his large cock up with my soaked pussy before slowly pushing in making me gasp while I feel my tight walls give way to Max's intrusion.

"Oh fuck, Max!" I moan loudly when Max starts pumping his cock into me.

"You're gonna look so pretty pregnant," Max says while continuing to fuck into me making me moan.

"Max, fuck it feels so good," I moan when I feel Max pick up the pace once again making me arch my back and scream out as I feel my orgasm start to build.

"Fuck, I can feel the way you're squeezing me, are you gonna cum for me pretty girl?" Max groans through gritted teeth making me whimper and nod my head.

"Yes, please Max," I moan clenching tighter to bring Max closer to the edge as well.

"FUck, cum for me," Max groans while throwing his head back.

"Oh fuck," I cry out as I start cumming around Max's cock pulling Max over the edge with me.

"Fuck," Max groans while throwing his head back and cumming deep into my pussy.

When Max and I both come down from our orgasms he slowly slides out of my pussy before getting out of bed and getting a clean rag to wet with warm water before coming back into the bedroom area and wiping me down lightly before discarding it somewhere in the room.

"If we get a championship baby after tonight the fans will know how much of a slut you are," I tease while turning on my side while Max laughs and pulls me closer.

"All I'm saying is a baby is so much better than any trophy," Max says before placing a soft kiss on my lips.

"I love you, and I am so beyond proud of you and everything you've done this season," I tell him softly. Max just pulls me in a bit tighter not saying anything else. It doesn't take us long to fall asleep for the night.

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lady-luckk · 3 months ago

Text

the wolf only needs to find you once

# pairing: yandere werewolf x reader

# synopsis: you should have listened to the villagers and stayed away from the forest, now your paying the price.

# warnings: this contains dark themes such as noncon and obsession. please block me if you are uncomfortable. viewer discretion is advised. minors DNI.

# notes: reblogs, comments, and likes are appreciated!

the villagers spoke of the forest in hushed voices, their warnings thick as the mist that crept through the trees. stay on the road. lock your doors at night. never stray past the river after dark.

you listened, as all children did, but you never truly understood. the stories were just that—stories. meant to keep people afraid, to keep them small. you had never seen red eyes in the dark, never heard the low breath of something hunting just beyond the trees.

so when the winter came early, and the snow swallowed the last of the harvest, you did what no one else dared.

you went into the woods.

you told yourself it would only be a moment. a few dry branches, perhaps a rabbit snared if you were lucky. just far enough to take what you needed, then back to the safety of the village.

the trees closed around you, tall and silent. snow muffled your steps. the deeper you went, the quieter the world became.

then the silence changed.

something was listening.

a snap of a branch. A shift in the wind. you turned, breath quick in the cold air. the trees looked the same in every direction. had you gone too far? had you—

a shadow moved between the trunks.

you saw the eyes first, ember-red and watching. then the shape of it, long and lean, taller than any wolf you had ever known. not an animal. not truly.

it did not move toward you. not yet.

you ran.

the cold air tore at your throat, your legs burning as you sprinted through the snow. branches whipped against your face, your feet slipping, stumbling. you did not know where the road was anymore. you did not know if you could reach it in time.

and then—

the sound of snow shifting behind you. a low breath, close.

too close.

then, you fell...

you rolled onto your back, breath heaving, heart pounding. the sky above you was dark, framed by black branches. The wolf loomed over you, red eyes gleaming like coals in the night.

you had been warned.

the village had always feared the wolf. but they had it wrong.

they believed they needed luck every night to keep it at bay.

but the wolf… the wolf only needs enough luck to find you once.

and it had found you.

the wolf loomed over you, its breath curling in the cold air, thick with the scent of frost and old blood. snow melted beneath its feet, steaming in the night. red eyes burned in the darkness, fixed on you sprawled in the snow.

you did not move.

you could hear your own breath, ragged, sharp. your fingers twitched in the cold, searching blindly for something—anything—beneath the ice-crusted ground. But the wolf only watched, waiting, as if it had all the time in the world.

“you run well, little lamb,” it said, voice deep and knowing. "but not well enough and i am done with playing."

its words sent a shiver down you spine. this was no ordinary beast. the stories were true, all of them.

the wolf. the thing that had haunted the village for generations, that had taken those foolish or desperate enough to stray past the river.

“a-are… y-you g-gonna k-kill me?”

"kill you? no. i could never. i like you too much. i've been watching you for too long to let you go now. too long. every movement, every little habit—i know them all. the way you bite your lip when you're nervous, the way your breath hitches when you're scared… like right now.**

"i've seen you when you thought you were alone. i know the way you sleep, the way you dream. the way you laugh when you think no one's listening. i’ve waited, watched, learned everything about you. and you still don’t see it, do you?

"you were always meant to be mine”

with those words spoken the wolf begins to lunge at you with eyes that hold pure obsession. with that the beast began to tear off the clothes that you were wearing and press you down even more against the floor. his hands clenching tightly kissing you forcefully without giving you any room to object.

"Mmm.." you widen your eyes, filled with panic.

you didn't understand why the wolf had such feelings for yourself. the wolf sensing your fear chose to ignore you

you quickly bit down on the tongue that was invading your lips. the taste spread in both your mouths, but the wolf seemed to feel no pain. he kissed even more passionately, kissing so forcefully that you couldn't resist and made whimpering sounds. tears hung from your lashes, refusing to fall.

“Ah!”

the wolf chuckled lightly as he began to squeeze his fingers down your tightly closed hole, exploring and teasing the insides. as your body was forced open and two fingers explored and stirred inside the hole, you tried to get up, but your back was quickly pressed down.

“p-please, s-stop.”

ignoring your plea, he could feel the tightness and warmth inside as his fingers entered. his dick was already hard and swollen, how could he stop?

“does it feel good?”

he withdrew his fingers, then entered a thicker object pressed against your entrance, eager to enter. the wolf had begun to spread you out, slowly pushing open your hole, inch by inch, until his thick member had finally penetrated you.

“Ah ah ah!”

inside was just as wet and slippery as he had imagined, he thought while licking your tears. He watched as the small tight hole slowly expanded under his penetration, and then he thrust forcefully, his hot member breaking through layer after layer of tender flesh, penetrating deeply.

"Ah ah ah--"

you buried your face in the ground, your hands reaching forward, screaming as if trying to grab something, but only being restrained and pressed down by a large hand on the ground.

his member was sucked in as soon as it entered, veins pulsating. the wolf breathed heavily, forcefully and violently breaking through the squeezed flesh, like a hot meat blade, thrusting in and out of the hole.

his hairy body brushed against your soft skin with each thrust, tickling the entrance, then fiercely pierced and struck, "ah!" the wolf thrust heavily and urgently, as if releasing all the pent-up desire!

“No! Ah ah-pull out…”

he pressed you firmly on the floor, holding onto your neck and forcing you to lift your head.

his lower body continued to thrust, forcefully invading the rosy little mouth, his tongue ravaging the inside, plundering the saliva.

"Umm umm..." you helplessly swallowed his saliva, your throat rolling uneasily. the accumulated tears kept dripping, sliding onto the wolf’s hand.

the wolf’s kiss landed on your tear-stained cheek, licking it, but his actions became even more violent.

your body was currently riding on top of his, your legs kneeling on both sides, being forcefully thrusted, his large hand kneading your butt, leaving bright red fingerprints on them, crisscrossing from the waist to the ass. the wolf was not satisfied. his lower body moved extremely fast, slapping your marked bottom, repeatedly thrusting his thick member all the way in, then ignoring the resistance of the flesh, forcefully pulling out, making the entrance red and swollen, even the intestines taking on the shape of his large member.

"Save me, ah ah..." you plead to no one in particular

hearing your plea for help, he directly flipped him over and pressed him against the head of the ground. the withdrawn member forcefully penetrated again.

afraid of hurting you any further, he placed his arm behind your back. "who do you want to save you, little lamb? it’s better to beg me than the sky."

your eyes were full of panic, tears falling in large drops. at this moment, you saw his gaze, as dark as ink, filled with desire for you.

"No more, ah ah... please..."

the wolf tightly restrained you in his arms, holding your struggling legs in his arms. your belly was pushed up by a big hard lump, and your intestines were stuffed full. the sensitive flesh in your intestines trembled and wriggled at the slightest touch. you were fucked deep and hard, and he ejaculated semen again.

your walls trembled, the wolf started to breathe heavily, gripping your waist and crushing it fiercely, as if trying to pierce through you. He thrust fiercely, with continuous slapping sounds.

"Ah! So deep... ah...

your eyes lost focus, drool flowed down your mouth, and the wolf rolled it into his mouth. your hands were placed on his strong thighs, trying to push him away, but your efforts were fruitless

The wolf hugged your trembling body tightly, thrusting his shaft deep inside faster and faster, until finally thrusting forward forcefully, filling his intestines with a large amount of hot semen instantly!

"Ah!"

you screamed loudly, your legs suddenly kicked weakly and hung down, only able to resist as he was shot with wave after wave of thick semen.

“little lamb, do you know why you couldn’t escape?”

your throat went dry, your chest aching with the weight of your terror and exhaustion. “W-why?”

The wolf’s smile widened, and its voice was the last thing you ever heard:

“because the wolf only needs enough luck to find you once... and once is all it takes to keep you.”

the blackness closed in, and the last thing you felt was the cold possessive hold the wolf had on your skin, pulling you into the darkness where nothing would ever find you again.

#yandere #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #dead dove do not eat #non con #yandere x you #male yandere #yancore #yandere oc #dark content #dead dove fic #monster fucker

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pankowcrumbs · 1 month ago

Text

Pissed off X Bucky Barnes

MasterList

Marvel MasterList

Bucky POV-

The chair creaked beneath me, the ropes around my wrists digging in tight. Blood had dried on my cheek, crusted along a split lip. My head pounded, and there was a metallic taste in my mouth that wasn't just blood it was rage.

They'd caught me off guard. Sloppy. I'd been walking back from the damn bakery a baguette in one hand and my phone in the other, texting Y/N about whether she wanted red or white with dinner. I never saw them coming.

Now I was in some rusted-out warehouse that stank of oil and mould. My captor a man with slicked-back hair and a scar running across his jaw like a lightning bolt paced in front of me with a swagger that grated on every last nerve.

"James Barnes," he drawled, tapping the butt of his pistol against his palm. "The Winter Soldier himself. Never thought you'd be this easy."

I let out a dry chuckle, ignoring the way my ribs ached. "You're not the first to think that. Most of them are dead now."

He grinned like he thought I was bluffing. Poor bastard.

"Here's how this is going to go," he said. "You're going to tell me the access codes to the Stark safehouse files. Or I start removing fingers."

I leaned back as best I could, giving him a slow once-over. "Yeah, see... that's where you cocked up."

His smirk faltered.

"You think I'm the dangerous one," I said calmly, eyes locked on his. "But you just pissed off my wife."

He snorted. "And what? She's going to call the police?"

"Worse," I said, letting a ghost of a smirk curl my lip. "She's a sniper."

The guy chuckled. "You're bluffing."

I shrugged as much as the ropes allowed. "Not many people cross Y/N and live to tell the tale. But go on, keep waving that gun. Maybe she'll make it quick."

He laughed again, louder this time, turning away from me.

And that's when the bullet ripped through the window.

The glass shattered with a high-pitched whine, and the man dropped like a puppet with cut strings, blood blooming across his chest. I didn't flinch. I just exhaled.

The silence that followed was deafening. My eyes flicked to the broken window, a neat, clean hole left in its wake.

A minute later, boots crunched over broken glass.

And there she was.

Y/N stepped through the warehouse entrance like a damn movie star rifle slung across her back, holstered sidearm at her hip, hair pulled back in that no-nonsense way that made my heart stutter even now. Eyes sharp. Confident. Lethal.

"Took you long enough," I said, grinning through the pain.

She gave me a once-over, lips quirking. "You look like shit."

"Still prettier than the guy you just shot."

"Debatable." She crouched beside me, pulling a knife from her boot and slicing through the ropes in one smooth motion. "You good to walk or do I need to carry your dramatic arse?"

"I'll manage," I muttered, rubbing my wrists. "Though, if you're offering a piggyback..."

She rolled her eyes but helped me to my feet anyway, one arm steady around my waist.

"You let them catch you with a baguette in your hand?" she asked, raising a brow.

"I was trying to surprise you with dinner."

"Next time surprise me by not getting kidnapped."

Despite everything, I laughed.

We moved quickly through the warehouse, her eyes scanning for more threats. I'd seen her in action before, but something about knowing she came for me stirred something deep in my chest.

Once we were outside and the cool night air hit my face, I paused. "You really shot him through a window?"

She smirked. "Two hundred metres. Crosswind."

"Marry me."

"We already did, genius."

I grinned, limping toward the SUV she'd clearly boosted. "Still. Would again."

She opened the door for me. "Next time someone nabs you, can you try not to flirt with the kidnapper?"

"Jealous?"

"No," she said, pulling the door shut once I was inside. "Just bored of cleaning blood off my boots."

As she climbed into the driver seat, I watched her profile in the glow of the dashboard lights. Strong. Unshakable. Mine.

I reached over and took her hand. "Thanks for coming for me."

She squeezed it. "Always, Buck. Always."

And as we drove off into the night, leaving the mess behind, I knew one thing for certain:

No one in their right mind would ever dare come between me and Y/N Barnes.

Not if they wanted to live.

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imagine-darksiders · 3 months ago

Text

Angel of Highway 49.

Ch. 6 - Collateral.

Optimus & Reader. Bulkhead x Reader. Starscream x causing mayhem.

Summary: 'For the first time, your eyes meet his optics, and there’s not an ounce of recognition flickering in their glossy depths as they stare up at him in unmitigated terror.

No… not terror…. Horror.

You’re horrified by his presence, his appearance, his incomprehensible existence.'

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

On paper, the mission brief had seemed quite straightforward.

Investigate the substantial Energon signature that Ratchet's scans had turned up, get in, gather as much as they could carry, and get out again.

Optimus knew the likelihood of beating the Decepticons to the punch was minimal, at best. No doubt the only reason Ratchet's scanners had picked up anything was because raw Energon had been exposed where it wasn't before, say, by a mining operation that drilled straight into a fresh deposit laying deep beneath the Earth's crust.

The coordinates had been of immediate concern to the Prime, and as soon as the team was debriefed, he and Bulkhead drove straight out to the reference point with their pedals almost to the floor, though the latter couldn't fathom his Leader's sudden sense of urgency, and when prodded, Optimus only told him that the location was 'concerningly close to a human settlement.'

It was a mine, long-abandoned, sunk beneath the cliffs near a large agricultural unit.

They were to evaluate the subterranean passages, determine the level of Decepticon activity, preferably without engaging, and look for any opportunity to seize Energon from the enemy forces. Underhanded, perhaps, but if it secures his Autobots a few more months of precious fuel, Optimus isn't above resorting to clandestine tactics.

Of course, as it's been said before, even the best laid plans often go awry...

----------

The sturdy cables of Optimus’s neck buck and strain against their tubing as he wrenches his helm towards the Southern tunnel, his optical apertures spinning wide, blazing with a fierce, cyan light.

Hidden parallel to his leader, ducked down behind a stack of energon crates on the other side of the cavern, Bulkhead does the same, his colossal chin piece falling open with a dull ‘thunk,’ and his entire frame turning rigid with alarm.

Unfortunately for them both, so too do the frames of all four Vehicon Miners.

One by one, each of the energon drills wind down to sputtering halts as their wielders disengage from the deposits in the cave walls, pausing to turn their inexpressive masks towards the disruption.

And what a disruption it is.

A haunting, spinal-strut-chilling shriek is ringing out through the mine like an air-raid siren, more piercing than the drills and far shriller than the clanking of heavy machinery. The sound goes on and on, even when the source runs out of steam, and only the echo of a scream passes through the labyrinthian tunnels until that too falls silent, leaving every Cybertronian who heard it caught in a moment of temporary bewilderment.

Optimus is the first to recover.

Denta grit tightly behind his mask, he draws his slate-dark brow plates together and begins gauging the distance between his hiding spot and the tunnel.

Speed will be essential here… Because it’s to his utmost distress that he’s matched the vocal patterns of the distant scream to that of a human.

In the next instant, his private com-link scratches to life, and Bulkhead’s hushed, bassy voice is whispering into the Prime’s audials.

“That wasn’t Miko, Boss,” he defends his charge without hesitation.

Admirable, of course. But in this instance, unnecessary.

Optimus is well aware that the cadence of the scream doesn’t belong to any one of their charges. He has them logged, after all – though he often wishes he didn’t, if only because those audio logs serve as constant reminders that there have been times where the three younglings – whilst under his care- were in states of distress severe enough to cry out at all.

That aside however, Optimus is also confident that right now, the children are safe and sound back at the Autobot base with Ratchet, doubtless waiting anxiously for Arcee and Bumblebee to return from a routine scouting mission around Jasper’s outskirts.

But that begs the question; why would a human be down here in a defunct mine during the middle of the night?

It’s a question he doesn’t give much processing power to, not when there is a far more urgent matter at hand that needs addressing.

Loathe to wait even another second for something bad to happen to the unfortunate, wayward human, the Prime heaves himself out of his crouch and vaults gracefully over the energon stacks he’d been using as cover, barking a single, concise order to his comrade-in-arms.

“Engage!”

He’s barely cleared cover when he hears Bulkhead’s response.

“So much for the element of surprise!”

A necessary sacrifice.

If there’s a human down here in danger, they no longer have the luxury of scoping out the mine’s multiple chambers and trying to take things slow.

No matter.

What matters is getting to them before whatever – or whoever - frightened them can do any harm.

Optimus’s explosive arrival sends the Vehicons scrambling about to face him, and no less than two of the four manage to drop their handheld drills in shock.

“Prime’s here!?” one bellows, tripping over his own pedes in his haste to retreat towards the far wall.

“And he brought company!” his fellow growls.

No sooner has he spoken than an eruption of noise rocks the cavern as Bulkhead comes careening around the side of his hiding spot with all the unstoppable brutality of a runaway freight train.

“Head’s up!” he bellows, raising his hefty arm high into the air and charging for the first, unfortunate Miner.

Only one seems to have recovered in time to aim his plasma cannon at Optimus, who ducks smoothly beneath the first shot and skids along the ground on his knees for several metres, drawing up close enough to the Con to negate any space between them.

Before a second round can even charge in its chamber, one of the Prime’s enormous metal servos curls into a devastating fist, and with the struts of his forearm tensed and locked in preparation, he launches himself off his knees and –

‘CRUNCH!’

The knuckles of his servo connect with the Vehicon’s chin-guard with terrifying precision.

An uppercut, the power behind which is enough to send the dark, purple visor snapping backwards with an audible crack. Its wearer is quick to follow suit, crumpling over onto his back before Optimus’s fist has even finished its upswing.

One down…

Bulkhead has also reached his own Con, and Optimus is glad to see that he seems to have taken the Prime’s briefing to spark.

Incapacitate only, where possible.

These are miners, not warriors.

The wrecking ball perched on the end of Bulkhead’s arm is already swinging by the time the Con has his own weapon readied, and it’s promptly knocked aside by the Wrecker’s weaponised name-sake, who is quick to follow up with a single punch to the Vehicon’s helm.

One, hard wallop, and he’s down like a sack of bricks.

Two down, two to go…

The remaining pair, those clumsy enough to have dropped their drills, at least seem wise enough to recognise when they’re outmatched.

Bulkhead wheels about, shaking scraps of the miner’s visor from his fist as he glowers at the retreating taillights of two, purple vehicles fleeing as fast as their tyres can carry them down one of the adjoining tunnels.

“Aw, where’re you going!?” he taunts them as they vanish around a corner like jettisoned scrap, “I didn’t even break a sweat!”

Yet another turn of phrase he’s picked up from Miko, Optimus notes, thankfully one of her more palatable expressions. Primus knows that girl could be an honorary Wrecker through vocabulary alone…

“Leave them!” the Prime commands urgently, breaking into a loping run for the opposite passage and shifting the plates on his dominant arm to reveal his colossal, devastating barrage cannon, hoping against hope that it won’t be seeing any action beyond warding off a potential threat.

Setting off a detonative blast in this place could cause the whole subterranean structure to collapse in on itself, another reason he’d stressed the importance of melee before this mission.

Clunking footsteps soon fall into pace behind his own, rattling the shards of energon still wedged into the cave walls.

There’s little point in maintaining stealth now, not with time swiftly trickling away beneath their pedes and the deafening silence the drills have left behind.

Whoever remains in this cavern is bound to know of their presence by now.

There’s a sudden blip on his radar - an energon signature far more significant than the deposits in the walls. It’s large, and active, and at this distance, uncloaked.

With coolant pumping fervidly through his pipes, Optimus kicks himself into gear and swings around the curve of the tunnel, bringing into view a sight so gruesome, it nearly freezes his spark inside its chamber.

A surge of alarm - his very own - hits the airwaves before he can suppress it, and although he reels it back in microseconds, he knows Bulkhead has already felt it, even from several paces behind him. An answering jolt of panic crashes into Optimus’s field as the Wrecker stumbles, his armour flaring nervously.

Because if the Prime is worried, then…

Optimus doesn’t have time to reassure his teammate.

Starscream is looming up ahead, silhouetted at the tunnel’s end by an unearthly blue light.

Megatron’s second in command cuts an intimidating figure. A frame as sharp as his tongue is angled towards the oncoming Autobots, but his attention – and more horrifyingly – his missile arm is aimed near the ground at a comparatively small rock, behind which Optimus has already locked onto four human signatures.

Another surge, this time of unshackled indignation rattles the plating across his shoulders and sends his protective protocols careening into furious overdrive.

Taking point, the Prime charges from the tunnel and into the cavern first, cannon raised and whirring as he digs in his heels and slides to a halt, drawing up his colossal frame to stand tall beneath the rock ceiling, his optics narrowed to thin slits.

“Starscream,” he thunders, authoritative and unyielding. His voice booms around the cavern, drawing another short scream from one of the humans below, yet he doesn’t dare take his optics off the threat to assess their condition, not while Starscream still has his weapon aimed unwaveringly at them.

It seems his arrival was anticipated after all.

The Decepticon doesn’t balk at their presence, doesn’t raise a weapon to defend himself… Gradually, wholly aware that he has the advantage here, Starscream raises his helm and tips his chin back to flash the Prime a haughty smirk.

“Ah, ah, ah~” he singsongs airily, just as Bulkhead lumbers to a halt at Optimus’s side, “That’s close enough, Autobot scum.”

Letting out a choked sound of rage, the wrecker lifts an arm, and his ion blaster whirls to life, though Starscream is quick to nod at the rock near his pedes and add, “Surely you wouldn’t risk any collateral damage now, would you?”

The Prime’s optics flare brightly.

Collateral… A Decepticon’s preferred synonym for the children under the Autobots’ care.

As Starscream speaks, he bobs his missile tauntingly up and down, never letting it stray from the humans locked in his crosshairs.

Behind the battle mask, Optimus peels back his dermas by a fraction of an inch – the only show of frustration he allows himself.

He’s almost relieved that Bulkhead is, by contrast, able to express himself so freely.

A low, thrumming growl shakes its way out from between the Wrecker’s clenched dentas. “Bullying humans now, Screamer?” he fumes, chomping at the proverbial bit but held in check by the seeker’s threat, “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size for a change? Or are you afraid you might lose?”

Starscream’s smirk twists down at the corners into a sneer, yet before he can offer some cutting retort, another voice pipes up from below, shattering his concentration.

“Bulk!?”

Two of the three Cybertronians present feel their sparks drop heavily into their tanks.

Bulkhead’s jaw hits his sternum with a ‘clunk!’ whilst Optimus’s only outward display of shock is the slight jump of his optical ridges.

“Miko!?” the former exclaims in a voice so shrill that it might have been comical in any other situation.

At last, unable to resist tearing their optics from the Con, both Optimus and Bulkhead shoot twin glances down over the top of the rock.

The Prime only needs a nanosecond to process the faces of each human below him.

And it’s just as he’d feared.

There’s Jack, a tired face gone slack with relief at seeing Optimus tower above him. And Rafael, with his youthful features pulled taut in fright, yet those wide, brown eyes are still so full of trust as they silently implore the Prime for help. Miko in the meantime is gazing adoringly up at her guardian with a gleeful smile stretching the edges of her mouth.

But it’s the fourth human that Optimus finds his optics drawn to and struck by, locking onto a face not quite as familiar as the children’s but known and inexplicably fond to him all the same.

“Y/n?” he murmurs far too softly to be heard over Bulkhead’s sputtered sounds of dismay and increasing panic.

His last parting from you was... regrettable, and still weighs heavily on his spark and processor when he finds himself alone with his thoughts.

For the first time, your eyes meet his optics, and there’s not an ounce of recognition flickering in their glossy depths as they stare up at him in unmitigated terror.

No… not terror…. Horror.

You’re horrified by his presence, his appearance, his incomprehensible existence.

In your eyes, he and Bulkhead are no different from Starscream – the true and only threat. In your eyes, what is he? Not a protector, but an aggressor. An unknown you have no hope of overcoming.

It doesn’t escape his notice; the stance you’ve taken in front of the children. With your back to them, arms flung out wide, you’re a trembling bulwark of fear and confusion and bravery, and the only thing standing between them and the Decepticon’s missile.

An unanticipated curl of pride warms the spark in his chamber, though it immediately bucks when his optics register the discolouration on your back. From his elevated angle, he has a clear and uninterrupted view of your shoulder blades… and the distressing gradient of a deep purple shadow sweeping across them, hemmed in by a frame of diffusing yellow.

It’s a bruise - he distantly recalls the term – and it’s swallowing up a vast swathe of your fragile skin, disappearing beneath your shirt. He’s seen bruises on humans before, small ones on the children’s knees and elbows after a tumble, or underneath Agent Fowler’s eyes after one too many sleepless nights. And while those instances are disquieting enough to witness, none have quite matched the extent of this one.

He knew you’d been hurt but this looks…

The lights in his optics flicker.

… He should have put his pede down… He should have just driven you straight to the medical clinic in Jasper regardless of your protests - no ‘ifs,’ ‘ands’ or ‘buts.’

Of all the humans who could have ended up down here, it would be the one who implied quite categorically that they never wanted anything to do with him again. He supposes there’s something divinely poetic about that. Divinely comedic too. Perhaps right now, Primus is looking down on his creation with a knowing smile.

Optimus, however, finds himself wishing that you were anywhere else at all, that fate had not led you down here. That it hadn’t led any of you down here, where your life and that of the children’s hang treacherously in the balance.

The nanosecond ends when you blink – and Optimus’s intake stalls to see a shimmering tear break free of your lash line and trickle down your cheek.

It strikes him that not only do you believe you’re supposed to protect Jack, Miko and Rafael from Starscream, but now that the Prime has unwittingly added himself and Bulkhead into the mix, you think you have two more perils to contend with.

Optimus flicks his optics up to the Decepticon once more as a dozen differing strategies spin around inside his processor. He’s getting you out of here. You and the children. ‘Whatever happens,’ he sends a silent promise down to the humans under his charge, his solicitous field spilling all the words he can’t verbalise, ‘I will keep you safe.’

Bulkhead feels it – Optimus’s EM field is a powerful thing, like everything else about the Prime. And right now, the noble intent of his leader hits the wrecker’s chassis like there’s real force behind it, tangible and physical.

Starscream feels it as well, though he isn’t bolstered by it like Bulkhead is. In fact, judging from the sudden wipe of his smug expression, the Seeker may have just come to the realisation that he’s currently threatening the very young, very vulnerable wards of a Prime and his powerhouse of a soldier.

Optimus wonders, between flitting through tactics, what you might think of him if you could feel it too.

-----

This has got to be one of – if not the - most vivid and dramatic nightmares you’ve ever had.

Either that, or…. or there’s a buildup of… of gasses in this mine or something, causing you to hallucinate. Hell, maybe that’s why this place was abandoned to begin with. If those old miners found coal seams or shale deposits down here, you could be standing in a pit filled with methane right now. And those beams and timber that were rotting away over your head as you made your way down…? How long have they been decomposing? Long enough for the carbon dioxide to seep out and gather at the bottom of the mine, you’ll bet!

That has to be it.

Gasses. Hallucinations. A nightmare.

Because you couldn’t possibly consider the third option, could you? That this might actually be happening. That there really are three unfathomably colossal titans surrounding you and the kids on all sides.

It certainly feels real enough. The sweat slicking your palms and hairline, the blood roaring in your ears, and the heart in your chest trying to make a jailbreak are all about as vivid as it gets.

Rationale is telling you that this isn’t happening. Your body is telling you otherwise. And it’s very hard to try and listen to both at the same time.

When the tallest of them – the one that had shouted something in a voice that sent a ping straight to your brain – lowers its ‘eyes’ to lock you in its sights, you freeze in place, helpless as a butterfly pinned to a corkboard.

Awful, cerulean light cuts like frostbite through the dimness of the mine and sends a chill sweeping up the length of your spine.

You’re stuck fast by its stare, the light cold and calculating as it burns down at you from an otherwise expressionless face.

Your own eyes sting with the effort of keeping them open, too afraid to blink, too afraid to take your gaze away lest it decide to strike the moment it thinks you aren’t looking, like a predator, a hungry wolf with designs on the back of your neck.

It’s hard to believe that the giant is the first to look away, pulling those twin beams of light from your face and turning them onto the comparatively smaller monster, the one with a blood-red stare.

Battling down the temptation to collapse onto your knees, you instead suck in a deep, noisy breath through your nostrils and clamp your lips firmly together as your gaze flits across to the third and final titan, shorter yet somehow so much larger than the others.

It’s as broad as a barn. Broader, perhaps. Military-green from head to toe, and it too sports a gaze that’s just as blue as the strange quartz that surrounds you. It cocks its colossal head at you, what passes for a head on that behemoth anyway, and the lights set in its face blink off, then on again. Once, twice… until something in your brain clicks into place.

It’s blinking.

You’d almost begun to entertain the notion that you’ve unwittingly stumbled upon some kind of Government-built superweapon, and that Terry might not be the crazy bastard you thought he was. But when it blinks at you, when it tips its head to the side as if it’s curious… in some uncanny way, you recognise it for what it is.

That’s something humans do.

That’s something living things do.

… What the Hell have you found down here?

Or perhaps the better question is, what the Hell has just found you?

“I see you’ve added another little pet to your menagerie,” the first robot suddenly drawls, breaking the silent stalemate that’s been brewing between you all for the past few seconds and sending your attention snapping back towards its slender face, chest rising and falling as you remind yourself to keep breathing, “I’m beginning to think you don’t care much for humans at all, if this is where you bring them to play.”

‘Humans?’

Your racing mind latches onto the word and sticks fast.

Humans… It called you humans. Implying that the speaker isn’t one…

The revelation doesn’t help you much, you’re still very much in trouble here, regardless of whether there’s another person operating these things or if they’re powered by something else entirely.

The longer you stand there without a shift or a waver in the makeup of the figure ahead of you, the less confident you are in your hallucination theory.

“Who’re you calling pets!?” Miko’s voice abruptly blasts past your ear, reminding you quite starkly of the three children pressed to your back, “If anyone’s the pet, it’s you! Megatron’s little groupie!”

You don’t have a chance to wonder what in the world she’s talking about.

The robot’s red glare snaps to her and zeroes in with murderous intent, its strange, malleable lip curling with hostility. Somewhere below your elbow, you hear Raf hiss “Miko!”

Just like that, you realise with a start that it doesn’t matter if you’re hallucinating or not.

If you are, and the children are too, it just means that you have to get them into fresh air as soon as possible. And if you’re not…

If this is real, if this is happening to you, then there truly are lives on the line, more than just your own.

And if this turns out to all be some incredibly vivid nightmare, well… you can nervously laugh about it once you’re awake. But for now…

“You dare address your betters, pest!?” the robot seethes, tilting its arm by a fraction, just enough to indicate that it’s aiming its missile point-blank at the girl. Behind you, there’s a mechanical whir, like a machine is being charged up.

Your stomach lurches. Somebody needs to do something….

….

………. Shit. Fine.

“Don’t!” you blurt out before you can put too much thought into your actions, taking a fumbling step forward and drawing the silver juggernaut’s furious glare, “Don’t point that at her! She’s just a kid!”

There are several intakes of breath from behind you, and one from somewhere high above your head, but your attention remains fixed steadfastly on the red-eyed robot, goosebumps springing up along your arms when it lets out a deriding chuckle and flashes you a glimpse of stark-white metal sitting just beyond its ‘lips,’ like a set of teeth.

“Oh? What have we here? Trying to play the hero,” it sneers the word with about as much sincerity as it might afford a dead fly, scoffing somehow through its gap for a mouth, “Pathetic. Ah-! Not so fast, Prime!” Quick as a flash, the robot lifts it gaze to the ones behind you, sharp red lights flashing dangerously, “Unless you want to be picking up the pieces of your little friend here for the next deca-cycle.”

You haven’t forgotten about the threats behind you, snatching a glance over your shoulder to see if the other robots are keeping their distance. To your horror, the green one is still subjecting you to its stare, blue lights brighter than ever as it observes you. The slab of grey metal stretching like a chin-guard across its face has fallen slightly to hang open, revealing a sliver of darkness behind it – its own mouth, you realise with a shudder.

Even more perturbingly, the tallest of the trio has definitely taken a step closer. You can see the indentation in the dust where its foot had rested only seconds ago, several metres back.

Your tongue sits like a lead weight in your mouth, dry as a bone.

At the silver robot’s words, it stills entirely, one of its gargantuan hands held up placatingly. Its compliance demonstrates that there must be some sort of hierarchy here. Despite the apparent size advantage, the taller robot had deferred to the one with red eyes.

That at least clues you in on which danger to prioritise, so you turn back to the first giant, your own hands unconsciously mirroring the same, appeasing gesture.

It’s an absolutely uncontested fact that you’re outmatched in size, numbers, speed, strength, and more than likely intelligence too.

So, what do you have in your arsenal?

What could you possibly have?

Think!

The toe of your boot slides forwards an inch, just an inch, just enough to bump gently into an obstruction that rolls slightly under the force.

A rapid glance down reveals the object; the torch you’d dropped earlier, sitting innocuously by your boot, dim and harmless…

… In a split second, you make a decision.

It could very well prove to be your last decision, but it’s better than staying paralyzed by indecision and fear. One option guarantees that you won’t be leaving here alive. The other… might at least buy you some time…

In one, darting motion, you dip down and swipe the torch off the ground, straightening back up just as hastily and holding it out in front of you with both hands, aiming the glass face up towards the scarlet ‘eyes’ leering down from above you.

“Back off!” is all you can think to yelp, arms and voice quaking, “O-or I’ll shoot!”

....

The silence that falls over the cavern couldn’t be any heavier.

It makes the rattling plastic of the torch that much louder in your ringing ears.

For several heartbeats, nobody moves, not the kids, not the robots, only you with your knocking knees and trembling, outstretched arms.

Then suddenly, sound floods back into the chamber, all in the form of a scratching, obnoxious cackle.

The silver robot peels the plating around its lips back and laughs at you, the missile jerking wildly with the effort to stay trained on you despite the wielder’s convulsing frame.

“Oh~! Oh, that is rich!” it chortles, smirking maniacally down at you from twenty-something feet, “You’ll shoot, will you? You’ll shoot me with that little toy of yours?” You can see the guard dropping, there’s more movement behind you. You have to act now, before the other two monstrosities get the chance to intervene.

“This toy-!” you blunder, cutting shakily through the mocking laughter, “I-is an… um, a military… tactical… laser! It’ll blind you from fifty feet!” You have no idea if robots can be blinded. You have no idea why you’re bluffing like a gambler losing at poker. The torch, if anything, is about as bog-standard as it could possibly get. You know that.

But you’re hoping the robot doesn’t.

Apparently though, it does, judging by the fresh peal of laughter tumbling out of it and ricocheting around the mine chamber.

There’s a nervous hum of uncertainty from one of the kids - Jack, if you had to guess.

“Do you really think, human, that I don’t know a bluff when I hear one?” it remarks snidely, sweeping a slender claw beneath one of the red lights in a mocking rendition of someone wiping away a tear.

“You… you don’t believe me?!” you shout up at it, wedging your thumb underneath the switch and bracing every muscle in your body, praying that this works.

Splaying its free hand across what serves as a chest, it retorts, “Do you take me for a fool? Of course I don’t believe you!”

“Good!” you exclaim as a fresh cascade of adrenaline surges through your blood, shoulders aching with the effort of keeping them aimed up at the robot’s face which contorts from a smirk to a frown at your unexpected turnaround. “Then you won’t try to defend yourself when I do this-!”

On the final word, your thumb jams the switch into position, and a stalwart beam of light flies straight and true, crashing into the robot’s pale face and dousing those ominous red lights faster than you can blink.

The effect is as immediate as it is melodramatic.

The relatively quiet air of the cavern is suddenly ripped asunder by the robot’s jarring and unexpected screech of alarm. Reeling backwards, it wrenches its gangly arms up and flings them over its face, shielding itself from the little beam of your torch.

“MY OPTICS!”

You don’t stick around to see what happens next, all too aware that the same bluff never works twice.

The very instant that missile’s trajectory changes, you’re moving, aggressively stamping down on the instinct screaming at you to haul yourself to the far passage as fast as your legs can carry you.

There are three people who need to reach it first.

The front of Jack’s shirt is the first thing your fingers latch onto when you spin around and make a wild grab for one of the kids. His eyes are on stalks, bugging out of their sockets when you unceremoniously hurl him out in front of you and shove his back for good measure, shrieking at the top of your lungs, “RUN!”

He’s still getting his feet under him properly by the time you’ve snatched up Rafael’s wrist in one hand and Miko’s in the other, all the while chaos erupts around you when several-hundred tonnes of metal begins to move.

You almost wrench the poor kids out of their shoes as you take off, haring at breakneck speed towards the tunnel you’d come down like a fire has been lit under your heels.

----

Optimus has to admit, it isn’t very often that he can be surprised anymore, though he has noticed that the instances seem to be occurring with more and more frequency of late. That they happen to correlate with his arrival upon Earth is hardly coincidental, he’s sure.

Humans, as it stands, are just about the most pleasant surprise he’s come across in his extensive travels throughout the Galaxy, and there’s always something so refreshing about their ability to deliver.

Refreshing, yes. But somehow at the same time, spark-wrenchingly, tank-churningly alarming.

Even the Prime couldn’t predict that you’d resort to bluffing with a Decepticon, let alone that the bluff had actually worked, however briefly.

The only blessing he can latch onto is ‘thank Primus Starscream has never taken an interest in human electrical devices.’

Optimus had been waiting on the tips of his pedes for the opportunity to put himself between you and the Seeker, all he needed was an opening where he could be sure that missile wouldn’t be going off anywhere near you and the children… Easier said than done, of course.

Then, in a matter of moments, as Starscream lurches away from your ‘blinding’ beam of light and throws his arms up to defend his optics, the Prime finds himself mirroring Bulkhead’s astonishment. The pair of them gawk down at you as you take their youngest charges by the hands, drive Jack ahead of you and bolt for a tunnel across the cavern whilst your weapon of choice flickers weakly in the dust you leave behind.

However, Optimus doesn’t linger for long to marvel over your quick-thinking.

“I’m BLIND!” Starscream is shrieking, tearing his servos away from his optics and blinking down at them, faceplates screwed up in anguish, “YOU’VE BLINDED ME! YOU-!...”

Just like that, he goes utterly still, giving another series of rapid blinks as he flips his very-much-still-visible servos back and forth, wings slumping at the realisation. “Oh.”

Whatever relief he might have felt, accompanied by the swelling fury that he’d been a victim of blatant skulduggery is short-lived.

Motion from the corner of his optic alerts him just in the nick of time to Optimus Prime’s fist, hurtling on a collision course with his helm. Letting out a squawk, the Seeker barely manages to duck the first strike, feeling the air rush past his faceplates as he launches himself backwards, vying for some much-needed distance between himself and his adversaries, only for his efforts to fall flat when an even more devastating force catches him unawares.

With all the driving power of a siege engine, the Wrecker’s signature weapon buries itself into Starscream’s tanks. Hard.

“ACK-!” The garbled sound jumps unwillingly off his glossa, and he doubles over at once, yet still forces his pedes to scramble backwards, curling one arm around his stomach plating while the other flies up to aim his missile at the Prime, sweeping it back and forth in wild motions to ward them back.

To his shock, both of them fall still at once, glaring murderously down at him with their own weapons raised and cocked, but otherwise motionless. And there they stand, side by side; two bridling Autobots planted stoutly between himself and their fleeing pets.

Starscream’s denta grind together audibly, and he lets out a strangled growl, tanks roiling from the force of the hit.

He’s lost the upper-hand. Without the human meat-shields, he’s only too aware that he’s just lost any and all chance at getting something out of this. And to think, he’d been mere milliseconds away from calling in Megatron to inform him that his loyal and devoted Second In Command was holding Prime at gunpoint.

Bullet quite literally dodged, he concedes. Minor blessings.

It doesn’t escape his notice how the Autobots’ optics are locked onto his raised weapon, nor how they’d turned rigid at his flaunting of it.

And then, in a sudden moment of clarity, he realises why.

It isn’t the notion of his weapon firing at them that’s paused their advance.

It’s his weapon firing at all.

‘Of course,’ he comprehends with building anticipation, his processor firing rapidly as ideas cluster around inside it, ‘The mine…’

Structurally, Decepticon scouts had deemed it sound for the finer precision of their mining drills… but the impact blast from an uncontrolled detonation that targets one of the fundamental tunnels….?

Oh-ho! Now who has the upper hand?

A flash of movement between the Prime’s legs catches his attention, and he dares a glance through them to see the little pests making their escape. And there, leading the pack is the duplicitous human who cost him his advantage.

Starscream’s optics narrow as he tracks the humans’ path, noting their trajectory.

Perfect.

Whilst the Prime and his loyal hound are bodily blocking Starscream from taking aim at their humans, neither of them have apparently thought to cover the entrance to the tunnel those humans are currently sprinting towards…

He’ll have to be quick, so it’s a good thing he already knows which tunnel will lead him out of this doomed mine, and a jet’s speed is leagues ahead of the ground-crawling Autobots and their vastly inferior vehicle modes.

“Give it up, Screamer,” Bulkhead grinds out, shifting his weight restlessly from one pede to the other, “We have you outnumbered. And outgunned."

"So I see," the Seeker wheezes, painstakingly drawing himself to his full height once again and fixing his sights on the Autobot leader, “And there’s something else you have that I don’t.”

The line is cast, and to his unmitigated delight, Bulkhead takes the bait.

“Oh yeah?” the Wrecker grunts warily, glaring down the length of his poised weapon, “And what’s that?”

With a smirk plastered across his faceplate, Starscream angles his missile to Bulkhead’s left, relishing the twin looks of shock and realisation that spark in his adversaries' optics.

He grins, a fever coursing through his wires.

“Collateral,” he says, and fires.

#Transformers #transformers prime #tfp #Angel of Highway 49 #Woah #First time writing Starscream how'd I do?#Bulkhead #Optimus Prime #Starscream #Jack Darby #Miko Nakadai #Rafael Esquivel #Reader #Protective Optimus

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bisousie · 2 months ago

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corn cobbin'. | sylus and his mama

hellooooo!! a cute little piece for mother's day ٩(ˊᗜˋ )و since i got a lot of positive feedback on my last one with sylus and his mama, i really wanted to write more about them! so i hope you enjoy!

again, i am no writer. just for giggles.

do not put my writings into ai, thank you.

xxox

549 words

BABY MINE by betty noyes

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 1:18

if they knew sweet little you, they'd end up loving you too, all those same people who scold you.

She could not speak to him—not the way he needed.

Her throat was not built for human syllables. She had tried, once, when he was still small enough to nest in the curl of her claw. Forced air through her massive lungs and twisted her tongue against her teeth until something like his name wheezed out, broken and wrong. It had frightened him.

So she stopped.

She watched him grow in silence, her language made of motion and breath, of scale-press and shadow-shelter. Love shown in the way she curled her tail just so around his sleeping place, or how she warmed his hands between her nostrils and teeth during cold nights. A nudge to wake. A trill to soothe. A long sigh to say I see you.

He’d learned to mimic. She didn’t know from where—birds, probably, or foxes. Sometimes he chirped like wind in leaves. Sometimes like something older. She’d tilt her head when he did it, and he’d beam like the sun was inside him.

But not today.

Today he sat beneath her wing with his arms wrapped around himself, face turned away, his little sounds missing like a song swallowed by fog. He hadn’t chirped since the others came— all winged, crowned in horn and smoke. They had spoken with fire in their throats. Their words were old, sharp-edged, full of insult and scorn. And though her son couldn’t understand the meaning, he felt it. He always did.

She could have burned them for it. Should have. But instead, she let them leave.

And now he wouldn’t look at her.

So she waited, curled around the hollow, watching with her breath held still. Until finally, she moved.

He didn’t flinch when she nudged him. Didn’t lean into her nose. Didn’t blink when her breath ruffled his hair.

That hurt the most.

She nosed lower. Tugged at his tunic. Got no answer.

So she did the only thing she could do.

She corn-cobbed him.

Carefully—lovingly—she opened her jaw and nibbled along his ribs, just where his skin was softest. Just where he always squeaked. She scraped her teeth in tiny rows, barely brushing his shirt, stopping every few beats like a question.

And then—

That sound.

His laughter burst out of him like water through stone. A laugh from deep in his belly, huge and wild and free. He curled forward, gasping and kicking weakly at her nose, his arms batting uselessly at the air. She rumbled, a sound like thunder curling in her throat.

Then she purred.

Not just a hum—this was deeper, older. The sound of molten stone shifting beneath the crust of the world. A lullaby only dragons knew. It turned into a trill, a song her kind only used for hatchlings.

She hadn’t used it in years.

His laughter softened, turning wet at the edges. He buried his face against her muzzle, hiccupping, breathless. But he smiled.

And she—ancient, voiceless, scaled and scarred—pressed her snout to his chest and listened to his heartbeat. Memorized the rhythm. Matched it with her own.

He would never speak her language.

But he was hers. And in every touch, every hum, every bone-deep vibration of her voice, she would say it:

You are loved. You are mine. I do not need words to tell you that.

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY ε(´｡•᎑•`)っ 💕

#l&ds sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #sylus #sylus qin #lads sylus #love and deepspace #sylus lads #sylus love and deepspace #sylus fic #sylus x reader #sylus x mc

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maybe-im-dark · 3 months ago

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Territory

The door wasn’t locked.

Victor didn’t even knock.

He’d just returned from a mission, blood still crusted under his nails, his muscles aching with the kind of satisfaction only a good kill could bring. He figured he’d crash in Logan’s quarters for a drink, maybe throw some insults his way, see if he could start a fight—typical brotherly bonding.

What he didn’t expect was to walk into the scene before him.

Logan.

Naked.

Pinning Wade fucking Wilson.

For the first time in his long, bloodstained life, Victor actually stopped in his tracks.

The scent hit him first—sex, sweat, possessiveness, and something deeper—something animal. Logan’s eyes snapped up to meet his, unflinching, unashamed. If anything, his brother looked ready to fight, his lips curling over his teeth, body tense despite the clear evidence that he had been very, very busy a moment ago.

Wade, on the other hand? The bastard actually waved.

“Oh hey, Vic! How’s it hanging? Wait, don’t answer that—I can already see that you’re very interested in what’s happening here.”

Victor blinked, processing, feeling something twist deep in his gut. Annoyance? Amusement? Something else?

He wasn’t angry. At least, not yet.

"Well," Victor drawled, slowly stepping into the room, closing the door behind him, "this is a sight."

Logan didn’t move. Didn’t blink. But his growl deepened.

“Mine.”

That one word hit hard. A warning. A declaration. Victor felt something inside him stir.

Oh?

His lips curled into a slow, sharp grin.

"Oh, Jimmy," he murmured, his voice low and taunting, blue eyes glinting. "I don’t think you get to make claims here, little brother."

Logan’s claws slid out, glinting in the dim light. His whole body tensed, muscles coiled and ready to lunge.

Wade—who was still very much straddled by Logan, because of course he was—looked between them and clapped his hands. “Oh man, this is getting good! Love a little territorial dispute! Should I get some popcorn or...”

"Shut up, Wade," Logan and Victor snarled in unison.

Wade huffed, crossing his arms. "God, you boys have zero appreciation for good commentary."

Victor ignored him. His focus was locked on Logan—the way he held his ground, unyielding, unwavering. Logan always fought against his nature, against his instincts, but right now?

He was all animal. Victor liked it.

"Looks like you need a reminder of your place, Jimmy," Victor said slowly, taking another step forward, shoulders rolling loose, claws extending, fangs flashing.

Logan bared his own teeth. "Try me."

Wade, still very much under Logan, perked up.

"Okay, so—just to clarify," Wade said, completely unfazed, "is this where you guys fight to the death, or is this where I get sandwiched between two primal apex predators and end up unable to walk for a week? Because I am very open-minded here."

Neither brother acknowledged him.

Victor lunged. Logan met him halfway.

The room shook.

When the dust settled, everything was broken.

The bed was splintered into pieces. The walls had claw marks deep enough to be permanent scars.

Wade was cackling in a heap on the floor, bruised but grinning ear to ear, because of course he enjoyed the chaos.

And Logan?

Still growling, still mine-mine-mine, but now half-sprawled across Victor, teeth inches from his throat. Victor lay beneath him, grinning, bloodied but pleased. His chest rose and fell, his claws flexing against the ruined floor. He tilted his head, staring at Logan like he was something fascinating, something to be pushed further.

For a long moment, neither moved. Then Victor licked blood off his teeth and purred, low and dangerous.

"Not bad, Jimmy. Almost convinced me."

Logan snarled. "I ain't sharing."

Victor smirked. "Shame. I was startin’ to get ideas."

Logan pressed down harder, his breath ragged. "Try it, and I’ll put you down for good."

Victor laughed, deep, rumbling.

Wade, from the floor: "Hey, I think I might be the real winner here. That was hot as hell."

Logan finally let go, shoving himself off Victor, standing. His chest heaved, his hands shaking with leftover adrenaline.

Victor sat up, still grinning, still watching him.

"Enjoy your toy, little brother," he murmured, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "But don’t get too comfortable."

Then, with one last knowing look, Victor left.

And Logan hated that some part of him already knew Victor would be back.

#wolverine #hugh jackman #deadpool and wolverine #ryan reynolds #poolverine #deadclaws #fanfiction #xmen origins #victor creed #sabretooth #liev schreiber

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n0t-evenhere · 5 days ago

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It finally time, the villain Ray series part 1! To start off, thank you to @meganekune who has been my helper for editing for the villain Ray story, and proper Mandarin translations in the story! The translations are at the end of the chapter this time but may be subject to change. I hope you are as excited to read them as I am excited to write this series. Emily chapter one of….

“ALL FOR YOU”

Chapter 1 “Lost”

⚠️ Warning ⚠️ this chapter contain heavy subjects such as suicide, drugs, dead body, strong feelings of empty, suffering, choking, and violent actions.

There have been some that say when it comes to the life changing decisions many different choices could be made. Each important choice can change the trajectory of your life. What if we take a man for example. A man who had been through so much, lost his mother by her own choice. Tested on. Forced to kill his brother. Went off to southern war at such a young age that would be brain altering. Imagine this teen comes back to a house, but this house isn’t a home. A monster lives with him inside committing atrocious acts. Changing this young teen view on what a hero really is. Even receiving the brunt end of the abuse. Now what if, instead. That day where this teen didn’t take it anymore chose permanents as a solution. What if mercy wasn’t on the table? Only death. What will that man’s life be like? What would change?

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I had never felt empty. Not like this. Not when my mother gave me away. Not when I was a part of the southern war long ago. Not when Steel Sheriff put his first cigarette to my skin. The only thing that felt worse than this was my brother. When I…lost him. This empty was…long. Overbearing. The room was silent. No sobbing. Snoring. Greetings . The absence of human life. Yet I saw her there. I could see her but she was different. Noiseless. My feet moved before I even thought to do so. My hand leaves the door frame of the metal door.

She was propped up, head hanging forward, hair covering her face like a curtain. The shirt she wore, one his own shirts, had vomit on it. Left long enough to dry and crust over, being partly soaked into the fabric. Empty. Pushing her hair out of the way there she was. Bloodied vomit crusted over, eyes dull. Face relaxed in a way that mocked deep sleep. Empty still. It would be cruel to leave her in such a mess so I grabbed a warm wet rag with soap. With gentle ease I began to wipe away the gunk. Leaving her as clean as I left her. Empty still.

That shirt needed to be taken off. The effort wasn’t too much. Pulling the shirt over her head was easy. Anytime my fingers grazed her skin, she felt cold. Empty still. She never wore long sleeves, not really. She liked the cold temperature of the room. They both did but, this time, maybe a long sleeve would suit her better. The cold that her skin was…painful. Forever. One arm at a time I slipped her arms through the sleeve holes. An old sweater of mine. That’s when I saw it sitting next to her with two empty bottles of something I couldn’t be bothered to read, and a letter.

Pulling her into my lap she rested against me, curving into my shape. “Did you leave this for me?” I cooed softly to her. Picking it up.

—————————————————————

In my restless dreams, I see that time.

A time where I could have freedom.

You promised you would give it to me one day.

But you never did…

I’m taking fate into my own hands now.

Choosing for you.

Normally I would say something encouraging like,

I hope you find love again.

But I don’t…

You don’t deserve that much.

I pray that you never do lest they be chained as I was.

I could say I love you but I don’t. Not really. Just a love that you made up for me in my head.

Granted, I can’t bring myself to hate you.

Not completely.

You’ve suffered. More than most would imagine. Late talks taught me that.

I understand why you are the way you are.

However, in my last thoughts for you, if somewhere within yourself you do love me.

I ask for a last favor.

Give humanity a second chance. It’s not all bad.

I promise.

Goodbye Ray.

—————————————————————

The letter. So cruel. Somehow still kind undertones with it. Every word felt like it snapped a heart string. That’s when it broke. Empty no more.

Emotions came flooding in all at once. Feelings I couldn’t even understand what they were. Not in this moment. Bringing her around she faced me as I shook her shoulders. “Why?! WHY?! WHY?! WHY WOUlD YOU LEAVE ME!” I cry out in anger and desperation for answers. A desperation that u hadn’t felt like in a long time. “You can’t leave me like this!” I croaked out her head waving back and forth with each shake. “YOU'RE SELFISH! YOURE FUCKING SELFISH! I-“ the first sob followed. “I-I gave you everything I had…” I say weakly pulling her close to me once more. Lost.

It wasn’t until she began to stench of rot. I let her go. Cleaned her up. Dug a hole, left her in the dirt. An empty hole feeling left in my chest. A hole that I didn’t know how to fill. It wasn’t till a few days passed that I finally went back to “The Syndicate” bunker. Maybe…somehow I can find purpose or feel something. I don’t know. I just knew I didn’t want to be home. Not right now.

—————————————————————

The bunker was always noisy in some type of fashion. Tonight was no different. Ray walked down the stairs, the voices carrying, his duffle bag over his shoulder. He wasn’t exactly thrilled to be here but he wasn’t exactly unhappy to be here. They hadn’t seen him in a while and he is their trump card after all. He does the most damage out of anyone. Even if Ray isn’t a huge part of the social aspect of the team, he was still a force to be reckoned with. The closer to the bottom of the stairwell the pounder the voices were.

The stairwell led to a circular room with concrete for walls. An abandoned bunker from some time ago. It was easy to use, water, heating, rooms, a kitchen. The barrack had been used by the NAHA a few months ago by a small group. Now used by “The Syndicate”. Black hole, Anthony, and Mel were all there. The original four of that group long before he showed up. Honestly, not even popular until Ray showed up.

Black Hole was mindlessly scrolling on some social media. Black Hole was absent of all colors. A void. No defining features in any physical way shape or form. Just nothingness. The only thing she had was a small light in the center of her chest. Where her heart should be. That was her power. That’s why she had no color. Absorbing light and shooting it back out at high temperatures. Not a member, Ray really conversed with much. She didn’t converse with him either. It’s as if they both stayed in their lane.

Anthony, the only one who was bold enough to ask Ray to join the team. The closest thing to a friend. Ray could never say brother, or give him the title. He had one. Lost him. No one could replace him. Besides, Ray didn’t think he deserved another one. Anthony was a hunter. All senses high, speed and strength on top of those quality to make him a top predator. The head of “The Syndicate”. The founder.

Mel was an interesting one. Was possessed. That’s the easy way to explain it. The masks are the demons in a usable form. As long as he uses them, they are satisfied. He’d been around for centuries until 2013 when the NAHA found him somehow. Had been taken to be studied only for chaos to ensue and for him to escape. The second person in his small circle that actually felt like a friend but at the same time, the relationship felt too personal. Ray always felt exposed by him.

Finally, Roy…an idiot. His power was screaming. Make no mistake, it’s a powerful weapon if used properly. The right frequency can wreak havoc on just about everyone. A perfect power to match a chatterbox. Someone that Ray had barely any patience for.

“Well, well, well. Looks who’s back.” Anthony stood up from the head of the round table in the center of the room. Rounding it he met Ray head on before pulling Ray into a hug. Anthony was so broad and big Ray swore he’d probably disappear from view. He suddenly pulled away leaving Ray standing there. “Oh.” Anthony’s nose scrunched. “You smell terrible. Ugh, like rot. You need a shower. What did you do Apollo, lay in a pile of corpses?” Ray felt his chest tighten in his chest. “A body.” He said softly. Anthony’s eyes narrow. Something was wrong. No doubt about it.

Mel spoke up softly, “你看起来有些迷茫，我的朋友。”Ray didn’t respond right away. “迷茫？不，我并没有。” Roy decided to finally make an appearance. “Ahaha! Well if it isn’t the big A-P-O-double L- O!” Roy spoke with more enthusiasm that Ray would care to hear. Mel spoke up again, dragging Ray's attention back to him. He had pushed the mask of Heart up off of his face. The mask that sees all that’s in the heart, mind, and soul. “She’s dead. I see it. The loss.” Ray froze, of course Mel would look. Ray couldn’t hide from Mel. Ray could never hide from Mel. Mel was a man who, with the mask, could always read Ray. Even more uncomfortable, even without the mask, sometimes Mel could read him.

Everyone went quiet. “Grieving. Apollo is grieving. She is gone. By her hand.” Mel continued on gravely, as if the feelings were his own. The silence was broken. “Damn. That’s a waste. She was nice I guess. Last I saw her anyway. Sad.” Roy responded almost nonchalantly. “Dumbass.” Black hole huffed under her breath. “A waste?” Ray questioned looking at Roy. A dark cloud shrouding over his heart. Ray cocked his head looking in the direction of Roy. He stared for a moment. Before a strained grin spread on his lips.

“A waste?” Ray said questioningly. “Did you have plans for her? Did you have a use for her that I didn’t know?” Everyone in the room seemed to know that Ray was on a path of violence. That his questions were a trap. Everyone but Roy. “Well, no. Not really. I mean she was pretty to look at. Kinda nice. Would have made a great wife I’m sure.” Roy says with a shrug. Antony pinched the bridge of his nose, brows furrowed. Mumbling something under his breath, an insult. However Ray was focused on Roy. “oh…I see. Hm. Interesting.” Ray nods his head before cracking his neck, popping his fingers. The calm moment before the storm. “Anything else Roy?” Another half heart effort from Ray to give more reason to attack, maybe to see if Roy will realize his mistake. Naturally in Roy fashion, he didn’t.

Roy shrugged “Eh, not really. I mean, it just feels like a waste. She had potential.” There was a moment. A beat of utter silence. Ray and Roy just locked in a staring contest. In a moment Ray was on Roy, squeezing his neck tightly in one hand. “‘A waste’ you said. Personally, I think you are a waist. Always have been. You contribute just about nothing to this team. You don’t even use that brain in your skull.” Roy tried opening his mouth to scream. That didn’t escape Ray’s notice. It was laughable, Roy even tried. Tried to use his power against Ray. Ray, a being that is much stronger than Roy.

Bringing Ray's face in close, Ray spoke in an easily deceptive calm tone. “Go ahead. Scream for me. Try. The more you try, the tighter my grip will be. I can make it to where you won’t utter a single sound for the rest of your life.” Roy stopped fighting,his mouth closed, hands going to his side as his face reddened and eyes watered. The realization of powerlessness setting in. Good. Powerlessness, reflected Ray's own. He has a small understanding of how Ray felt right now. How he’s felt for the past few days. A large hand rested on Ray’s shoulder. A hint of pity, Athonoty trying to be a voice or reason. “Apollo, let him go. I know he’s an annoying little bitch but, I can’t let you do this. If you can’t do it for you, please. Let him go for me. If you lash out, he get under your skin.”

Ray considered. He really did, he could easily wipe this feeble excuse of a human from the face of the earth and no one. NO ONE. Not a single person would care. However, Ray decided he'd let him go. Granted Anthony gave Roy too much credit. There was no way Roy could think like that, getting under Ray’s skin. Ray would let him go. For Anthony’s sake. However, he wouldn’t just let him go. Nah, he wanted to leave a last statement. A final action to stand in place of a final word. Wham! Ray had fluidly flipped Roy over his head and smacked him into the concrete floor knocking whatever air left out of Roy. He couldn’t even wheeze as Ray stood over him looking down at him.

Black hole was at Roy’s side, encouraging him to breathe , trying to make sure he didn’t die or at the very least pass out. Anthony took Ray to one of the spare rooms. Setting his duffle bag down, Ray sat on the bed with a sigh. Anthony was quiet for a while. “Speak. I know you have something to say.” Ray pushed Anthony forward. Knew him long enough he knew he had something to say. Could read his mind too. With a sigh Anthony began, unsure if he was really any help or not to Apollo. “Listen, I’m…sorry for your loss. I know that’s a hard thing. I just- I want you to rest. You need it, you look as though you haven’t rested…no, you don’t look, I know you haven’t. Shower, get clean. In the morning, we’ll go somewhere I’ve had my eye on.”

Rays head perked up, “and what place would that be?” The uncertainty is clear in his voice. Almost could be mistaken for mistrust. “The NAHA base in Russia. It’s got all the fancy scientists there remember? They had them there to make weapons of a certain caliber under the government's nose since, You know, the government and NAHA split about two years ago. I figure we can take it down together yea? Plus, it will be a way to put your anger out there.” Anthony pauses, not wanting to force Apollo into anything. Not that he could. “Think about it. We’ll talk more tomorrow.” With that, he left Ray alone in the small four walled room.

Ray did exactly that, he showered, and laid in bed. He couldn’t help the tears that began to well up in his eyes. That shower felt like he washed the last of her scent from her body. He sat up, dragging the duffle bag to him, unzipping it. Pulled out the long sleeve that he put her in. It smelled so, he washed it. However, her practice drowned it in her perfume after. Bringing it up to his nose, Ray fell onto his side, holding it close. The scent of Tangerine, gourmand accord, vanilla and a hint of sandalwood. The tears still continued quietly, but the scent of her eventually helped him fall asleep.

Mandarin translations

(Mel: you seem lost friend.)

(Ray: Lost? No.)

#visual novel #bshvn #binary star #binary star hero #bsh ray #binary star ray #bshvn ray #binary star hero vn #bsh fanart #ray bsh #ray fanart #BSH fanfiction

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sw5w · 1 year ago

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Boomas Incoming

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 01:49:52

#Star Wars #Episode I #The Phantom Menace #Naboo #Great Grass Plains #Battle of Naboo #Battle of the Great Grass Plains #booma #energy ball #Gungan energy shield #plasma #ionic charge #plasmic skin #Naboo's core #deep-crust mining #locap #Otoh Gunga Defense League

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4m0r1m · 2 months ago

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Quiet Mornings

SUMMARY: In the snowy town of Jackson, Joel Miller quietly harbours a deep crush on his sweet and beloved neighbour, a kind woman known for her warmth and generosity. (fluff)

WORD COUNT: 1,249 words

PAIRING: jackson!joel miller x reader

The snow never really melted in Jackson—not properly. It clung stubbornly to rooftops, blanketed trees in layers of soft white, and dusted the pathways even after hours of shovelling. But she never seemed to mind it. Joel noticed that.

Every morning, without fail, she stepped out of the cabin next to his with a mug in her hands, steam curling into the cold air. She’d wave to passers-by with her gloved fingers, smiling like she hadn’t seen the world fall apart. Like everything could be good again. Her presence had that sort of stubborn hope about it.

Joel, of course, would pretend he wasn’t watching.

Not that he was subtle about it. The man wasn’t exactly known for his finesse. He’d open the curtains in the morning, let his coffee go cold on the windowsill, and find himself just... waiting.

He didn’t know her name. Hadn’t asked. But he knew she worked in the kitchen sometimes, helped old Marcy in the garden in spring, and had somehow charmed Tommy’s grumpy old dog into following her around like a puppy.

Everyone liked her.

He did too.

Too much.

So he kept his distance.

“Why don’t you just say somethin’?” Tommy had asked him once, elbowing him over dinner.

Joel had scoffed and muttered something about having better things to do, which they both knew was a lie. Joel just didn’t know how to talk to someone like her—soft, warm, and kind. The sort of person who lit up a room without meaning to. The sort who’d never looked twice at someone like him before.

Someone with blood on his hands and too much weight behind his eyes.

Until one morning, she did.

She caught him by surprise, if he was being honest.

Joel had just come back from patrol, boots heavy with half-frozen mud, coat crusted with a fine layer of ice. He was trudging up the porch steps, grumbling to himself about the goddamn weather, when he heard her voice.

“Good morning, Joel.”

He stopped.

Turned.

She was standing just at the edge of her porch, bundled in a ridiculous amount of scarves and wool, cheeks pink from the cold. The mug was in her hands, like always, but this time she wasn’t watching the town.

She was watching him.

He blinked. “Uh. Mornin’.”

She smiled. “You’re back early. Wasn’t expecting to see you.”

“Got rotated out. New kid needed the hours.” Joel cleared his throat. “Didn’t want to deal with his yappin’, anyway.”

She chuckled, light and honest. “Bet you’re great with new people.”

Joel tried not to flinch at the sarcasm, but there was no venom in it. Just playful teasing. “Not particularly.”

There was a pause. Not awkward, surprisingly. Just quiet.

Then she stepped down from her porch and came towards him.

Joel’s throat went dry.

She wasn’t supposed to cross that invisible line—the one he’d drawn between them with his silence and nods and fleeting glances. But she walked right past it like it didn’t exist.

“You want coffee?” she asked. “Mine’s probably colder than yours, but it’s not bad.”

He stared.

Words failed him.

Her brows rose. “That’s a yes or no question, neighbour.”

Joel swallowed. “Uh... sure. Yeah.”

She smiled again—wider this time—and turned back toward her cabin. “C’mon, then.”

And just like that, he followed her.

Her home smelled like cinnamon and something sweet, something he couldn’t place but immediately liked. It wasn’t big, just cosy—hand-knitted blankets on the sofa, a stack of mismatched books on the coffee table, a faint scent of dried flowers clinging to the air. The kind of place you didn’t just visit. You sank into it.

Joel stood awkwardly near the door, unsure if he should take his boots off or if he was meant to sit. She’d already wandered into the kitchen, humming some tune under her breath, light on her feet.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she called over her shoulder.

He eventually chose a chair by the fire, the warmth seeping into his bones like a balm. His fingers flexed instinctively near the heat, joints aching with the cold.

She came back with two mugs, handed him the warmer one.

“You looked like you needed it,” she said, sitting across from him.

“Thanks.” He took a sip. It was... surprisingly good.

“You’re a hard man to talk to,” she said after a beat.

Joel coughed. “Ain’t exactly a people person.”

“Yeah, I gathered.” Her smile turned into a grin. “But I figured, if I waited for you to make the first move, we’d both be buried under snow before that happened.”

He chuckled before he could stop himself. A low sound, unfamiliar. “Probably.”

They sat in silence after that, but not the kind that begged to be filled. It was peaceful. He watched the way her fingers curled around the mug, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she sipped and looked over at him like she couldn’t quite figure him out.

“You always watch me leave in the mornings,” she said suddenly.

Joel froze.

“I’m not mad about it,” she added quickly. “Just... curious.”

He exhaled slowly. “Didn’t mean to be weird.”

“It’s not weird,” she said, and she meant it. “It’s kind of sweet. Quietly tragic. Like some kind of old romance movie.”

Joel shook his head, but there was a twitch of amusement on his lips. “Ain’t nothin’ romantic about me.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

She said it so simply, like it wasn’t meant to knock the air out of his lungs.

Joel cleared his throat. “I just... you seem nice. Real nice. And I’m not... good at nice.”

“I don’t need you to be good at it,” she said, her voice soft. “Just honest.”

He looked at her then—really looked. There was no pity in her gaze, no judgement. Just warmth, and something that could’ve been hope if he let it.

“Why’d you talk to me today?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual.

She tilted her head. “Because I wanted to. And I was tired of waiting.”

Joel let out a breath. “You always this stubborn?”

She grinned. “Absolutely.”

For the first time in a long time, Joel felt the ice inside him begin to melt.

They didn’t call it anything. Didn’t label it.

But over the next few weeks, Joel found himself watching her less from the window and more from across her kitchen table. He brought over firewood. She made apple bread. He fixed her squeaky cabinet. She mended a tear in his flannel. It was simple. Unspoken.

But it was something.

The town noticed, of course. Jackson was small, and people had eyes. Ellie teased him mercilessly, but he took it, mostly in stride. Even Tommy shut up after a while, choosing instead to just smile knowingly when Joel came in with flour on his sleeve.

One evening, after patrol, Joel found her on her porch with two mugs already waiting.

“You were out late,” she said.

“Snow was worse than expected.”

“I saved you coffee.”

He sat beside her without hesitation, the wood creaking under their weight. Their shoulders brushed, and he didn’t pull away.

“Y’know,” she said, “if this keeps up, people are gonna think we’re courting.”

Joel snorted. “Let ‘em.”

She turned her face toward him, startled.

He met her gaze. Steady. “I like sittin’ with you. Talkin’. Hell, even not talkin’. I ain’t good at sayin’ how I feel, but... I think you get it.”

She smiled, slow and sure. “I do.”

A/N: I'M BACK BITCHES!!! I'm fucking tired and I just want school to end😭😭

But apart from that I hope you like this.😁

#fanfic #oneshots #reader insert #imagines #romance #writing #the last of us #tlou hbo #joel miller #joel tlou #joel the last of us #ellie williams #ellie the last of us #tlou2 #tommy miller #jackson

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the-midnight-blooms · 1 year ago

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SINCERELY, YOURS | jyh

masterlist

Trope: Unrequited Love

Dear Yunho,

I hope this letter find you well, whether you open it now or decades later when you sit at my grave. Perhaps you’ve married again, and another child sits in your arms- I'll never truly know how much I mean to you.

Whoever had said falling in love was a blessing had clearly never fallen in love with the wrong person in their life. Such an astute claim that was. Falling in love was one the worst things that could have ever happened to me, especially since the deadly case of Hanahaki was up for grabs.

I will not sugar-coat it, I love you as dearly as if you are mine. I love you as if I can have you. I love you as if I am entitled to you. I always have, and will until I am torn apart by this wretched illness.

Perhaps she had acted too resistant in the face of love. Acting like it was a sin for women on a dark path, yet at night she dreamed that in the dead of a void her lover would crawl to her and ensnare her in his arms. Pepper her with gentle kisses and unbroken stares. Perhaps that was the reason why Yunho had first been warded away from her, taking on many lovers. Always rushing back to her to tell her how perfect each woman was, how he cherished them, fixing onto their smile, their eyes, their beauty unparalleled. There was something about them that made his heart swoon and something about her that rebuked him.

“Then who will hold you at night, when you are so lonely that you cannot even comfort yourself?” He asked her one evening, sat under a great oak tree heads on each other shoulders; the action itself burning her heart- how she wished he wanted her the same way she wanted him. You. Will you not hold me? Will you not shield from the terrors of this world that I am so frightened against?

He had come to her in the torpidity of the night, finally, heart yearning as he realised that where he should have spoken aloud his lovers name, he said hers. Where his lover should have been soaring through his dreams, carrying his child, plastering kisses all over his face, running down the sand on the crust of the roaring sea; it was her.

"Yunho? What's wrong?" With watery eyes he stared down at her, body wracking with sobs.

"It's you. You're all I have ever wanted."

Who should I blame for being so devoted to you? I can’t blame myself, I’m sorry. It hurts too much and already the bronchi of my lungs have been replaced with the sturdy branches of a willow tree. Flowers now bloom on the membrane of cells, tissues all compressed between saccharine petals. You may laugh at my poetry but you adored it once. After all, once our souls were bound in holy matrimony, did I not gift you a poem every anniversary? Did you not read those words aloud me under the cover of the night, as if it was your soul speaking to me and not I?

An ecru, vintage radio sat perched upon the wooden worktop, in an equally old kitchen on the outskirts of the country. Just two miles below, down the grassy hilltop lead to the sea-the rush of the tides blanketing the sand, drawing it towards the deep. Delicate waves enveloped each other, producing a cacophony of sounds that drowned out the hum of the radio. The humidity of the kitchen suffocated her, as the flames of the oven whispered to the baked good blemishing it with a golden-brown that would soon prompt her to pull it from the rack. Wandering to the front porch, she followed her lover's figure saunter up the hill-his pace increasing as she opened her arms out for him. Swooping her up from the ground, he spun her around in the air-his tight grip central around her waist. A shriek escaped from her lips as he did so. Gently, he put her down, the couple laughing synchronously as she dragged him into the kitchen. Flopping down onto the chair, Yunho went straight to the radio-sitting on top of the worktop, fiddling with its button an array of tunes inbounding the pale kitchen walls. Settling upon a popular Latin song, he got off the countertop- beginning to sway his hips to the music. When his movements became much more faster and fluid, she could not help but erupt in a fit of laughter. He reached out for her hands, enamouring her hands within his.

"You know I can't dance." He laughed, recalling the memory where she almost tripped on her wedding dress in front of a crowd of people gawking at them during the first dance. Turning the dial, he rested his hands on her waist gazing down at her. Resting her chin on his chest she peered up at him with her own doe eyes. Remaining in each other arms as the world swept by, wind rushing in from the window lace curtain fluttering in the breeze. A sweet smell drove out from the oven, she hastily pried herself from his embrace grabbing the tea towel.

"What have you got in the oven?" he pondered, as she went to her knees opening the oven door. A small smirk formed on her lips. He looked over her shoulder. "Buns?" Holding back giggles, she composed herself before looking up at him with a deadpan face nodding dubiously.

"Interesting choice. I thought you were baking a cake. Never mind, these are nice." He rambled as she flipped over the buns onto the wire rack, leaving them to cool. "How long were they in the oven for?" He winced slightly as he tried to reach for one, sharply retracting his hand away as the hot surface lacerated his finger.

"About four-five weeks." He gave her a confused look, as she turned around meandering to the living room. Five weeks? He looked back at the buns. He knew croissants often took three days to make, but five weeks for buns? As if a switch had flicked in his head, he stuck his head in the living room doorway.

"We have a bun in the oven?" Nodding, he swept her off the floor like a bride, spinning her around in his arms as if she weighed nothing to him. "WE HAVE A BUN IN THE OVEN!"

You may have once told me you adored me, but you no longer do now.

She recalled staring down at the loose petal of a bright pink dicentra flower in her fingers, blood splattered across the crystal white sink in her bathroom. A strangling sensation fulfilled her throat, slumping onto the lid of the toilet seat. Beads of sweat formed across her forehead, the cogs in her brain stopping for a split second as fatigue gnawed at her. The pounding on the bathroom door startled her, shoving the pink petal in her pocket- she opened the tap using her fingers to scrub away the splatter of her blood that remained on the sink. Looking down she found her niece peering up at her with her wide eyes and an innocent face, her little lips lightly gaped as she took in her auntie's dishevelled state. Lifting up her niece in her arms, she pecked her chubby cheeks a giggle eructed from her as she walked into her bedroom. Yunho sat on the edge of the bed, taking off his work tie a sheepish smile of his face. Nari's short arms held out for her uncle, in a disinterested manner Yunho took her from his wife's hold, lazily entertaining his niece.

"You could at least pretend to be happy when you play with Nari." His wife taunted, late at night in a hushed tone as her niece fell into a deep slumber.

"She's not my child, I don't see why." A loud thud echoed in the room as he dropped his phone onto the night stand.

"Yunho." she snapped, eyebrows furrowed in anger. He never was like this, something had happened after her miscarriage. Like a lever had been pulled, refiguring his kind-hearted nature into a malicious monster. It struck her heart with fear, that now that she could not give him a child-he longer wanted her. "She is still a baby, how would you like it if someone did that to your child?"

"I wouldn't know. I don't have one, do I?" As if a blow had been struck against her, she rolled her body in the opposite direction, in the bed, holding back the tears that threatened to fall. Why are you holding it against me? She wanted to say. A deep sigh escaped from his lips, he indolently patted his wife's shoulder as if it would compensate for the damage ensued by his apathy. Erupting in a harsh fit of coughs, a current of petals flew from her mouth blessing the earth beneath.

To ask me stop loving you is like asking for the earth to stop orbiting the sun. To ask me is to tell me to stop breathing. Oh my darling, my lover divine, I wish I could. No matter what I do, you won’t love me back. So I plead of you to acknowledge my suffering. To know that others may blame you for the way you taunted me. Because I never meant anything more to you than someone to fill your lonely nights when nobody else wanted you.

Over the subsequent months, her health had deteriorated significantly which had not gone unnoticed by her husband. Her eyes had sunken into its pockets, painted by dark circles highlighting the restless nights where the pain denied her sleep.

"You never told me what the doctor said." Nailing her eyes to the chopping board, the knife cut fluently down at the fruit sweeping it up in a plastic container. She hadn't told Yunho, it was Hanahaki. Neither could she forget the pitying look in the doctor's eyes when she revealed it to her. A married woman suffering from Hanahaki? Just how cruel could the world get?

"They're just running some blood tests. They haven't got back to me on the results, it's probably nothing. If it was important they would have called me." Yunho frowned, as he put his lunchbox in his bag. Walking with him to the foyer, he kissed her forehead before leaving to walk to his car parked on the drive way. The pain in her chest alleviated but not so much that she did not sink to knees when the car pulled out from the driveway heaving for air as she felt her lungs being pierced by the abrasive bark of a tree.

Where petals had drifted out of her mouth, flowers now bloomed. For one evening, Yunho came back home from work finding his wife draped over their shared bed- lips shrouded with petals. flowers at her neck. Concerned he shook her awake, with bleary eyes she sat up fingers pressing into her temples. Lifting up the petals with his slender fingers, he stared at her with a questioning look he only hoped she'd catch. Though no words had left her, she did not know what to say. He was not supposed to find out like this.

"I have Hanahaki disease, Yunho." she breathed out, her coarse voice prescient. An spectral silence befell amongst the couple, what else was there to say? The situation spoke for itself. "I just want to know, at what point in our lives did you stop loving me?"

“I didn’t know that I had fallen out of in love with you, because I still feel comfort when you’re there." He spoke slowly, a desperate attempt at piecing together the right words as he tried to come to terms with the fact he was the one who had caused her poor condition. "Sometimes I only feel myself entitled to breath when I look at you.” As if that was the cure, a declaration of love-those menial words that had put her in this position in the first place.

“Then why am I dying? Why is this disease tearing me apart? You’re killing me, Yunho.”

“Don’t say that.” He shook his head profusely, tears brimming at the front of his perfect eyes. "Don't say that, please." Her husband begged, pressing his palm to his lips to prevent the grievous dissonance of his sobbing.

“What else would you like me to say? That I am the disloyal one? And I am in love with another who cannot love me back? Be fucking realistic, I have been in love with you a lot longer than you have been in love with me.” Her body trembled with the cold, her own tears streaming down her cheeks. She didn't try to hold back the distressing sound as he had. Leaning her head back on the headboard. "What about me disgusted you? What about me made me so unworthy of your love?"

"I wanted a child." Grabbing the pillow, she plundered it against his head as hard as she could. Lunging at him, the collar of his shirt balled up into fists, his slender body oscillating back and forth as she screamed out her soul.

"It's not my fault I cannot conceive! If you had known that before marriage would you have never married me? Would you have never loved me? Is that all a woman means to you? A machine to give birth, or an object to satisfy your desires?" Letting go off his shirt, she subsided into the silk pillows bawling to her heart's content. "Leave Yunho." His breath hitched in his throat. Soundlessly, he got up from the bed trudging towards the doorway, glistening pearls dropping from his porcelain face. He stopped, turning around with a pleading look.

"Leave and if you come back to me- tell me it is because you love me. So much so that it is the ailment to this disease.”

When you did not come back to tell me you loved me, it almost certified the fact that you really had fallen out of in love with me. Perhaps it is better to die than to live a life of solitude, for every day I live I can feel my heart rupturing at the mere sight of you. I wish you find someone to love as much as I love you.

So, one last time before the Angel of Death takes my breath away and draws my soul out of my body: I love you, Jeong Yunho. I love you so much that I have died in your name. I love you so much that if I was given a choice to relive this life again, I would. No matter the pain, no matter the heartache, I would live this life again. All for you.

Sincerely, Yours.

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, REPURPOSE, OR PLAGISRISE ANY OF THE WORK HERE

A/N: i feel like yunho + unrequited love is such a fitting trope for him? Yunho doing the salsa literally came from me and @n0v4t33z talking about how his hips don't lie. ALSO AS A BRIT BUNS ARE CUPCAKES!! when i first heard about 'bun in the oven' i didn't know it was a teacake (burger bun), but i made it one for this fic.

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for any future fics I post!

#ateez #kpop #ateez angst #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #jeong yunho #yunho #yunho x reader #ateez yunho #yunho x you #ateez imagines #hanahaki #unrequited love #yunho ateez #hanahaki disease

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angelsberrymilk · 3 months ago

Text

Give Me Back What's Mine (pt 2)

Dean loses his baby brother, then gets him back, but with someone they'd be all better off without.

part 1 - ao3 link

soldier boy x sam winchester (samboy)

1.8k words

tw: canon-typical violence, homophobic language

It was disorienting travelling worlds, Soldier Boy realised. He's not even sure how any of this works. All he knows is that Sam one day woke up feeling off, he was dizzy and out of it, then he slowly started fading away then back. For example, he'd try to grab a glass of water and completely miss because his hand was now floating through the glass. He was terrified, Ben tried to help but all he could do is watch him, in case it gets worse. Then Sammy realised he may be going back home, and Soldier Boy kept watch of him like a hawk, he'd be damned if Sammy went back to his world and left him here, all alone. So at first sight of sparkling lights and flickers, he grabbed that man tight and forced himself through the portal with Sammy, and he was glad he did because if he hadn't, Sammy would have been roadkill by now, considering the fall. Once again, Soldier Boy saves Sammy.

Sam and Dean live a bunker, with a strange man in a trench coat, with dark pitch wind swept hair with old and wary deep blue eyes. Ben doesn't speak a single word when he follows inside the bunker, he can't open his mouth when he's witnessing a clone of himself fret and fuss around Sammy, who drags him to sit by the table and drink some water. It was strange, and it made Soldier Boy itch to draw blood, to eliminate this strange version of himself, this Dean, who's holding Sam by the shoulders, who's watching him like a hawk while he drinks a whole glass of water.

"Should I make you something to eat? PB&J? A grilled cheese?" Dean asks, sitting on a chair, facing Sammy, their knees and thighs touching.

"I'm not-" Sam says and Dean's shoulders sag, he bites the inside of his cheeks, his stomach flipping in guilt, "A PB&J would be nice," He tries to smile when he says it, he's not sure if he succeeds at it but Dean smiles bright, and really, that's much better.

Dean jumps up, makes big strides to the kitchen and gets to work, leaving Sam in the chair, alone with Castiel and Ben.

Sam tries to forget Ben was there, so he lowers his head, looking at the empty glass dwarfed in his hands, that is until a pair of black shoes appear in front of him. He lifts his head with a small smile, "Cas,"

"Hello, Sam," The angel smiles, "How are you feeling?"

"I'm very tired, I just want to get in bed after I eat," He chuckles, the sound dry and exhausted.

"I understand, you must have went through a lot, Sam," Castiel says and Sam nods. The angel nods and places a hand on Sam's shoulder, he squeezes once, "Well, I'm glad you're back safe,"

"Thanks, Cas," Sam smiles and squeezes the hand on his shoulder.

"Sam, who's that man?" Castiel asks and Sam flinches, "Hm?"

Castiel looks pained all of a sudden, he slowly brings forth his powers through his fingertips, trying to see if Sam was hurt in anyway, but his attempt was immediately sensed by Sam, who shrugged off his hand before he really could find out anything.

"Oh, that's- That's Ben, he kept me safe in the other world," Sam explains and Dean comes back then, holding a plate with a sandwich, cut in half with the crust off, and a glass of milk in the other, "What's what?"

Dean finally notices the man with his face standing by the wall, silent.

Sam is worried Dean will drop the food, so he clears his throat, "Can I eat now?"

Sam feels sick, he feels disaster hanging above his head as Dean slowly places his food on the table, sluggish while keeping his eyes on Soldier Boy. Sam grabs half of the sandwich and takes a big bite, so he can quickly get the hell out of there and get in bed.

Dean looks at Soldier Boy long and hard, seizes him up, gets a weird feeling in his stomach by staring at himself, in the eyes. The first thing Dean notices is how much bigger Ben is, they're the same height of course, but Ben is clearly well built, big biceps and big pecs under his shirt. Dean swears that Ben's eyes are of a darker shade of green than his, his hair is also longer and he has more hair on the lower half of his face than Dean, who always shaves it off. He looks ruggish, he looks like trouble.

"You must be Dean," Oh, and his voice was even deeper.

He gets off the wall and the corner of his mouth twitches as he tilts his head to the side, staring at Dean like he could eat him and spit him back out. Dean tried not to shiver under the attention and when he wanted to speak, he felt his throat close up. He frowned, a hand slowly going up to his neck, his fingertips pressing at the skin there.

Soldier Boy fully smirked at the small display of vulnerability, a shark in bloody water.

"What's wrong, Dean?" Soldier Boy took a step closer and Dean's eyes widened, hand going to his side, expecting a gun to be there, but when there wasn't, he balled his hands into fists, stomach flipping in discomfort.

"What are you?" Soldier Boy turned his attention to Castiel, the question taking everybody by surprise. As soon as Ben's eyes left Dean, he finally could breathe again.

"Excuse me?" Castiel asked as Sam watched, above the rim of his glass of milk.

Soldier Boy was now standing in front of the Angel, "I can smell it on you, you reek,"

Castiel squinted his eyes at the man, "I'm an Angel,"

Soldier Boy scoffed, "I'm sure you are,"

"What are you?" Castiel threw the question right back. Instead of answering, Soldier Boy chuckled meanly and turned around, grabbing Sam by the arm, "Where's your room, Sammy?"

Settling back home didn't go smoothly as Sam wished. When Ben dragged him out of his chair, like he was made out of wet tissue paper, Dean finally found his voice and called out, "Hey, asshole!"

Soldier Boy turned to look at him and received a punch square in the jaw, if he was any other man, he would have been on the ground by now, crying in pain, but he wasn't. Ben's face barely moved, he didn't even flinch or blink, staring at Dean like he had shit for brains. "What the fuck was that?" Ben scowled at him.

Dean stared at him with wide eyes, his fist throbbing with pain. What the hell?

"You keep your hands off my brother!" Dean gritted out, trying to ignore his fist that was surely broken, throbbing with pain.

"Oh she knows how to speak!" Ben grinned, all sharp teeth. He let go of Sammy and Sam panicked, "Ben, no!"

Castiel slipped his blade into his palm, keeping his eyes on Soldier Boy, slowly circling him.

Soldier Boy stepped closer to Dean, backing him against their table, "Considering this is your first time meeting me, I won't rip you in half for what you just did, Dean,"

Dean was sweating at this point, his left hand feeling around under the table, for the gun he leaves in there, in case of emergency, loaded and ready. Soldier Boy, stepped so close that the tips of their shoes were touching, "And I know that you probably broke that hand," He nods towards Dean's right hand, limp by his side, then grabs it. As soon as he does, it's like Dean's hand catches fire, he shouts, knees buckling, and as soon as they do, his fingers feel the coolness of the gun, grabbing it. Dean swings his arm forward, flicking the safety switch off.

"Dean, don't!" Sammy shudders, frozen in place.

"What're you gonna do with that, boy? Shoot me?" Soldier Boy grins, holding his hands in the air, in mock surrender.

Bang!

"Dean, no!" Sam scrambles to his brother's side, squeezing himself between the two as Ben cups his forehead, the gun still smoking in Dean's hand. Castiel watches Sam's wet eyes and Dean's horrified face. He's not used to seeing them scared, the Winchesters, and it was disturbing to see, even though he realises they were just human and it was a natural emotion to feel. The brothers watch Ben remove his hand off his forehead, not a scratch in sight, the bullet resting in his palm.

"Huh, didn't think you had the balls to shoot me," Ben shrugs, then casually throws the bullet over his shoulder. "I did warn you-"

"Ben, please," Sam begs, puppy eyes and all.

Soldier Boy kisses his teeth, hands on his hips, "I don't know, Sammy Boy, didn't your daddy teach you that every action had consequences?"

"But he didn't know-"

"He did, he broke his hand like a fucking pussy when he punched me," Soldier Boy said, grabbing Sam by the shoulder, about to move him to the side when he spun around and grabbed Castiel by the collar, the Angel holding up his blade in the air.

"What're you doing, you little fairy?" Soldier Boy snarled, shaking the angel, his feet just barely touching the floor as Castiel tried to free himself.

"Ben, stop, please!" Sammy was now crying, distraught and exhausted. Dean standing behind him, staring down at his gun and his swollen hand, heart slamming against his ribcage and ears ringing with the close-range shot.

Soldier Boy lowered his hand, the one on Castiel's collar without letting go, so now the Angel was held by the neck on the floor, trying to get up but failing to pull away from the man's iron-grip. Soldier Boy turned around, dragging the angel with him, like a rag doll.

"You want me to stop?" Soldier boy asked Sam, who nodded, lower lip trembling.

"I'll stop if you give me a kiss,"

Dean's eyes widened, arm raising to shoot him in the face again when Sam leaned forward, hands on Soldier Boy's shoulders, and kissing him on his cheek. Dean's heart dropped, doom kissing the back of his neck and wrapping itself around his lungs.

As soon as Sam's chapped lips pressed against Ben's cheek, he let the angel go. Sam grabbed his brother by the arm, walking around the man and waiting for Castiel to get back on his feet, eyes still on Soldier Boy in case he changes his mind and decides he wasn't done playing with them.

Soldier Boy watches them with amusement as they slowly back off, leaving him alone. He snorts, shaking his head, suddenly feeling thirsty. He finds the fridge, swinging the thing open, he grabs a beer and cracks it open with his thumb, taking a big gulp. He hums, smacking his lips. He still feels thirsty, but he thinks that beer will do for now, when he knows the only thing that will quench him is blood. It won't be any fun if he breaks them right now, after all, blood tastes sweeter when they finally realise there's no escape.

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