#his agents are sweating they are frustrated | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

evansbby · 3 months ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧'𝐬 𝐑𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝟐

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dark!Steve Rogers x naive!Reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: VERY DARK ELEMENTS, noncon, extremely rough smut, daddy kink, slight dd/lg undertones, captain kink, age gap (Steve is very into the age gap), MAJOR size kink, no seriously Steve is HUGE, physical violence, injuries, descriptions of injuries of a sexual nature, misogyny, heavy mentions of blood, possibly inaccurate medical information, mean Steve (seriously, he has no soul and is very mean, honestly unhinged), rough oral (m receiving), innocence kink, naive reader, 18+ ONLY, NO MINORS. MINORS DNI.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Steve plays the part of Captain America to perfection. But behind closed doors, he unleashes all his darkness on you.

𝐀/𝐍: This is a sequel to The Captain's Reward. Reminder to PLEASE read the warnings very very carefully. This is a VERY dark story. Dead dove don't eat. Please consider this a warning. If this isn't your cup of tea, just scroll. To everyone else, enjoy.

Steve doesn’t think there’s another girl in this entire universe who’s as beautiful as you. As sweet, innocent and pretty as you. And, he thinks as he licks as lips hungrily, there’s certainly no one else in this world as fragile and weak and helpless as you are at this very moment. All because of him.

He watches you attempt to hobble your way to the bathroom, his face concealed of any emotion. But he feels a pang of amusement when you grab his dresser to try and balance yourself. It’s cute, that look of determination on your face, the hope you undoubtedly have inside you that you could possibly reach the bathroom on your own two feet. Of course, you couldn’t. Steve had made sure of that.

An entire night of relentless fucking. And Steve hadn’t broken a single sweat. You, on the other hand, had screamed, cried, fought and passed out – and that had all been within the first hour. After that, you’d grown more docile. A broken look had settled behind your eyes as you’d been powerless against him whilst he’d defiled your body in almost every way imaginable. There had been moments where your fire had returned and you’d started fighting back again – and Steve had taken great pleasure in putting you back in your place each time you did that.

Now, you wail in frustration, falling back down on the king-sized bed with a cute thump. Steve almost smirks. He knows you’re in no condition to walk – not when your legs won’t stop shaking and you’re still bleeding. And sure, maybe he should’ve called the physician about twelve hours ago, but you were way too delectable to neglect for even a second. He wanted to savour your loveliness some more, ruin you a little more, break you down just a little more before the doctor examines you.

And then he’d do it all over again because he deserved to.

“Two agents will be here shortly to help you get ready.” Steve says finally.

Your head whips over in his direction, and he loves how your entire body jumps when he speaks to you. He knows he still holds that authority over you, that special importance that only a man of Steve’s calibre could possess. Despite the fact that he’s undoubtedly the villain in your eyes, which he doesn’t give a single fuck about. He knows deep down you still hold him in high regard – after all, he was an important, respected government figure. A hero. Your saviour. And you? You were just a dumb little girl.

“G-Get ready?” You squeak.

Steve feels his dick harden again – not that it had ever gone fully soft to begin with. He doubts he’ll ever not be hard in your presence ever again. Not when you were so deliciously sweet and broken and cute right in front of him.

“Your family has sent a bag of your belongings. The agents will help you get ready so the physician can see you.” Steve says, keeping his voice level and emotionless.

He can practically see your heart lurch up to your throat as you sit up even straighter.

“My family? They know I’m here? A-Are they coming to get me?”

This time, Steve allows himself to smirk freely, ever-amused by the tiny bit of hope in your voice.

“They know. And they happily provided my agents a bag of your belongings once they were informed that you were under my care, and will be for the foreseeable future.” His tone is smooth and calculated, knowing this information will hurt you. Of course, being Captain America had its perks – including the undying love and adoration that regular civilians like your parents had for him. They’d been happy that Steve had plucked you up and wanted to keep you. As they should be, because they knew what was best for you.

Your face crumples like a piece of paper, and the now familiar sight of your sweet tears as they glisten down your cheeks gets Steve even harder. Fuck, all he really wants to do is grab you, push you back down on his bed and fuck the living daylights out of you again. You were such a goddamned baby, crying your eyes out like a little fucking girl because your mommy and daddy didn’t give enough of a fuck about you to save you from the big bad wolf.

Well, you were young after all. At some point during the previous night, in between the animalistic fucking and the touching, he’d had you beneath him. Kissing the life out of you because he couldn’t get enough of your salty sweet lips, and the taste of your pure submission. “How old are you?” He’d asked.

You’d told him, in that sexy breathless whisper of yours, the one that let him know that you were half scared, and half overwhelmed with the pleasure he was drawing out of your body. Between pretty gasps and some more kisses, his tongue probing your mouth whilst he’d lazily fingered you (a short reprieve for you both before he’d inevitably fuck you again, over and over again all night). You’d told him you had one year left of college, how you were so close to graduating.

And that was exactly why you were so perfect for Steve – someone young and pretty and innocent like a little flower, someone he could defile over and over again. Someone with which he could let his inner darkness take over, and then watch while you cried your little baby tears as he put you through everything he deserved to put you through.

“Th-They don’t care?” You sputter now, hiccupping and crying like it’s the end of the goddamned world that your parents hadn’t given more of a fuck about you, and Steve relishes every second of it.

“They know what’s best for you.” He rises to his feet and fixes his tie. He’d woken up and gotten ready hours before you, as he’d had a press conference to attend. Of course, the first thing he’d done in the morning was fuck your sleeping body, nestling his fat dick between your peachy-warm ass and taking your tight, broken little pussy one last time before he had to go. You’d woken up with a start, crying and trying to fight him off with renewed vigour, but he’d had you settled down on his dick soon enough. Clearly, since he’d gotten you off three times before he’d unloaded inside you, revelling in the sound of your sobs.

He'd gone on to stand on a podium at the press conference and give a speech about HYDRA’s attack at your university yesterday. How, thanks to him and the Avengers, there had been no casualties. Not a single life lost. He’d received a hero’s welcome from the general public, with reporters scrambling to ask him question after question on how brave he’d been, how countless students now owed their lives to him. As he always did, he’d painted a gracious smile on his face – the perfect poster boy of bravery and humility. And then he’d come home to precious, little you. Stirring on his king-sized bed after a night of ruthless fucking.

Now, he had a meeting to attend, which meant he didn’t need you or your body for the next few hours. Therefore, the doctor could check up on you.

But, before Steve leaves, a thought enters his mind. In two long strides, he crosses the room. You gape as he nears you, cringe away from him when his thumb and forefinger grab your chin roughly, making you look up at him. And fuck, you look so innocent and sweet, so afraid of him. It makes him want to ditch his meeting and get back into bed with you. Show you and teach you everything about sex that your innocent mind undoubtedly didn’t know. Hell, he’d popped your cherry last night but he’d been so preoccupied with your cute little pussy that he’s still yet to use your mouth or your other hole.

But he needs to set something straight first.

“You are my property.” He says it plainly, matter-of-factly. Long ago, Steve had mastered the art of keeping his face neutral, and he knows you’re intimidated by him. He can see you, feel you, shaking under his grip. “That means you do not speak to any other man without my permission, or without me there with you.”

You suck in your breath, but you don’t say anything. Not that you could even if you wanted to, since he’s holding your jaw so tightly. One little jerk of his wrist and it would all be over for you. Sweet little girl. Life over before it even began. Of course, Steve has no intention of killing you, but he wants you to believe that he could, and he knows that you, sweet naïve little you, will believe it.

“No talking unnecessarily with the doctor or any other men you may encounter whilst I’m gone today.” Steve continues. Of course, he has a lot of other rules for you too but he’d let you know them in due course. “As my personal property, I expect you to obey what I am telling you right now. If the doctor has any questions for you, you are allowed to answer him but nothing more than that. Just know that I have eyes and ears everywhere, and I’ll know if you disobey me in any shape or form.”

He lets go of you roughly, pushing you down till you’re lying on your side. He takes one last look at you, a long, lingering look filled with lust and want. You look scared out of your mind, and he wouldn’t have you any other way. He exhales slowly, before beginning to make his way out of the room once more.

“I’ll tell him you raped me.”

Your voice carries across his bedroom like a whisper, and Steve probably wouldn’t have even heard it had it not been for his enhanced hearing. His jaw tightens, a wave of irritation rumbling inside him at your choice of word. Expressionless, he turns back around. You’ve pulled yourself up into a sitting position, and you look so tiny on his huge bed. So tiny and scared and shaking – like a little baby who has no idea who she’s up against. He meets your sad, accusatory eyes, his dick hardening even more when he sees the fire’s back within them. But all he does is look at you, daring you to say more.

You swallow, as if trying to harness all the strength you possibly can from within you. “I-I’ll tell him you kidnapped me and raped me. And he’ll see for himself once he looks at me, anyone would!” Your voice breaks as you glance down at yourself, at your bruised and bloodied body. You sniffle, “You’re a rapist and everyone’s gonna know!”

This time, Steve takes his time, leisurely making his way back in your direction. And it’s comical, how quickly your bravado dissipates. You cringe back again, crawling to the edge of the bed in a bid to get away from him. But where would you go? You could hardly take a single step without falling over your shaking legs. It makes Steve’s lip curl in amusement, watching how you start to scramble, terror evident in your eyes. Along with the immediate regret for what you’ve just said to him.

“I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Captain, please, I didn’t mean to, I didn’t–”

Your breathing sounds laboured once Steve finally reaches you, and you look like you’re about to pass out. Scared out of your mind like the stupid little girl you are. A rapist. Who the fuck did you think you were, calling Steve that? Comparing him to the vermin who prowled the streets and took advantage of women, the very same low-lives who Steve himself had personally put behind bars numerous times. He’d never be like them. No, this was different. He deserved this. He deserved you and your body. You were his. He could do whatever he wanted with your body, after everything he’d done to save you, to save the world.

You look up at him, swallowing harshly as if expecting the worst. But all Steve does is stroke your cheek softly. His fingers trail the smooth expanse of your face, your cheekbones, your temple, your forehead, your jaw. He strokes your face like you’re his little pet, and predictably, you start to relax. He can feel the goosebumps he’s leaving against your skin, and he knows the effect he has on you no matter how much you fight against him, or how much you accuse him of wronging you.

That’s when he draws his hand back and slaps you hard across the face.

The shock of the blow has you opening your mouth in a silent cry, but nothing comes out except for a pathetic squeak. You fall back down on his bed, clutching your face as tears of pain stream down your cheeks.

“Tell him.” Steve says softly, “Tell anyone you want. Let’s see what they do about it.”

***

Steve is hard throughout his meeting. All he can think about is you, his perfect little secret locked away in his room. None of the others could ever even dream of having a girl as lovely, soft and sweet as you.

Bucky’s girl was unruly and wild – he’d found her at a nightclub of all places, which meant her pussy was probably as used as the toilets in the dinky joint he’d met her at. And no matter how happy Bucky seemed now, Steve knew it was all a farce. That unkempt slut would never truly be the right fit for Bucky, and Steve knows his best friend deserves better. Steve would never settle like that; he would never be like him.

Tony’s wife – Pepper – was a vapid fool whom her husband had just made VP of Stark Industries. A woman in such a high-ranking position meant clearly for a man? Steve still feels revulsion when he thinks about it. No wonder Tony was a raging alcoholic – allowing his wife to wear the pants in their relationship had clearly chipped away at the old man’s sanity. Steve would never be like him.

Then there was Bruce. He had Natasha but he didn’t know how to control someone like her. He was too busy locked up in his laboratory, doing countless experiments per day. Tinkering with machines and chemicals and whatnot. All while Natasha ran roughshod all over town. Steve had heard stories of the redhead’s promiscuity. Bruce was a fool not to keep her in check. Steve would never be like him.

Thor still pined over Jane, the woman he’d claimed was the love of his life. But she’d gone and died on him. Steve doesn’t believe in love, but Thor’s situation reminds him of Peggy. What a fool he’d been back in the day, allowing himself to fall for someone as rotten as Peggy. She’d played him, danced circles around him and laughed while he’d scrambled after her. Made sacrifice after sacrifice for her. Then he’d woken up one day and realised she, like most women, was an airheaded whore. Steve didn’t think about Peggy at all anymore. In fact, he was happy she was dead now. And unlike Thor, Steve never pined over his past. He’d never be like that.

Clint and Sam, thankfully, had their heads screwed on the right way. Both of them had nice little housewives tucked away in their homes. A baby on their hip, an apron over their dress. Barefoot and pregnant, hidden away from anyone else. Steve could respect that. Sure, Sam partied a lot and stepped out on his wife more often than not. But he was a man and men had needs, and Steve could understand that.

Although neither Clint’s wife nor Sam’s wife were half as beautiful or innocent as you. No, Steve had won in the end, picked the best of the litter, the cream of the crop. And soon, you’d be his little wife, too. Tucked away in one of his suburban properties, hidden from the public eye. And, of course, he’d knock you up too. If he hasn’t already, that is.

That’s all Steve can think about throughout the whole meeting. Not that it’s anything important, anyways. Tony is droning on about something or the other – Steve doubts anyone is listening. Tony was a fucking fool, and everyone knew the true leader of the Avengers was Steve. He was the one everyone listened to, the one everyone reported to and responded to. Steve knows he holds all the power in the world. Presidents, kings, world leaders, they all practically bowed down to him. Tony was nothing but a shrivelled up, coked up, alcoholic that Steve chose to keep around out of pity.

He makes a few pleasantries once the meeting is over. Bucky invites him over for lunch with him and his girl, but Steve declines. He knows Bucky just wants his best friend and his girlfriend to get along, but Steve doesn’t view women as equals to get along with. That’s why, if he had his way, Natasha wouldn’t be a part of the Avengers at all. Anyways, he knows Bucky’s girl is temporary – nobody kept whores around for too long. Sure, Bucky was infatuated right now, but soon his best friend would want to settle down – and it wouldn’t be with a slut like his current girlfriend was. No, Bucky needed a nice, quiet, bookish, innocent, young girl. Like how Steve had you.

And with that thought, he quickly makes his way back to his apartment, back to you. The physician is leaving as soon as Steve arrives, ready with a full report.

“She’s hurt bad, Captain.” The doctor says, his face not revealing a single emotion, which Steve prefers. It’s not the first time Steve has sent a girl to be checked up by him, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. “Her pelvic region is in a very vulnerable state. Sprained in many areas, and she’s lucky she didn’t break anything down there.”

Steve feels nothing. He knew you were injured, that much was expected. How could you not be? What with how small you were and how big he was? There was bound to be some type of damage. No surprise there.

The doctor continues: “She needs time to heal, Captain. Apart from her sprains, she is also suffering from some tearing and bleeding. It will heal, but only with time. I have prescribed her medicine for the pain, but in order for her to heal properly and fully, she cannot be subjected to any vaginal sex or penetration of any kind for at least two weeks.”

Steve’s mood sours immediately. Not being able to enter your heavenly little snatch for two weeks sounded completely absurd to him. Now that he’d had your tight little pussy for one night, he expected free access to it whenever he wanted. But to be barred from what he surely owned? It was insane torture. Half of him wants to throttle the doctor right then and there.

But all he does is nod, and waits till the doctor shows himself out.

Quietly, Steve makes his way through his apartment, heading straight for his bedroom. He tries to formulate a plan of action in his head. How was he to navigate these next two weeks? Of course, he’d still keep you in his room, even if he couldn’t use you sexually. You were his property after all, and two weeks wasn’t forever. It was a long time to not fuck, however, and Steve makes a mental note to inform his agents to have a few girls sent up to one of his other apartments for the time being. They wouldn’t compare to you, but they’d have to do.

He opens the door to his bedroom and immediately pauses. There you are, sat in the middle of his bed. You’ve changed into a pair of pyjamas; a silk button up top and matching shorts with little hearts printed on them. Steve doesn’t think he’s seen anything more girlish and cute – they must have been sent along with your other stuff from back home.

Sure enough, you have a pink backpack open in front of you, and you’re sifting through it like it’s a treasure chest and not some cheap piece of luggage that looks like it’s been through several rounds of tug-of-war. Pulling out clothes and holding them close, as if he’s fucking smuggled you out of the country or something, and you’ve finally gotten a care package from home.

But then you shriek in delight, grabbing what looks to be a stuffed animal from inside your bag and hugging it close.

“Chester, you’re here!” You squeal happily – the happiest Steve has ever seen you in the short time that he’s known you. And fuck, the blood rushes straight down to his dick as he watches you hug the teddy bear close to your chest, nuzzling its fur against your nose. And you’re so preoccupied by the dumb toy that you still haven’t noticed that you’re not alone in the bedroom. “I missed you so much! I’m so glad Mom and Dad sent you!”

It’s the rawest, fucking sweetest sight of innocence Steve has ever fucking seen. You, all soft and tiny on his huge bed, in your silky pyjamas, all freshly showered and looking like a goddamned angel. As if that wasn’t enough to get Steve all riled up, that sheer juxtaposition between your softness and naivete compared to Steve’s own roughness. But you had to get your goddamned childish toy out, hugging it like it was your lifeline, looking like the sweetest, most corruptible baby girl he’s seen in his entire goddamned life. Fuck, it’s like you were begging for it.

With a guttural growl, Steve lunges for you. He feels something animalistic take over his entire body. And he’s always prided himself in being disciplined, trained his body and mind to show restraint, self-control. But all that goes out the fucking window when he sees you sitting so pretty on his bed with your goddamned teddy bear. The sight goes straight to his fucking dick and now he feels like a fucking animal.

You realise a second too late that you’re not alone, and you scream bloody murder as Steve grabs you. But even if you’d had a head start, you wouldn’t have been able to escape him. Even if your body was a hundred percent healthy, even if you were in an open field or somewhere public instead of the closed quarters of Steve’s bedroom. Even then, you wouldn’t have stood a single chance. Steve feels lust like how he’s never felt it before. Lust like fire, catching all over his body, searing his fucking soul.

For a moment, he feels incensed to the point of madness. How dare you be so fucking perfect? Like a fucking doll laid out to tempt him. Looking all heavenly and sweet, youthful wonder in your eyes that had been scared away the moment you’d noticed him there.

He grabs your calf, savagely dragging you to the edge of the bed. And you look so fucking terrified, shaking like a goddamned leaf just like how you were last night when he’d first ravaged you. And it feels like the first time again, in some ways. Except now that he knows exactly how your tight cunt feels around his big dick, he’s even more incensed to have you as you continually fight against him.

“The doctor said no!” You cry out desperately, kicking at him in a bid to get away except you’re so fucking weak, it’s like fighting with a goddamned ant for all the good it’s doing. “C-Captain, please don’t! Please don’t, the doctor said no!”

“Shut the fuck up,” Steve seethes through clenched teeth. He straddles you quickly, a knee on either side of your waist, his palm plastering over your mouth to silence you. “I know what he fucking said.”

And yet all he can think about is how you smell like strawberries and fucking cream. The female agents must’ve bathed you – your face and body all look scrubbed clean and glowing. No longer looking like how he’d left you this morning – covered in your own virginal blood. Part of him is completely enamoured by your sweet-smelling innocence, but the larger, darker part of him wants to corrupt you once more, leave you bruised and bloodied once more just how he had last night. He always wants you like that, because you’re his and he can do it.

He knows he shouldn’t, he knows it’s a danger to your health and wellbeing. But goddamit, Steve deserves this! He deserves your body whenever the fuck he wants it. He’d fucking saved you from HYDRA, saved your entire university and you were his forever reward. Fuck the doctor’s orders, you were his. He’d do with you exactly what he wanted, when he wanted to do it.

You wail as he rips your silky pyjama shorts in half. And it only takes Steve half a second until he’s forcing himself deep inside your tight cunt once more. And it feels like fucking heaven, entering back into what was now and always would be his property. Your tight, pulsating softness strangles his fat cock like a goddamned vice, choking it. And it’s like the past twenty-four hours of him ravaging you hasn’t made a single difference because you’re just as virgin-tight as you were last night.

“STOP, PLEASE! IT HURTS!”

You instantly start crying and screaming, flailing underneath him just like you had last night. And you bring that goddamned stuffed animal up to your nose, cuddling it and nuzzling it as you cry into its fur. All that does is incense Steve further – you’re such a fucking baby – and he lets out a low growl.

“Call me daddy,” he commands you, holding you down with one hand whilst his other grabs for the lube once more. He’s inside you, but he wants to go in deep, go in all the way like how he had last night. And you’re not wet, so the lube is a necessity. He pulls out and squirts it all over his dick, jacking off as he looks down at you. All crying and pathetic with your teddy bear and your silky pyjama top with the hearts on it. “Say it. Right fucking now.”

“Daddy,” you cry, sounding like a dejected fucking baby, “Daddy, please! Please no more! Th-The doctor said no more!”

“I don’t care,” he breathes, drinking in how hot you look when you cry. How hot you look with your legs splayed open, lying underneath him like you’re nothing more than a worthless little doll. A part of him is so turned on by the fact that he went against the doctor’s orders, the fact that the animal inside him just couldn’t wait to get inside you again. “You’re mine. I can use your body whenever the fuck I want.”

“B-But it hurts!”

You’re a pouty little mess, hugging your teddy bear close like it’s your only form of comfort. Which it is, because Steve wasn’t about to comfort you ever. Not now or any time in the future. But he’s just so fucking enamoured by how sexy you look – like an innocent angel sent down from heaven just to seduce him. Physically, you’re everything he wants, craves, dreams about. Like a pretty little doll, so innocent and cute yet beautiful like a fucking vixen. Like it’s written in your stars to be owned by him, to be ruined by him, over and over and over again till he consumes you entirely.

Once upon a time, Steve thought it was written in his stars that Peggy was the love of his life. Well, he didn’t believe in love anymore, but the sight of you beneath him right now, teary eyes glistening as you look up at him with an almost revered expression… The power trip it gives him almost knocks the wind out of him. It wasn’t love, it could never be love… But it’s a strong feeling that practically consumes him in this moment.

Overcome with something he can’t quite explain, Steve kisses you hard. Driven by possession or perhaps something else, but he presses his lips against yours like he’s fucking parched and you’re the only one who could ever quench his thirst.

You cry as you kiss him back, and he wonders if it’s muscle memory or if you’re only responding because you’re scared. Either way, it excites him. And he’s too busy making out with you that for a second, he forgets to press his cock back inside you after coating it with the lube. But then he does, and fuck, you’re wet now. Wet from just a little kissing. Fuck, you were so perfect for him. He couldn’t wait to marry you.

“Call me daddy again,” he says against your lips as he pushes his cock deeper inside you. With your wetness and the aid of the lube, he fits into your pussy like a snug fucking glove. He holds your hip with one hand in a bid to keep you in place, and his other hand finds its way up to your face. He cups your cheek, “Tell daddy how good it feels to get fucked like this.”

You shake your head desperately, “I hate you! I hate you so fucking much!”

Steve frowns, a new darkness spreading across his chest like a spilled vial of poison. His hand hardens, gripping your face harshly as he bucks his hips, pistoning his dick inside you with renewed force. You squeal in pain, your tiny fists hitting against his chest and grabbing the lapels of his suit which he hadn’t even bothered to take off.

“I don’t fucking care if you hate me,” he hisses, his face inches from yours. “Your feelings don’t matter, and they never will. But you better fucking listen to me and do what I say, or else I could make this a lot more painful for you.”

The threat has your eyes round as saucers, and your lips pursed, wet from his saliva and your own mixed with your salty tears. Then he feels the tenseness leave your body, sees your limbs stop thrashing as you finally go limp in his arms. As if you’ve given up and accepted your fate.

“Good girl.” He smirks, granting you one single praise because you didn’t need more than that, lest it built up your confidence. “Now, tell me exactly how daddy’s cock feels right now.”

You scrunch your eyes shut, either from embarrassment at his dirty talk or just from the sheer hate you’re feeling for him. Again, Steve doesn’t give a fuck. He gives you one extremely hard thrust that jolts your eyes back open, as if warning you he’d go even harder if you didn’t comply.

“B-Big,” you breathe out softly, shyly, “It feels big, Captain. I mean daddy.”

“Yeah? You ever thought you’d get fucked by a cock as big as this?” Steve asks, pulling out and admiring how his huge length is covered in your juices. And your blood, because of course, despite not going as hard as he had last night, he’s made you bleed once more. God, you were such a goddamned baby.

You shake your head, only earning a slap to your face and a menacing look that has you crying out: “No!”

“No, what?” He knows he has a sick gleam in his eyes, because he wants to hear you say it. “

“No, I never thought I’d get fucked by a cock as big as yours!” You cry out, your sentence ending in a piercing scream as he slams into you once more. The teddy – fucking Chester – slips out of your grip because of the force of which you’re being fucked. But Steve won’t have that, he shoves it back into your arms, wanting to watch you hold it and cuddle against it. Use your little toy as the only source of solace while your daddy ravaged you.

“That’s right,” Steve says lowly, drinking in the sight of you crying into Chester’s fur, “Cuddle your fucking toy like the little baby you are. Getting fucked by a man more than twice your age,” he licks his lips when your pussy clenches around his cock at his words, “And you like it, don’t you baby girl? You like how much older I am than you.”

“No, I don’t!” And yet you moan desperately, rutting against him now, clutching at your teddy bear yet at the same time thrusting your hips upwards to meet his animalistic thrusts.

Steve smirks, “Your cunt likes it.”

He ruts into you with wild abandon. And the whole time, he’s wondering how you’ve just walked into his life and awoken a wild beast inside him, this innate animalistic need to fuck your little body over and over again like he was put on this Earth to do so. With others, he’s always showed restraint. But you? Restraint went out the window with you.

And you squeak so fucking cutely when you cum. And Steve knows you’re in pain, what with all your bruises and injuries, and yet your hips meet upwards with his thrusts, riding out your orgasm as your hands clutch at his suit which he has yet to take off. Like you can’t help but accept the pleasure he gives you, because it feels so fucking good and he knows you’ve never felt pleasure like this before. Not before him.

“Feels good, huh?” He hears himself say, “Thank me for making you feel good.”

“Nngh, thank you, daddy!” Now, you don’t even hesitate, don’t even fight back. Your head’s thrown back and you’ve got that dazed look in your eye, forever lost in the throes of pleasure as he mauls your body to his liking.

Tamed once again.

He makes you orgasm twice more before he unloads inside you, holding your hips upwards with your legs bent back against your chest to make sure it sticks. He wants you pregnant by at least the end of the month. Hell, between last night and now, there was no way you weren’t pregnant already. And you look so fucking dazed, your fists grabbing his suit jacket so tightly, your face contorting in pleasure as you cum over and over again, and your little pussy eagerly swallows up his cum.

It's only once he’s stood back up, once he’s buckling his belt again that you seem to come out of whatever sex-crazed stupor he’d reduced you to. That’s when you start crying once more, your lips curling in anger and that fire returning to your eyes as you look up at him in absolute contempt. But he revels at the sight of you; Chester still clutched to your chest, your hair dishevelled, your eyes red, your legs shaking, his cum dripping from between your thighs. And the fresh white sheets once more stained with dark, scarlet blood.

***

“Wow, Steve. I’m really happy you found someone. I can’t wait to meet her.” Bucky says earnestly.

It’s been two days since the last time Steve fucked you directly after the doctor had advised him not to. Knowing he has no restraint when it comes to you, he’s deliberately kept well away for the time being. He’d temporarily moved to one of his other apartments, quietly making arrangements for the future whilst also making sure his agents kept you well fed and taken care of in his room. He’d left you in such a bloodied state, he supposed you deserved the brief retrieve. But in the coming few days, he planned to move you to his house in the suburbs. But he had to go public with you before he did that.

Steve nods smoothly, “Yes. She’s extremely shy, which is why I kept our relationship a secret for so long. We’ve been together six months, but I’m certain I want to marry her.”

Lying always came easily to Steve. Just another mask to slip on, just like how he did every single day when he donned his suit and a smile on his face. His words painting a rich tapestry of lies while the darkness behind his eyes remained at bay and nobody was any wiser.

“Well, that’s great. I can’t wait to meet her!” Bucky slaps Steve on the back, a wide grin on his face.

“Yes, Steve. I’d love to meet her too. It would be nice to have another girl around here.” Bucky’s girl – Kira or Kiara or something like that – pipes up.

Steve nods at her, feeling a wave of irritation build up inside him. Couldn’t she see that the men were talking? Stupid, insubordinate little bitch. Clearly, Bucky didn’t plan to keep her around for long as he hadn’t even bothered to teach her basic manners. In Steve’s ideal world, women were to remain silent unless spoken to, especially in public. Under the arms or on the laps of their husbands like pretty ornaments, made to be admired, not heard. Clearly, Kira, like most females of the twenty-first century – had no idea what it meant to be an ideal woman. Unlike you.

“Yes. Buck, as I said, she’s very shy and suffers from strong bouts of social anxiety. But I’ve been working on it with her, and I think she’ll be ready to meet the team soon, at the very least. I’d like to propose to her soon.”

Kira claps her hands together excitedly, “Oh, how exciting!”

Steve does his best to ignore her and keep his face impassive.

“I’m really happy for you, man,” Bucky says, “Me and Kira would love to meet her. When do you plan on proposing?”

“Soon,” Steve says vaguely, plans of a big, public proposal clouding his thoughts. Little did Bucky know; Steve had already privately proposed to you. He’d done it the very same night he’d met you, between your wanton moans and his heavy thrusts, when he’d demanded that you marry him, and you, in your soft breathy voice, had agreed to do just that. Not that he even needed your agreement, it’s not like you had a say in the matter either way. And a public proposal would be just for show, so every single person on his team and in his country would know that you were Steve Rogers’ property. Yes, his plans would come together soon. Very, very soon.

***

“I-I want to see my parents!” You demand shakily the moment Steve enters his bedroom. He licks his lips at the sight of you, sat on his desk wearing what looked to be a pair of embroidered jeans and a cute pink top. More clothes that your parents had packed for you. And you look just as sweet as he remembers from two days ago, and he feels his cock twitch to life in an instant. But he knows he can’t fuck you now, if he did then he’d risk even more damage to your body. Permanent damage.

“Greet me properly.” Steve says, keeping his voice level and impassive. “It’s about time we went over certain rules that you need to follow now that you are mine.”

“I need to see my parents!” You repeat, “You’ve kept me locked up here for days, and I know they’d be worried about me.” Clearly, spending two days away from him has given you some sort of amnesia with the way you’re acting so brave all of a sudden. Well, Steve has no problem reminding you what exactly he was capable of.

He crosses the room quickly, smirking at how you shrink back in fear. That was more like it. Grabbing you by the neck, he easily lifts you up off his desk chair and throws you not-so-gently onto his bed.

“Captain, please!” Your face crumples in desperation, “I’ve been here almost three days now, and I just don’t understand why you won’t just let me go! You’ve used me countless times, but why can’t you just be done with me now? Why do you have to keep on torturing me like this!?”

Steve wants to roll his eyes. Women.

“Did you not hear me? I asked you to greet me properly,” Steve says softly, completely ignoring your impassioned plea. He grabs you by the chin. Hard. “Rule number one, as stated before, is that I own you. This means you must greet me any time I enter this room, or any other. You stand up,” he yanks you to your feet, and you yelp in pain, “and you approach me with your gaze lowered in respect,” he pushes your head down like you’re a dog, till your eyes are looking straight down at his shoes, “and you greet me whilst properly addressing me. Now do it.”

You don’t do anything, and the insubordination bristles Steve. He’d have you tamed soon enough. Quickly, he grabs your chin again, squeezing it hard till it hurts and you cry out in pain. “You and I both know the pain I am capable of inflicting upon you, sweetheart. Don’t make me do it now.”

“H-Hello, Captain,” you speak through angry tears, teeth gritted and eyes downcast, “Good morning – uh – sir.”

He would have preferred you to call him daddy now, but that would come with due course. He wanted you to call him that outside of sex but he knew it would take time for you to not be mortified enough to do that.

“Good girl,” he praises, before pushing you back on the bed. Throwing your tiny body around was very easy, and he liked exerting that power over you. “You will see your parents soon enough, but we need to go over some things first.”

You open your mouth to speak but Steve quickly raises his hand as if to silence you, also giving you a look menacing enough to make you shrink back again.

“Next week, we will make our first public appearance together.”

Your jaw drops open “But–”

“There will be a party in our honour, and I will introduce you to my colleagues and the general public. You will be on your best behaviour as there will also be press there.”

You start shaking your head, a dazed look on your face as if you can’t quite believe the words coming out of his mouth. Steve doesn’t give a fuck, and continues to speak as if your reactions don’t even matter. Which they do not.

“It will also be where I propose to you in front of everyone, and you will graciously and quietly accept, or else.”

“WHAT!?” You blurt out loudly, a horrified look spreading across your features, “P-Propose? What do you mean? C-Captain, no. No, no, no, that can’t be right. You can’t propose, there must be some kind of mistake–”

Steve’s jaw twitches, but expressionlessly he waits for you to stop stuttering like a goddamned fool. Your eyes look wide as saucers, shocked beyond belief as if you couldn’t wrap your head around the very idea of being married to him. Well, it hardly mattered as you were a woman and women had no say in matters such as these.

“You will be on my arm and under my supervision for the entirety of the event. Your behaviour will reflect my values, which means you will be polite and demure. Only speak when spoken to, and remain silent when it comes to worldly or political matters that do not concern you or women in general.”

“I’m not going to– Captain, this is a mistake–”

“Your parents will be present at the event. You will not talk negatively about me to them or anyone else, nor talk in detail about the circumstances under which we met. I will do all the talking, and you will nod and agree to whatever I say.”

Fire blazes in your eyes, your incredulity forgotten for a second. “You can’t stop me from telling my parents what you did to me!”

Quietly, Steve nods. He sits down next to you on the bed, making you jump in fear. You try to shuffle away from him but almost too easily, he picks you up and places you in his lap. Your back to his front, just how he had held you the night he’d first had you. It makes his cock harden immediately, but he knows he can’t fuck you. Not for another week and a half. Instead, he places his hand in front of you, almost in your lap, where it looks so goddamned big compared to your own tiny hands.

“Do you see my hands?” He prods you when you don’t reply, “Answer me.”

“Y-Yes.”

He watches you grudgingly look at his hands, take in all the roughness, all the callouses. His bruised knuckles, the burns and scars that would heal and fade away over the next few days. Hands that had seen everything, hands that were capable of acts that your tiny, girlish mind could hardly comprehend. Horror for you was submitting your homework late. The horrors his hands had seen and committed would make the hairs on the back of your neck rise in trepidation. You were lovely and sweet, and had no idea the evils and gore he had witness and contributed to. All to keep the world safe. To keep you, his beautiful little bride to be, safe.

“The night I met you, these hands choked three grown men to death.” Steve says tonelessly.

Your tiny gasp makes his dick harden even more, and you jump in his lap, his statement catching you so off-guard.

“I wrapped my hands around their throats, and I watched the life drain out of their eyes,” He continues, revelling in how you’ve begun to shake in his arms. “And it meant nothing to me. They were evil. Vermin. Disposable. I could have killed ten more of them and it wouldn’t have mattered. Killing them meant nothing to me. Ending a life no longer damages my psyche.”

Slowly, almost tenderly, Steve cups your face. He angles it sideways till you’re facing him, and he can see the beginnings of your delicious tears well up in your eyes. Your beautiful, wet eyes that glisten in total horror. You’re frozen, paralysed in fear. Breathing erratically in his lap while he holds you, holds you like you’re a little doll. He presses a soft kiss to your temple, taking his time in inhaling your sweet, beautiful scent. Another kiss, this time your hairline, and he can feel you shuddering underneath him.

He moves down to your cheek, kissing you there too. And the same with your other cheek, and he hears you whimper softly, your body on high alert, as if you don’t trust his gentle demeanour. Finally, Steve presses a soft kiss to your lips, sucking gently as if to savour your taste. He kisses the corner of your mouth, down your jaw; he peppers kisses up your neck before returning to your lips. Now, you’re quivering on top of him, unsure and nervous and scared. That’s when he opens his mouth and utters his next words.

“Would you like me to kill your parents, sweetheart?”

A broken noise falls from your mouth at his nonchalant question. A mix between a whimper and a cry, and you gape at him in total fear.

“You could tell them the truth about everything, just like I know you’re thinking of doing,” He casually tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear, “You could cause a scene at our engagement party, too. Cry for help and run your mouth to whomever you think will listen. And then when all’s said and done, you’d find that no one would believe you. And you’d turn to your parents for comfort, thinking surely, if anyone would take your word, it would be them, right?”

You say nothing, and Steve pinches your side cruelly, making you cry out and nod your head out of pure fear.

Steve smirks, “Sweetheart, I’d have your parents out of the room before you’d even know what’s happening. I could make them disappear in a heartbeat, and no one would know any better.” He starts kissing your neck again, marvelling at how soft and sweet-smelling you are. “I could choke them out with my bare hands just like I did those HYDRA bastards. And in their last moments, as they try to hang on to their pathetic lives and take their dying breaths, I’d tell them it was all because of you. Their own daughter’s insubordination would be the reason for their demise. And when that’s all said and done, you’d still be mine. Dead parents and a guilty conscious, but my property all the same.”

He finishes his speech with a final kiss to your lips, before turning you around fully to face him.

“So tell me, sweet girl. Are you going to be on your best behaviour at our party?”

He wishes he could capture that delicious horror in your eyes, and keep it in a jar as proof of your innocence and subordination to him. You take a few gulping, shuddering breaths, as if trying to calm your own self down, as if trying your hardest not to cry. Finally, with your wet eyes downcast, you nod, and in a breathy whisper you answer him:

“Yes. I’ll be on my best behaviour.”

***

“Bruce, I’m glad you were able to tear yourself away from your lab long enough to attend my party,” Steve says good-naturedly, a mask of friendliness on his face as he elbows the scientist jokingly.

“Of course, Steve. This is a great event.” Bruce looks forever like his dishevelled and distracted self, as if he’d just blindly stumbled out of his laboratory and put on a sports jacket before arriving here. “Nat and I couldn’t wait to meet this secret girlfriend of yours.”

He’s got Natasha on his arm and all Steve can think about is how pathetic Bruce is for allowing his girlfriend to attend a public event dressed in such an indecently cut gown. Steve himself would never allow you to wear anything indecent where other men would be able to lay their eyes on you. Of course, in the privacy of his room, he’d have you wearing all types of scantily-clad, vintage lingerie. But in public? You were Captain America’s soon-to-be wife, the picture of modest femininity and demure innocence. Which was why tonight he’d personally chosen your dress – a beautiful baby blue gown with a respectable neckline.

Steve would never be like Bruce.

“You must be the lucky lady who finally managed to capture Steve Rogers’ heart,” Natasha shoots you a friendly smile.

Steve feels you stiffen next to him, and he knows you’re scared because someone has directly addressed you. Since the party started half an hour ago, he’s had you snugly tucked by his side, his arm around you and hand firmly pressing against the small of your back lest you try to slip away. Although he doubts you’re capable of that at all, since you look like you’re scared shitless. Undoubtedly, his threats from earlier are still looming over your head, as they should.

“She is,” Steve answers for you, making sure to keep his voice light and good-natured. “She’s had me head over heels for her since the moment we met in front of that local art exhibition late last year, right sweetheart?”

He pinches you lightly, nobody else would’ve even seen it. But you jump, swallowing hard as your stupid little mind tries to keep up with his smooth lies. “Y-Yes,” you answer shakily, “I was volunteering at the art exhibit and that’s how we met.”

A flimsily executed lie, but Steve supposes you haven’t had half as much practice as he’s had with being dishonest. Hell, his whole life revolved around dishonesty and facades, so much so that he’s perfected the art of putting on mask after mask. His agents had coached you on what to say so your story would match Steve’s, and they’d made sure all the details lined up before the false story was leaked to the press. Besides, Natasha was too much of an airhead and Bruce was too distracted to question your less than stellar lie.

“Well, welcome to the family,” Natasha leans in to give you a warm hug which you return after glancing up and receiving an approving nod of permission from Steve. And then the redhead looks up at him, “And Steve, I can’t believe you hid her from us for six whole months! You didn’t even tell me, and I thought I was more special than that!”

Steve resists the urge to roll his eyes. Natasha had always been under the impression that her and him were exponentially close. As if Steve would ever be close friends with a woman. Everything he did, he did for his image – and that included having the world think him and Nat were some sort of crime-fighting duo. When the reality couldn’t be further from the truth – if Steve had his way, a woman wouldn’t be part of the Avengers at all.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t want to jinx a good thing,” Steve answers good-naturedly, giving you a warm squeeze. He can feel your breath hitch, feel your eyes dart over to him warily before you look down at the floor again. He can sense that you’re nervous, scared of breaking the façade of picture-perfect happiness you’re supposed to be presenting, wary of the consequences if you were to break said facade. You’re also jittery and skittish, holding on to his arm with your tiny hands like the naïve little girl you are, a little girl forced into the spotlight of his world. On the arm of the most important person in the room. No, the most important person in the world.

“Nat, Bruce, if you’ll excuse us. We’ve got to make the rounds and greet everyone before this one gets too tired.” He says, and it’s not even a lie; as you’re still healing from all the injuries he’s inflicted on your body after that first night of fucking. In fact, it’s one of the reasons why your weak little body is clinging on to him so tightly – he’s sure your legs would give out if he wasn’t there to keep you up. And that thought, the fact that you’re relying solely on him, gets his dick hardening in his pants.

Steve leans over and softly kisses your temple, letting his lips linger for a second. His nose twitches, taking in your sweet scent. Two female agents had bathed you in rosewater and rubbed and lathered all sorts of sweet-smelling oils and creams on your skin, till you were glowing and smelling sweet like a flower. Then they’d slipped you into the dress he’d chosen, and applied light makeup to your face (as well as heavy makeup on your body to conceal any bruises) as per his instructions. And so when he’d seen you for the first time earlier tonight, standing there in the middle of his bedroom like a girl straight out of his wettest dreams, all he’d wanted was to shove you down on his dick and use you as a goddamned fleshlight, ruin you for daring to look like such a sweet little angel, for daring to seduce him like that, all while you stared up at him with fresh tears in your eyes and a naïve indignance in your face. Fuck, he’d been hard ever since.

He waits for you to croak out a goodbye to Natasha and Bruce before leading you away. And he hears them whispering to each other as the two of you leave:

“Gosh, isn’t he so gentle with her, Bruce? I’m so happy Steve finally found someone to settle down with!”

“Mmhm,” Bruce agrees, “I didn’t even know he was dating anyone. He always seems so busy, putting everyone else’s needs over his own. He deserves this.”

Everywhere Steve goes, he’s used to people worshipping him. Praising him, his bravery, his selflessness, his good looks. Tonight is no different, as he parades you around the banquet hall, introducing you to everyone in the circles he hangs around in. Not that he enjoys the company of any of these people – but they think he does. Just another part to play.

And he knows how jealous every man in this room is right now, how their hungry, pathetic gazes follow you around as you cling to him. Because you’re so lovely, so pure, so soft. Unhardened by the hardships of life, your face brimming with innocence and that delicious fear because of the control Steve has over you. And he knows that every other man wants you like how he has you, but they never would. He’d kill them if they tried.

He feels you stiffen, and he follows your gaze to the edge of the ballroom where the engagement party is being held. Right in the corner by the entrance, sticking out like two sore thumbs, intimidated and out of place, are your parents. Not that he’d even bothered to find out what your parents looked like from the background checks his agents had done on you in the past week, but he can tell it’s them now. And he smirks and makes a beeline straight for them, with you in tow beside him.

They’re immediately in awe of him, just like he knew they would be. Most people are in awe of Steve, and he’s used to the way they look up at him as if he’s some kind of God. Like he’s the epitome of what every other man strives to be, both physically and otherwise.

He shakes your father’s hand, gives your mother his warmest hug. Smiles and holds you close, apologises to them for keeping his “relationship” with you a secret all these months. Tells them how in love with you he is, how the two of you have so much in common, how he’s never felt like this about anyone else in his life. How he vows to take care of you and keep you safe for as long as he lives. How he’d love it if he could have their blessing as he asks for their daughter’s hand in marriage.

That last line has your parents practically falling apart. Your mother starts crying, thanking him for being so kind and generous. Telling him that she knows he’ll take good care of you. Your father is similarly affected, although he clears his throat and nods and claims the two of you make a beautiful couple, and of course you have his blessing. And it’s laughable almost, how the two of them don’t even spare you a glance. Because if they did, they’d see your face crumple in dismay, your body go stiff, your tiny little hands forming fists by your sides.

“M-Mom, please, we need to talk–”

Steve drags you away before you can croak out another word, and swiftly leads you to the centre of the banquet hall, a bone-crushing grip on your hand.

“Remember what I told you,” He warns, and he doesn’t have to say anything else. The memory of the threat he’d made earlier settles on your pretty face like a ghost, your delicate features etched in pure fear of him. And fuck, it gets him so hard how completely at his mercy you are in this moment. So tiny, fresh like a fucking flower, soft and feminine and perfectly afraid of him, clinging on to his arm while every other man looks at him in awe, and you in desire.

“I-I just wanna talk to my mother!” You squeak out softly, and it’s the first full sentence you’ve spoken to him all night. And of course, Steve could answer you. He could tell you that you’d have the opportunity to talk to her later (if you behaved). But he says nothing, because nothing you say is important, nor would it ever be.

One by one he goes over to each guest in the banquet hall, your little body firmly pressed to his side. And it turns him on so fucking much, how small you feel against him. Like a quivering little mouse. It reminds him of the fear he’d seen the night he’d first had you, and it thrills him how you’re still just as scared of him as you were then. In fact, even more so.

But he dons the mask he always does, the mask of the happy, humble Steve Rogers, as he makes his rounds, acts like the perfect host. Thanks every single person personally for coming, and for meeting his beautiful girlfriend.

“Bucky, I’d like you to meet my girlfriend.”

As Steve introduces you to his oldest and closest friend, he regards Bucky’s face carefully. He wants him to see how lovely, soft and feminine you are. See how Steve has chosen the perfect girl and Bucky should discard Kira and closely follow his example with someone who was more like you.

Instead, his enhanced hearing picks up the slight hitch in your throat and the sharp intake of your breath as Bucky shakes your hand. He notices how you swallow hard, almost like a gulp, and a different kind of nervousness takes over your being, your eyes glistening like stars as you look up at the Winter Soldier.

“H-Hi,” You utter softly, and it’s the first time all night where Steve hasn’t had to prompt you to speak.

“It’s great to finally meet you,” Bucky straightens after letting go of your hand, and Steve makes it a point to yank you up against his side, keeping his arm firmly around your waist. “Steve did an amazing job of keeping you a secret all this time, but he hasn’t been able to shut up about you now that we all know.”

You laugh shyly, and it’s the cutest little laugh Steve has ever heard. But it also incenses him, to hear you laugh at something another man has said. Even if that man is his best friend.

“She’s not used to big events like this,” Steve rubs your hip, eyeing Bucky carefully. “I think I’ll take her home soon.”

“Remember how much we hated these kinds of events back in the day, Steve?” Bucky elbows him before his gaze settles on you again. “Don’t worry, you get used to them. Well, Steve certainly did since he’s a pro with people now. Me on the other hand? I get shy too, so you’re not alone.”

Steve feels you perk up, feels your whole energy shit. Those stars in your eyes, he can practically see them. They make him want to crush Bucky’s head into the ground.

“R-Really?” You sound all breathy and cute, all innocent and hope-filled, your pathetic little heart no doubt thinking you’ve found an ally of some sort. It’s almost comical, and yet Steve does not feel like laughing.

“Of course. But it gets easier over time.” Bucky straightens his suit and looks around, “I wish my girlfriend was here - she’s been dying to meet you, but I have no idea where she ran off.”

You wilt like a flower in slow-motion, your cute little mouth down-turning and your gaze retreating to the floor. Steve’s heightened senses notice all of it, and it sears him from the inside out.

“Girlfriend?” You echo softly, pathetically shrinking into yourself.

“Yes, my girlfriend Kira – you’d love her! Steve, have you seen her around?”

“No, but we better get moving. Lots of people to meet,” Steve tugs you along, watching as your eyes trail back to Bucky, a roaring fire in his heart igniting like something he’s never quite felt before. He pushes it back down quickly, extinguishing it before it affects his mask. But not before digging his fingers into your hip hard enough for you to whimper.

He guides you over to the remaining groups of people he has yet to greet. But you’re a million miles away, despite the fact that he’s physically holding you up and prompting you to speak every now and again. More than once, he catches you looking across the ballroom with a pathetic, yearning look in your eye. He follows your gaze to find it fixated on Bucky, who’s now embracing Kira in the corner of the crowd.

“Eyes on the ground or on me,” Steve mutters lowly. Of course, up until a few moments ago, he was not the least bit bothered by where or who you looked at. But those stars in your eyes when Bucky had spoken to you, and that twinkling laughter that Steve had never heard before now? His fists curl at his sides, and he wonders if he hasn’t made it clear enough who exactly you belonged to. Perhaps the brief retrieve you’d gotten when he’d been barred from fucking you these past few days had caused you to forget.

He finds he doesn’t have a problem with reminding you, even if it means going against the doctor’s orders again.

After a handful of more wooden hellos and fake pleasantries, he decides it’s time. Everything has been set up meticulously, and he leads you up to the centre of the small stage. He doesn’t even have to clear his throat to get everyone’s attention, he knows every single pair of eyes in this ballroom is plastered on him now, as he finally, officially makes you his property and brands you as his. He clears his throat.

“I know you’re not a huge fan of public declarations of love and whatnot. Quite frankly, neither am I and you know this. But I just… I always felt so out of place and,” he makes himself chuckle charmingly as he takes both your hands in his, “pardon the pun, like a man out of time. Until I met you.” He utters your name softly, slowly. Playing a part like he always does while you look up at him like a deer caught in headlights. You look uncomfortable, shy, nervous, caught-of-guard despite his agents drilling tonight’s plan into your dumb little head like how they’d been ordered to.

He squeezes your hands, hearing sighs and simpers all around him. But all he can focus on is you, looking so breathtakingly beautiful and innocent in the intimate candlelight of the ballroom. Like you’ve stepped straight out of his dreams and into his arms. Like his very own dream-girl that he’s hunted down and caught, and will now keep forever caged as his.

“You taught me that there’s more to life than just work, you taught me how to enjoy things without feeling guilty about it…” he pauses, and as if on cue he hears more sighs erupt from the crowd of guests. “You came into my life when I least expected it, and for so long, I wanted to keep you a secret from the world because I wanted to keep you safe and,” again, he makes himself laugh softly, “And I guess a part of me just wanted to keep you all to myself. But now, I want nothing more than for everyone to know just how much I love you…”

Steve would be bored by the whole thing if it weren’t for your innocuously animated facial expressions, your eyes shining with bewilderment, your luscious lips forming the shape of an o. He’s memorised speeches like this more times before than he can count. As an avenger, it’s something that’s become second nature to him – playing a character, smiling for crowds of people he couldn’t care less about, spewing out line after line that he no longer believed in. It was all in a day’s work for him.

But you… You look like you want to break into a run as you stare up at him, too scared to look away. And he’s so infatuated by that look of yours, that deliciously pure look of fear for him, he almost wants to take you into his arms there and then, shield you from everyone else because they don’t deserve to look at you. You’re like a pure little flower, delicate against the forces of nature, and despite his primal need to ruin you, there’s a part of him that wants nothing more than to protect you.

He gets down on one knee, earning many a gasp from the audience. Everyone’s waiting with baited breath, and that’s when he sees it. A lone tear meandering its way down your cheek, almost like a final plea for him to rethink his proposal. Your lips purse slightly, as if silently begging him not to go through with this. It almost makes him want to laugh. God, how great it would feel to snuff the hope right out of your eyes. Stupid little girl.

“Baby, will you marry me?”

He’s got the box open between his thumb and forefinger, the ring sparkling brightly against the velvet interior. He watches you carefully, not a doubt in his mind what your answer would be. You know the consequences were you to defy him now, or at any point. But it’s mildly amusing to watch you all the same, watch a plethora of different emotions flit through your face. Fear. Helplessness. Anger. Defiance. Sadness. Resignation.

“I-I…uh…” your eyes blink back tears, and you look past him, undoubtedly at your parents. Your plump lips part, and Steve’s itching to kiss them in front of every single person here as he claims you as his. But instead, he waits, wearing a mask of charming patience as he looks up at you expectantly. And when he finally catches your eye, all he has to do is blink, as if to say: see what happens to them if you disobey me.

“I do.” You whisper. A tidal wave of applause and exclamations follow. Mindless people crying, screaming, whooping, hollering, clapping and snapping pictures as if they had a personal stake in this proposal. But they don’t matter. The only thing that matters is that he’s made you his in front of all of them.

Slowly, he slips the ring on your dainty finger. There’s no sentimental value to it; his agents had picked it out. But it’s a mark of his ownership over you, with his initials delicately inscribed on the inside slightly protruding outwards so they’d brand your skin when you put it on. A taken woman, a kept woman. His forever reward. All his. And nobody else’s.

“He deserves this,” a woman in the audience says, “oh, he’s given so much to our country, hasn’t he? All he does is give, and make unselfish sacrifices for us.”

“Yes,” the man next to her agrees as they both clap, “Steve Rogers deserves this happiness more than anyone else in the world.”

Delicately, Steve gathers you in his arms. You’re so small and trembling, half in a state of shock over what’s just happened, over the weight of the sparkling rock now on your finger. But it doesn’t matter how you feel, not when he’s got the most beautiful girl in the world on his arm, now when he’s just marked his ownership over you. And fuck, he can feel himself harden in his pants at how small you are against him. How weak and helpless and in shock after agreeing your life away to a man you’d only just met a week ago.

“Good girl,” he praises as he hugs you close, the two of you being showered by applause and yet all he can focus on is you.

“I…I…” you can’t speak, can’t stop stuttering, and so all you do is rest your cheek against his chest, and let him hold you, and hug you, and rock you against him. Before he dips your head back and kisses you all sweet and gentle, when all he wants to do is ravish you. Kiss you like a damn caveman and taste your blood simply because he owns you and he can.

He presses his hard crotch against your midriff till he feels you gasp, looking up at him with pleading, wet eyes. And it gets him even harder. You’re his. He’s essentially bought you from your parents, and now he owns you. Your sole caretaker, he’s the one you answer to, cater to, listen to, worship.

God fucking damn… Fuck the doctor’s orders. He wants to shove his cock inside you now, even if it means he’ll permanently break you.

He kisses your forehead, looking beyond you for a moment. Thor’s clapping at the back but he’s got a sad, forlorn look in his eye. Undoubtedly thinking about that bitch Jane who had died. And Bruce and Natasha, hugging each other as they look on happily. As if their sham of a relationship could ever compare to what Steve has with you. Bucky’s there too, arm in arm with his girl, a look of pride on his face.

And right at the back, in the very corner of the ballroom leaning against the wall, is Tony Stark. Nursing a brown bottle of liquor, hair unkempt, face hollow and unshaven since God knows when. And yet his eyes are alert, and he looks straight at him in a way that makes Steve bristle.

“W-Will I get to go home? For a little while? J-Just until the…the wedding?” You ask softly, and Steve looks down at you, the sound of your breathy, quiet little voice going straight down to his cock. There’s something about you asking him that, because he’s who you’d have to seek permission for anything from now on. And it incenses him all over again, and the thought of Tony is wiped completely out of his mind.

He doesn’t even bother answering your pathetic question, instead leaning down to kiss you again. You taste sweet, beautiful and salty with tears. He doesn’t mind. You don’t kiss him back. He doesn’t care about that either. You were completely and irrevocably his, and there was no reversing it. A sudden carnal need has him biting down on your lip. Hard. You whimper. Fuck.

He wants you. Suddenly, he can’t wait anymore. Grabbing your wrist in a crushing grip, he yanks you down the stage. Like the red sea, the crowd parts for him. Clapping, congratulations, more applause. He doesn’t care about any of it. You whimper beside him, the shock of the proposal clearly having yet to wear off because your feet drag against the floor. He huffs in impatience, scooping you up bridal style in one quick, fluid motion. The crowd erupts with more simpers and applause, none the wiser to the dark, carnal thoughts swirling in his head.

He carries you down the side of the ballroom, out into the hallway and towards the bathroom. He can’t wait. He shouldn’t have to wait. You were his bride to be. His little fiancé. His to do with as he pleases. Nobody could stop him. He was Captain fucking America. He’d kill anyone who stopped him. Crush their fucking skulls and paint the hallway with their worthless blood.

It’s like a wild animal has taken over Steve’s mind and soul as he pushes past the bathroom door and all but throws you inside. You wail weakly, and it gets him even harder how fragile you are, how easily he’s able to toss you from one corner to another without even using one percent of his strength.

“Y-You can’t–” You gasp weakly, that delicious pleading look still in your big, wet eyes as you realise his intentions, “The doctor, h-he said–”

Steve can’t get his eyes off your dainty little hand as you hold it in front of you, as if trying to shield yourself from him as you back away till your back is against the wall. The glimmer of your engagement ring as it brands you as his forever. Fuck, he doesn’t think he’s ever been harder than he is right now. A large part of him wishes he’d ended his proposal by fucking you in front of every single guest, letting them watch as he deflowered you and took ownership of your body again and again and again till he’d fucked you into unconsciousness just like he had that first night.

Because now you were forever his. Branded by the ring on your finger, forever tethered to him in every single way possible. Every single person now knew you were the sole property of Steve Rogers. Hell, your own parents had signed you away to him, and now he was your God, your saviour, your caretaker, your everything.

He wraps one hand around your tiny, delicate little throat, lifting you up off your feet in a crushing grip before he kisses you. Really kisses you. Forcing his tongue into your mouth in a display of total dominance and ownership, licking and exploring every part of you. Biting at your lip till he knows you’re crying against him, your little fists pounding on his chest as he kisses you. Your breathless little gasps against his mouth because he knows he’s depriving you of oxygen, choking you while he kisses you, knowing there’s not a damn thing you can do about it because of how weak and little you are.

Abruptly, he puts you down. Undoes his fly, grabs his rock-hard dick and pumps it as he watches you cower, gasping for breath and trying hard not to look at his crotch.

“N-No, Captain, no, please not here. Please, please, please–”

“Get on your knees.”

Steve loves the look of earnest confusion on your face. You’re so pure, so innocent, you truly don’t know what he’s ordering of you. Your pouty little mouth purses, your brows furrow, but Steve’s so fucking hard, that animal inside him roaring at the chance to feel your warm, wet, virgin mouth on his dick. And he’d rather be balls deep in your tight snatch but he knows he can’t, not when you’re so close to healing, not when he’s already abstained for so long.

He shoves you down onto your knees, and it’s the realisation on your face that does it for him. That sweet realisation of what’s about to happen, and the image of you in your pretty little dress, face done up all sweet, not knowing just how ruined he plans to make you look by the end of this. That’s what makes him grab his hard, fat, throbbing cock and smack you across the face with it. Hard.

You cry out in pain, and Steve does it again. Slaps your poor cheek with his fat cock just so you know what’s about to go down your fucking throat with zero mercy.

“Tell me how happy you are to be my wife,” he orders, tracing your lips with the tip of his dick. His precum paints your face, mixes with your tears and makes your cheeks shine.

“I-I’m not, I don’t want this – Captain, please don’t!”

SMACK.

Another smack to your face, and you burst into baby tears as if you can’t take it anymore. As if you’ve been holding them in for this whole function and now you’re really letting it all go. Crying for everything you’ve lost – not that Steve gives a single fuck.

“Say it.”

“I-I’m happy to be your wife, okay?! Please, I can’t do this here, Captain, please don’t make me!”

He grabs your hair and yanks it, and it’s when you scream in agonising pain that he shoves his huge cock down your throat. And again you scream, but this time it feels like fucking heaven – feels like vibrations on his cock as he holds your head down, shoving as much of his huge member as he can fit inside that tiny, tight fucking virgin mouth of yours.

“God fuck,” he hisses, tapping your cheek hard with his palm, “Daddy needed this, sweetheart.”

He can’t help the pet-name, not when you look so sweet and ruined already. On your knees on the bathroom floor in front of him, his huge dick in your mouth, his balls in your face. Tears streaming down your cheeks, your pretty dress spread like flower petals around you. He wonders if you’re wet from how rough he’s being, and the thought sends him into a frenzy, and he bucks his hips against your mouth, making you scream around his dick again.

“You should get used to this,” he hisses, “This is your life from now on, baby girl. This is what you were meant for. You’ll serve me like this every fucking day if I want you to. On your knees like a goddamned whore wife for your husband.”

Except you’re not a whore. No, you’re his innocent little bride. The epitome of elegance and class, of feminine purity. Except for when he’s got you behind closed doors, where he can reduce you to a sniffling, slutty little mess because you’re his and he can and he deserves this.

His cock is so big, you’ve barely taken a quarter of it in your mouth and you’re already struggling to breathe. Choking on his fat cock while you start to panic, your tiny fists pushing and shoving at his abs through his three-piece suit. He takes no heed, instead reaching down to rip your dress down its front, wanting to see your pretty breasts bounce as he truly begins to fuck your face.

You whine and cry on his cock, and that’s when he grabs fistfuls your hair from either side and truly begins to fuck your face. Your eyes widen like saucers with dread pooling in them. You punch him with all your might, try to push him off you but there’s no hope. The bathroom echoes with sounds of struggle, your gasps and screams against his dick that he pushes further and further down your throat with each thrust.

“You like that, don’t you?” As suddenly as he’d started fucking your face, he pulls out of your mouth. You gasp for breath, ready to fall into a heap on the gleaming, tiled floor had he not had a strong grip on you holding you upright.

He spits on your face, taking his time spreading his saliva across your forehead, cheeks, lips, nose. But even that isn’t enough, and he takes his heavy dick, covering in your spit and his precum, and rubs it all over your face. And it gets him so fucking hard, almost like he’s scenting you. Ruining you for anyone else despite the fact that there never would be anyone else.

“Say you like daddy’s dick in your mouth,” he orders you.

“Captain, ple–”

“Say it or I’ll drag you out in front of everyone and fuck you like the bitch in heat I know can be.”

You cry and cry, tears streaming down your cheeks as you look up at him with a mix of fear and revulsion. Your spunk kept coming back, no matter how many times he tamed and broke you. No matter how much he threatened you, hurt you, pushed you around. And it makes you so much fucking sexier to him that he almost can’t stand it. You’re everything he’s dreamed of and more, and it thrills him how scared you are of him, and yet how at the same time you push your luck and keep trying to fight back against him.

“Say it, or I’ll fuck you in front of your parents before I kill them.”

A gasp dies in your throat, and you look up at him with a peculiar kind of hatred. Like almost a revered kind of hatred. Like you’ve never seen anyone so powerful in your life, and he knows how helpless he’s making you feel. And it gives him the biggest fucking power trip he’s ever had.

“I–I like daddy’s dick in my mouth,” you try to downcast your eyes but he’s holding your face in a death-grip, and holding your gaze too.

“I know you do,” Steve sighs, pressing his fat, throbbing cock back into your mouth with such force, he almost knocks you backwards. But with a steel grip in your hair, he begins to move your head up and down. Using your mouth like a goddamned fleshlight as he fucks it. His tip hitting the back of your throat and making you gag around him and he still doesn’t let off.

You’re his pretty little mess, on your knees serving him like he’s your fucking God. Face ruined, dress ripped, your tits bouncing for him. Fuck, he wants to take your nipples in his mouth. Suck and bite them till they’re bruised and sore. He’d take you home and do just that, because you were his. His girl. His fiancé. His bride to be. His little toy. His forever reward.

Now, he takes his dick out from your mouth once more, resting it on your face as he roughly guides your tired, chapped lips to his heavy balls.

“Suck,” he orders, slapping your face lest you pass out on him again. This time, you don’t question him or even protest. Your lips wrap around his balls, sucking like you’re a goddamned pornstar, a half angel, half seductress put on this Earth especially and only to service him.

It doesn’t take long after that for him to blow his load. Not when you’d been teasing him all night, dressed up in your innocent blue dress like you were seducing him. Pressing your little body against his all night because of how weak you were from how hard he’d last fucked you. And it turns him on so fucking much, your physical weakness compared to his brute strength. He could kill you if he wasn’t careful. But he was always careful. He couldn’t lose you now. Not when you were the girl of his dreams and he’d finally made you his.

He cums on your face, wanting to brand you even more. And you blink up at him in delicious confusion, you lashes sticky with his seed, your pouty lips shining and downturned. It gets him hard all over again, and roughly he yanks you up to your feet. Holding you up with just one arm, he drags you to the bathroom mirror, grabbing your chin to get you to look at your reflection.

He drags his finger across your cheek, gathering his cum on it before prodding it against your lips. Your eyes widen, that delicious innocence shining through once more as you gape up at him.

“Lick it off.”

You’re too weak, too scared, to worn out to argue this time. And Steve almost blows another load when you suck on his finger, tasting his cum for the first time. And he takes his time, feeding you his seed till your face shines clean. And he suddenly has this wild urge to fill you up with his cum. Blow a load down your throat, then flip you over and fuck your pussy so savagely before filling you up, and then, when you’re on the verge of passing out again, he’d force his cock straight up your virgin ass and cum in there too.

It excites him, knowing he has the rest of his life – and yours – to subject you to whatever he wants to. And as his wife, it would be your duty to just take it. Sweet little girl, your life was his now. He’d make your decisions, decide what you wore, when you slept, who you spoke to, what you did. And he’d use your body how he deemed fit because it was his, and you were his.

He takes his jacket off and drapes it over your front to protect your modesty before hoisting you up bridal style once more. You’ve practically passed out again, but he doesn’t care. He carries you out of the bathroom and down the hallway. There’s a back elevator that takes him down to a private parking lot underground. His agents have the black car waiting, and he lays you across the backseat.

“I almost forgot you prefer ‘em barely concious.”

Steve blinks, his lip curling at the familiar voice.

Tony Stark steps out of the shadows. Or staggers, rather; his suit creased, and liquor bottle in hand. Steve keeps his face impassive, shutting the door of the car behind him.

“What, you’re leaving so soon? Got tired of dragging that poor thing around like she’s some kind of toy?”

Steve smirks, signalling for his agent to start the car, “Go back inside, Tony.”

“Is she one of the ones you get delivered to your apartment after missions? I’ve seen a fair few of them being carried out once you’re done with them.” Tony downs his drink, “Poor girls. Never knew what hit ‘em, huh?”

Jaw tensing, Steve crosses his arms over his chest, “Take it easy on the drinks tonight, Tony. I think they’re making you hallucinate.”

“She’s too young for your PR circus bullshit, Rogers.”

Of course. Tony was jealous.

“I’ll have one of my agents escort you back upstairs if you’re unable to find your own way.”

“She looked terrified up there. What did you do, threaten to kill her family?” Tony brings his bottle to his lips again, only to realise it’s empty.

Steve only watches him quietly. Studies him, like how he often does. Old, unkempt, borderline crazy old man. A once great leader turned into a punchline. The butt of every joke. Forced to drink himself into a stupor in the shadows whilst Steve was worshipped and revered by the masses like how Tony once was.

Steve smiles easily, “Go to bed, Tony. You’re drunk.”

“I see you, Steve,” Tony slurs, shrugging off an agent who attempts to grab his arm, “I see the real you. At least what you’ve become. And you’re riding this high now, but soon they’ll all see what you really are. Hell, her face will give it away each time you bring her out in public.”

The conversation is hardly stimulating, and Steve finds himself growing bored. He opens the car door, getting a flash of your smooth, pretty legs as you lie unconscious in the backseat.

“Shout it from the rooftops, Tony. Nobody wants to believe a drunk. Nobody wants to take orders from one either.”

Tony sneers, “You’re not taking my spot, pal.”

Steve doesn’t bother answering him. He gets into the car, draping your legs over his lap before shutting the door. Tony was never someone Steve took seriously enough to waste any more energy on him than he really had to. Nor did he think of the man as a serious threat. Steve had already taken Tony’s spot. That fact was as plain as day.

Now, he strokes your bare calf, and watches as you lie in the car. Deathly still, blinking up into the darkness. Morose as you stared out the window, so ruined and deliciously used. He wonders if he’ll ever get used to seeing you like this, seeing you so utterly ravished and broken. He traces shapes against your smooth, supple skin, before pressing a soft kiss to your calf. It’s oddly gentle, especially after the animalist display he’d put on in the bathroom. But you’re like an angel in the backseat of his car, an angel with a sparkling rock on her finger, an angel that was all his. His forever reward.

He has the female agents bathe you once he’s carried you back up to his apartment. He has some things to attend to in his office, and by the time he comes back to his bedroom, they’ve laid you out on his bed in a pretty pink negligee. Fresh and pure like a flower, eyes blinking up like a deer caught in headlights the moment he walks in.

He’d ordered the agents to give you something to knock you out for the night, and it’s clear the drug has yet to take its full effect. Perhaps that’s why you’re not your usual skittish self as he sits on his side of the bed. In fact, he can feel you watching him, your breathing shallow and slow. He was supposed to go back to his other apartment after dropping you off, but he feels an inexplicable need to stay.

“I…I wish you were nice,” you croak out softly, so soft he barely hears it, and yet it surprises him, because you’ve all he’s heard from you up until this point is begging, cries and insubordinate accusations. The drug has you slurring your words slightly, and yet you’re perfectly clear, “It would be so much easier if you were just a little bit nice.”

He doesn’t say anything. Your words are stupid, foolish, childish. To Steve, it doesn’t matter what you think of him. It doesn’t matter what’ll make things easier for you. Instead, he lies down, dragging you till your body’s flush against his. Tiny and peachy warm, smelling like strawberries and cream, the negligee silky soft, your bare skin even softer. It gives him that animalistic urge where he wants to just consume you.

Instead, he holds you closer, till your cheek rests on his chest and your body’s practically on top of his. And he doesn’t quite understand why he requires this closeness right now, only that he just does, and you’re his bride and therefore there to provide him with whatever he wants.

And right now, he wants to hold you. Feel your body against his. Remind himself how small you are, how much power he yields over you. As your husband, your provider, the man you look up to, the man who owns you. He was rough with you in the bathroom after the proposal, but now it’s like the animal is sated, and all that’s left is this almost strange, alien need to have you close.

He lifts you up and presses a kiss to your lips. A soft peck at first, then another one before he deepens it. He wants to feel you kiss him back, just like how you’ve done in the past despite pretending not to want him. But your soft lips remain lax against his, and he draws back to see you sniffle.

“Would it hurt you to be nice?” Your voice comes out so small, so beautifully weak. “Just a little bit nice? Like how you are on TV. I wish… Oh, I wish you’d just…”

You’re babbling, the drug pulsing through your system. And Steve knows better than to respond to your wistful, girlish, drugged up chatter. And yet…

“Niceness gets you nowhere,” he answers quietly, his large hand running up and down your back, his pointer finger tracing against the smooth skin of your arm. “Now go to sleep. That’s an order.”

“He was nice,” you say it so faintly that if it wasn’t for Steve’s advanced hearing, he wouldn’t have heard you. And there’s a certain dreamlike quality to your tone that incenses him to his very core. “He made me feel like a person, and his eyes were kind. I couldn’t stop thinking about them. He… he…”

You pass out, the drug finally kicking in. And you lie there in his arms, all soft and small and asleep. All while Steve remains deathly still, a certain darkness that he’s never quite felt before coursing through his veins.

A darkness that makes him want to choke his best and oldest friend to death.

Whew! Did you make it till the end? I sure hope so! I'd really love to know what you guys think! I am so nervous about this. I know that The Captain's Reward is probably my most popular story, so the sequel has big boots to fill. I really, really hope you guys enjoyed it. Please please do let me know what you think! Feedback, likes and reblogs would mean the whole world to me!

I've also come up with a few questions. But as always, you guys don't have to answer these! They're just for fun hehe. Any type of feedback would be amazing!

What did you think of Steve's proposal? LMAO.

Do you think Steve will grow softer towards reader? Or will he remain how he always is?

What do you think Steve will do to Bucky?

Anyways, I'm so scared to post this I feel like throwing up! I hope you guys enjoy it, thanks so much for being so patient! Love you, bye :)

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction

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humanjarvis · 1 month ago

Text

piece of you

synopsis: with his good looks, talent, and intellect, caleb is the aerospace academy’s golden boy. but he was yours first, and he’ll stay that way.

tags: possessive clingy spoiled reader manipulates caleb, college party, reader handles their jealousy in an unhinged way, crocodile tears, caleb is attentive and sweet and unsuspecting, inspired by “piece of you” by shawn mendes

word count: 1.3k

a/n: i’ve been holding onto this mental music video for years and now i finally get to bring it to life :3 was originally going to write this from his perspective but i was like wait a second. he's the "you" that everybody wants a piece of

Beer, music, and sweat. The typical college party.

To celebrate the end of the semester, one of the student groups at Skyhaven’s Aerospace Academy had rented out a club for the night. And Caleb, ever the giver, had thoughtfully invited you to tag along.

A chance to visit him, to have fun together, to make sure everyone around him kept their hands to themselves—who were you to refuse?

There was only one problem: he was running uncharacteristically late, held up by a final flight assessment that’d been postponed due to weather. Which meant that you were here alone.

His friends, Gideon and Patrick, had spotted you and called you over, but while they drone on about school and flit watchful eyes at you from time to time, it seems more like they’re babysitting. You’re sure he put them up to it.

“Professor docked me on the last turn. I nailed it over and over in practice, but I totally choked on the real thing—couldn’t get it tight enough.”

“Same, man. I honestly think there was something wrong with the test aircraft. It’s so old, all the controls seemed laggy.”

It’s nice that they like planes. So nice. But you get enough of that sort of talk from your star pilot already. Where is he? you sigh in frustration as you unlock your phone yet again.

Lucky for him, it chimes just before you can send a stream of angry faces.

special agent apple: Just pulled up :D I’m on my way.

Moments later, a beam of moonlight flickers by as the doors slide open. And when Caleb steps through, nodding casually at the bouncers, everyone’s chatter fizzles out into a hush.

All eyes are on him. Because Caleb, still in his flight uniform, looks good.

Like, even better than normal.

With his unzipped jacket, windswept hair, and the leftover adrenaline boosting his confidence, he’s a fantasy come to life. And as the guests watch him like he hung the stars in the sky, you realize you’re not the only one who’s daydreaming.

Neutral violet eyes scan the crowd and light up when they meet yours. Brushing off the people clamoring for his attention, including a disgruntled student body president, Caleb heads straight toward you.

“Sorry I’m late, pip-squeak,” he greets as he leans down to ruffle your hair. “Aced the flight after the storm passed, though. Everything alright here?” he asks, squinting at his gossiping friends behind you.

“Yes,” you huff, folding your arms over your chest. “You have some world-class babysitters. You should give them a raise.”

Caleb’s eyes twinkle. “I should, huh? Maybe it’s not that they did a good job, but that someone was on their best behavior while they were waitin’ for me.”

“You wish. I have a list of crimes to commit tonight. I was just saving them for when you got here so I could blame it all on you.”

“Oh? You tryin’ to get me banned, pip-squeak?” he chuckles. “I guess it would be my fault for inviting you. But if I’m guilty, then you’re my accomplice. We’ll get kicked out together.”

“Whatever,” you sigh, rolling your eyes in pretend annoyance. The air feels lighter, now that he’s here. “How was the rest of your—”

“Hey, Caleb!” a deep voice interrupts. Trying to find its owner, your eyes land on Caleb’s basketball friends, all huddled at a table in the corner of the room. When he spots them, he waves briefly before turning back to you. “Just a sec,” he says, ruffling your hair again. “I’ll be right back. Keep yourself out of trouble, okay?”

***

Ten minutes. Ten whole minutes.

You could be obnoxious at times. Childish, demanding. Spoiled.

But at no point, under any circumstance, should Caleb spend ten minutes away from you when you’re in the same room.

The guys on his team are talking his ear off, and he’s letting them! Joining! As if you didn’t fly all the way to Skyhaven just to see him.

You’re already glaring at him so hard you’re surprised you haven’t gotten heat vision yet. But as some tall brunette—the sports writer for the student newspaper, you recall—saunters over to him, you decide those powers would really come in handy right now.

She enters the conversation with an ease that makes your jaw clench.

And as she rests a coy hand dangerously close to Caleb’s dog tag, laughing at some dumb joke he should be telling you, the intermittent twitch in your eye becomes constant.

This won’t do.

Your bloodshot eyes are nearly unrecognizable in the chipped bathroom mirror.

You had to be thorough tonight. Since you were kids, Caleb had taken care of you when you were sick—meaning he’d seen your attempts to fake sickness and knew your tells like the back of his hand. One overdramatic sniffle, one exaggerated groan, and he’d know something was off.

In the fifteen minutes since you’d been holed up in the club’s bathroom, you’d smudged your makeup, mussed your hair, coughed until your voice was hoarse, and disheveled your outfit. Now, only the finishing touch was left. Recalling the ending of a sad romance you’d watched last week—the husband never remembered his poor wife after the accident—you shut your eyes for several seconds, and the tears roll down your cheeks like raindrops.

Perfect.

Pressing one hand to your temple and the other to your stomach, you stumble out of the bathroom in feigned dizziness, a pout on your face as you search through the crowd.

Caleb is still with his teammates, chatting casually with the sports writer, but the way his eyes frantically scan the room betrays his nerves. Once his panicked gaze finds you hobbling toward him, he immediately rushes forward, wrapping an arm around you and cradling your head. “What’s wrong? What happened? I was keepin’ an eye on you, but I looked away for one second and you were gone.”

“Hurts,” you mumble, slumping into his arms and clinging to his jacket. “Think I drank something bad.” If plain ice water counts.

Caleb’s face darkens for a split second before he masks it with a soft frown. Previous conversation—and conversation partner—forgotten, he lifts you effortlessly and carries you through the sea of students.

They part for him with the urgency of subjects making way for their king. And as your body jostles from the force of his hurried steps, you know you made the right decision tonight.

Caleb didn’t need that kind of admiration. Not from anyone but you.

Thanks to the path cleared for him, Caleb reaches the exit in seconds. And as you lie there limp in his arms, about to get your way once again, a boldness overtakes you. Smugly, you raise your head to lock eyes with the pouting sports writer, throwing her a shameless wink that Caleb would never think you capable of. Not when you were in dire need of his care.

Her mouth dropping open in outrage is the last thing you see before the doors slide closed behind you.

Satisfied, you nuzzle into Caleb’s neck as he carries you to his car and buckles you into the passenger seat.

“You did the right thing, findin’ me right away,” he murmurs. “Just a few more minutes, and I'll get some medicine for you. I'll take care of you, just like I did back then.”

“Thank you,” you mumble feebly. “I didn't mean to ruin your night. I just don’t know what happened,” you whimper, using his short trip to the driver’s side to force fresh tears into your eyes.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he says firmly, gaze fixed on yours as he switches on the ignition. “How could you have known you’d get sick? It’s not like you planned it.”

“I guess,” you sniffle, hiding your smile with your shirtsleeve. “Still, though, I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, pip-squeak. Now, let’s get you home.”

As his doting smile gives you butterflies, you can see why people like him so much. But unfortunately for them, you like him more.

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amberlynnmurdock · 4 months ago

Text

Dressing Room

Pairing: Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter x Reader Insert

Summary: Dex takes guarding your dressing room at Lululemon a little too seriously.

Genre: FLUFF and a little angst

Note: I'm sorry if this isn't my strongest! I felt like writing a cute little something for Dexy since he's BACK!!!! <3 <3 my DDBA thoughts will have to be another post. ENJOY!

Dex guards the door with his arms crossed in front of him, suspiciously eyeing every person who walks by. It’s reminiscent of the missions he’s been placed on in the past—guarding the door for witness protection, guarding the door of a criminal. It's the same concept, really. Make sure no one gets to whoever is behind the door he guards. Deathly stare at anyone who even glances in his direction.

A bead of sweat trickles down his back from the heat in the room. Every muscle in his body tenses at every sound he hears. Boots scuffing the wood-paneled floor, paper ripping—all send his heart rate skyrocketing and his eyes scanning the room obsessively for any kind of threat. It was important to him that he be aware of anything and everything. It was important to him that people know he sees them.

An older woman approaches him. Before she can say anything, Dex holds out his hand to stop her.

“This dressing room is occupied,” he says in his FBI agent authoritative voice. His eyes darken at her audacity. The woman cowers at his stern, unfriendly look and quickly walks away with shirts draped over her arm—as she should, Dex thinks.

“Sir,” a male voice comes from his side. “I’m the manager. You don’t work here. I’m going to have to ask you to not scare our customers in the dressing room if you’re not trying anything on. There’s no reason for you to be standing here.”

No reason? Dex looks at the man but hides his incredulous look. Dex has every reason to be standing in front of the dressing room you’re in—he has to make sure you’re safe.

“I’m waiting for my girlfriend,” Dex states without a flinch, tightening his arms in front of his chest.

“You can wait for her on the couches in the middle of the room,” the manager explained calmly. “You don’t need to guard the door.”

Frustration bloomed in Dex’s chest. What was so hard to understand? “Yes, I do. I need to make sure she’s safe.”

“Sir, this is a Lululemon.”

“Dex?” You open the door ajar to peek at Dex, standing in his FBI-esque stature, arms crossed and deathly glaring at anyone and everyone. Now, the manager fell victim to such a harsh glare. When Dex heard your voice, it was the only moment his expression softened. He looked at you attentively, as if the manager wasn’t there. “Could you tell me if you like this jacket?”

Dex looked from you to the manager beside him, watching him suspiciously. When no one said a word, you sighed in exasperation and looked at the manager.

“Can my boyfriend please help me in the dressing room? He’ll be out once I get his opinion.”

“Sure,” the manager said. “But please also tell him to stop scaring our guests away.”

“I will,” you flashed a smile at him as he walked away. You uncrossed Dex’s arms and grabbed his hand, leading him into the dressing room. You shut the door, and Dex beat you to locking it.

“Dex,” you said softly. “Why are you scaring people away?” You asked with an amused smile on your face. You were used to him being protective—you found it very endearing that he acted somewhat like your personal bodyguard, even if you were at a casual establishment like Lululemon. Dex’s face softened as he sighed.

“I just want to make sure no one will walk in on you,” Dex said. “I’m sorry if I was aggressive.”

“No, it’s okay,” you laughed, giving his upper bicep a gentle squeeze. “I appreciate how protective you are over me.”

Dex shrugged. “I just want you to be safe.”

“I am safe,” you affirmed. “Whenever I’m with you.”

Dex smiled and held your gaze for a moment. You shrugged and tugged at the seams of the jacket you tried on.

“Well, what do ya think?” You asked him, breaking eye contact to look at yourself in the mirror. Dex was still looking at you, but as if snapping out of his thoughts, he looked at your torso and analyzed the jacket.

“It looks perfect on you,” Dex said, meeting your eyes in the mirror.

“Thank you, Dex. Do you like the black? Maybe I should try on the blue. Could you get me the light blue one out there? It’s called the Define jacket.”

Although he was captivated by how you looked, he still registered your command. “I’ll find it.”

He left you in the dressing room as he made his way back out to the main floor. The manager who scolded him before stared him down, but Dex wasn’t intimidated—he’s had much worse foes. He ignored his glare as he made his way to the table that read: Define Jacket. He found a light blue one in your size.

Dex walked back to the dressing room area and stopped in his tracks when he saw your dressing room empty, door wide open. His alertness set in as his heart rate skyrocketed again, and this time, he was reminded of every person in his life who’d abandoned him without warning. His parents, his therapist… and now, you. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing someone again. A deep heaviness settled in his chest, a deep sense of longing he hadn’t felt in a while overcame him at the missing sight of you. Where did you go? Dex could barely hold onto the jacket he grabbed for you.

Were you taken? He knew this would happen—he shouldn’t have left you alone. You, your kindness, he knew could be taken advantage of so easily. He didn’t care that this was just an establishment—nowhere is guaranteed safe. That’s what they taught him in training. Suddenly, he felt an intense resentment towards the manager who berated him for standing in front of your door. This is why he “scaring” guests—this is why he was protecting you.

No, Dex thought. It’s nobody’s fault but his. It’s his fault you slipped from his grasp—it was always his fault. The minute he found the person who took you from—Dex was already planning the ways he’d make them pay. He’s counting each hanger that hangs inside the empty dressing room—it’s how many times he’ll throw it at whoever took you from him. There wasn’t any sadness at your disappearance anymore—he felt rage. Fixated on the hangers and how easily they would slip from his fingers.

“Dex,” he heard you call his name, and just like that—as quick as a switch—all his anxieties disappeared. Something fluttered in his chest. There you were, standing in front of a large mirror, trying on a light blue tennis dress. Your hair was disheveled from throwing the dress on, but you looked beautiful in Dex’s eyes. Angelic, even—just looking at you brought a feeling in Dex he’s not used to. At first, it was scary, but then it was just…silent. Peaceful. Only you were capable of making him even taste that feeling. “Come here,” you said.

Dex does as he’s told but doesn’t just stop to look at you and give his opinion—you could wear anything and he would think it’s the loveliest thing. Dex wraps his arms around your waist and holds you tight against him—his fears from before coming to the front of his mind. He thought he lost you. He can’t experience that feeling again.

He buries his head in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent. He feels you tentatively wrap your arms around him, embracing his hold.

“I’m sorry,” Dex said, “I thought you were gone.”

“Gone?” You giggled against him. “Where would I have gone?”

“I don’t know,” Dex mumbled in your hair.

“I’m right here.” You pulled back from his embrace to brush your fingers through his dirty blonde hair.

Dex suddenly couldn’t meet your eyes—ashamed of his paranoia and for thinking the worst. “I got your jacket in blue,” Dex muttered, holding up the soft article of clothing on his arm.

“Thank you,” you said. “Do you like this dress on me? Your opinion matters to me, you know.”

His opinion matters to you. He matters. Dex looks at you again, and then he takes a step back, fully realizing the image in front of him. You looking at him like he’s the most important thing in the world, and he looking at you like you’re the most beautiful—because you are, to him.

“It’s perfect,” Dex says quietly. It’s all he can say. The adrenaline of his paranoia from before exhausted him. You knew him well enough to know he was fighting an internal battle. And he was trying his best to hide it from you.

“Take a seat, Dex. I’m all finished up here. Let me change back into my clothes, pay and then we’ll go home,” you said softly. You pressed a soft kiss on his cheek and guided him to sit on the couches in the middle of the dressing room.

Dex sat down at your command. In front of him was the mirror—he met his own eyes and quickly looked away. When you closed the door to your dressing room, Dex quietly got up to instead sit in front of your door, on the couch that faced it. He waited for you patiently there—just in case.

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mrs-kmikaelson · 4 months ago

Text

icarus

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x sunshine!reader Summary: Aaron thinks you're just about the most radiant person he's ever met. But then you fly too close to the sun, and all your light disappears. Warnings: grumpy x sunshine turned not sunshine, some references to the greek myth of icarus, religious imagery, graphic descriptions of violence, murder, brief allusion to suicide, heartbreak, complicated relationship, unhealthy coping mechanisms, cm timeline not canon, takes place in s6ish, extreme angst and no happy ending (yet) Words: 4.1K

Masterlist | helios (part 2)

a/n: part 2?

You'd been in Hotch's office too many times to count, typically sitting on his couch. Oftentimes, you'd come in after hours, waiting for him to finish his work before you walked to the parking lot together. He'd scribble away at his desk while you rested your eyes, and then he'd walk over to you when he was done.

Now, you sat on the couch, the same as before. But this time, Hotch sat in front of you. You weren't resting your eyes and he wasn't working on any case. A file laid on his lap, nonetheless.

Your file.

You wanted to question that. Was it performative? What would he find in that file that he didn't already know about you? Did he want to make you sweat, make you tense up?

He didn't need a file for that.

Your eyes zeroed in on the tan folder, labelled with the FBI seal, and they stayed there until he spoke your name. "Y/N."

You looked up. Aaron's face betrayed no emotion. His expression wasn't warm, nor was it cold. It was just blank.

But, see, you could read Aaron Hotchner better than any file. And in his eyes, you saw traces of concern, hope, frustration, desperation, and all those other things he was hiding behind his unit chief persona. You wondered if he could see anything in your eyes right now.

You weren't really there. Not in that moment.

Your mind went back to your first time in that office.

"SSA Aaron Hotchner, it's a pleasure to meet you."

You gave him a remarkable smile. "Please, the pleasure's all mine. Agent Y/N Y/L/N." You had a firm handshake, he'd give you that. "It's— it's an honour to be here, sir."

David Rossi was your connection. He served with your father during the Vietnam War. Hotch thought that made him biased, but Rossi told him otherwise. She's the sun, he'd said. I guarantee, you'll never meet anyone as radiant as her.

Upon meeting you, Hotch could see that. He could see the beam in your smile and the light in your eyes. Maybe that should've deterred him from letting you on his team, but you were convincing.

Sitting opposite to you at his desk, he read from your file. "It says here you come from Crimes Against Children?"

"Yes, sir."

"You've held the highest number of cases solved within the unit for the past 2 years." He finally looked up at you, his lips twitching ever so slightly. "That's quite the accomplishment, agent."

He didn't seem like a man who gave out compliments very often, and so you had to fight the urge to smile like a lunatic. "Thank you, sir."

He didn't seem like a man who smiled much, either. And so, before he even said another word, you knew that you made it.

When the interview ended, you shook hands a second time, and he told you to pack a go-bag and be ready to come in for Monday. This time, you couldn't hide the smile.

"Welcome to the BAU."

Aaron's voice broke you from your reverie. "Please state your name and rank for the record."

Your eyes darted to the voice recorder on the coffee table before looking back up at him. You cleared your throat. "Supervisory Special Agent Y/N Y/L/N."

Aaron didn't waste any time. "Agent Y/L/N, in your time with CAC, you had the most cases solved within the unit," he stated. That was once a compliment to you.

It didn't feel that way anymore.

"Yes," you affirmed.

"You were there for 2 years."

"Yes."

Hotch paused. His next words weren't a statement. "How did that affect your mental wellbeing?"

Low blow. Very low blow. But you kept your composure, answering, "I was evaluated frequently as a member of the CAC. I was deemed fit to be in the field on each occasion." You bit your tongue to keep you from saying anything else. This is being recorded, you reminded yourself.

Hotch narrowed his eyes, almost imperceptibly.

Almost.

"And once you got to the BAU, there was no residual guilt?" He made eye contact with you, and perhaps now your eyes were communicating something.

That was lower.

But you supposed that Aaron knew exactly where to hit.

"It's okay if you have to take a break, you know."

You jumped at the sudden voice, putting a hand on your heart. You didn't hear anyone enter the stairwell.

An apologetic look crossed his face, but you were the one with an apology on your lips. "Sorry, I— I'll get back right now."

You attemped to walk past him, but his hand caught your shoulder. Your breath hitched. You didn't know why.

His eyes softened. They were normally hard, inpenetrable, but you were starting to realize that he looked at you differently. The team teased you for favouritism, and you denied it every time, but you could only lie to yourself so much.

"Y/N," he started, "if you think you have something to prove, you don't. You've already proven yourself." His voice was tender, not as though he was treating you like you were delicate, but like he wanted to be gentle. "You're allowed to take a minute."

You sighed. "But I shouldn't have to, Hotch." You looked away from him, trying to find the words to verbalize your thoughts. "I— I dealt with tougher cases than this in CAC. I should be able to handle it. It's not fair for me to break down when that boy is out there, all on his own."

A lump grew in the back of your throat. It wasn't fair. Nothing about this job was fair.

You weren't normally so quick to cry, but you'd been holding this in. Aaron could tell.

After cases, you were everyone's shoulder to cry on. Even he had confided in you multiple times when he probably shouldn't have. You were always there.

He wondered who was there for you.

"What you feel is valid. This is a hard case; it's normal to be a bit overwhelmed. You don't have to carry guilt over that."

A little laugh left you. "Hotch, how can you say that when everyone else is handling it just fine?"

His reply came quick. "They're not." You wanted to interject, but he continued, "Prentiss may seem fine, but beneath the surface, she's disgusted. Morgan is no different; he's angry, and that's manifesting into aggression. Reid is quieter today. Rossi is going to get a drink later. JJ has called Will 3 times since we got here, checking on Henry. And every time I see that boy's picture, I think of Jack, and I'm barely holding it together."

You swallowed at the admission, realizing his hand was still on your shoulder when he took it away. You missed the warmth.

"You're not alone, Y/N."

You believed him.

Your jaw tensed. "Guilt is inevitable. But I didn't have any more of it than the average agent."

Aaron didn't believe you. He wouldn't. He knew better.

But he was Hotch right now, and technically, Hotch wasn't meant to know anything about you. Hotch was conducting this interview, and his subordinate, Agent Y/L/N, sat across from him. Not his teammate or friend.

Certainly not the girl who fell in love with him.

You and Emily stood in the break room. She poured you a coffee as you talked about your weekends. She was just in the middle of telling you about her weekend to Atlantic City. Your laugh echoed throughout the room.

"Prentiss, next time you go gambling, take me with you! I promise I'm good."

"Somehow, I don't doubt that."

Your head turned to the new voice, seeing Hotch standing at the doorway. His lips quirked upward slightly, almost a smile. It was the most you'd get from him—you knew that.

A part of you was grateful for anything he was willing to give you.

You matched his smile with much more vigour. "You should try me sometime. I'd give you a run for your money, Hotchner," you teased.

If you didn't know any better, you might've thought his eyes softened right then and there. "Somehow, I don't doubt that, either," he said.

You nearly forgot Emily was even in the room, missing the look she sent you. You wouldn't have known how to respond to it, anyway. Sometimes, you almost thought Hotch was flirting with you—and maybe he was. But that was the furthest it'd ever go, the most he'd ever give you.

That part of you, the biggest part, was grateful for it.

And another part of you didn't see the problem with that.

As if he was coming to his senses, he cleared his throat, crossing his arms over his chest and informing you, "Round table in 5." Then he was walking away like nothing ever happened.

Maybe it didn't. Maybe you imagined it. Sometimes, you felt like pinching yourself.

But then from behind you, Emily chirped, "You know... he could've sent JJ to come tell us that."

You hummed, refusing to look at her.

Amusement flooded her voice. "It's... it's almost like... something just pulled him here."

"Okay, Emily."

You ignored her cackling, making an early trip to the round table as heat licked the tips of your ears.

Hotch's gaze didn't let up. You felt your face burn.

You knew he had a Rolodex of thoeries in his mind, a mental profile of who he thought you were. He once told you that he was a collector in his youth, and so you knew he had a collection of questions in his head.

He was striking out with this one. He moved on to the next.

"Would you say you've built close relationships with the members of this team?"

Your eyes travelled to the photo behind his desk, barely making out the image of you at a bar with the rest of the team, Aaron included. He stood next to you in that one. You were all smiling, even him.

You re-directed your attention back to him. "Yes, I have."

"You should smile more."

Aaron looked down at you, his expression a mix of confusion and amusement. "What?"

Blinking, you repeated, "I said, you should smile more." A dopey grin arose on your face. "It suits you."

Aaron resisted the urge to laugh at your drunken antics. He was perfectly sober, having already anticipated that he'd have to someone's ride. "Okay, I think it's time we get you home." You didn't protest, nor did the smile on your face move. Sometimes, Hotch thought it was there permanently, like it was a fixed part of your character.

He grew to really like that smile.

Maybe more than like.

He said his goodbyes for the both of you, receiving teasing glances from the rest of the team and wiggly eyebrows from Morgan. You barely took notice of any of it, now enthralled by the laces on your shoes.

When he guided you up and you realized you were leaving, you waved haphazardly. "Bye guys!"

A chorus of goodbyes and laughter followed you out the door of the bar. Before you could even shiver, a coat was being draped over your shoulders. It took you a few seconds to figure out it was Aaron's.

Butterflies swarmed through your stomach.

Hotch was silent for a few seconds. It was like he was hesitating. But not for long.

"And would you say that those relationships are still the same now?"

You swallowed. Butterflies were in your stomach—and not the good kind. These butterflies ate away at your insides, making you want to vomit what little breakfast you'd eaten that morning. You felt sick.

Moths, you realized. Not butterflies at all.

You were a moth, too. Drawn to the flames of something bigger than you. Was that what Hotch was getting at? Was that why he was asking you all these pointless questions?

He knew the answers already. Why was he asking you?

You responded, anyway. "No." Even if he wasn't a profiler, it would've been impossible not to notice the way your voice tightened up.

He was getting somewhere now. He dug deeper. "Is that because of what happened in Glendale?"

No. No. No. No.

Yes.

He knew that. God, he knew that better than anyone. But still, you could question him and his credibility. That was an awful question, not because he already knew the answer but because it was so unspecified.

"A lot happened in Glendale," you said. A lot.

Everything.

"You look tired."

You rolled your eyes. "Thanks, Hotchner. That's just what a girl wants to hear." You flashed him a smile, anyway, like you were showing him that your annoyance was nothing more than playful.

You were still smiling, even in the midst of all this. Sometimes, Hotch thought you could smile enough for the two of you.

His hotel room was right beside yours. You were still getting your key out. Truthfully, he didn't know why he was just standing there, watching you.

In a way, it was like you were waiting for him, too. Despite having fished your room key out of your purse, you turned your body to fully face him. Something soft twinkled in your irises.

He wanted to say he saw stars in your eyes, but it was really just you.

You were the star.

If he took another step closer, you'd be able to feel his breath against your skin. But you knew he wouldn't. You wanted him to, but he wouldn't, not even if you asked him to. And you wouldn't ask him.

He was the unit chief; he valued that. He valued rules, and order, and protocol. You couldn't ask him to turn on that.

But you could do it yourself.

You took one step forward. He didn't step back.

"Y/N," he pleaded. It was meant to be a warning, but his voice was as light as a feather.

You didn't know what you were doing. Ever since you joined the BAU, you were sure of yourself, absolute. Hotch made you rethink things. He made you feel like you were a champion, on top of the world and so close to the sun.

Aaron was warm. That's all you ever wanted.

You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of his hand on your face. "Please," you whispered. "Please."

You weren't asking—you were begging. Begging him to see you. God, Hotch had been engulfed in darkness for so long. You were begging him to bask in the sunlight with you.

But he wouldn't.

Within seconds, the warmth was gone. "Goodnight, Y/N."

When you opened your eyes, he was already walking away, leaving you standing there with a key in your hand and your heart on your sleeve.

Hotch sighed, his forefinger going to his thumb. Tired. "I'm talking about that night, Y/N."

Your heart dropped.

You remembered that night. You remembered it well. But he wasn't talking about the part where he left you standing in an empty hallway.

He was talking about what came after.

Knocking sounded at your door, incessant and loud. You suppressed a groan, getting up and throwing the door open without checking the peep hole. Maybe that was stupid, considering you were working a serial killer case and all the victims looked like you, but you honestly would've preferred anything other than seeing Hotch standing on the other side of the threshold.

When you opened the door, his hand fell. Soon after, so did his face. You'd been crying. You suddenly wished you'd gotten the chance to splash water on your face before carelessly opening your door.

But Hotch collected himself in an instant, returning the stony exterior you were used to. "There's been an update in the case. We have the unsub's location," he told you.

Just like that, you stood straighter, composing yourself in record speed that could put your boss to shame. "Just let me put on my shoes." You hadn't even changed.

You put on your shoes, and then you and Hotch left without another word to each other.

In the elevator, you wiped away the last of your tears as he stared straight ahead.

You were glad he didn't mention it.

Tears built in your eyes, no matter how hard you tried to hold them back. Still, you held your resolve. "I don't want to talk about that night."

For the first time since this conversation started, Hotch's voice softened. "You have to, Y/N." He sounded like he pitied you.

You didn't want his pity. You didn't want his or anyone's anything. You just didn't want to talk about it.

"Alright, JJ, Prentiss, you take the side. Rossi and I will take the front. Morgan and Y/L/N take the back."

You saw a few confused eyes dart your way at his assignment, but you brushed them off. It wasn't the time to question why Hotch didn't pair you together, even though he always did, or why he'd address you with your last name when that name was practically foreign to his tongue.

Now wasn't the time.

Instead, you nodded, following his orders. That much hadn't changed.

At the back entrance, Morgan kicked down the door and then you made your way in, holding your flashlight above your gun.

Beyond the back lounging area, there were two hallways extending on both sides. Derek nodded to the right direction, and you nodded back at him, taking the left.

The rickety floorboards creaked under your weight. You shined your light on the walls. There was framed artwork, but no family pictures, just as you profiled. Everything was as you profiled. This was clean cut.

It was supposed to be simple.

But it wasn't.

Right as you turned the corner, you were slammed into the wall. Both your gun and your flashlight fell out of your hands, dropping to the floor.

You didn't get the chance to retaliate. The unsub grabbed you by your vest, throwing you against the other wall. Your back hit glass, shattering everywhere. You gasped, and then he was striking you to the ground.

Your arms flailed at the sides, trying to reach your gun, but it was no use. He climbed on top of you, knocking the wind out of your lungs.

It was so dark. But you could see his face so clearly. His teeth glinted in the light as he grinned at you. "You... are... beautiful."

You cried, mustering all your strength to get up. It wasn't enough. Not enough, not enough, not enough.

With a knife you hadn't seen before, he caressed your face. Cold, cold, cold. It was so cold.

Then the blade was off your face, and relief flooded through your veins. Until it was replaced by something worse. So much worse.

You didn't feel it right away, but when you did, your head shot up like this was all a bad dream you could just wake up from.

Except it wasn't. The feeling of his knife being plunged into your abdomen proved that.

It was gone, and then it just came right back. Again. And again.

You tried to scream, but no sound would come out. Your mouth warped around nothing.

The pain took you whole, wrapping its arms around your body and enveloping you in ice. You had never felt so much pain. God, was this what Hotch felt when the Reaper attacked him? Did he feel so heavy and so light at the same time?

More tears raced down your cheeks at the thought. It hurt so bad. You knew it would hurt, but you never thought it'd hurt this bad.

The unsub pulled the knife out of you yet again, dripping your own blood onto your face. You could see his eyes. They were lifeless. He smiled maniacally, raising his arms above his head. This was it, you thought. His face would be the last thing you saw.

He was gonna end it. Finally.

You nearly prayed for it.

You screwed your eyes shut, awaiting the blade to meet your skin one last time.

It never did.

A gunshot rang through the hallway. A heavy mass fell on top of you before it was shoved off. Somebody was calling your name. You couldn't decipher who it was.

They were shaking your shoulders. Something wet hit your face. Your eyes didn't open.

The pain was so strong. You were so tired. So, so tired.

You let yourself fall asleep.

"Y/N!"

"Y/N."

Hotch's concerned eyes were too much for you. You couldn't do this. You couldn't pretend to be here when you were still there.

You shot out of your chair, fervently shaking your head. "Turn the recorder off."

Hotch matched your stance, knitting his brows together. "Y/N—"

"Damnit, Hotch, turn it off!"

At your outburst, he narrowed his eyes, but he ultimately did as you said, pressing pause.

You ran your a hand through your hair. The room was spinning. Your head was spinning. Your vision got blurry.

He tried to reason, "We have to talk about this—"

"No!" you cut him off, pointing your finger at him. It wouldn't stop shaking. "No, we don't. We could leave it alone like I am asking you to— like I am begging you to."

His face softened, looking less like Hotch and more like Aaron. But you didn't want to see Aaron. Not now. "No, we can't—"

"Yes, we can!" you shouted. You were lucky the office was empty at this hour. You were lucky Hotch gave you the couresy of emptiness. Your eyes were wild as you stepped closer to him. "When Elle spiralled, nobody talked about it. When everyone found out about what happened to Derek, nobody talked about it. When Spencer was kidnapped and got hooked on drugs, nobody fucking talked about it. And you!" You pointed your finger back at him, now in his face. "When you were stabbed and Foyet murdered Haley in cold. blood. you came back here and you never talked about it!" Tears ran down your face in a waterfall, your lips quivering. "Why can't I do the same?"

Hurt was all over Aaron's face, but he didn't step back like you were expecting him to. Instead, he stepped forward. If this were before, he would've grasped onto your shoulders. His fingers could only flex at his sides.

"You're not the same, Y/N." Just like that night in the hallway, he was pleading with you. He was pleading to just let him help you.

A humourless laugh left you. "Of course, I'm not the same, Aaron. No one is."

How could he expect you to be the same? How could he expect you to come back and be the same person you were when that person was still lying in a house in Glendale? How could he expect you to be the same person when you could still feel that man's body on top of you? When you could still feel his knife cutting into your flesh?

"I'm trying to help you—"

"Well, you can't." You took your finger and pointed it at your chest. "It hurts here. Everything about me is shattered and broken into a thousand little pieces and you can't do anything to fix it."

He shook his head. "Don't say that."

"God, and you only make it worse." Maybe this was unfair of you, but it hurt so bad you couldn't see clearly.

He looked pained. "Please don't say that."

"But you do." You stepped forward, nearly closing the gap between you. "You hurt me, Aaron. Having this conversation is hurting me. Please— please just stop. "

"Y/N." He whispered your name like it was his last Hail Mary. Tears responded to his call.

You couldn't do this.

You pursed your lips together, stepping away from him altogether. "I can't be here anymore. I— I have to go."

He tried to reach after you, but he couldn't stop you from walking out the door. And as soon as you weren't in his sight, you were running. Running away from the same room you'd fallen asleep in time and time again. Running away from the man that occupied it. The same man who held your heart in his hands.

Hotch stood alone in his office, staring at the open door where you'd left. You took all the light with you.

You were a constant beacon in the darkness that surrounded your lives, brightening up the BAU day by day. That light was always there, even if it dimmed a bit. You chased it like a moth drawn to a flame. But now it'd been snuffed out.

You had flown too close to the sun.

And now your light was gone.

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rawjutsu · 18 days ago

Text

“off the record”

pairing: leon kennedy x afab journalist!reader

cw: canon-typical violence, minor blood references, mild degradation, fingering, piv, rough sex, creampie, mild possessiveness, no real aftercare

a/n: IN CELEBRATION OF RE9 BEING ANNOUNCED HERE IS A LIL SMTH FOR MY FELLOW LEON ENJOYERS! you can choose whichever leon to put in here but i thought of damnation leon…

you’re not sure what hurts worse—the gash on your thigh or the fact that leon kennedy is the one stitching it shut.

you’re bleeding, tired, and pissed off. which makes leon’s face the perfect thing to hate right now.

he’s crouched between your legs, tactical gloves peeled halfway off, blood on his cheekbone and shadows under his eyes, jaw tight, a needle in one gloved hand and thread in the other. you’re perched on an old military supply crate, pants cut off at the knee, bare thighs sticky with blood and dirt. the wound on your upper thigh pulses with every heartbeat—but you’re too stubborn to flinch. especially not in front of him.

"you don’t have to be gentle," you mutter, breaking the silence. "i’m used to getting fucked over by government dogs."

leon doesn’t flinch, but the line of his jaw tightens.

“you’re welcome for saving your life,” he mutters, knotting the thread with a little more force than necessary.

"you only saved me because your orders said i was valuable." you lean back on your elbows, wincing slightly. "or maybe you just like watching me bleed."

his eyes flick up—sharp and blue and furious. “you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

"then explain it to me, agent kennedy. off the record."

he says nothing.

“this isn’t your job, kennedy,” you continue. “you’re not supposed to care.”

that’s what finally makes him look up. his eyes—ice blue, bloodshot, way too tired for someone your age—lock onto yours. he’s crouched between your legs with his hands full of thread and tension, and you think: this is a bad idea.

he says, low and tight, “if i didn’t care, you’d still be out there bleeding in the street.”

"maybe i should’ve stayed out there." you lean back on your palms. "better than being locked in here with a government lapdog who thinks silence is a virtue."

his hand shoots out—fast—and grabs your jaw. not hard, but enough to tilt your face to his.

“you want to keep pushing me, sweetheart?” he says, voice quiet and sharp. “because i promise you, i’ll push back harder.”

you exhale through your nose. challenge accepted.

“then do it,” you whisper. “push me.”

and maybe it’s the adrenaline, or the pain, or the weeks of crawling through ruins with a man who looks at you like he wants to either kill you or kiss you—but you’re the one who leans forward first. your hand curls around his vest, tugging, and your mouth crashes into his like it’s war.

but it’s not a kiss. not really. it’s a collision. teeth clash. lips bruise. his hands—rough, gloved, bloodied—are on your waist, yanking you forward, slotting your legs around his hips like he’s trying to crawl inside you. and fuck, you let him. you kiss him like it hurts. like you’re angry to want him this badly.

he kisses like he fights—dirty, desperate, all teeth and frustration. his hands are on you instantly, one gripping your waist, the other cradling the back of your head like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he stops touching you. when he groans against your lips, it’s like he hates the sound coming out of him.

“you’re such a fucking brat,” he hisses, dragging his mouth to your jaw, then your neck. “always running into danger. always thinking you know better.”

“you’re obsessed with me,” you breathe, dragging your fingers through his messy, sweat-damp hair. “just admit it.”

he lets out a sharp laugh—almost bitter. “obsessed? you’ve been bleeding out for an hour and still haven’t shut up.”

you grin. “and you’ve had your hand between my thighs for twenty minutes without complaining.”

“trust me,” he growls, slipping his hand higher, fingertips ghosting over the damp heat of your underwear, “i’m done complaining.”

his hand slides up your thigh, rough callused fingers dragging over sticky skin before pressing between your legs. you're already soaked—humiliation blooms hot in your chest—but leon’s smirk is worse. like he knew.

“christ. you get wet mouthing off like that?”

"maybe i just like knowing you’d fall apart if i died."

he growls something low and inhuman. he circles your clit once, twice, just to watch your breath hitch, then sinks two fingers in without warning. his fingers slide through your folds—hot, wet, swollen from adrenaline—and he lets out the filthiest little groan, like the feel of you makes him weak. you cry out, back arching off the crate, and he grins. that cocky, asshole grin you want to slap off his face—and maybe ride at the same time.

“still think i’m just a government dog?” he rasps, fucking his fingers into you hard enough to make the crate creak.

“if this is how you beg for praise,” you pant, “you’re doing a shit job.”

he curls his fingers just right and you go silent.

you can’t stop it. the high hits like a gut punch—your whole body tightening around him, muscles locking, mouth open in a silent scream as you ride his hand and see stars. leon groans again, this time like he’s losing his mind, and drags his fingers out slick and shaking.

“i should leave you here,” he mutters. “let you chase your little exposé and bleed out in the dirt.”

"then why haven’t you?"

he kisses you again before he can answer—filthy, possessive, like he’s trying to shut you up and taste you all at once.

he pulls back, breathing hard, face flushed. “turn around. now.”

you blink through the aftershocks. “wait—what?”

“i said turn around.” his voice goes dark. strained. “unless you want me to fuck you on your back and make you cry for real.”

there’s something feral in his voice—commanding, close to breaking. you do as you’re told, hands braced against the crate as he rises behind you, unbuckling his belt one-handed while the other yanks your hips back.

he doesn’t waste time. you feel the head of his cock slide against you, thick and leaking, and then he thrusts in with a brutal snap of his hips, burying himself to the hilt. you scream—half pleasure, half shock—and he grips your hips like a man possessed, like the only thing anchoring him to this shitty collapsing world is the feel of you pulsing around him.

“you feel fucking unreal,” he mutters, voice ragged. “i hate how much i think about this.”

he fucks you hard—like he’s punishing you for staying alive, for being a liability, for making him feel something. every thrust is a reminder that the world is ending and your bodies don’t care. you cry out when he angles deeper, hitting that spot that makes your legs go weak, and he groans like he’s about to lose it.

“you gonna write about this?” he pants. “gonna tell the world how the government’s dog made you come screaming in a bunker?”

“only if you keep talking,” you choke out, dizzy with heat and fury and the stretch of him.

“goddamn it,” he groans, thrusting hard. “why does it have to be you?”

you’re too far gone to answer. all you can do is take it—each punishing thrust driving you closer to the edge, his hand sneaking around to rub your clit again, rubbing tight circles, pushing you higher and higher until your body clenches around him like a vice.

"that’s it," he growls, hips snapping into you. "come on, cum for me again. i know you can."

and fuck—you do. with a choked cry and a full-body tremor, you cum hard on his cock, and leon curses, hips stuttering, before he follows with a groan that sounds like your name torn in half, burying himself as deep as he can go, hips stuttering, heat spilling inside you in waves.

you both collapse into the silence—your body trembling, his chest heaving against your back.

after a moment, you murmur, voice hoarse:

“off the record?”

“…yeah?”

you twist to glance at him, lips bruised, heart still racing. “bet you’re gonna follow me into the next mess too.”

he scoffs, eyes falling shut as he pulls you close again. “yeah. and next time, i’m bringing duct tape for your damn mouth.”

#fresh out the oven𓂃 ࣪⋆🧁˚ ༘#resident evil #re smut #resident evil smut #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x you #re6 leon

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honeybunnyale · 26 days ago

Text

Recognized l B.B.

w.c.: 3k

t.w.: This 'series' covers potentially triggering topics, will become much darker, Smut (pinv and oral f receiving), Winter Soldier Bucky, hints of stalker/obsessive Bucky, implied Red Room/Hydra reader, descriptions of violence and injuries, takes place during Captain America: TWC, inspired by WinterWidow from the comics :)

A/n: Please read all warnings for all of my works before reading. 18+ only! Also, this is my first time writing for Bucky Barnes, ples be kind to me.

Summary: The Winter Soldier always pulls you back into him, one way or another.

St. Petersburg, Russia

January 2012

The walls vibrated from the force. The door undulated in fist sized divots. You can hear him, growling like a beast, his sounds almost yells of frustration as he continues to try to knock the metal door off its hinges.

His mission was to take you back. He was taken out of cryo because of you.

The companion you knew was gone now. Completely blanked out by the will of his handlers.

They didn't think you were capable of escaping. Some part of you didn't either. But your treatment and the treatment of the girls- it had made you desperate for relief.

Your body shakes and your eyes blur in uncontrollable tears. You grit your teeth as you prepare yourself to use your uncovered fist to break the window and make your escape. You give an anguished cry as it makes an impact with the glass, shattering it.

…

Suzdal, Russia

May 2012

The knock at the door was soft. You had been sitting in the bed of the dingy hostel all day, only going out with the spare change you had left, too afraid to wander farther than you have already. Your mind had been muddled from the long sleep. Sometimes you could feel the cold rise up your spine, curling around your neck and pressing on your throat.

A cold, hard, metal, hand would choke you in your dreams, you’d wake up in a sweat, pulling the sheets over your body as if the fabric would protect you.

The knock at the door was soft. You felt taunted. Your hand moves to your backpack slowly, unzipping it quietly and smoothly.

Your steps are firm and solid. Heel to toe. You had counted how much it took to get to the door from the bed earlier. 10 steps.

You took 10 steps as you raised your pistol and inched closer to the doorframe lined with hinges. Measured, precise, predictable and controlled.

The next few moments happen in seconds. You don’t feel like yourself. Surprisingly, less so than a minute before. Your body moves quickly, your fingers dig into the shoulder of the other as you pull open the door.

You think you feel something gather underneath your fingernails, cotton fabric and skin. You think you smell blood. They fall to the floor heavily, legs kicking out as you close the door. You kneel and place the brunt of the barrel against their cheek, feeling their lips press against their teeth.

Your finger presses against the trigger slightly, ready to fire, but her hand holds onto your wrist, not the one holding the pistol bruisingly to the side of her head, but the one holding her shoulder in place.

You’ve never met anyone with hair as vibrant red as hers.

You stare at each other, her gaze trembling as she looks into yours, as if determined to stare you down into clarity.

You both exhale in relief. Your pistol falls beside her head and for a moment you see her flinch at the thud. For a moment you see a hole in her head. Thankfully, a reddening indent on her skin from the barrel was in its place.

She closes her eyes tightly before breaking into a smile.

“Fuck you.”

…

Washington, D.C., U.S.

March 4th, 2014

Natasha had always been vague. A pessimist outwardly, an optimist at heart. It had been buried deep, certainly not by her own choice.

She had contacted you, only sending coordinates. Your refusal to accompany her as an agent in S.H.I.E.L.D. had brought some distance, although it was mostly your fault. You wanted time to process, alone. She was stubborn.

It turned you from the idea even further.

And now you sit inside an apartment, America’s golden boy staring daggers into the back of your skull as his friend, Sam Wilson, begrudgingly makes you a cup of coffee.

You sip as you debate whether you should engage in their mission. You were given some information, although ‘Steve’ had shushed Natasha quickly before she could give you detailed intel. It made your lips purse harshly. He was peeved he didn’t even know you existed an hour ago, you were peeved at his sense of entitlement in the moment.

Natasha trusted him, and Sam. You think that was what counted, despite keeping a consistent cold gaze.

You assume Natasha didn’t explain much about you. But Steve saw the way you tensed as they mentioned Hydra and the Winter Soldier. It made you think of what would have happened if you were to have ever accepted Fury’s attempt at recruitment.

Maybe they would have recaptured you. Natasha, Clint nor Fury would have never known a thing. A failed mission. Back in a cage. Stuck with him.

…

You didn’t think you could feel such an emotion. Both fear and a hint of thrill. It felt wrong, so debilitating as your mind ran a mile a minute. He had stared right at you, his cold gaze sharp as he pointed his rifle right at your chest from atop the highway.

Almost made your heart flutter.

Nat had taken the bullet for you, giving you a look of annoyance as you both hid behind a car. You wince when she winces. You almost miss the way bullets were starting to shower over you.

You run with her, gripping onto her shoulder as you pass by cars, using them as temporary protection. But he was like an unstoppable bull, he reached you before you could run further.

The handle of his rifle hits Natasha’s temple. She’s out and before he could take a shot, you redirect his aim, gripping the nozzle and pushing away. The heat from the bullets burns your hand slightly.

You fended off as much as you could but he was so brutal. Even more so than before. He’d punch and miss, hitting the car behind you as if he wanted you to hear the metal bend and the glass shatter.

An instinctual block with your forearms leads to a punch in a vulnerable opening. You feel your rib cave in against his metal fist. Now, you’re suddenly pressed against him and a metal frame.

He hesitates, he doesn’t shoot, his hand is at your neck, pushing you against the door of the car, bending the metal with the force. Your eyes lock onto his, staring him down into clarity. He leans in closer as you grip onto his wrist.

You’re lightheaded, the world starts to swirl around you as his head inches closer to your cheek. He inhales sharply, you shiver and close your eyes tightly. His hair tickles your neck, casting a shadow over you, encompassing you with his frame.

Your cheeks prick with warmth, you swallow thickly as his nose, covered with a mask, glides over your jaw. You hear him mutter under his breath, imperceptible if not for the close proximity.

“Fuck…”

His eyes fluttered as if he had inhaled stardust. Then his eyes lock onto yours, it makes you tremble. He looked pained, confused, and betrayed.

The sound of metal hitting metal shocks you out of your frozen state. You fall to the floor on your hands and knees, your hand rising to your throat as you take a deep breath in. You watch as Steve pushes him away from the area, using his shield as both weapon and defense.

“Natasha!” he shouts. His head turns in your direction as he dodges a swipe, his face showing annoyance at your lack of action to check on her unconscious state.

Your hands tremble as you find a barely there pulse, attempting to stop the bleeding on her shoulder. Your mind was elsewhere.

…

Los Angeles, U.S.

April 2000

He watches as you undress. The gown was a light blue, silk and flowy, neckline pressing your breasts up. You were glamorous. You take one last look in the mirror before undoing your hair.

You hid your bloodied hands with your chiffon shawl, prompting a swift exit as everyone gathered outside the venue for a firework display. Hydra didn’t like when promises aren’t followed through. Politicians thought they were exempt from failure.

He didn’t remember much. He did remember your scent. Every time. His hands rested against your hips for a moment, your raise a brow at his fleeting touch. He sits on the edge of the bathtub, watching you scrub under your fingernails.

Your job was to get the target in a room with him. He finishes the job, always. You didn't follow through with the agreement this time.

“You should have waited.”

You ignore him. Using a rag to wipe your makeup off. Red swirls in the sink. You hum. Maybe.

“It's faster this way.”

His brows furrow. He wants to protect you. Sparing you from the killing was meant to make a wall, a translucent wall, all things given, to prevent promoting you from spy to murderer.

You turn to him, leaning against the porcelain sink.

“You've been gone. I’ve had to follow through.”

You nod firmly, swallowing thickly. Times have started to change, women were given more access to politics, powerful positions. It was easier to use you now.

You've been out of cryo for more than 300 consecutive days now. He's been out for 9. You almost wish you could be put back in. He stands, you could tell he wanted to apologize as if it was his fault. It irritated you when he looked at you in pity.

“Maybe I’m better than you now,” you quip, shrugging your shoulders. He huffs a short laugh as he walks across the bathroom to stop in front of you.

“Maybe.”

He leans in, nose brushing against yours. His hands squeeze your shoulders and glide down, tracing over your arms to cup your hands. You close your eyes in a shaky sigh.

“I hope so,” he mutters.

His hand glides up to your breast, squeezing it roughly, pinching your nipple. His flesh hand reaches your throat, fingers wrapping around the back of your neck as his thumb caresses your skin. You swallow thickly.

“You shouldn’t be here, soldat.”

He hums. Your tone was teasing. As if you were a couple playing a role, to spice up a marriage. Maybe you’d be waiting at a bar, silky, flowy light blue dress. He’d walk up to you, in a suit. His hair up? Trimmed?

He’d ask where your husband was- no- how such a beautiful woman such as yourself found herself all alone. You’d do that thing with your mouth, hiding a smile with the purse of your lips. Feigning disinterest but having that twinkle in your eye.

Your hands move to his chest, unbuckling the harness of his vest. He closes his eyes, imagining your deft fingers plucking the buttons of his suit jacket open.

He loves feeling normal. Neither of you should be ‘here’.

Your hands press against his bare chest, feeling his dewy skin, inhaling his musk.

“I missed you,” you mutter. His hand moves down your spine, zipping down your dress as he pulls it aside. For a moment you wish you could have stopped his analytical gaze. You watch him closely, his brows pinch as you let the dress fall to the floor in a soft thud.

“I’m sorry.”

You huff, raising his chin up to look at you in the eyes.

It was like your husband coming home from a business trip. He imagines this is what it would have felt like coming back from a war. New scars, changed bodies. His metal fingers graze over your newer scars, some still angry and red, causing you to wince at the pressure.

You pull his head down, slotting your lips onto his. You didn’t like the pity. Yet, you like the gentleness it gives you.

He takes you to bed, body crawling over yours, pressing you against the mattress. He yearns for control, his knee between your legs, not allowing you to move. You liked his control too, allowing him to take you to a space you decided you wanted to go.

You often wonder if they knew. His handlers. Your teachers in the Red Room. You assume that was why they had started to distance you both over the years.

He mouths against the side of your throat, his thrusts erratic as you melt against the mattress. His pelvis grinds against yours, sitting up and spreading your legs further to watch his cum ring around his cock.

Your eyes were half lidded, mouth agape in a continuous breathy moan. You appreciate the super soldier serum for many reasons. His stamina was seemingly endless, his refractory period nonexistent.

His cock was as insistent as he was. It filled you to the brim, and you squeezed him so tight every time. You swear you feel him in your belly at times, you’d place his hand there, he’d lose it, making it his mission to pronounce the bulge with each thrust.

He leaves bruises as he grips onto your hips. He pushes the back of your thighs forward, your knees on either side of your head. He dives in deeper, you swear he was going to tear into your cervix.

You whine as he pulls out suddenly. He watches as you catch your breath, your eyes clearing of a pleasure struck haze. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, the room smelled of sex and sweat. You shift on the sheets and groan at the wetness.

You wipe your brow, watching as he stares at you, contemplating what to do next. His cock bobs against his stomach, twitching as his hands roam over your body, squeezing your thighs, drifting to your breasts and pushing them together.

He liked exploring, you noticed. He liked learning what you liked, what you didn’t. He stands and you sit up. You swallow thickly in worry, you reach out a hand.

“James-”

Your back hits the mattress and you're dragged to the edge of the bed by your ankle. You yelp as his arms entangle with your legs, his head between them and latching onto your bundle of nerves. He groans at the taste, his arms grip onto your thighs, the metal appendage vibrating and expanding. The plates pinch your skin.

He thinks he could die like this, buried between your thighs, holding you down as he watches his cum drip from your cunt, tasting you on his tongue. He makes you cry from overstimulation, he’s obsessed with your pussy.

He watches from your pelvis, your head thrown back, body flush in sweat, tears gliding down your eyes as your back arches in orgasm for what felt like the hundredth time that night.

He’d keep you like this forever.

…

Washington, D.C.

March 7, 2014

She winces every few seconds. She notes that you barely acknowledge it, too busy on your computer, reading through the files upon files on everything Hydra she uploaded on the internet three days ago.

The first thing you had told her when she had been discharged from the hospital was that she was stupid. She chuckled in your face, you rolled your eyes. The widow bites stung, she could have killed herself. But she knew that.

She was getting ready to go to the government hearing about S.H.I.E.L.D. 's downfall. You heard they were calling them terrorists on the news. You didn’t like the spotlight it was putting on her. On the files. In your past, heavily recorded as you’ve discovered the past few days.

She walks out of the cafe, giving you a tight lipped smile as she fights through the tremors she still felt. It was hidden well. You on the other hand had other business to attend to.

Steve had asked for your presence, still recovering from his fall into the Potomac river. You had given him an edible arrangement. Sam had mentioned he didn’t like pineapple like that. You made sure there were a lot of it. He ate it, so you were told.

“You knew him.”

You nod, you look at the damage ‘Bucky’ had done to him. It was brutal. You imagine he’d be long gone if not for the serum running through his veins. You almost feel guilty, you don’t know why. It felt as if you were visiting someone your ex-boyfriend had jumped. Somewhat your responsibility. Really not. You try to deflect the feeling.

“Everyone knew about him, basically a legend-”

“You knew him. Like I did.”

You sigh heavily, crossing your arms. It was complicated. He knew you didn’t want to talk about it, much less to him.

“You knew Buck.”

He sits up, trying to meet your eye as you look anywhere but at him. His irritation was directed towards you, you assume the frustration as well. You understood but it didn’t sit right with you.

“No, I didn’t know Buck. I knew the asset.”

He was James to you. Steve’s eyes narrowed harshly. As if you had cursed on his mother’s grave.

“He recognized me. He’s still in there.”

You shake your head as you look out the window, not knowing what to say. He recognized you too. It must be so confusing for him, remembering two different parts of his life at the same time. One with more suffering than the other.

You almost wish all he had to remember was being ‘Buck’. Steve shifts in bed, leaning closer to you.

“Nat trusts you-”

You stare at him exasperatedly and scoff. You knew where he was going with his point. You scowl and shift away.

“Jesus-”

“I need your help. He’s out there.”

“Maybe he wants to be left alone,” you retort back, almost sarcastically. He purses his lips and huffs a sigh.

You stand and move to the door but he calls out to you once again, saying your name firmly.

“Please. He’s all I have left.”

You turn back at him and he gives you so much pity it makes your heart sting. Nat trusts him. She cares about him. You sigh.

“Okay.”

He smiles and it looks weird considering half of his face was swollen and purple. You give a small pursed smile back at the image. You cross your arms as you lean against the doorframe.

“Sam told me you didn’t like pineapple.”

He chuckles, rubbing his temple and points to the trash bin hidden under the bedside table.

“I know.”

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

Thank you for reading! I have had this storyline in my mind since middle school lmao. Steve doesn't like pineapple bc I don't like pineapple. Reblogs and Comments welcome and appreciated! I love to hear your guy's thoughts.

-Alejandra 💋 🐇

I'm Not In Love (Part 2)

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #winter solider x reader #winter solider fanfiction #mcu x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #Bucky Barnes smut #dark fic #ale's fics <3

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inkydelusions · 18 days ago

Text

thump thump thump - 1.8k

summary: after s3ep16. spencer gets involved in a dangerous situation that could’ve ended up with him dead and you’re forced to watch from afar, while imagining all the different posibilities. you realize you don’t think you could handle spencer’s death. contents: season three spencer reid x fembau! reader. just pure fluff. worried reader hates the idea of spencer dying. a/n: i’ve had this account for ages now yet this is the first time i dare to post anything. hope you enjoy !! and please let me know if I can improve in any way. thanks for reading <3

The inside of the plane is silent and you’re sitting alone with an open book between your hands. you’re not really reading it, though. you’ve tried to, but you keep going over the same sentence over and over again, not really comprehending the meaning of any of the words written on the page. Everytime you try to get back into the action scene you were reading about, an image flashes back into your mind, making you shake in fear all over again.

Spencer is standing in the middle of the street, completely unarmed. He's holding his hands up, palms open. you couldn’t see his face from where you were standing, near the van in which you had arrived a few minutes ago with Hotchner and Morgan. Despite not being able to see Spencer's face, you knew he was calm, his features probably soft and reassuring.

You, on the other hand, could feel your heart beating so hard you were scared it would jump right off your chest and continue beating on the pavement right before your eyes.

“What the hell is he doing?” Morgan's voice gets through the roar of anxiety, anger and frustration in your ears. He's standing right next to you but he sounds miles away. “He's going to get himself killed.”

And that does it. A sob slips through your lips. You hadn't realized you were crying until Hotchner put a hand on your shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

“Agent, now it’s not the time. I need you to get your head straight and not compromise this operation.”

You nodded. He was right, your behaviour was completely immature and out of line. Still…One misstep, one wrong word, and Spencer would be gone. Taking a deep breath, you gripped your gun tighter, although it was absurd. There was no way any of you would shoot the unsub, not with spencer in the way.

“He’s putting himself in between the unsub and us so we can’t shoot him,” Hotchner confirmed your thoughts.

Spencer kept talking to the kid. You couldn’t hear his words, but you knew whatever he was saying was working, if the hesitation in the unsub’s face meant anything. Heart beating, palms sweating, you prayed to the gods—even those you didn’t even believe in—that this would be over soon. You offered them everything you had in exchange for him walking away from that boy and straight into your arms.

But that didn't happen. Luckily for everyone, Spencer's words had worked and he’d managed to convince the unsub to let go of his gun. Right after that, he and Morgan had walked the kid straight into the police station. Spencer smiled at you as he walked past you. One of those tiny, beautiful smiles. And then he’d disappeared for at least thirty long minutes that appeared even longer as Hotchner and you discussed your previous behaviour. You nodded along the whole time, partially because you knew he was right, and partially because you weren't really listening to him.

All you could think about was how close you’d been to losing him. The one person who understood each and every single one of your geek references, no matter how niche. The same one who remembered your order in all four of your favorite spots to eat lunch. The one who made sure to have a cup of warm coffee ready for you the days he knew you were running late and wouldn’t have time to stop at your usual place. The one who remembered camellias are your favorite flowers even though you only mentioned it once in a casual conversation.

You almost lost the one person who reminded you what being seen and heard felt like. The one that taught you how love felt like.

“We will discuss this in more detail once we’re back in Quantico.” Hotchner's voice was stern, but you saw it in his eyes. He understood.

When spencer finally came out, hands in his hair and breathing heavily, you just couldn’t help yourself, you ran towards him, circling his waist with your arms and burying your face in his chest. he was quick to hug you back, nuzzling the crown of your head, hushing you with a shaky voice.

“It’s okay. I'm fine,” he whispered.

“I'm so mad at you right now.”

And mad you were. During all those minutes you spent outside—going over his stupid act of bravery while you mind toyed with you, envisioning all these fake scenarios of how things could’ve turned out; bloody, and messy, and deadly—the adrenaline had morphed into something more similar to anger, and frustration.

But you didn’t want to ruin the moment now that you had him back in your arms, so you swallowed all those words you were dying to yell at him and clung onto him until the team appeared to announce you should head to the hotel to pick up your things.

Once on the plane, you’d run to sit in a corner, pulling out your book from your bag and ignoring everyone’s stares, especially Spencer's. Emily, who occupied the seat right across from you had tried to strike a conversation multiple times, trying to distract you. It worked for a while, but after a few light jokes that were answered with silence or awkward smiles, she gave up. you returned your attention to your book, reading that one sentence all over again.

You could hear whispers to your right, coming from where Spencer and hotchner are talking. For a moment, you thought you overheard the word fired and your heart skipped a bit. but when you glanced up from your book, you saw Spencer was nodding and smiling at your boss. He looked so content. so calm and genuinely relieved.

So fulfilled.

Although his eyes did look tired and his lips were a bit chapped. He still looked as handsome as always. when his gaze clashed with yours it took you a second too long to break the contact. With a murmured excuse, Spencer stood up and crossed the narrow aisle to get to the vacant seat right next to yours.

“Are you still mad at me?” he whispered, his beautiful brown eyes searching for yours.

Emily was quick to take the hint, sending a quick smile your way before moving a couple of seats back, giving you two some space to talk.

“Yes.”

No. Not really. You knew you were not mad at him. you understood why he had done what he had done. and you were so proud of him and his bravery. But at the same time you felt this uncomfortable ball of anxiety and pain in your chest for something that didn’t even happen—but could have definitely occurred—something that would’ve destroyed you. You could’ve lost him. Thinking about it had your throat closing up again, your eyes burning with tears you didn’t want to shed for fear of embarrassing yourself again in front of your team.

You turned away, trying to hide from him. But you should’ve known better. not only was he a profiler, but he knew you better than anyone ever will. he knew all your small tells; the way you blinked twice when something confused you, or how you played with the hair tie on your left wrist when you were anxious just so you didn’t bite your nails (a habit you had been trying to get rid off for the past few months). Besides, it was not hard to notice the way you were gripping your book, hard enough to hide the way your hands were shaking.

“I'm sorry,” he murmured, leaning closer to you. close enough to drop a soft kiss on the side of your head. the sweetness in his voice made you crack. you dropped the book on the table in front of you, covering your face with your hands. “I'm sorry I made you worry.”

“I thought he was going to kill you,” you confessed, your voice merely above a whisper.

“I know, I know. come here.” softly and with care, he pulled you towards his chest.

He knew how you must have felt because he’d felt the same on more than one occasion. Spencer had watched you die way too many times in his sleep, in all sorts of dark and twisted ways. And every time he would wake up drenched in sweat, his hair sticking to his tear-stained cheeks. But those were dreams. What he’d done today… that could’ve happened to him if his negotiation with the kid had gone wrong… He didn’t even want to consider it.

“I'm so sorry.” Hand buried in your hair, he caressed you, his thumb tracing small circles on your scalp.

“Stop apologizing.”

“Sorry.” You both stop for a second and you feel his chest rumble with a faint laugh. “I couldn’t let him die. I couldn't have managed another kid’s death in my hands.”

“What about your life, spencer?” You raise from his chest and he immediately misses the weight of you pressed against him. “It matters, too. it matters to me.”

Gently, he picked up one of your hands and intertwined your fingers, giving it a soft squeeze before lifting it to his chest. you opened your palm and immediately were met with the calm thump thump thump of his beating heart against it.

“I'm okay. I'm alive,” he murmured, kissing your cheeks softly. “And so is he. I couldn't let him die. I need you to understand that. To understand why I did it.”

He searched for your eyes with urgency, palming your cheek with his free hand. You finally saw it in his eyes, the need for reassurement.

You nodded, feeling the tears coming up again. “I do. I understand. and I still think that was the bravest thing you could’ve ever done. And I'm so proud of you, Spence. Really.” He seemed to beam at your praise, at your understanding. “I just… I was so scared for you. I can't lose you.”

“It's okay, now. we’re okay." Spencer brought your hand to his lips, dropping a feather-light kiss to your knuckles before laying it flat against his chest again. “Let's get some sleep. We both need it.”

The plane seats are the most uncomfortable place to nap, but as you laid your head on his chest, the soft beating of his heart was a comforting reminder that he was, in fact, alive and still yours to love, care and worry about. so you didn’t care all that much for the uncomfortable seats.

thanks for reading <3 likes & reblogs are appreciated !!

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid imagine #hope you liked it!!#first time publishing anything here omg im so nervous

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comatosebunny09 · 3 months ago

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not quite human [ 02 ] | sylus

— cw: reader implied to be femme, gendered terms (miss, girl), profanity, sarcasm, existentialism, groping, innuendoes, sylus is an android, futuristic au, inspired by detroit: become human — notes: fuck it. here, have an update. [ part 01 ]

You know how you get something you thought was useless, yet you’ve grown accustomed to having it around for so long, you can’t envision your life without it?

Like, a towel warmer. You think, who the fuck would waste money on one of these things? What’s the point of one when you have a dryer? But say, your friend buys you one as a birthday gift. You can’t give it away or throw it out—that would be rude, asshole.

So, it sits in your bathroom for ages, collecting dust and shit particles from your toilet. That is, until that one day you reluctantly decide to use it. And you realize, okay, maybe this isn’t so terrible. And soon, you’re using it every day. Used to the little luxury of having a hot towel against your ass—one of the few, minuscule pleasures distracting you from the whirlwind of your life.

That’s how you’ve come to view your android friend, Sylus. He’d give you the piss for comparing him to a towel warmer. But you’re not very good with analogies so he can suck it.

He’s become a part of your life you never knew you needed—someone to fill the gaps you leave around your home, to color the once quiet space of your apartment with his nerdisms, sarcasm, and presence.

It was an adjustment, getting used to this hulk of a man—machine?—moving around your home like he’d always been a part of it, quiet as a cat, scaring you shitless. He’s like the pair of Crocs you said you wouldn’t be caught dead in. And yet, trying them out, you understand why they’re so damn convenient, especially in sport mode.

You can’t deny how nice it feels to return to a clean apartment. To journey home after an arduous day of work to hot food, clean sheets, and an asshole kicking you around in Mario Kart. Every. Single. Time. It’s not fair; he’s using his AI to hack the game, you just know it.

Yet, as much as you’ve wanted to fight him for besting you at every game on your Switch, you don’t think you’ve ever wanted to disassemble him more than now.

You’re fighting for your life. Literally. No matter how much you gulp down air, you don’t feel like it’s enough. You might die here, coated with sweat and breathing like a pregnant woman ascending a set of stairs. You’ll at least ask Sylus to delete the browsing history on your laptop following your untimely demise—the things you’ve researched there out of morbid curiosity would warrant a visit from the FBI agent spying on you.

“One more round,” he says in that unfairly smooth voice as if he’s completely unfazed by the fact that you’re dying.

You turn pleading eyes on him, your hands dropping at your sides. He smirks, eyes gleaming with amusement from behind the safety of the punching bag.

“That’s what you said the last three rounds!”

Sylus shrugs. “You’re the one who said you wanted help utilizing your gym membership.”

“Yeah! With Pilates or Spin!” You coil your body into a fighting stance, striking the thick leather of the punching bag out of frustration. “Not with this shit! You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

His face is an impassive mask as he holds the bag, unaffected by your anger-fueled jabs. His cold indifference encourages you to hit harder. His stupid face, his dumb, silky hair.

“Pilates won’t enhance your cardiovascular endurance like boxing will.”

Thwack!

“And, based on your eating habits and the sedentary life you lead, it’s only a matter of time before you have a heart attack.”

Thwack!

“I’m merely helping you stave off the inevitable.”

Sigh.

You drop your stance, flailing about like a brat. Some of the gym’s other members eye you warily before returning to their workouts. “You’re gonna give me a heart attack doing this. I’m not Mayweather. I’m just a girl.”

He chuckles, the sound carrying below the cacophony of racking plates and the music spilling from the speakers to tingle your toes. You try not to think about it. How his mirth makes your stomach feel weird and makes your lips twitch with the threat of a smile.

It’s terrifying how human he seems. Despite the electricity and blue blood flowing through his biocomponents, he’s not much different from a regular man. He’s become more human-like as the months eased by, trading his stoic, efficient robot-speak for something more casual. He’s become something like a roommate. A roommate who doesn’t eat, sleep, or go a day without making you want to hurl yourself into the void.

“Your sex doesn’t exclude you from your human limitations,” he says, disrupting your ruminations.

You glare at him, wondering if you can reprogram him to be less of a dick. That, or sell him for spare parts.

Sylus’ eyes soften the slightest, fleeting bit. For a moment, you think he’ll be sympathetic. But you forget this man wants you dead. “One more round, and we’ll be done.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. Give him a wary once over, ignoring how his tank bares his artificially toned physique, how his shorts boast the power of his thighs. You’re sure CyberLife is also out to wipe out the human race, what with how much detail they put into their androids. You’re no better than a man.

Resigned, you posture yourself for another round, adrenaline spuming through you, your knuckles turning white beneath the cotton bindings of your wraps. “Fine. But after this, I want the greasiest slice of pizza in the city, and I don’t wanna hear shit about it.”

Sylus huffs a sound, his eyes narrowing with mischief. “I’ll keep quiet, then. You have my word.”

Motivated, you start wailing on the punching bag like it owes you money, driven by the image of a slutty pizza slice melting in your mouth.

—

You should’ve known better. Should’ve known he’d make you work even harder for that pizza. The thought of it now makes you nauseous, and you’re once again fighting for your life.

“I don’t even,” pant, “want the fucking,” wheeze, “shit anymore!”

He turns devious eyes on you from a broad shoulder, running ahead like it's effortless as breathing. Of course, it’s easy for him. He doesn’t have to worry about his lungs exploding or faceplanting on the pavement.

“Come now,” he calls, and did he really just speed up? “The pizza parlor is only a block away.”

You roll your eyes, jogging behind him, all sloppy and about to fall apart like Patrick Star when he first entered Sandy’s dome. “You’re a,” pant, “real pain in the ass, ya know that?”

Fuck him and his stupidly long legs and his inability to feel pain. Maybe you’re in over your head. Didn’t know what you were signing up for when you asked him to help you get into shape. Normal women would be getting their nails done or picking out ridiculously expensive purses by now, not training like a fucking Saiyan.

You slow to a hobble as the crosswalk pans into view, the red, holographic lines signifying you stop and wait for traffic, your saving grace. You dry heave as cars swish by, hands on your knees. A heavy, wide palm claps down on your back. You glower, and if you had the energy to, you’d chuck him in front of a speeding bus.

“You did well,” he says. It sounds patronizing coming from him. But you asked him to show a little personality after your first week together, so you have no one to blame but yourself.

You straighten, your heart ready to leap from your chest with how ferociously it pounds. Sweat eases down your nose, and you cut your eyes at your robotic tormentor. “I did, huh? I only thought about killing you three times. I should pat myself on the back.”

Sylus snorts, his lips pulling into a smile. A dimple craters his cheek. Had you not been fighting to breathe now, you’re sure you’d be rendered breathless by the sight.

“That’s a new record. But if the number of times you’ve wanted to harm me is dwindling, I’m not doing an effective job as your workout partner.”

Before you have the luxury of a response, he takes off across the street when the crosswalk glows green. You stare after him, mouth agape like a fish out of water. “You bitch!” you shout, chasing him, your chest warming at the boyish cackle he tosses you over his shoulder.

—

After a taxing game of tag—or, a game of you crying and throwing a tantrum in the midst of the shopping district, and Sylus taking pity on you (or trying to shut you up)—your journey concludes in front of a coffee shop.

“It’s the least you could do after running me into the ground,” you grumble around a pout, crossing your arms.

Sylus peers at you from his periphery, that effervescent humor never leaving his face. “Fair enough.” He holds the door to the swanky little coffee spot open for you, bowing like a butler in wait. “After you, Miss.”

You scoff, brushing past him. The rich aroma of coffee beans and warm cream washes over you like a soothing balm, smoothing the divot between your brows. You smile, exhaling beneath the ambient, artificial lights, twirling around like a child. “These are my people,” you sing-song, garnering a few perturbed looks from the cafe’s other patrons.

You skip towards the counter to order, only to be halted by the cashier’s sheepish voice.

“I’m sorry, Miss.” She rubs the back of her neck and shrinks away like she’s afraid you’ll hit her. “No androids allowed.” The cashier then motions to a sign overhead, Androids in bold Comic Sans struck through.

With all these technological advancements, you would think Comic Sans would be outlawed.

You scowl with your hands on your hips. “Well, that’s fucking stupid.”

The cashier sweat-drops, tittering nervously. “I don’t make the rules, ma’am. I just enforce them. It’s to keep it from getting crowded in here.”

“Or an excuse to be racist.” You turn to Sylus, watching him pensively. His gaze slides from the sign overhead to you, his processors seeming to work overtime as he studies you. “C’mon,” you clip, grabbing his arm, “let’s go somewhere else. This place smells gentrified and overpriced, anyway.”

As you step towards the door, he doesn't budge, and you spin to ask why.

“You’ve been talking about coming here for a while now. I won’t stop you from enjoying yourself.”

You blink, thoroughly confused. Sure, it’s a new coffee spot you’ve heard your coworkers rave about. Seen ads for it on your socials—thanks, Zuckerberg. But you’ve intentionally avoided establishments outlawing androids. You’ve become accustomed to having Sylus attached to your hip, and you hate seeing him wait at those stupid Android Parking shelters.

To you, he’s more than a machine (when he isn’t pissing you off). Sure, he’s an amalgamation of wires and metal, a complicated intelligence constantly learning and adapting to a world that gives you whiplash. But he’s…Sylus. And since you’ve known him, he’s acted like he’s grown sentience. You really wish people would stop treating androids like objects, even if they aren’t capable of understanding the human experience like you.

His gaze lightens, a rare flash of empathy. “I’ll be alright. I promise.”

Carefully, he pries your fingers from his forearm, the feel of his palm on your knuckles temporarily turning your brain to smog. You watch with a retort on your lips as your companion steps out, moving behind the window to stand in the Android Parking zone along with the others, staring straight ahead with rigid apathy.

Dejectedness stirs in your gut. You bite the inside of your cheek, begrudgingly stepping into the line. This coffee better be worth the fucking hype. Otherwise, you’ll air this bitch out.

After ordering your fraud-u-ccino, you plop on a chair that reminds you of those Little Tikes play-sets, scrutinizing the cafe like a Karen over crossed arms.

“Is that the new SYL model?” giggles a woman behind you.

You turn slightly, your blood running cold. You try to appear uninterested, toying with a discarded straw paper at your table.

“Sure is,” says her friend, cupping her hand around her mouth in secret.

“Wow! They look even better in person!”

“I know, right? They look so hot. And there’s only been, like, three of them ever made. Wonder who owns that tall chunk of plastic.”

You scoff. Who owns him? Sylus and ownership aren’t two words you’d typically use in a sentence. You’re his primary user—the person whose instructions he’s programmed to follow. But you can’t recall a time you intentionally ordered him to do anything, let alone referred to yourself as his owner.

“Must be somebody rich. Those models are expensive.”

“God, I bet it’s big. I’d ride that thing into the sunset.”

You let out an incredulous sound, looking out the window beside you. And if the ichor pouring through your veins wasn’t already frigid, it’s undoubtedly iced over by now.

For there stands Sylus, your stoic and unassuming companion, slowly gathering a crowd of women, blushing and fawning over him like a shiny new toy. You’re moving on autopilot when one of those bitches gropes his junk, taking advantage of his trance-like state beneath the kiosk.

Stepping into the balmy, spring air, the sounds of women cooing and giggling are like nails dragging down a chalkboard. You wend through the steadily building crowd, elbowing and shoving, channeling your inner Marlon Wayans in White Chicks to rescue your friend.

The noise simmers to dull murmuring when you grab Sylus’ wrist, pulling him from his daze. He blinks owlishly, looking around before stumbling after you, wondering where all these people came from.

You’re wordless as you tug him down the street, a seething little tea kettle, tight-lipped, shoulders set. So what if he’s an android? Doesn’t give people the right to cop a feel whenever the urge arises. Sexual harassment is all the same, machine or not.

You’re so busy, heatedly tugging him down the sidewalk towards a cab, you miss his smoldering, scarlet eyes studying the space between your shoulder blades, a sly smile pulling on his lips.

#sylus x non mc reader #sylus x reader #sylus x you #love and deepspace sylus #sylus fic #lnds sylus #sylus qin #lads sylus #sylus #l&ds sylus #android!sylus au #qin che

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shiyorin · 4 months ago

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#When Primarchs send dick pic to you

#Konrad Curze x F!Reader (Reader is Imperial Agent)

#Reader is very sass

#NSFW, non-con, many things

Note: Actually I wrote this as a joke so don't expect too much from it ಡ⁠ ͜⁠ ⁠ʖ⁠ ⁠ಡ

The Night Haunter felt his skin too tight, his body thrumming with an unfamiliar energy that set his teeth on edge. He'd been feeling… off for days now, plagued by urges he didn't understand and couldn't seem to shake.

He growled, raking his fingers through his tangled hair. What was wrong with him? He felt hot, agitated, like his very blood was on fire. And his cock… Konrad glanced down with a mixture of confusion and frustration. It had been hard for hours, throbbing insistently no matter how he tried to ignore it.

This wasn't normal. None of this was normal. Konrad Curze didn't get horny. He didn't feel desire or lust or any of those base, animal urges. He was above such things.

But…

His skin was flushed and damp with sweat, every nerve ending hypersensitive. When he wrapped a hand around his cock, he had to bite back a groan at how good it felt.

"What is happening to me?" he muttered, staring down at himself in bewilderment.

His cock was rock hard, the shaft thick and veiny, the head swollen and flushed an angry red. Pre-cum beaded at the tip, making his palm slide slickly as he stroked himself. It felt good, too good. Pleasure coiled in his gut, making his breath come faster.

Konrad's mind raced, trying to make sense of what was happening. Was this some kind of sickness? A curse? Had one of his brothers done something to him?

No… no, this felt different. Natural, in a way that terrified him. Like his body knew exactly what it wanted, even if his mind rebelled against it.

As he stroked himself, chasing that maddening pleasure, an image flashed through Konrad's mind. You, who'd somehow wormed your way into that. Into his life, if he was being honest.

The thought of you made his cock twitch, a fresh surge of pre-cum slicking his fingers. Konrad growled, angry and confused and so fucking turned on he could barely think straight.

Why you? Why now? It didn't make any sense. And yet he couldn't get you out of his head. Couldn't stop imagining your hands on him instead of his own-

"Fuck!" Konrad snarled, his hips jerking as he stroked himself faster. He was close, so close, teetering on the edge of something he didn't understand but desperately needed.

In that moment of madness, an idea struck him. Before he could think better of it, Konrad grabbed his data-slate from the nearby table. With shaking hands, he activated the camera function and angled it down at himself.

The image that appeared on the screen made him pause. His cock looked even bigger than he'd realized, angry and swollen against the pale skin of his stomach. A bead of pre-cum glistened at the tip, threatening to spill over.

It was obscene. Vulgar. The kind of thing that would horrify most people.

But you weren't most people, were you?

Before his common sense could reassert itself, Konrad hit send. The message went out with a soft chime, carrying that damning image straight to your data-slate.

For a moment, everything was still. Then the full weight of what he'd just done crashed over Konrad like a tidal wave.

"No," he whispered, staring at the screen in horror. "No, no, no…"

His foresight, which had been strangely quiet until now, suddenly roared to life. Visions flashed through his mind, your shocked face as you opened the message, your disgust, your anger. He saw you blocking his vox channel, saw the ripple effects this moment of madness would have on his already strained relationship with you.

"No!" Konrad roared, hurling the data-slate across the room. It shattered against the wall, but it was too late. The damage was done.

Meanwhile, lightyears away, you were enjoying a rare moment of peace and quiet.

Of course, that's when your data-slate chimed with an incoming message.

You sighed, reaching for the device. If this was another emergency, you were going to lose it.

But the name that popped up on your screen made you pause. Konrad Curze? What the hell did he want?

Curiosity piqued, you opened the message. For a moment, your brain couldn't process what you were seeing. Then realization dawned, and your eyes went wide.

"What the actual fuck?!" You yelped, nearly dropping the data-slate in shock.

There, filling your screen, was a high-definition image of Konrad Curze's cock. And not just any picture, oh no. This was a full-on, close-up money shot, complete with glistening pre-cum and throbbing veins.

You stared at it in disbelief, your mind reeling. Of all the things you'd expected from the Night Haunter, a dick pic was pretty much dead last on the list.

"Is this a joke?" You muttered, zooming in despite yourself. "Did someone hack his vox channel?"

But no, as you studied the image (purely for investigative purposes, of course), you realized this was definitely Konrad. You recognized the scars on his lower abdomen, the pale skin that never saw sunlight.

This was real. Konrad Curze, terror of the night, had just sent you an unsolicited dick pic.

"Un-fucking-believable!" you groaned.

Part of you wanted to laugh. It was just so absurd, so completely out of character for Konrad. But a larger part was scared. You are scared even though you want to laugh.

"Nope." You said firmly, shaking your head to banish that thought. "Not going there. Not even a little bit."

You considered your options. You could ignore it, pretend you'd never seen it. But knowing Konrad, he'd probably show up in person to "follow up" if you didn't respond. And worse, he will flay you if you disrespect and ignore him.

You made a mental note to beef up security around the compound. And maybe comeback Terra, lord Malcador can protect you, just in cass. Because something told you this wouldn't be the last surprise Konrad had in store.

In the end, there was really only one option. With a decisive tap, you blocked Konrad's vox channel.

"Fucking Primarchs." you muttered, tossing the data-slate aside. "Can't live with them, can't shoot 'em out an airlock."

*****

The moonlight cast eerie shadows across your bedroom as you stirred from your slumber. Something had woken you, a presence that set your nerves on edge. Your eyes fluttered open, struggling to focus in the dim light.

A dark figure loomed near your bed, barely visible in the gloom. Your heart raced, your mind foggy with sleep and confusion. Who the fuck was that? An intruder? An assassin? You couldn't make out any details in the darkness.

Your hand inched towards the knife you kept by the bed, fingers curling around the cool metal. Better safe than sorry, you thought.

The floorboards creaked softly as the mysterious figure approached. You tensed, ready to swing, but then something unexpected happened. Instead of attacking, the intruder simply… climbed into bed with you.

What the actual fuck?

Before you could process this bizarre turn of events, strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you against a broad chest. A face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, hot breath fanning across your skin.

Your eyes flew wide, shock clearing the last cobwebs of sleep from your mind. This close, you could finally make out the intruder's features.

Oh shit. It was Konrad. Konrad fucking Curze.

And he was naked. Completely, utterly naked.

As if to confirm your realization, Konrad shifted his hips and, yep, that was definitely his cock sliding between your thighs. You bit back a startled yelp, your mind racing. What the hell was happening?

Normally he'd be all creepy whispers and thinly veiled threats, not… whatever the fuck this was. Cuddling? Was the Night Haunter actually cuddling you?

Before you could decide how to react, Konrad's hand snaked down between your bodies. You held your breath, wondering if this was about to take an even weirder turn, but his fingers bypassed you completely, wrapping around his own cock instead.

Oh. Oh no.

Konrad began stroking himself, his breath coming faster against your neck. His hips rocked, sliding his length back and forth between your thighs in time with his hand.

You lay frozen, caught between disbelief and a weird sort of fascination. This was so far outside the realm of normal Konrad behavior that you almost wondered if you were dreaming. But no, the heat of his body, the slight scratch of his teeth against your skin, the slick sounds of skin on skin… this was all too real.

It didn't last long. With a muffled groan, Konrad's body tensed. You felt his cock pulse, then warm wetness splattered across your thighs.

What. The. Fuck.

For a moment, everything was still. Konrad's ragged breathing was the only sound in the room. Then, to your utter bewilderment, he started moving again. His hand returned to his cock, which was already hardening once more.

Seriously? You thought, incredulous. What is he, sixteen?

As Konrad's hips began rocking again, sliding through the mess he'd just made, realization dawned. The weird behavior, the lack of threats or violence, the insane refractory period…

Oh no, you groaned internally. He is horny.

You'd known, biologically, that the other Primarchs would be horny. But somehow you hadn't connected that to Konrad. He always seemed so… disconnected from his more base urges. Apparently even the Night Haunter wasn't immune to biology.

Now you had a dilemma on your hands. On one hand, this was Konrad fucking Curze. The guy was seven kinds of crazy on a good day, and letting him get his rocks off while you pretended to sleep was probably a terrible idea. On the other hand… well, he wasn't actually hurting you. And if you revealed that you were awake, who knew how he'd react?

Better to let him finish and leave, you decided. Then you could bleach your brain and pretend this never happened.

But Konrad showed no signs of stopping anytime soon. His movements grew more frantic, his breathing harsh against your skin. You could feel the tremors running through his body, the desperation in every thrust.

Fuck, you realized. He's completely lost in it. He probably doesn't even know where he is right now.

Konrad came again with a choked sound, his whole body shuddering. You grimaced at the fresh wave of wetness coating your thighs. Great. You were going to need like, three showers after this. Maybe four.

To your dismay, Konrad showed no signs of leaving after his second orgasm. If anything, he seemed to curl around you more tightly, his face buried in your hair.

Oh hell no, you thought. I am not spending the whole night as a body pillow for a horny Primarch.

Decision made, you took a deep breath and spoke.

"You know, if you wanted to cuddle, you could have just asked."

Konrad went rigid against you, his whole body tensing like a coiled spring. For a moment, you wondered if you'd made a terrible mistake. Then, to your utter shock, Konrad let out a sound that could only be described as a squeak.

Before you could process that, he was gone. You blinked at the sudden loss of warmth against your back. You rolled over, half-expecting to see Konrad looming over your bed, but the room was empty. The only sign he'd been there at all was the open window, curtains billowing in the night breeze.

"Did… did he just jump out the fucking window?" You muttered, staring in disbelief.

You pushed yourself up, grimacing at the sticky mess coating your thighs. A quick glance confirmed your suspicions, yep, those sheets were definitely ruined.

You made a mental note to ask Malcador about it when you return Terra. And maybe to invest in some better locks for your windows.

#shiyorin's writer #warhammer 40k x reader #primarch x reader #reader insert #wh40crack #nsfw.

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artists-ally · 2 years ago

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{Show Me Where It Hurts} Azriel x Reader x Xaden Riorson

Sooooooo I had a thought. And then this happened. That's all I'm gonna say. Just two shadow daddies doing unspeakable things. Title inspired by this song. Enjoy!

Word Count: 7,238

Warnings: ACOTAR x Fourth Wing, alcohol, smut, MMF, Oral (m and f receiving), DP, dom/sub vibes, use of the nickname "pet", bondage, shadow play, degrading, spanking, choking, spitting, unprotected sex.

Tagging: @needylilgal022 @librafairy @cyrygher @agent-anna @thelov3lybookworm @blessthepizzaman @bubybubsters

Summary: After a miserably failed night out, you decide to head to a local bar to drink away your sorrows. Two males, one of them being your Court Spy Master, the other a stranger, approached you.

~~~~~

“Are you kidding me?” “I understand your frustration but-”

“My frustration?” I shouted, eyes wide. “What do you mean he did book a reservation?”

“There has been no reservation made under that name. I am truly sorry, Yn. But it looks like he may have… done it on purpose?”

“No,” I shook my head. I could not fathom being stood up let alone whatever this was. “No this cannot be right. I-I spoke with him this morning, he said that our table was reserved for tonight.” The hostess offered me a kind look as the realization slowly settled in my bones. “Oh my gods… he set me up.”

“If I were you,” the pretty Fae came around her stand and took my hands in hers. “I’d find a way to forget about that damned male. He clearly is undeserving of you or your kindness. I wouldn’t sweat it, a pretty one like you won’t go unnoticed for very long.”

I tried to smile, but a grimace was the best I could do. “I feel like such an idiot. Thank you for all your help…” I paused to look at the little tag on her black tunic. “Jasmina.”

“My deepest apologies, Yn,” Jasmina waved as I exited the restaurant and the bitter Velaris air nipped at my bare shoulders.

What a fucking lame excuse for a male. How dare he stand me up on a date? He was the one practically begging on his knees to ask me. I should’ve known better. Males like him do not like females like me.

In an attempt to not let the night–or the fierce outfit I put together-go to waste, I went a couple streets over to a tavern. It had a nice ambiance and a surplus of good liquor. The dark, rustic interior greeted me with a ploom of warm air and the scent of cheap ale and wine.

After hanging my coat on the rack at the front, I weaved through the rather crowded space to hopefully snag a stool at the bar. I was lucky enough to get one at the end, only one person to my left and the wall to my right.

I just sighed. What a shitty day. I had spent a few hours getting read, and for what? To be made a fool? To be embarrassed? I shouldn’t have to pay the consequences for something I didn’t have control over. I swear to the gods that if I ever see what’s-his-face again I’ll put my fist through it.

“Evening, milady,” the polished man behind the counter said. He had a thick beard and a mustache that curled up on the ends. He had a thick accent too, probably from somewhere in the hills. “Celebrating tonight?” “More like mourning,” I huffed, bracing my chin on my palm.

“Terribly sorry for your loss,” his eyes softened. “Oh,” I gave a chuckle. “No, not a death. I just came in from what was supposed to be a date. Turns out I was set up and he wasn’t going to be coming.”

The male scoffed. “The boldness from some of the males in this city.”

“Tell me about it.”

“What can I get for you?” He asked, wiping a few glasses down and setting them atop a stack.

I looked at the board behind him, the list of crafted beverages going on and on. “Maybe something sweet?”

“Do you like cherries? Passion fruit, pineapple maybe?”

“Cherries are wonderful,” I sat up a little straighter. “I honestly couldn’t care less about what alcohol is in it. You had me at cherries.”

The male smiled, “I shall put in an extra just for you, darling.”

“Thank you,” I smiled and watched him get to work.

The tavern was far more crowded than I expected for a weekday. There were more people than tables and chairs to accommodate them. Some even sitting on the tables. But the hum of voices and clinking glasses was the type of ambient sound that could put me right to sleep if I laid my head down.

I felt incredibly comfortable and safe here. Not that I didn’t other places in the city, but something about being here was… calming. People were enjoying themselves, and it was like I was the only person in here with a scowl on their face.

The crack of billiards had my head turning the other way as I saw a group huddled around a green velvet table with colored balls scattered around. I recognized one immediately as our High Lady. And right beside her was the High Lord.

“This is called a cherry sour. It is made of distilled vodka and lemon. I added some cherry syrup to give it a little extra sweetness for you,” he said, placing the drink in front of me.

“It looks lovely.” I smelled it and it was strong. When I took a sip, it was like my brain blew up. The most strange combinations of flavors, yet somehow it all worked. The brutal burn of the alcohol mixed with the bitter lemon and sweet cherry made my stomach burn. “I see the High Lord is in tonight.”

“Yes,” he nodded, “he is here with the High Lady and a few of their courtiers. The commanding general as well as the Morrigan. And the shadowsinger is here… somewhere. He was with another male when he walked in.”

“I have visited other Courts before. I have never seen any of their High Lords step foot outside of their palaces to so much as wave at their people let alone live amongst them like Rhysand does.”

The craftsman nodded in agreement. “He is not the traditional Lord our continent has come to know, and that is what makes him a vital part of our city. He’s our founder. He built our sanctuary not for us but for himself, too. It is only fair that he dines and plays games where he chooses.”

“Have you ever met them?” I asked curiously.

“Of course, they are here a few times a month. Morrigan and Cursebreaker’s sister are in here more.”

I glanced again, finding a few more heads now joining them. The general, Cassian, was in conversation with a shorter male, his brown hair glistening in the overhead light. He had a tattoo on the side of his neck and it disappeared underneath the collar of his black shirt.

At first I thought it to be the shadowsinger but it wasn’t him. His hair was too light. The more I looked, the more I realized that he looked a little out of place. He had darker skin than either of our Illyrians, and he didn’t have wings. For just a second he turned his head and I caught a glimpse of a scar on his face. Above his left brow and below his eye.

He was very pleasant to look at.

“I will be back, I need to break up some ice in the back,” the bartender spoke generally to the crowd. In a second he was out of sight and out of mind. I could not stop looking at this male.

The curls in his hair looked soft and fluffy and I really wanted to run my fingers through them. Though he was shorter than the general, he was at least a head taller than me, if not a half more than that. Whoever he was…

That couldn’t be the shadowsinger, could it? From all that I’ve heard of the illusive male this did not match any of the descriptions. He was just as tall– if not taller– as Azriel, but the hair… It was too light. And now wings. No shadows. Our High Lord can summon his wings, maybe the others can as well? Plus, I’ve heard that the scars the shadowsinger has on his hands are rather brutal. This male didn’t have any scars on his hands that I could see.

The air around me cooled and I shivered, wishing I had brought my jacket with me. It was like a door just opened and a draft seeped in around me. Up my legs and around my ankles.

To not appear creepy I looked elsewhere, not finding any of the other males in the room as interesting as the one with the brown fluffy hair. There was a couple sitting in a booth across the room, very clearly struggling to keep their affection tame. Another was dancing together and I became painfully aware of just how awful my dating life had been.

I threw back the rest of my drink, just as the bartender returned and ordered a few shots of something stronger. Much stronger by the smell of it. The warmth of it spread through my arms and fingers and the room seemed to get a little rowdier.

“Before I pour another, milady, I would just like to ask if you have a safe way to get home,” he asked kindly.

I smiled at the tenderness in his voice. “Yes, I live right down the way in the set of townhouses by the Sidra. Two minute walk.”

“Excellent.” Another shot was placed in front of me.

I kept sneaking glances at our High Lord and Lady. They looked so magnificent. Like a true emperor and empress. And they looked so happy to be together. Not with just themselves but with the general and whoever this other male was. Perhaps someone from Illyria?

Again, the whole no wings thing was throwing me off.

Wait, where did he-

“Excuse me,” a deep, rough voice said from beside me. My eyes met the most beautiful set of eyes I’ve ever seen. A dark, almost black color with flecks of amber and gold. It was the male I had been gawking at for the past half hour. He had an accent like I’ve never heard before. “I am Xaden.”

I stared at his extended hand for a moment before shaking it. “Yn.”

“Yn,” he practically purred. “A very beautiful name.”

It was hard not to blush. “I don’t mean to sound rude but are you-”

“Hey, there you are. We were just about to start another game did you…” The Spy Master of the Night Court stopped right beside him. His hazel eyes locked with mine and my stare darted between the two. The two very attractive, tall, muscular males in front of me. “Hello there.”

“This is Yn,” Xaden introduced me. “I was just about to ask if I could buy her a drink but I think you had a question for me?”

All thoughts leave my brain. Just above the shadowsingers shoulders lay his wings, and curling around them were those infamous shadows. The most lethal male on the continent stood two feet from me. And he was looking at me like… I didn’t let myself finish that thought.

I cleared my throat, “I was going to ask where you’re visiting from. You have a very… foreign accent.”

Xaden smiled a little and I thought I’d collapse on the ground. “I come from Navarre. A place far from here.”

“I’ve never heard of Navarre,” I said truthfully. But if males like him came from there then maybe I need to visit.

“It’s not entirely accessible,” he folded his arms across his chest. His very muscular and sculpted chest. “I am just visiting a friend.”

I looked at Azriel, who, much to my surprise, hadn’t taken his eyes off me. I shifted in my seat. “You two are friends?”

“Only recently,” Azriel spoke and I felt his voice crawl down my spine. “Xaden here is the closest thing to me that his puny world has to offer.”

“Puny?” Xaden’s eyes went wild. “Take away your wings and siphons and see how well you do as Basgiath. I doubt you’d last five minutes on Sgaeyl in a basic flight maneuver.”

“Basgiath? S-Sgaeyl?” The names were so weird in my mouth.

“Basgiath is the name of our War College. And Sgaeyl is my dragon.”

His what?

“Riroson here thinks that I couldn’t mount and ride a dragon. I’d like to see you take on the Bogge or a Naga with those tiny daggers of yours,” Azriel broke his gaze away from mine to take a sip of whatever was in his glass. “Pathetic.”

“You have a dragon?” I most certainly didn’t hear him correctly. “But they’re-”

“Not where I’m from, they’re not. See, we don’t have magic like you do here in Prythian. Back home, we have to study, bond with a dragon, and then we get the ability to channel their power. Mine just so happens to be shadow-wielding. Apparently this one could feel it across our world and tracked me down. He’s been teaching me for a few years now.”

“And somehow you still can’t manage to winnow,” Azriel rolled his eyes playfully.

“Some of us haven’t had centuries of practice, asshole,” Xaden retorted. If I had known anything about Azriel, I fully expected him to flatten out this Xaden guy.

“You’re not Fae?”

“No offense, but who would want to live forever?” He shrugged. A valid response. It was only then that I saw the roundness of his mortal ears.

Azriel grumbled a curse. “I apologize for him. He is cranky after his long flight here. I’m Azriel, I’m not sure I introduced myself.”

“I know,” I forced myself to look anywhere but his gorgeous face. Easily the most attractive Fae I’ve ever seen.

“Are you here with anyone? I saw you walk in about an hour ago and haven’t seen you talk with anyone,” he asked. He saw me walk in? “If my night had gone any better than yes, I would be here with someone. But, instead, he had other plans and never showed up for our reservation.”

Both of the males stood completely silent. I watched Azriel’s eyes narrow, his jaw clench. “Who was it?”

“It doesn’t matter.” I could feel that bubble of emotion rise up in my throat, pricking my nose and eyes. “He’s just some nobody I was seeing. His loss.”

“Biggest fucking mistake he’ll ever make,” Xaden scooted in closer, leaning his forearms on the counter. “What were you drinking? Next one's on me.”

“Oh, that’s kind of you but I would like to wake up in the morning without any regrets. A water will do,” I smiled sweetly at him and he returned it without a second thought.

I felt Azriel move closer to me and I could just barely see him in my peripheral vision. I tried not to look. It was so hard. All I wanted to do was look at him. Then he was closer. A lot closer. His arm across the back of the stool I was sitting in.

Oh gods his scent.

“For you,” Xaden slipped a cool glass of water in my hands. “To you, Yn.”

I blushed as I knocked my glass with theirs.

“Not to impose, but I would like to know more about this asshole who stood you up tonight. Because clearly he’s not right in the head for leaving you. Especially when you look so good.”

I couldn’t help the flush that spread down my neck and up my ears. “I don’t know, we met over the weekend and he asked if we could go on a date. I said yes. And I think what makes it even worse is that I was looking forward to it. I was excited to get all dressed up and go out for the first time in months. Now I just feel like a fucking idiot for getting my hopes up and wanting to-”

“Hey.” Xaden’s finger pulled my chin to look up at him. “You are not the problem. That mother fucker has another thing coming if he thinks he could’ve ever given you what you need.”

I’d like to focus on the latter part of that statement, but all I could think of was his face– inches from mine– and his other hand at my knee. My heart thrashed and I was so still I wasn’t sure if I was breathing or not.

“I think you’re scaring her, Riorson,” Azriel said from behind me. Then I became aware of just how close he was to me. He practically spoke right against my neck. A hand brushed at my right shoulder and I shuddered.

“If you’re willing, we’re offering.” Xaden has this gleam in his eye and a smirk on his lips.

I had to sit up a little so I could start seeing clearly. “I-I’m sorry ‘we’re’?”

“You don’t have to say yes,” Xaden grinned. “But, if you’d like to erase this guy from your thoughts, all you have to do is show me where it hurts. I promise I can make it all better.”

Is he asking what I think he is? I looked at Azriel who had the same look Xaden did. Full of mischief.

“You… You can’t be serious.” They were playing games with me. They have to be. There’s no way that our Court Spy Master and whoever this guy was from Navarre were willing to share.

“Az?” Is all Xaden said.

Fingers brushed my hair over my shoulder and tucked it out of the way. I gasped when Azriel kissed down my neck. I think I’m shaking, though it could just be my pulse beating so wildly through my veins that it feels like I’m shaking. But I definitely can't feel my fingers anymore.

Xaden stepped in a little closer and blocked most of my view of the rest of the bar. “May I?” He held out a hand. I swallowed and nodded as best as I could with Azriel gently nipping at my throat. Xaden quickly placed his mouth on mine.

I got lost in him. In both of them. All the bells and whistles in my body were going off at once. I’ve never done anything like this before. I had two of the most attractive looking individuals in the world right here. Both kissing me.

In a few seconds Xaden pulled from my mouth and Azriel went with him. I was suddenly so cold and needed them back exactly where they were. My thighs clenched together.

“What do you say, want to take out all your anger, your frustration and disappointment, on us?” Xaden asked softly, right into my ear. The way he pulled it between his lips made it very difficult to say no. Not that I wanted to in the first place. I’d be a fool to say no.

I nodded eagerly.

Azriel clicked his tongue and made me look at him. “Need you to say it, Yn.”

“Yes,” I said without a second thought. “Yes.”

Both of them chuckled. “Let’s get out of here.”

As we made our way down the street, both of the males on either side of me, I was burning with desire; every so often– about every three or four steps– one of them would have to pause, spin me around, and kiss me until I saw stars. They ‘just couldn’t help it’.

Not that I minded.

“Apologies if the place is a mess,” Azriel said, unlocking a door. It looked vaguely familiar, and when I looked up and across the street, I realized why.

“Hey, that’s my place right there,” I smiled, looking at the small rose bushes lining my little walkway.

“Would you rather go there instead? No pressure if you do,” Xaden’s hands went down my sides and hips as he spoke.

I nearly collapsed onto the floor. “No, no this is fine I don’t think I can wait.” “Impatient, are we?” Xaden murmured into my hair.

“Well,” I blew out a breath as he nipped at my ear. “I’m not exactly dreading being taken to be by two males.”

“Hopefully we won’t ruin you for any other lovers.”

Was it bad that I hoped they would?

The door gave away and it was flooded with Azriel’s scent. A mixture of Xaden’s too, but it was hard to differentiate them. His was far more subtle than the shadowsingers. They guided me inside, lights coming on along the halls and overhead.

“Have you ever…” Xaden trailed off and I flushed a deep red.

“No, I’ve never done this before.” My laugh was a pathetic attempt to hide my nerves.

“Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of you,” Xaden grinned and gave my mouth what it wanted most. His tongue was hot against mine and I pressed as close to him as I could get. For a moment I couldn’t see or hear anything, and then we were in a bedroom that seemed far too massive for this little townhouse.

I looked around; a massive bed was standing right before me, dark curtains over a door that led to a balcony.

“Did we just-”

“Winnowing,” Azriel explained, pulling me out of Xadens arms and into his own. “This is far easier when we have room. Like Xaden said, we’re gonna take care of you. Any time you feel uncomfortable just tell us to stop and we will. We do this at your pace, you control it.”

Weirdly enough, my heart ached at the tenderness in his voice. But my body did not want to be in control. It wanted everything but. “And what if I said that I didn’t want to make any decisions. That I just wanted to feel and nothing else.”

I saw Azriel look up first, then felt Xaden press against my backside. I was squished between them and I thanked the Mother that I never went on that date tonight. But they looked at each other.

Azriel grinned. “You’re sure?”

“Absolutely. I need it.”

“Aww, you’re that desperate already?” Xaden pulled me into his body, one hand gripping my face to make me look at him, the other wrapped around my stomach. “We haven’t even touched you yet, pretty thing. Haven’t even tasted you.”

“What are you waiting for?” I have no idea where this boldness is coming from.

Xaden stepped away from me and laid at the top of the bed. “Come here, then.”

No turning back now.

I crawled to him on my hands and knees. The dress I was wearing did nothing to hide my ass any longer. Xadens hand reached out, and when I was close enough, he grabbed me by my throat and pulled me into his lap. Pulled my mouth on his. I let out a very pathetic noise.

His other hand made me sit right on his cock and I could feel everything that was waiting for me. I moved my hips in a circle and he let out a breath, his dark, almost gold flecked eyes looking at me with hunger.

The bed dipped and Azriel pulled my hair back so I looked up at him. “You don’t have to be ashamed if you want to scream our names while we fuck away the pain, Yn.”

I nodded, wanting to twist so I could kiss him but Xaden firmly planted my hips to his. “I didn’t tell you to stop moving, pretty thing.”

I obeyed him. It was such an odd angle; to have my head thrown all the way back but my hips moving. It made it hard to breathe.

“I think she’s getting impatient, Riorson,” Azriel said as if I wasn't even there.

“Yeah I can feel how wet she is.” Xaden curiously slipped a hand between my legs, a few fingers trailing the crease of my thigh. “You really are impatient, aren’t you?”

“Please…”

“Please what?” Azriel pulled my hair harder. “Come on, use your words, Yn. Don’t be shy.”

I whimpered. “Please touch me, Xaden.”

“How can I resist when you ask so nicely.”

Azriel released his grip and Xaden lifted up my hips, pulling down my thong. His fingers were cold against my pussy. I shivered. His fingers were so long. It took everything in me to not fuck myself on them. The shadowsinger remained behind me and slipped the thin straps of my dress off my shoulders.

“Arms up.” Azriel commanded. The dress was lifted off my body and I felt very exposed. But soon enough he was against me, his hard chest against my back. “Kiss him.”

I burned red at the tone of his voice. But I kissed Xaden with enough force to make him bite my lip, catching my tongue between his teeth next. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed my chest to his. I jolted as he brushed my clit and he let out a dark chuckle, doing it again and again.

“So easy,” Xaden muttered, pushing me on my back effortlessly. I watched as he stuck his two fingers in his mouth. “Fuck do you taste good, pretty thing.”

His massive hands spread my thighs apart after he threw my underwear somewhere in the room. Those brown curls felt just as soft as I imagined. I didn’t care if I was being desperate, I needed his mouth between my legs. The first pass of his tongue made me go limp. I let my head fall back, my knees parting even further.

My body welcomed him as he explored, tongue flicking, hands bruising my skin. Fingers brushed my chest, so faintly I thought I might’ve imagined it. Azriel had gone somewhere, but I was too focused on Xaden to care at this moment. When I looked down, those were not fingers playing with me, but rather tendrils of shadow circling around.

“What the-”

“Shhh, it’s okay, you’re okay Yn,” Azriel said from my right, standing further in the room. He was undressing, the fighting leathers he had been wearing folded neatly on a desk. His wings were... dear gods his wings were massive. “It’s just me. Nothing to be afraid of.”

Pleasure and fear coursed through me at the same time. My brain and body were on fire with emotions as I watched them drift and encase my body. They were cool to the touch, a stark contrast to the boiling temperature of my skin. As I watched, I settled. It was quite fascinating.

A sharp smack to the inside of my thigh had me looking at Xaden. “Focus on me.”

I nodded and I became aware of just how close I was to my release. I panted and writhed, itching for something to grab onto. Something to touch and yank-

My hands were above my head two seconds later and I was dragged to the edge of the bed.

“Hey,” Xaden shouted and another wave of fear crashed through me. “I was in the middle of something.”

“Well, it’s my turn, Riorson,” Azriel gritted his teeth, taking himself in his hand. “You can still have her legs for now. But I need to feel her mouth.”

Were they fighting for me? For my body? I smiled. So wide it hurt. I obediently opened my mouth and stuck out my tongue, enticing him further. In tandem, I spread my legs as wide as they could go for Xaden.

“You’re so well trained, pet.” Azriel wasted no time forcing his cock down my throat. I couldn’t breathe, but that’s how I wanted it. He thrusted in slowly, stopping when he was all the way, then pulled back out. “You take my cock so well, Yn. I’m so proud of you.”

“If you think her mouth feels good, wait till you get inside her pussy. She’s so warm and tight.”

I moaned around Azriel, knees fluttering off the bed as Xaden sucked my clit. The shadows continued to writhe around my nipples and I felt so exposed. I couldn’t keep still. My legs trembled and I felt that coil in my stomach clenching and clenching. I wanted Xaden’s cock between my legs more than his tongue, but I couldn’t tell him that with Azriel down my throat.

“Do you think she can take both of us?” Azriel asked, brushing a hand across my cheek, then it gently wrapped around my neck. I choked hard enough for tears to streak down my face.

“Hmm,” Xaden hummed around me and I thrashed. “Well, that was adorable. As for fitting both of us? It’s possible. Probably gonna hurt. Don’t worry, he’ll work you open on his cock so good you won’t have a choice but to take both of us.”

“We don’t want to hurt her, Riorson,” Azriel cupped my cheeks. “Unless you want us to, pet?”

I nodded immediately. He pulled out and I heaved for fresh air, eyes glossy as I looked up at him. “Don’t be gentle.”

The way Azriels’ eyes darkened should have made me afraid. Instead it filled me with a primal desire. The force of his hips was brutal. The slight salty taste of his skin was intoxicating. I gagged around him with every press of his tip at the back of my throat, tears burning down my face.

Without any resemblance of a warning, my release barreled through me and I shook, legs kicking out as Xaden continued to tongue fuck me until I saw stars. He kept going. He didn’t stop.

I tried to get him to ease, to let up but my hands were bound at my sides. That same cool feeling sliding around my wrists as it did my chest. It was so much. Already too much.

“Alright, she’s had enough,” Xaden finally pulled away from my throbbing cunt, caressing my thigh and the bruises there. His chin glistened with my cum, and he didn’t let any of it go to waste as his tongue dragged over his lips.

“I’ll tell you when she’s had enough. Get back up on the bed. Strip.” With a more than heavy shove, Azriel sheathed himself inside me one last time, held just long enough to make me panic for a breath. “Good girl, Yn.”

I hiccuped a small sob, already teetering on my breaking point. Azriel sat me up and pushed me down on my hands and knees. In front of me was Xaden. His very hard cock straining up. The shadowsinger’s hand fisted in my hair and I was forced to take his cock down.

“Stay right there, pet. Don’t move. You came without permission. Since you decided to be so greedy, you’re gonna get Xaden off while I punish you.” A merciless hand smacked my ass hard enough to make an outline of his hand. “Got it?”

I nodded around Xaden’s cock and yelped when another smack came down. Xaden groaned, his sculpted abdominal and chest flexing. One arm was behind his head, the other on my head. He was far more gentle than Azriel was, but I could see his control slipping as he thrusted up in time with Azriel’s hand on my ass.

“Fuck she feels good, Az,” Xaden praised, cupping my cheek. “And you look so pretty full of my cock. Gods I can’t wait to be in that pussy.”

I squeaked out an embarrassing noise when Azriel dragged his cock through my cunt, coating himself in my release. Just the tip of him had me stretching and I had to squeeze my eyes shut to block out the sting. With a snap of his hips, he slid in deeper and deeper and deeper-

“That’s it, pet. Take all of my cock. Good girl, Yn. Good girl.” His cooing made it impossible not to cry out around Xaden. As Azriel pulled back, slowly, he grabbed my hips and took me with him. I scrambled to try and keep Xaden’s cock in my mouth, but I was too far away now.

“Look at how desperate she is for you, Riorson. She wants your cock soooo badly she’s fighting me for it.” Azriel ran his nails down my spine. “How about we play a little game, pet. When I pull out of you, you have to keep your mouth on him or else you get a smack. How does that sound?”

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Xaden. He had a flush to his cheeks. The same primal hunger I had in my eyes. There wasn’t anything I wanted more than to have him come down my throat. A sharp crack rang through the room and I screamed.

“I want an answer. Now.” Azriel demanded, yanking me up and forcing me down on his thick cock.

“Yes yes yes,” I babbled. “Please let me make Xaden feel good.”

“You’re so pretty when you beg like that,” Xaden mumbled, dragging me back down to him by my wrist. I wrapped my lips around him and worked up and down. He was just as big as Azriel. But the shadowsinger was bigger.

Azriel’s hands on my hips hurt almost as much as the hand that smacked me. I’m sure it was bright red and swollen. Every time he thrusts into me, he forces my body back into him. A few times I was pulled off of Xaden and I got punished. New tears running down my face after every one.

“F-Fuck Az stop doing that,” Xaden growled out. “I barely have her for two seconds before you’re ripping her away again.” His two hands gripped the sides of my head, forcing me all the way to his pelvic bone. “Now stop holding back and fuck her like you mean it.”

“Think she can handle that?”

“Of course she can, look at her. Split open wide on our cocks, taking them like she’s been doing it for years. She’ll be fine, won’t you, pretty thing?” I nodded, blinking up at him. “See, she wants it. Such a good fuck toy. Such a good pet.”

“If you can’t, say so now, Yn,” Azriel gripped at my hips to pull Xaden's dick out of my throat. “Well?”

“D-Don’t… don’t hold back.” Gods my voice was raw. “Please don’t hold back. I need it.”

“See? Now go, I’ve been on the edge for the past ten minutes,” Xaden said rather impatiently.

I could not have prepared myself for the force of Azriel’s thrusts. Or the grip Xaden had on my head. I thought my neck was going to rip from my shoulders with how hard I was being pulled in opposite directions. I only got a breath every two or three drives of Azriel’s cock.

Both of them were a whimpering mess. Xaden especially. I prayed to the Mother that these walls were thick enough so no one would hear us.

Minutes ticked by and I became a limp mess. A mere boneless thing for Azriel and Xaden to play with. My arms were trembling beyond use and my legs and toes were numb with euphoria. I couldn’t keep myself up any more.

“Fuck, Yn,” Xaden panted, hips bumping into my nose every time he snapped his hips. “Gonna come.” I just let all my weight fall onto him, letting him go deeper and deeper down my throat. “You’re such a good girl, Yn. Such a good fucking girl.”

Azriel shoved his cock as far as it would go, forcing me to take all of Xaden’s cum down my throat in one go. I didn’t even get to taste it. Xaden fucked into my mouth, hands firm on my head as he continued to spill. I dared a glance up and I saw shadows, slightly different than Azriel’s, caressing his shoulders.

How the hell did I get so lucky?

I was pulled off of Xaden and I was completely limp. “What do you say to Xaden, pet?”

“Thank you,” I stuttered out as Az continued to fuck me.

“Good girl. Now clean him up so he can take my place.” On my own accord, I picked my heavy head up and lapped at his cock, gently cleaning him with tiny flicks of my tongue. Up and down and up and down. He tasted so good. Salty and tangy. “Still got more, Riorson? I forget you humans can’t reset as quickly as we can.”

“I have stamina that’ll put you to shame, Illyrian.” Xaden had a devilish grin on his lips. “My turn.”

Xaden’s hands wrapped under my arms, guiding me off of Azriel. I tried to get my legs to move, but it was a useless effort. I could barely think let alone tell my body what to do.

“Easy, Riorson. I know you’re eager. And trust me, you should be. Fuck is she tight.”

Xaden let out a teasing noise, pumping a few times to get himself hard again. “Aww I bet she is. Gonna take my cock next, pretty thing? Yeah you are, and you’re gonna take Azriel's, too. Come on, sink down and- yes just like that, yes Yn. Good girl.”

Riding him made this so much easier. He was far stronger than I was and helped me rock back and forth. It was wonderful stimulation for my clit, too. For a few minutes he bounced me up and down, filthy praises spilling out of him like it was his job.

“I told you,” Azriel’s voice was right up against the back of my neck. “Worth the wait.”

“What if I told you I didn’t want to share her anymore?” Xaden sucked on my nipple and rubbed my clit at the same time.

“Too late for that, Riorson. She’s all ours, aren’t you?” I felt the press of Azriel’s cock against my hole and jumped. “Relax. It’ll hurt if you don’t.”

I nodded, getting lost between the two sets of hands–the two sets of lips and tongues and teeth. I was one with the stars, completely suspended in a place I didn’t know but I sure as hell didn’t want to leave any time soon. I tried to remain still as Az slowly–very slowly– pushed in bit by bit. I was reduced to nothing but mumbling noises and begging whines.

“Should’ve asked Cass if he wanted to join us so she could have something to do with that mouth of hers,” Xaden blew out a breath. “Need something to suck on, pretty thing?”

I just nodded, too overstimulated to speak. I just needed. I don’t know what I needed but I needed it.

“Gods you really are such a good pet,” Az pulled my head back. With a firm grip on my jaw, it fell open and he spat in my mouth. The shock of it damn near pushed me over the edge. My eyes crossed and my vision blurred as he stuck his fingers in my mouth for me to suck.

It took several minutes but then I was balancing between both their cocks, vibrating with energy and a need so deep I knew the second they would move I’d come. And I’d keep spasming around them as they did as they pleased.

Hands expanded every inch of my body. “Ready?”

“Mhmm,” was the best response I could get out. Xaden pulled me towards him, then slowly pushed me back onto Azriel. Then Az slowly pushed me onto Xaden. I was weightless in their hands, practically being held up by them alone.

“You are doing such a good job, my pet,” Azriel pulled out his fingers, gripping my throat. “So tight and wet. That’s it, just relax. Let us take you, Yn.”

“She’s being so good, don’t you think she deserves a reward, Az?” Xaden plucked both of my breasts.

“Of course she does.”

My ears were ringing. Sweat soaked my hairline. I could feel Xadne and Azriel’s pulse against my own, and I swore I could’ve felt them all sync up for a beat or two or five. Endless shadows swirled across my skin, hands fighting for leverage on my hips. I knew I’d be marked and bruised in the morning.

“I got her here, you take care of her down there,” Azriel instructed. Both of his hands cupped my chest, pinching brutally. Xaden snaked his hand between our fronts and just barely grazed my clit before I was coming so hard my vision blacked out.

I screamed, throat burning with pain as I writhed and begged for nothing and everything. I cried out over and over as they continued to push me. Lips and tongue slid over my throat, Xaden’s forcing its way into my mouth to swallow my screams.

Azriel bit down on my shoulder and snapped his hips a few times, trying and failing to suppress his moans. It came from deep in his chest and it rumbled through me. “Gonna take my cum, pet?”

I couldn’t respond. No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t get words to form.

“Give it to her, Az. She needs it,” Xaden said for me. “Don’t worry, pretty thing, Az is gonna give it to you. Just be patient.”

His hips worked into me, fucking me onto Xaden. With one hand wrapped around my throat, the other on my side, Azriel came inside me, the thick, bitter scent sending my mind spiraling. His thrusts didn’t stop, even as Xaden warned him he was close.

Azriel stilled then, panting hot against the back of my neck. “You’re clenching so hard, pet. Such a good job at keeping it all inside you. Now do the same for Xaden. Let him fill you up, Yn.”

Xaden was far less controlled, those shadows over his shoulders whipping wildly as he fucked up into me hard enough to touch places he hadn’t yet. With a handful of movements, Xaden brought our hips flush together and he strained his neck, baring his teeth into the air.

His noises would’ve been enough to set me off again had I not been so previously spent.

It could’ve been hours that I laid between them, their cocks still buried inside me as they stroked my skin, stroked my hair and kissed me lazily.

______

“Yn.” A gentle press of lips to mine. My eyes fluttered open and Xaden’s face became clearer. “There she is.”

“She awake?”

“Mhmm,” Xaden kissed my forehead. “Feeling better?”

I wiggled my toes to see if the feeling had come back. I just nodded, snuggling in deeper to his chest. “Yeah.”

“Good good,” he wrapped his arms tighter around me. “You were so good for us, Yn.”

“The best,” Azriel seconded, and a warm body pressed up behind me. “You were pretty out of it for about an hour. We cleaned you up as best we could with you mumbling about how much you loved to please us.”

I flushed in embarrassment, putting my hands over my face. “Cauldron damn me.”

“It was quite adorable,” Xaden murmured, prying my hands from my face. “And you were incredible.”

“So fucking incredibly,” Azriel agreed, tucking in close behind me. I carefully flipped over, looking at the shadowsinger. “You did such a good job.”

“It was easy when I had you two doing all the work for me,” I smiled, leaning up to kiss him. “Still cannot believe I just did that.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Absolutely not.” I squashed down that possibility the second their hands had been on me. “It was perfect.”

“Don’t feel pressured to answer, but Xaden visits every so often to Prythian. When he comes back, how do you feel about doing this again?” Azriel asked cautiously. “If you would like some time to think about it then-”

“Yes.” Why would I ever say no to being worshiped? “Absolutely yes.”

Both of them chuckled, Xaden molding his body to fit mine, arm laying across my stomach. “Told you we might ruin you for anyone else.”

#azriel #acotar fanfiction #acotar #acotar fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x reader x xaden riorson #xaden x reader #xaden riorson #fourth wing fanfic #fourth wing #fourth wing smut #acotar smut #fourth wing fanfiction

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gul4bjamoons · 5 months ago

Text

✩ timeless whispers;

jamal musiala ──────

A friendship so tight, the lines between love and loyalty blur—but what happens when what's been unsaid for years is finally revealed?

⭑ wordcount : four thousand four hundred thirty-seven.

⭑ notes : sorry its a bit long but it took me a hot minute to edit this down to under 5k ;-;

˙⋆✮ masterlist.

Jamal Musiala had always been a thread woven into the fabric of your life, stitched so tightly that you couldn’t remember a time before him. He was in every memory that mattered, his laughter tangled up with yours, his presence as constant as the grey English skies overhead.

There's the summer when you were eight, when the humidity was unbearable, the kind that made the pavements soft and sticky beneath your trainers. You’d both tried to build a den at the bottom of your garden using old bedsheets and bits of wood from the shed. It had been going well—until Jamal decided it needed a second floor. The entire thing collapsed within minutes, sending you both sprawling into the grass, sheets tangled around your limbs. You’d groaned dramatically, but Jamal just lay there laughing, the sun catching in his dark curls.

Later his mum brought out ice lollies, you both sat cross-legged on the patio, the melted juice running down your wrists, arguing over who would win the Premier League that season. He was convinced it would be Chelsea. You, just to wind him up, would say Manchester United. It was the same argument every summer, neither of you ever backing down.

But football wasn’t just something you talked about—it was everything. You played until the street lights flickered on, your school shoes scuffed from kicking the ball. The small pitch by the park became your second home, the place where Jamal’s feet moved like magic, where his skill made even the older kids stop and stare. It never surprised you—watching him play had always felt like watching something special, something bigger than just kickabouts in the park.

“One day, I’m going to be out there!” He’d said, lying on his bedroom floor, his head resting on his folded arms. The TV was on, the blue glow of the screen flickering across his face.

You’d snorted, flicking a crisp at him. “Yeah? Don’t forget about me when you’re off being famous?”

Jamal caught the crisp mid-air, popping it into his mouth with a smirk. “Hey, you could always come along. Be my agent? Or my personal bodyguard. You’re proper scary when you’re mad.” Causing you to nudge him with your foot.

So, when Chelsea’s academy did call, it felt inevitable.

You still remember those afternoons at the academy. The smell of freshly cut grass mixed with the tang of sweat and the distant hum of whistles from other pitches. You’d sometimes tag along, a book in your lap you barely paid attention to, as your eyes followed Jamal’s every move. He was mesmerizing. The way he weaved through defenders, his deft touches on the ball, the way he’d glance your way after scoring.

And then there were the stolen moments after his training sessions. The two of you would walk to the corner shop, sharing a single bag of crisps as he recounted every highlight, every frustration, every dream.

“You’re going to be a superstar one day,” You’d say, half-teasing but mostly proud.

He’d laugh, shrugging it off. “Guess that would make you my number one fan.”

And just like that, your heart would betray you.

Skipping beats and filling your chest with a warmth you couldn’t explain. But you never told him. How could you? You couldn’t even admit it to yourself at first.

He was your best friend. The boy who let you do his hair when you were younger, who stayed up all night watching horror films with you despite hating them, who always made you laugh until your stomach hurt.

You lived in a world of denial until one match day. The crowd roared as Jamal dribbled past a defender and chipped the ball effortlessly into the net. He turned, grinning, his gaze scanning the stands until it landed on you. That smile—bright, unguarded, like it was meant just for you—unraveled something deep inside. You clapped along with everyone else, but your heart ached with the weight of what you now knew. You liked him. Not in the casual, childish way, but in a way that terrified you.

For months, you kept it to yourself. The fear of ruining everything paralyzed you. But as summer stretched on and your time together grew quieter, more comfortable, the words pressed against your lips, desperate to be spoken.

One sunny afternoon, you decided you couldn’t hold it in any longer. The two of you were in the park near your neighborhood, sitting on the old splintering bench that had been “yours” for as long as you could remember. Jamal was bouncing a football absentmindedly against his foot, the rhythmic thud blending with the chatter of children playing nearby. You’d rehearsed this moment a thousand times in your head, but now that it was here, your palms were clammy, and your chest felt too tight.

“Jamal,” you said, barely recognizing your own voice. He looked up, his dark eyes curious and a little concerned.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his tone gentle but laced with worry. He always knew when something was on your mind.

You hesitated, the words clawing at your throat. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

He straightened, the football rolling away as he gave you his full attention. “Okay,” he said slowly. “You’re starting to scare me.”

You forced a laugh, shaking your head. “I think… No, I know I’ve been feeling this way for a while,” you said, stumbling over your words. “I like you, Jamal. More than a friend.”

The words hung in the air, raw and unpolished, a fragile offering. You dared to glance at him, hoping for… something. A smile, a laugh, a spark of recognition. But his expression was unreadable. His brows furrowed slightly, his lips parting as if to speak, but no sound came out.

“Say something,” you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of his silence.

He dropped his gaze, his jaw tightening. His hands fidgeted in his lap, his fingers tugging at the loose threads on his shorts. The silence stretched, unbearable and suffocating. When he finally looked up, his eyes were filled with something you couldn’t quite place—guilt, regret, maybe both. But still, he said nothing.

The realization hit you like a tidal wave. He wasn’t going to respond. The truth of your feelings lay bare between you, and he couldn’t even give you the courtesy of an answer. Your cheeks burned with humiliation, tears threatening to spill as your chest tightened with the weight of his rejection.

“I should go.” you said abruptly, standing before he could stop you. Your vision blurred, and you turned away, your legs carrying you far from the bench, from the park, from him. The tears came as soon as you were out of sight, hot and unrelenting, spilling down your cheeks as sobs wracked your body.

That night, you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as the scene replayed in your mind on an endless loop. You felt foolish—foolish for thinking he might feel the same, foolish for risking your friendship, foolish for believing you could ever be enough for someone like him.

But even then, as your chest ached with regret and humiliation, you couldn’t bring yourself to wish for anything different. Because falling for Jamal, as painful as it was, still felt like the most natural thing in the world.

But the bleeding didn’t stop there. The following days were a haze of misery. You replayed every moment between you and Jamal, analyzing every laugh, every touch, every shared glance for something—anything—to suggest he might have felt the same. Each memory only deepened the sting. His silence had spoken louder than words ever could.

You ignored his texts, his calls, his attempts to reach out. Seeing his name light up your phone was a dagger to your chest, a cruel reminder of everything you’d lost. You couldn’t bear to face him, to hear whatever excuse he’d offer. It wouldn’t change the fact that he hadn’t chosen you.

And then, a week later, the universe delivered its final blow.

You were scrolling through social media when a mutual friend posted a photo. Jamal, surrounded by suitcases, standing in what was unmistakably an airport terminal. The caption was simple: “Good luck in Germany, Jamal! We’ll miss you.”

Your world stopped.

You stared at the image, your mind struggling to process what you were seeing. He was leaving? He hadn’t told you. He hadn’t said goodbye. He’d just… left. You ignored the tiny voice in your head saying he would have told you if you had picked up any of his calls.

You dropped your phone onto your bed, staring at the ceiling as tears streamed down your face. The ache in your chest felt unbearable, a weight pressing down on you, suffocating you. You wanted to scream, to cry, to forget. But no matter how hard you tried, the memories of him wouldn’t leave you. His laugh, his smile, the way he’d look at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention—they haunted you, a cruel reminder of everything you’d lost.

When you applied for the study abroad program in Munich, part of you hoped this would be your escape—your chance to move forward, away from everything tied to him. Munich had always been a dream of yours. The cobblestone streets, the imposing architecture, the vibrant culture, the language—it was all part of a vision you’d long nurtured. This was supposed to be your new beginning, a fresh chapter far from the old hurts. You knew Jamal was here, but that was the last thing you cared to focus on. This time, you weren’t looking to be haunted by the past. You were determined to leave him behind.

This chapter is about what’s best for you.

It’s hard to believe that nearly a month has passed since you arrived in Munich. In that short time, everything seems to be falling into place. Classes are going better than you anticipated—your professors are engaging, and though the workload is intense, it challenges you in all the right ways. There’s a rhythm to it now, a routine that feels both natural and reassuring. Late-night study sessions at the library, once dreaded, have become a habit—one you’ve come to find unexpectedly rewarding. It’s as if you’re finally settling into the life you’ve always envisioned, building something uniquely yours from the ground up.

Weekends are reserved for exploration, and Munich has proven to be everything you hoped for—and more. Every corner offers something new, from the irresistible food near Marienplatz to shopping the streets of Sendlinger Strasse. You find yourself captivated by the architecture at the Deutsches Museum, losing track of time as you wander through its wonders. It’s as if each day is its own small triumph, a quiet reminder that you’re actively creating the life you’ve always dreamed of.

Thankfully you're not doing it alone. You made some friends around Munich, one being Teni, your roommate. You spend nearly every day together, with study sessions inevitably turning into long, animated conversations about everything from the peculiarities of German grammar to the latest news. Teni, from the UK as well, is here for a study abroad program, pursuing her deep passion for sports reporting.

In fact, she has Bayern games on all the time, and at first, you tune it out, not really invested in the familiar hum of a sport you once followed closely. But before long, you find yourself checking in more often—not because you’re particularly interested, but because you feel an unexpected pull to stay in the loop. And then, on nights when you’re distracted by the game, you can’t help but notice Jamal on the pitch. But you quickly submerge yourself with something else before you can ponder on him too long.

So, when Teni asked you to come to the game, it wasn’t exactly a surprise. She loved the sport and you two had spent so much time together on numerous escapades, that it would’ve been weird to say no.

And that’s how you end up here, right in the heart of the Allianz Arena—way too close to the pitch. The roar of the crowd, the bright lights, the hum of anticipation hanging in the air. It’s all a little overwhelming, and for a second, you debate staging an exit. But it’s too late now. You’re here, surrounded by the chaos and excitement, and for some reason, it feels like the past is trying to crawl up from the depths of your mind.

Teni is already snapping pictures for an article she’s working on. You, on the other hand, are content to blend into the background, quietly absorbing it all. And then, as the players jog onto the pitch, your world stops.

Jamal.

You know he’d be here. After all, the lineups have been announced, but no amount of mental preparation can shield you from the rush of emotions that hit the moment the teams take the field. Your heart skips, your breath catches, and for a split second, everything blurs—the arena, the noise, the faces around you—until all you can focus on is him. His presence hits you like an electric current, jolting every nerve in your body.

He’s still the same, yet not—the boy you last saw through teary eyes now stands before you, older, sharper, more refined. Time stretches, and you feel as though the past has pulled you back in, wrapping its arms around you, refusing to let go. You try to shake it off, but it clings tighter.

Your eyes dart to how the Bayern players move with fluid precision, warming up with stretches and sprints, their bodies sharp and focused. The sound of their feet hitting the turf is rhythmic, almost hypnotic, as the intensity builds with each passing minute. The crowd's chants vibrate through the air, and you can feel it in your chest, yet you’re strangely disconnected, caught somewhere between the present and the past.

As the players finish their warm-up, they smile for the cameras, posing with exaggerated ease as they head back inside. You stand just off the pitch, the weight of the moment settling on your shoulders as Teni snaps away, capturing the energy of the scene for her article. The flashes from her camera light up the field, but your focus is elsewhere—on Jamal, standing in the midst of his teammates. They pull him into their group shots, laughing and teasing, their camaraderie effortlessly on display. The smiles are bright, wide, but there's a distance in Jamal, something quiet behind his grin.

His gaze sweeps over the crowd, and then—almost imperceptibly—his eyes meet yours. Thanks to fate, all you can feel is the weight of his stare, heavy and familiar. For a split second, it’s like nothing has changed—like the years between you don’t exist. His expression falters, just a glimpse of something real.

Then, just as quickly, he looks away, his attention snapping back to his teammates. The game’s starting soon, and there’s no room for sentimentality. He jogs toward the tunnel, his figure swallowed by the bustle of the stadium, the noise picking up again as the crowd shifts with anticipation.

You try to focus on the match, the fast pace of the players darting across the pitch, but your mind keeps circling back to him. How? Out of everyone in this stadium, he makes eye contact with you? The thought almost makes you laugh, the absurdity of it. It feels like some strange twist of fate, like destiny had a sick sense of humor. You try to brush it off, but the knot in your chest refuses to loosen, and no matter how much you tell yourself to move on, his presence is still there, hovering in the background.

As the game goes on, you can’t escape the pull of your own thoughts. Teni, meanwhile, is blissfully unaware of your inner turmoil, too focused on her notes to notice the way you’re fidgeting, how your attention keeps slipping. It’s not until halftime that she finally raises an eyebrow, sensing something’s off.

“So,” she says, leaning in with a mischievous glint in her eye. “You’re really not paying attention to the game, huh?”

You try to ignore her, shifting in your seat and glancing at the scoreboard, hoping she’ll drop it. “I’m just… processing,” you mutter, hoping that’s enough to satisfy her.

But Teni is persistent. “Processing what? You’ve been out of it the whole time. You’re not really watching the game.” Her eyes narrow, a knowing look creeping into her expression. “What’s going on? You look like you’re somewhere else entirely.”

You wave her off, trying to brush off the tension. “I’m just hungry,” you say. “That’s all. Just need a snack or something.”

Teni gives you a skeptical look, clearly not buying it. “Uh-huh, sure,” she says, but then she shrugs, turning her attention back to the game. “Well, I have to stay here and take pictures, but while you’re at it—grab me a pretzel or something. A good one, okay? Not the stuff they sell at the stands.”

You can’t help but laugh, the tension between you easing slightly. “Alright, alright. I’ll get you the best pretzel in the stadium.” you tease, standing up to leave.

“Make it extra salty,” she calls after you, her focus already back on her work.

You smile to yourself, shaking your head. A simple request, but it’s enough to pull you back into the present. As you walk away, you can feel the buzz of the stadium around you, the weight of Jamal's gaze still lingering, but it’s easier to ignore now—at least for the moment.

You groan in your head as you realize how long the line is. Taking out your phone to scroll through, half-heartedly checking messages, when a new DM pops up on Instagram. You glance at the notification and your heart stops.

You blink, trying to process. It’s not a name you ever expected to reach out again and the message is so vague it almost feels like a prank.

“Is it really you?” It asks—simple, almost too casual for someone you haven't spoken to in years.

You stare at the screen, unsure of what to make of it, and just as you're about to put the phone down, a second message follows.

“Meet me after? Please.” You read the message about ten times as if it was incorrect. The directions of where to meet him popping up seconds later.

Your breath catches in your throat, and a strange mix of disbelief and excitement floods over you. It’s him. After all this time, after everything that’s happened, here he is, reaching out like it’s nothing. Your fingers hover over your phone, unsure of what to do. On one hand, you don’t want to see him. Why is he even texting you during halftime? It feels so odd. But on the other hand, you know you can’t just ignore it. There are too many loose ends between you two, too many questions left unanswered. You can't abandon the ship completely without addressing this, without facing whatever it is that still lingers between the two of you.

The stadium was still humming with the energy of the game, the final whistle's echo lingering in the cool night air. The crowd thinned, voices blending into a distant murmur, but you barely noticed. Adrenaline coursed through you—not just from the match, but from something else.

Teni hadn’t suspected a thing when you made up an excuse to slip away. She’d been too focused on getting post-match interviews, flipping through her notes, already mapping out her next move.

“I’ll meet you later,” she had said, barely glancing up, her mind occupied with work. “I have to talk to a few people after the game.”

And now, here you were.

When you finally spot him, your steps falter.

He stands a few paces away, the stadium lights casting a soft glow on his damp curls. His jersey is gone, replaced by a simple hoodie, but he’s still him. The past and present collide in an instant, a heartbeat stretching into eternity.

He turns, as if sensing you, and your eyes meet.

“Hey…” He says, his voice quiet, uncertain.

“Hey.” You echo, gripping the ends of your sleeves, fingers curling into the fabric as you try to steady yourself. “Long time.”

A short laugh escapes him, but there’s no humor in it. His eyes rake over you, searching for something—recognition, maybe. An opening. “Yeah, it has been.”

A pause. A shift in the air between you—charged, heavy. The weight of unspoken words presses against your ribs.

“How long have you been in Munich?” he asks, voice careful, measured.

“A month.”

His brows lift. “A month?” A sharp exhale, a bitter laugh. “And I had no idea.”

You hesitate. You could explain, but would it even matter? Before you can decide, he steps closer. The space between you shrinks, the air between you electric, weighted.

“I’m sorry I never got to clarify everything,” he says, voice dipping lower. “Why I never told you I was leaving.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Your arms tighten around yourself, a shield against the memories clawing their way to the surface. “And that’s supposed to make it okay?” Your voice is sharp, bitter. “You disappeared”

His jaw tightens. “I know.”

“You don’t just get to say sorry and expect me to forget.” Your voice wavers, despite the anger simmering beneath it. “You left me with nothing. No explanation. No closure.”

His hands flex at his sides like he wants to reach for you, but he doesn’t. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know how.” he admits, eyes dark with something unreadable.

You let out a humorless laugh. “That’s not good enough.”

“I know,” he says, almost pleading now. “I realized. But I thought—” He stops, swallows. “I assumed you hated me. That you moved on. That forgetting me was the best thing you ever did.”

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. “I do hate you.” But the words sound hollow, empty, the anger laced with something far more painful.

His lips curl in to an apologetic smile. “I also never told you how I felt.” He continues, his voice growing even more hesitant.

You start rolling your eyes as you turn away. "Let’s not do this right now. Just let it be."

But before you can step back, his hand catches your wrist—not forceful, just enough to stop you. When you glance at him, his eyes are pleading, raw with emotion.

"Please," he breathes, his voice barely above a whisper. "I’ve waited years to tell you what I need to say right now. I don’t deserve for you to listen, but… please."

Your breath stutters.

He swallows hard. “I didn’t respond back then because I knew it wouldn’t be fair. Not when I was about to leave.”

The silence stretches between you. The world feels distant, the noise of the city fading as everything shifts around the weight of his words.

“You don’t get to do that to me.” you snap, voice sharp, shaking.

“I know,” he murmurs, stepping closer, his eyes searching yours. “I know it’s been years. And maybe I don’t have the right to say this now. But seeing you tonight... it felt like the world stopped. Like it always did when you were around.”

Your chest tightens. It’s the same feeling you’ve carried for years—the ache, the unanswered questions, the part of you that never stopped caring. You try to keep your guard up, but the pull of him, of this moment, is undeniable.

“I never stopped thinking about you,” he says, voice thick with emotion. “Even when I tried, you were always there. In every city, every match, every late night when I couldn’t sleep. I wondered if you were okay, if you ever thought about me, if you hated me.”

You blink, fighting back the sting in your eyes.

“I should’ve told you back then,” he continues, voice cracking slightly. “But I was scared. Scared that if I said it out loud, leaving would hurt even more. And I was right.”

You press your lips together, trying to hold back everything threatening to spill over.

He exhales, stepping even closer. “If you feel nothing for me, I’ll walk away. Right now.”

Stillness spreads across the night sky. He takes another step saying “If there’s no world where I can fix my mistakes, let me know.” He’s so close now, his warmth seeping into you, his eyes desperate for an answer.

“Tell me to go.” His gaze flickers to your lips.

You inhale sharply, the sound barely audible, but he catches it. His name slips from your lips in a whisper. “Jamal.”

You lock eyes with him, and the universe halts. In the depth of his gaze, you see everything—the years, the silence, the regrets—and yet, all that matters is right here, right now. You feel the familiar weight of his presence, the way his gaze pulls you in, a magnetic force that makes everything else vanish. The tears fall before you even realize they’ve started, tracing paths down your cheeks.

Without thinking, you step into him, your hands trembling as you grip his hoodie, pulling him closer, as if you could erase all the distance between you with that one movement. His arms encircle you, holding you tight, steadying you as you bury your face against him. You’re not sure who’s shaking more, but it doesn’t matter.

He pulls you close—so close it steals your breath. His arms wrap around you, strong and sure, as if he’s afraid to let you go again. Your arms tighten around him, your fingers gripping the fabric of his hoodie as the years collapse into this single, trembling moment.

He exhales into your hair, his body shaking slightly. You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling the dampness of his curls against you, the warmth of his skin through the fabric.

It won’t be easy. You both know that. The wounds, the past, the things that need healing—they won’t disappear overnight. But somehow, in each other's arms, there is no doubt. Together, you can overcome the time lost, the mistakes made, and everything that’s stood in your way. Because this was never meant to be forgotten. Just waiting, tucked away, until it was the correct time to fight. And this time, no one’s wanting to let go.

Neither of you speak. There are no words for this. Just the quiet hum of the world around you, soft and steady, as if time itself is holding its breath.

Maybe it never was.

#jamal musiala #soccer #imagines #football imagines #football #bayern munich #musiala x reader #jamal musiala x reader #bayern munich imagines #soccer imagines #musiala #desi reader #desi tumblr #football imagine #football x reader #football one shot #football drabble #gul4bjamoons writings

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reveryfics · 17 days ago

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The Range

Spencer Reid x Male Reader

Summary: With a firearms test looming, Spencer was struggling to improve even with Hotchner's guidance. Hotchner then recommended he seeks help from someone more qualified.

A/N: I'm going to start tagging these types of fics with "ftm reader" too. A lot of my "x male" fics can be read as both unless it's a specific request or outright mentioned like in my smut posts. Let it be known this started as a undeveloped idea and spiraled into this.

TW: Awkward Spencer - Fluff

The rhythmic thwack of bullets striking the backstop echoed through the vast, concrete expanse of the Quantico firing range, a stark, percussive counterpoint to the profound, frustrated silence emanating from Spencer Reid's isolated booth. Sweat beaded on his brow, not from the physical exertion of firing, but from the sheer, overwhelming mental strain of trying to coax his perpetually trembling hands into anything resembling a steady aim. His latest grouping on the paper target, a ragged constellation of holes, looked less like a concentrated cluster of impacts and more like the scattered pattern of a shotgun blast from fifty yards out.

Aaron Hotchner, ever stoic and observant, stood a respectful distance behind Reid, his arms crossed over his chest, a soft sigh escaping his lips. He'd dedicated countless hours to Reid this past week, patiently deconstructing and explaining every foundational tenet of marksmanship: the proper stance, the firm but relaxed grip, the crucial sight alignment, the smooth and controlled trigger squeeze. Yet, with each passing minute, it became increasingly, painfully clear that Spencer's prodigious intellectual brilliance, his near-superhuman capacity for logical deduction and encyclopedic recall, simply did not extend to the fundamental mechanics of operating a Glock service pistol.

"It's like... the gun just feels alien in my hand, Hotch," Reid confessed, his voice barely above a whisper, as he carefully lowered the firearm onto the bench with a grimace of pure exasperation. "My brain understands the intricate physics, the complex trajectory, the precise ballistics, but my body stubbornly refuses to cooperate with the simplest of commands."

Hotch nodded slowly, a familiar, resigned look settling onto his features. "Some things just don't click, Spencer, no matter how much you analyze them. But this isn't an elective. This is a mandatory qualification test, and you need to pass it to remain active in the field." He paused, his gaze thoughtful. "Perhaps it's best you seek help from someone who specializes in one-on-one firearms training, someone who's specifically qualified to help agents with... unique challenges."

Spencer nodded, biting his bottom lip, the humiliation a bitter taste in his mouth. He picked up his spent casings, the small brass cylinders cool against his fingertips, as he and Hotchner left the cacophony of the firing range, the echoing thwacks slowly fading behind them.

He didn't know the first thing about where to go for such specialized training. As much as he valued Morgan's advice, the thought of asking his perpetually teasing colleague for recommendations on his shooting inadequacy filled him with dread. He could already hear the good-natured but relentless jabs. Which was why, a few days later, he found himself standing hesitantly in the doorway of a small, nondescript local gun range, long after its official closing hours.

And there you were. You, who looked like you were perpetually one stupid customer away from subtly strangling someone, while simultaneously possessing the frantic energy of a person who'd consumed an industrial quantity of caffeine. The lingering, almost palpable smell of strong coffee on your breath confirmed Reid's deduction on that front. You were actively cleaning up, wiping down counters with meticulous, almost aggressive strokes, clearly eager to lock up and go home.

You had honestly thought, for a fleeting moment, that Reid was messing with you, perhaps a late-night prank from a colleague, especially since the range had closed nearly thirty minutes ago and you were clearly in the final stages of your closing routine. But the earnest, almost desperate look on his face, those wide, intelligent eyes behind his glasses, told you he was more than serious about his impromptu, late-night request for help. And who were you, a self-proclaimed connoisseur of quirky individuals, to deny this adorable, socially awkward dork of a man the assistance he so clearly, desperately needed?

You quirked an eyebrow, a silent question in your gaze, but Spencer just offered a small, hopeful smile. With a resigned sigh, you gestured for him to follow. "Alright, pretty boy. Let's see what we're working with."

You led him deeper into the range, the scent of gunpowder clinging to the air like a second skin. The main bay was dark, but you flipped a switch, bathing a section in stark fluorescent light. In one hand, you balanced four boxes of 9mm ammunition, their weight familiar. In the other, you held your personal sidearm—a sleek, customized Glock 19—and a Glock 22, a close replica of the standard issue for the BAU.

"Alright, Spencer," you began, your voice losing its earlier edge, replaced with a no-nonsense professionalism. "Before we even think about touching a firearm, we're going to talk. And then we're going to breathe." You set the boxes and pistols on a cleared section of the counter, the metal cold and unyielding against the laminate. "You said your brain understands the physics but your body won't cooperate. My job is to bridge that gap. We're going to break this down, piece by painful piece, until it becomes muscle memory."

You picked up the Glock 22, checking its clear chamber before handing it to him, butt first. "Feel that weight? That balance? Your hands are trembling, I can see that. That's not just nerves about shooting; that's often a manifestation of mental overload." You watched as he cradled the weapon, his brow furrowed in concentration. "First things first: stance. Stand with your feet shoulder-width apart, dominant foot slightly back. Hips aligned with your shoulders, a slight forward lean. Imagine you're bracing against a strong wind."

You demonstrated, moving with an easy, fluid grace that belied your earlier grumpiness. Then you moved to his side, gently adjusting his posture. "Good. Now, grip. High on the backstrap, web of your hand firmly against the tang. Your strong hand does the work of controlling the firearm, while your support hand wraps around for stability. No 'death grip,' Spencer. Just firm control. You want to be able to isolate your trigger finger."

You demonstrated the grip with your own Glock, showing him how your fingers molded around the pistol, how your thumbs aligned. "Now, this is where most people struggle: sight picture and alignment." You took the Glock 22 back and held it up, aligning the front sight post precisely between the two rear sight posts. "Front sight in focus, target slightly blurry. When those three dots line up, that's your window." You held it steady, letting him lean in to observe.

"And finally, the most crucial part, the part that separates good shooters from great ones: trigger control." You handed him the Glock 22 again. "This isn't about jerking the trigger. It's about a slow, steady, continuous press straight to the rear, without disturbing your sight picture. Imagine squeezing a sponge, slowly, until the water comes out." You placed your finger lightly over his on the trigger guard. "You don't want to anticipate the shot; you want to be surprised by it."

You watched his face, the intense concentration, the almost painful effort to translate your words into physical action. "We're not even going to load a round yet. We're going to do dry fire drills, over and over, until you can hold that sight picture through the entire trigger press. And we're going to focus on your breathing. Deep, controlled breaths. It's amazing what a difference that makes."

You moved to a new target, a fresh sheet of paper with a crisp bullseye. "Take your time, Spencer. We've got all night."

Spencer took the Glock 22, his grip a little less tentative this time, but the subtle tremor in his hands was still evident. He tried to mimic your stance, shifting his feet, then his hips, then his shoulders, like a marionette with too many strings. His movements were jerky, hesitant, a stark contrast to your fluid demonstration.

"Okay, Spencer," you prompted, "now the grip. Remember, high on the backstrap, web of your hand firmly against the tang."

He adjusted his fingers, then adjusted them again, his brow furrowed in intense concentration. You could practically hear the whirring of his brilliant mind, dissecting every instruction, every subtle nuance. But it was clear he was overthinking it, getting lost in the theoretical instead of simply doing. His support hand wrapped around his dominant, but it looked awkward, like he was trying to solve a complex puzzle with an oven mitt.

"Good," you said, trying to keep your tone encouraging, even as you saw the familiar signs of frustration beginning to etch themselves onto his face. "Now, bring the pistol up. Find your sight picture."

He raised the Glock, his arms extending, but they wavered slightly. He squinted, trying to align the front sight, but his eyes darted from the blurry target to the pistol, then back to the target. He took a deep, shaky breath, then another, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He was clearly trying to apply the breathing exercises, but the physical act was fighting against his mental state.

You watched as his shoulders tensed, his jaw clenched. He squeezed the trigger, and the slight, almost imperceptible flinch of the pistol was a clear giveaway. He wasn't surprised by the shot; he was bracing for it. The dry click of the firing pin hitting nothing echoed in the otherwise silent range.

He lowered the pistol, his hands dropping to his sides, the frustration radiating off him in palpable waves. He rubbed his temples, a defeated sigh escaping his lips. "It's... it's just not connecting," he muttered, his voice laced with exasperation. "I understand what you're saying, I really do, but when I try to put it into practice, my body just... rebels."

You took a slow, deliberate breath. You could see him spiraling, trapped in his own head. This wasn't about technique anymore; it was about getting him out of his own way. Without a word, you walked up behind him, your presence a warm, solid wall at his back. You were close enough that you could feel the subtle tremor in his shoulders, the tension in his muscles.

"Relax, Spencer," you murmured, your voice low and calm, a stark contrast to his inner turmoil. Your hands gently but firmly settled on his, guiding them back to the pistol. Your body was practically pressed against his back, allowing you to manipulate his posture with your own. You adjusted his feet, subtly shifting his weight until he felt balanced. Your arm came around his, guiding his elbow into the correct position, your hand overlapping his on the grip, molding it into a perfect, natural hold.

You leaned in slightly, your chin almost resting on his shoulder, your voice a soft whisper near his ear. "Now, feel this. Feel the connection between your body and the firearm. Feel the stability." Your hands, strong and steady, became an extension of his, demonstrating the proper grip, the high purchase on the backstrap. "This isn't about thinking, Spencer. It's about feeling. It's about instinct."

You brought the pistol up, your body moving in unison with his, your eyes looking down the sights as you guided his hands. "Front sight, target. Breathe. Slow, steady press. Feel the resistance, then feel the release." You held it there, perfectly steady, allowing him to feel what a truly stable platform felt like. The tension in his body, though still present, began to subtly lessen under your unwavering physical guidance.

You remained behind him, your body a living brace, subtly correcting his stance, your hands guiding his as you raised the Glock again. "Feel that?" you murmured, your voice a low rumble against his ear. "That's what proper alignment feels like. That's stability." You held it there, perfectly still, letting him absorb the sensation. "Now, your focus goes to that front sight. Make it sharp, clear. The target can be blurry. All that matters is that little post right there."

You could feel the subtle shift in his breathing, a slow, almost imperceptible relaxation in his shoulders. He was still tense, but the frantic energy that had radiated from him minutes before had begun to recede. Your body warmth, combined with the steady pressure of your hands, seemed to be short-circuiting his overactive mind, forcing him to engage with the tactile experience rather than the abstract theory.

"Good," you encouraged, your voice soft but firm. "Now, that trigger finger. Isolate it. Don't move anything else. Just a slow, steady press. Like you're pushing against something heavy." You put the slightest pressure on his index finger, guiding it. "Feel how it moves independently? Don't anticipate the shot. Let it surprise you."

The quiet click of the dry fire echoed in the range. It was a cleaner sound this time, less of a jerk, more of a controlled release. You felt the slight, almost imperceptible tremor in his hands, but it was significantly less than before.

"Again," you instructed, keeping your position, your body still molded to his. "Reset. Find that front sight. Breathe. Press."

He did. And again. And again. Each time, the click was a little smoother, the dry fire more consistent. You felt the tension in his muscles slowly bleed away, replaced by a nascent, unfamiliar rhythm. It wasn't perfect, not by a long shot, but the improvement was undeniable. The rigidity in his movements softened, replaced by a tentative fluidity.

After a series of successful dry fires, you finally stepped back, giving him some space. "Alright, Spencer. Take a breath. Tell me what you felt."

He lowered the pistol, his gaze fixed on it as if seeing it for the first time. He flexed his fingers, then opened and closed his hands. "It's... different," he said, his voice quiet, thoughtful. "When you were there, guiding me, it felt... natural. Like my body knew what to do without my brain having to overthink it. It was just... muscle." He looked up at you, a flicker of genuine surprise and dawning comprehension in his eyes. "I think I understand now. It's not about the physics, it's about the feel."

You nodded, a small, knowing smirk playing on your lips. "Exactly. Now, let's see if you can replicate that feeling on your own." You picked up one of the boxes of ammunition. "Ready to load some live rounds?"

Spencer took a deep breath, a flicker of apprehension returning to his eyes, but it was quickly overshadowed by a determined glint. "Ready," he affirmed, a newfound resolve in his voice.

You nodded, a subtle approval in your expression. "Good. We're going to start slow. One round at a time." You picked up a magazine and deftly loaded a single 9mm cartridge, the brass glinting under the fluorescent lights. The distinct clink of the round seating in the magazine was a stark reminder that the stakes were about to increase.

You handed the loaded magazine and the Glock 22 to Spencer. "Load it," you instructed, watching as he fumbled slightly, but managed to insert the magazine into the grip with a more confident click than you'd seen from him previously. "Now, rack the slide firmly."

He did, the metallic clack-clack echoing in the otherwise silent range as the round chambered. He held the pistol up, his hands still trembling slightly, but his stance was noticeably better. The subtle adjustments you’d made earlier seemed to have stuck.

"Front sight," you reminded him, your voice calm and steady. "Focus. Breathe. Slow, continuous press."

He took a slow, deliberate breath, his eyes narrowing as he found the front sight. His finger, though still a little hesitant, began to press. You watched, a silent observer, as the muscle memory you’d just helped him build battled with the ingrained mental blocks. There was a moment of absolute stillness, then—

CRACK!

The gunshot ripped through the air, a concussive force that made the concrete walls vibrate. The recoil made Spencer flinch, the pistol kicking up and to the right. He instinctively lowered it, blinking rapidly, a surprised gasp escaping him. The smell of burnt gunpowder instantly filled the air.

"Whoa!" he exclaimed, his eyes wide. "That's... louder than I expected."

You walked over to the target, a new one you’d put up just for this. A single, ragged hole marked the paper. It was off-center, far from the bullseye, but it was on the paper. And more importantly, it wasn't a complete wild shot.

"It's always louder the first time," you said, your tone neutral. "But you kept it on the paper, Spencer. That's progress." You walked back to him, taking the Glock. You ejected the empty magazine and checked the chamber. "The flinch is normal. It's a natural reaction to a loud noise and sudden recoil. We'll work on that."

You reloaded a single round and handed him the pistol again. "This time, I want you to remember what it felt like when I was helping you. Try to recreate that stability. Anticipate the noise, but don't anticipate the shot itself."

He nodded, taking the pistol. He raised it, his movements a little more practiced now. He took a longer, deeper breath, visibly trying to center himself. You could see him fighting the urge to flinch, to yank the trigger. He found his sight picture, held it, and then, with a palpable effort of will, began to squeeze.

CRACK!

Another shot. This time, the recoil was still significant, but his body didn't flinch as violently. He held the pistol up for a moment longer before slowly lowering it.

You walked to the target. The second hole was still off-center, but it was closer to the first, forming a very loose pairing.

"Better," you stated, your gaze returning to him. "Much better. You're starting to get the feel for it. We're going to keep going like this, one round at a time, until that flinch lessens and your groups tighten. Ready for another?"

Spencer nodded, a bead of sweat tracing a path down his temple, but a flicker of grim determination now shone in his eyes. "Yes. Again."

You reloaded a single round, the familiar clink a small punctuation mark in the quiet range. You handed him the Glock, and he accepted it with less hesitation this time, his fingers finding the familiar contours of the grip. His stance was more natural, less rigid, a faint echo of the perfect form you'd guided him into.

"Remember the breathing," you coached, your voice low and steady. "Control the inhale, control the exhale. Don't let your heart race."

He took a visibly deeper breath, his chest expanding, then slowly contracting. He raised the pistol, his arms extending, and though there was still a slight tremor, his sight alignment was noticeably quicker, more precise. You could almost see the gears in his brilliant mind shifting, moving from frantic overthinking to a more intuitive, almost meditative focus. He was no longer just trying to do it; he was beginning to feel it.

He held the sight picture, the front post unwavering for a crucial second, then two. His finger began to move, a slow, deliberate press. You watched his knuckles whiten slightly as he fought the natural urge to yank or flinch.

CRACK!

The shot rang out, sharp and immediate. This time, the pistol's recoil was still pronounced, but Spencer absorbed it better. He didn't drop his arms immediately, holding the pistol up, his eyes wide but no longer as surprised. He slowly lowered it, a small, almost imperceptible nod of satisfaction on his face.

You walked to the target. This shot was significantly closer to the center, a marked improvement. It wasn't in the bullseye, but it was a solid, undeniable step forward. You tapped the paper with your finger, indicating the new hole.

"Look at that, Spencer," you said, a genuine note of approval in your voice. "You're starting to build a group. You're adapting. That's what we want." You picked up the Glock, ejected the spent casing, and loaded another single round. "The flinch is almost gone. Now we focus on consistency."

He took the pistol back, a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. "It's... it's like my body is finally listening to my brain," he mused, looking at the Glock with a newfound respect. "Or maybe, my brain is finally listening to my body."

You smirked. "Something like that. Ready for another?"

Spencer continued, firing round after round, and with each shot, the improvement was remarkable. The flinch became a barely perceptible twitch, his groups on the target tightening from a scattered pattern to a discernible cluster. He was still far from a sharpshooter, but the wild shots were gone, replaced by consistent impacts within the inner rings. You watched him, a quiet satisfaction growing within you. He was learning, adapting, and most importantly, no longer fighting himself.

You decided to join him on the line, pulling up the lane next to his. You grabbed your customized Glock 19 and a fresh target, hanging it with practiced efficiency. The rhythmic CRACK! of your shots mingled with Spencer’s, a steady drumbeat in the otherwise silent range. Your movements were fluid, economical – a testament to countless hours on the range. Each of your rounds punched a neat, precise hole in the bullseye, forming a tight, cloverleaf pattern. It was a stark contrast to Spencer's still-developing technique, yet your presence seemed to spur him on. He'd glance over, a quick, almost imperceptible assessment of your flawless form, then refocus, his own shots becoming more deliberate, more controlled.

As the second hour past closing ticked by, the stack of empty brass casings around Spencer's feet grew considerably. He was no longer just hitting the paper; he was consistently placing his shots within the vital zone of the silhouette target. The initial frustration had completely vanished, replaced by a quiet, intense concentration. He looked less like a panicked academic and more like someone genuinely engaged in a complex, rewarding problem.

Finally, you called a halt. "Alright, Spencer, that's enough for tonight. Let's see the damage."

You both walked downrange to retrieve his targets. You pulled the paper from the hanger, examining it with a critical eye. The first few shots were still scattered, but the latter half of the target showed a significant improvement – a respectable grouping that would easily pass a basic qualification.

"Look at this," you said, a genuine smile touching your lips as you held up the target. "From a shotgun blast to this in a couple of hours. That's excellent work, Spencer. You got out of your head, and you let your body learn. This," you gestured to the tight cluster of holes, "is more than enough to pass your qualification."

Spencer took the target, his eyes wide as he stared at the evidence of his newfound proficiency. A faint flush crept up his neck as he processed your praise, and suddenly, the earlier intensity of his focus seemed to dissipate, replaced by his more familiar awkwardness. His gaze flickered to you, then away, then back, and you could practically see the delayed realization hitting him – how close you’d been earlier, how your body had been pressed against his, guiding his movements.

"Oh," he stammered, running a hand through his hair. "Right. Uh, yes. Thank you. I mean, it's... I really appreciate it. I wouldn't have been able to... that is to say, I'm usually not..." He trailed off, a sheepish grin spreading across his face.

You chuckled, enjoying the sight of his return to his delightfully flustered self. "Relax, Spencer. It's just shooting. And you did good." You watched him for a moment, a sense of quiet amusement warming you. "I expect to see you walk through these doors after your test and tell me you passed. Understand?"

He nodded vigorously, still slightly flushed. "Yes! Absolutely. I will. Thank you again. Really." With one last, slightly awkward nod, he turned and headed for the exit, the lingering scent of gunpowder and coffee trailing after him.

A few days later, the familiar chime above the door announced a new arrival. You were behind the counter, deep in conversation with a customer about custom barrel threading, when a figure began to weave through the usual afternoon crowd of shooters and gear enthusiasts. It was Spencer. He was navigating the bustling range with a renewed sense of purpose, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on you.

You finished up with your customer, then cocked an eyebrow, a small, knowing smile playing on your lips. You didn't need him to say a word. The way he carried himself, the subtle bounce in his step, it all spoke volumes.

Spencer reached the counter, his usual awkwardness back in full force now that the pressure of the qualification was off. He shifted his weight, then, almost shyly, lifted the hem of his sweater just enough to flash the Glock now securely holstered at his hip. The movement was quick, almost furtive, as if he worried someone might scold him for showing off. He quickly covered it back up, a faint blush already coloring his cheeks.

You chuckled, a warm, genuine sound. "I knew you had it in you, Spencer. Good job."

His blush deepened, a delightful shade of pink. "I... I wouldn't have passed if you hadn't helped me," he stammered, his gaze darting around the room, avoiding direct eye contact. "My scores were... significantly better. Hotch was actually surprised." He fidgeted with the strap of his messenger bag. "And I just... I wanted to thank you properly."

Before you could even formulate a response, the words seemed to tumble out of him in a rush. "So, I was wondering if you'd like to... go on a date with me? As a thank you, of course. Not that you owe me anything, but I just thought it would be a nice... gesture. If you're busy, I completely understand, no pressure at all, it's just a thought, really—"

You watched him, suppressing another laugh. He was trying so hard to backpedal, to soften the blow of a potential rejection, but you found it incredibly endearing.

"Spencer," you interrupted gently, cutting off his rapid-fire monologue. A broad smile stretched across your face. "I'd love to."

He froze, his mouth slightly agape, clearly not expecting such a straightforward acceptance. His eyes, wide and surprised, finally met yours.

"I'll see you tonight after work," you confirmed, your voice warm.

A goofy, delighted smile slowly spread across Spencer's face. He nodded vigorously, almost bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Tonight! Yes. Okay. Great. I'll... I'll see you then!" And before he could embarrass himself further, he practically spun on his heel and hurried out of the range, leaving you to your work with a pleasant warmth settling in your chest.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x male reader #spencer reid x ftm reader #spencer reid criminal minds #criminal minds spencer reid #criminal minds x male reader #criminal minds x ftm reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #mlm #fanfic #fanfiction #x male reader #xmalereader #xftmreader #x ftm reader

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innorogers · 9 months ago

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Dusk

Steve Rogers x Reader (You / OFC)

Summary: Wait, WHAT? After everything you’ve been through, you thought he wasn’t serious about you? Oh no, Steve had to make sure you understood how committed he was.

Warning: Angst but then Fluff? / Sad Steve / Angry Steve / Protective Steve / Past Revelations / Hurt & Comfort / Past Trauma / Happy Ending / Comfort Steve / This one is actually funny

Characters: OC, Tony Stark, Maria Hill, Bruce Banner, Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson, Clint Barton

Also: Thanks in advance for repost or any feedback ❤️ Let me know if you want to be included in the taglist (DM, comment, repost and tag, whatever works)❤️ You don't need to read the previous chapters but it will definitely enhance the experience if you do.

1: Insomnia | 2: Lucid | 3: Reverie | 4: Nightmare | 5: Awakening

The compound is silent, bathed in the faint silver glow of moonlight filtering through the windows. Soft lights illuminate the hallways, leading the way. Steve’s steps echo through the room as he opens the training room door.

His insomnia hits again, harder and stronger than ever before. The adrenaline runs through his veins. His mind is restless. Burning. And this time, there was no bedtime story that could soothe the pain or anger he was going through. He doesn’t bother with gloves or wraps. He’s too pissed for that, too lost in his thoughts. All he wants to do is hit something.

His fists make contact with the heavy bag, sending it swinging in response. The sound of the impact echoes in the empty room, but it’s not enough. Not even close.

The image of you, standing alone against Frazer, fists clenched, blood dripping between your fingers, glass embedded in your palms. You were fighting back so hard against the control Hydra still held over you with those damn keywords. You were panting, agonizing, trying to survive. And the only thing he could do was watch.

He hits the bag harder, faster. The chains holding it creak from the force.

You were kneeling before a laughing Agent Frazer, desperately looking for the tranquilizer and pressing it into your neck before he could stop you. Before he could do anything.

Your body going limp in his arms, your eyes closed, and your breath going soft for what felt like an eternity as you slipped away from him.

He growls through gritted teeth, his punches landing with brutal strength.

This… horrendous lab. Children—your siblings—taken. Sacrificed. Experimented on. Killed. Their golden threads snuffed out as you hoped you were helping them. Steve’s heart clenches painfully, his vision narrowing. The memory of your voice, the anguish in it when you told him how you’d watched each of them fade, haunts him. You were forced to be part of it. They lied to you—how could they.

His punches grow more erratic, fueled by the rising storm inside him. Sweat drips from his brow, but he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t slow down. His knuckles split open, blood streaking the bag, but the pain barely registers. He isn’t stopping. Not until he can soothe these invisible scars in you.

Your soft voice, telling him how you watched helplessly as your siblings died around you. Your power shut down in self-defense, a last-ditch effort to survive the nightmare Hydra forced on you.

Steve clenches his jaw, his breaths coming in ragged gasps now. His fists slam against the bag like hammer strikes.

Each punch is harder, faster, more desperate. He can’t stop. He can’t fight the guilt, the rage, the sorrow. You had been through hell, and he hadn’t been there. He couldn’t protect you. He couldn’t save your siblings. He failed.

Your words, soft and kind despite everything. You caress his cheek, smiling in his arms, trying to comfort him.

"What happened to me isn’t a burden for you to carry, you know that, right?”

His rage peaks, spiraling out of control. He roars in frustration and punches the bag with all the strength he can muster. His fist collides with it, sending shockwaves through the air.

The bag explodes.

The canvas tears apart, sand spilling out in all directions like dust from a broken hourglass. The chains snap, and the bag slams into the floor, rolling limply as Steve stumbles back, chest heaving, fists bleeding.

He stares down at the mess he’s made, panting, his mind racing. But the anger doesn’t fade. It lingers, burning beneath his skin. Cause he knows…no matter how hard he hits, how much he punishes himself, it won’t change what happened to you.

It won’t change a fucking thing.

Not the fact that he wasn’t there when you needed him most, nor the fact that he failed in the first attempt at eliminating Hydra, or the second. You only escaped because the fucking popsicle machine ran out of power. Tony and Natasha rescued you. He wasn’t there. He doesn’t even remember where the fuck he was.

He drops to his knees, fists still clenched, blood dripping onto the floor. His breathing slows, and the silence creeps back into the room.

Grateful. The word echoes in his mind, like a bitter reminder. You were so grateful, so kind. To be alive. To be here, seeing everything. You loved every breath you took, and you loved him, with every glitter of your own golden thread.

But Steve couldn’t be grateful. Not yet. Not a bit. Not with all the pain, all the suffering, you had endured.

It’s so fucked up. It’s so wrong. It’s so terribly, terribly wrong. He couldn’t be grateful for something so broken. And he wasn’t going to be. He wasn’t stopping until he crushed the last being on this fucking earth that would hurt you like Agent Frazer. He wasn’t stopping until he’d made sure of that.

"Your girlfriend told me once that we should invent some kind of power-resistant punching bag, especially for you. At least to help with your sleeping issues when it's late, and you'd hang around the campus looking for bags to hit." A voice behind him. Tony leaned against the doorframe, watching him.

"Then one day, she told me that you slept well every night, so maybe you didn’t need them anymore." He chuckled. "I didn’t even know where to start to ask—like, why, when, how’d she know how Steve sleeps? But I didn’t, of course, because she blushed, and I just… didn’t want to tease her."

Steve didn’t turn back. He stayed quiet for a while. "She’s not my girlfriend. I haven’t asked."

"Oh, so… she’s your ‘I’ll make all the best gear for my baby so he won’t get hurt’ genius engineer, and you’re her ‘you touch my girl, and I’ll mash you with the new shield she just made for me' kind of relationship?”

Tony nodded. "And also, you both have this ‘I’d sacrifice myself for you’ vibe that makes you a great couple. I think it’s cute, actually."

Steve sat down on the floor, leaning his back against the couch. "Why are you here, Tony?"

"Maybe you won’t believe it, but I’m here for a friend." Tony sighed and sat next to him, keeping a safe distance, so as not to invade his space. "Just checked on her. Vital signs are fine. Injuries are starting to heal. She’s tough, and you don’t hear it, but… this is nothing compared to how we found her."

"You’re right." Steve frowned, looking down at his knuckles, the bleeding already stopped. "I don’t want to hear it."

They sat in silence for a while until Steve shook his head with a mixture of resignation and frustration.

"Why didn’t I know?"

Tony glanced over at Steve, sympathy softening his usual sharp edges.

“How would you? She never let anyone see the cracks. And that’s something we’ve been working on for the past few years. Hiding her. Blending her in. So no one would noticed, so she could be safe.”

Tony took a breath, weighing his words carefully.

“You’ve only met her due to an unexpected, and beautiful surprise. A sleepless night, I believe?”

Tony smiled. He pauses for a moment.“She thinks that was a gift, you know? Some kind of universe retribution for all the years of suffering and torture...and…” He patted Steve’s shoulder. “I think that too.”

“If you weren’t with her... what would have happened today?” Tony softened his voice. “If you hadn’t ended Hydra… maybe we’d never have found her, and she would have died... alone, in the dark, frozen, and without knowing that she was meant to be cherished, cared for, or loved. And…”

He glared at Steve as his expression shifted. “And no one would ever know that she even existed. Her siblings gone, all the memories about her would be…nothing, she would have been a file number. Lost within thousands of archives.”

Steve felt his whole body tense as Tony’s words landed. The mere thought of it was like a blast of icy water rushing down his spine, numbing him. A world where you were nothing but a forgotten experiment, a nameless file in some dusty Hydra archives, erased from existence. It twisted something in his chest.

The image of you dying cold and alone in some abandoned Hydra lab. No one to mourn you, no one to even know that you were gone. No trace left behind. It clawed at him, settling like a vice around his heart, tightening with every beat.

“Stop with this self-pity and self-destruction mode, Steve.” Reading his expression, Tony knew his words had an effect. “It’s in the past. She made it, she survived, and she’s happy. Put yourself together and stop bringing it up in the present.”

He grunted as he stood up and looked at Captain America with seriousness. “We’ve got a lot of work to do. Someone out there is trying to get and hurt your girl, Cap. Are you going to let them?”

Steve looked at the silent floor and the exploded bags for a while, then nodded. “You’re damn right.” He held Tony’s hand to stand up.

“Yup, I always am.” Tony smirked at him. “Go and get some sleep because tomorrow…” He clicked his tongue. “We have a briefing meeting since Nat is going to spend the night interrogating this guys and probably... you know, just a little bit of tango. Then analysis with Hill—shit, I shouldn’t have accepted that—and we have only 1,278 security protocols to discuss if you and your ‘not-my-girlfriend’ are going public or whatever.”

“And…” Tony raised an eyebrow at him. “Clean up this fucking mess, Steve, this is a 12 million training room for gods’ sake.”

Steve chuckled reluctantly. “Fine.” As he started tidying up the debris, he muttered: “This thing today, this agent, was straight after her.”

Tony was already at the door when he turned back. “Clearly. But I’m not gonna discuss this with you now at…” He looked at his watch. “3:22. My brain’s checked out. Unless it’s another half-the-universe-disappearing disaster, we’ve got this under control.”

Steve nodded, the weight of Tony's words settling into him. But it was more than that—your words still echoed louder. The reminder of how you wanted to move forward, how much you needed new memories. He knew Tony was right, but you... you were the one who truly brought him back from the edge. He inhaled deep, and started to pick up the mess he made.

“This is the weirdest shit I’ve ever seen…” says a cross-armed Sam, standing in front of a glass wall, observing a room filled with white lab coat experts. Led by the only two people wearing regular shirts: Tony and Bruce.

“That’s because you’re not a regular on this side of the compound.” Natasha tilts her head towards the unified silence and the steady room full of geniuses. “This is just… a normal Tuesday.”

“They haven’t moved for 15 minutes!” Sam says with an incredulous look. “You can’t tell me this is normal. Look at Bruce, he’s not even blinking.”

Both Maria and Natasha chuckled before Commander Hill explained, “Their brains are working. They’re deciphering that code.” She gestured toward the screen displaying the tangled mess of numbers and symbols. “Until they crack it, they won’t move.”

“If you turn on the neuro-transmission scan right now...” Natasha grinned, “it’s like the Fourth of July in there.”

“So, what exactly are they doing?” Sam considered turning on the scan just to see what was happening inside their heads.

“The guy that attacked us yesterday had this retinal lens used as spyware; it was transmitting everything he saw. We cracked the code and followed it to the hub where it was connected and transmitting data,” Hill finished her coffee and said, “And of course, it’s encrypted. There’s the source code…” She gestures towards the huge screen filled with numbers and letters that reads as Asgardian to Sam.

“That’s… one code?” Sam is shocked. “How’d they look if there were ten?”

“Technically… that’s one piece of the code. Not the complete…” Natasha begins to explain, then gives up. “Never mind.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier if we just… asked the dude?”

“I did. And… it got messy…” Black Widow answers as she pours some coffee and hands another mug to the Commander, which she accepts gratefully.

“You killed him?! Are we allowed to do that?” Sam’s eyes widen, not entirely in disaproval.

“No! Of course not!” Natasha thinks about it for a second, then replies, “No. We can’t do that.” Although Steve would’ve loved to. She pauses. “He got, um… it looks like his brain was programmed. After he woke up, he was entirely a different person. He didn’t remember anything. He was… is, actually, Charles Frazer. A normal MI6 agent who lives in London with a beautiful family and was sent here to respect the New Era Project. He doesn’t remember anything from yesterday.”

“What?” The Falcon is stunned. “Can they do that now? Program someone’s brain?!”

“We talk to a tree that calls a raccoon his father, so…” Hill comments without taking her eyes off the screens.

“And the raccoon shoots big guns.” Natasha adds, as if that’s a valid point. “Well… the thing is, we don’t know when this programming thing happened. Has he always been like this? A spy with sleeper cells that suddenly woke up? Is he really a normal agent who underwent modification just before coming here? We’re doing a lot of background checks, but this guy is… immaculate. Clean. Like this glass.”

“That’s… even more suspicious.” Sam frowns. “But Dr. Lancaster said he looked just like her brother, and… I’ve seen the files. He does look like Four. It can’t be a coincidence.”

“Probably his face was altered too. We just have to figure out when.”

“In any case, I don’t think the guy is normal.” Shaking his head, the Falcon isn’t buying it for a second. “No regular person takes a punch like that from Cap and wakes up. I thought the dude’s skull was broken.”

“Where are they, anyway?” Natasha starts typing on the screen. “I think Steve should be part of this conversation. Where is he? Making the windows foggy?”

“Unfortunately, no,” says Steve as he walks into the room, resignation in his voice, though his steps are steady and recovered. “She’s in R&D3 already. Back to work.”

He shakes his head. There was no way you’d go home and rest after being discharged, and honestly, he wasn’t comfortable leaving you alone. So, the best place for you (after promising for the 26th time you wouldn’t do any heavy work) was a lab full of people where you could put your mind elsewhere.

“As we all should.” Natasha raises an eyebrow at Steve. “No one here can afford to be a porcelain doll, y’know?” She’s not easy to break and far from being easily corrupted. She doesn’t say it, but her expression makes it clear.

“I know.” Steve nods with a serious expression. Yesterday, you had shown remarkable strength, remaining composed even when restlessness set in.

“Since we’re on the same page…” Commander Hill approaches the table and leans with a professional smile. She really doesn’t have time to waste. “We need to talk about the 1,278 security protocols that Stark wanted me to discuss with you.”

“Ugh,” Steve says with irritation. But then, this is your security they’re talking about, so he surrenders. “Fine.”

You didn’t know about the struggles Steve was going through as he listened to the extensive, detailed, laser-focused report Maria was giving him regarding ‘how many scans people had to pass just to approach you or your lab’ or ‘the perfect plan for your girlfriend to walk through the campus with you holding hands without being posted on social media’.

No, you were in another state of pink haze because the man you loved had said, “I love you.”

Ahh, the sky was blue, the clouds were like cotton candy (not that you’d know because you’d never tasted it before), your plants were growing strong, and yes, you had a terrible past. There was this guy who had leaked information to God knows who super dark organization, letting them know you were an ex-Hydra agent blended within the Avengers.

And by the way, that guy looked just like your dead brother and he tried to manipulate you through brainwashing. You had stitches in your knees and arms, and you shot yourself enough tranquilizer to kill a cow…but ha… who gives a shit, the most perfect, gorgeous man has said that he loves you. Like, priorities, right?

“Someone is in a good mood…” Your colleague slash friend Dr. Lin observed you and swirled around in the chair. “Alright, alright, so the mysterious date has become…a boyfriend?”

“Oh no, he is not…” You were caught off guard, and that made you think for a moment.

Wait…

What are the social protocols for calling Steve your boyfriend? Is that something people would assume after some steps of development in their relationship? Or was it a conclusion people would reach after certain premises: like intimacy, living in the same house, or having to face some dude who tried to brainwash you together?

Is it something that you or he would be entitled to call each other after those steps were fulfilled? And also, there’s this thing about… are you the only one? Yes, you live in a society that has historically been monogamous in most cultures. But things are different now. Polygamy is becoming more accepted. You wouldn’t like that, but of course, you couldn’t force him into that. Like, there are gorgeous women around him, that’s true…

“Honey…” Dr. Lin could see the ‘loading…’ sign on your forehead now that you were frozen in thought. “Is there something you wanna talk about?”

“I have some questions, Dr. Lin… no, Robert.” You put the computer in sleep mode and turned around. “Would the fact that he said ‘I love you’ make him my boyfriend?”

“Well… did he introduce you to his friends as his ‘girlfriend’?”

“Um… no.”

“Did you talk about it? Like, in which place are you standing? Or where are you heading?”

“Um…” You looked up as you remembered. “No. But we did talk about ‘making more beautiful memories’ together”.

“Oh shit.” Robert’s face shifted to ‘Gurrlllll…’ He carefully chose his words but wanted to be really clear: “And, uh… did he mention or hint that he wanted to be your boyfriend?”

“Mmm… no.” You shook your head. Not literally, at least.

“And you’re sure there’s no one else in his life?”

“Well. Yeah.” You made an obvious face. It’s not like he has the time; he is with you (or inside you) every night.

“I’m just saying…” Robert raised his hands. “There are a lot of dudes who’ll say anything to keep their bed warm.”

“Well… he is special.” You felt compelled to defend Steve. “He never lies.”

Robert almost choked. “Alright, darling… look, just make sure he’s not just banging you and planning to break your heart, okay? There are a lot of assholes out there, and trust me… you’re like a blank canvas for them, which makes you incredibly hot and attractive, but still… there are a lot of douchebags…”

“Mmm.” You were immersed in your thoughts again, analyzing what Dr. Lin had said, and as your “Loading…” sign appeared on your forehead, Robert just left you to it.

You had this way of getting so lost in your thoughts that the outside world faded away. You operated on autopilot, so you didn’t even realize how you’d gotten up at lunchtime and wandered into the common area where Steve was waiting. You didn’t notice the worried look on his face, nor the glance he exchanged with his teammates when you all sat down at the table, ready for lunch.

‘Ask her if she’s okay.’ Natasha’s eyes silently urged Steve.

‘Of course she’s not okay. After everything she’s been through.’ Steve replied with his glare.

‘Maybe she is just tired?’ Said Maria from the other corner.

‘She does look sad…or confused.’ Observed Tony too.

‘Can you pass me the salt, please?’ Sam added to the silent conversation.

While the Avengers exchanged silent signals, you made up your mind to ask the questions that had been gnawing at you directly.

“What does it mean when people say that ‘you’re just banging me’?” You turned to Steve and asked.

Natasha spat her water out in Clint’s face, and Sam choked on a peanut.

"And I’m not against polygamy, but I think I’d be better in a monogamous relationship. If… we’re not just ‘banging.’" You nodded, speaking with honesty.

“I…” Steve tried to respond, but was interrupted by the hysterical laughter from Tony and Natasha as they rushed to save Sam from choking. (“Why would you have peanuts at lunchtime?!” Black Widow asked in a mix of laughter and disbelief.) Steve didn't know what to say, but a smile finally spread across his face as he looked at you in awe.

After the nightmare you’d all gone through yesterday, it felt like a lifetime since he’d actually smiled or felt any joy. Yet here you were, as you always are when he’s with you, with your clever, unexpected comebacks that washed away all his anger, anxiety, and rage. And your strange yet brilliant mind made him feel… so happy.

“Babe…” he chuckled, squeezing your hand and using a word he never imagined he’d use: “We’re not just banging…”

“We’re not?” You looked at him, a little confused, noticing his ears turning red. Lowering your voice, you added, “But that’s what we do every night… isn’t it?”

“OMG!” Clint stood up, covering his ears, trying not to burst out laughing. “Dr. Lancaster, may I kindly remind you this is a room full of people with extraordinary powers, including super-sensitive hearing… something we can’t exactly control?”

“Oh.” You blushed slightly, realizing how blunt you’d been, and leaned closer to Steve. “So ‘making love’ would be the right word?”

Steve chuckled as the rest of the team erupted in laughter. He squeezed your hand and smiled. “Yes, honey, that would be correct.” he said, amidst laughs and coughing.

Of course, you weren’t just banging. Steve had made up his mind to ensure you had no doubts about that. After the hilarious, "we'll talk about this for years" lunch, he gathered everything he needed to prove it to you and headed to the lab.

It was well past dinner when he arrived, and the place was empty, the only light coming from your desk. You knew he'd be late, so you waited for him to pick you up.

Leaning against the doorway, Steve watched you quietly for a moment, a soft smile forming on his face. You were completely absorbed in your work, brow furrowed in concentration. He didn’t want to interrupt, captivated by the focus you showed, his heart swelled as he took a few steps toward you.

"Hey… just… one minute…" You noticed his footsteps and quickened your typing. "I’ll wrap this up."

"There’s no rush at all." Steve sat in the chair beside you, smirking, though you didn’t notice, still immersed in your work.

"Just… borrow your hand, please?" he asked softly, knowing you were on autopilot. Without looking away from the screen, you automatically lifted your hand.

You felt something delicate wrap around your ring finger. Glancing up, you saw a slender golden thread circling it, secured by a tiny knot. Your eyes followed the thread as a delicate silver ring slid down, fitting perfectly. Startled, you looked up to see Steve raise his hand, revealing the other end of the thread tied around his own ring finger.

"What… what is this?" you asked softly, surprised.

"Well… I didn’t get the exact ‘sparkling glitter golden thread’ like you described, but… you get the idea." Steve smiled, standing up to kiss the back of your hand. "This is proof that I’m not just banging you, or…" He chuckled, "something that asks if I could bang you for the rest of our lives."

He paused, trying to remember Tony’s exact words.

"And it’s also a 'high-frequency, multi-sensorial ring capable of real-time biometric and geospatial transmission. Embedded with micro-electromechanical systems that continuously monitor and broadcast vital stats—heart rate variability, galvanic skin response, and core temperature—with GPS coordinates. Plus, a predictive analytics algorithm to interpret physiological fluctuations, allowing for real-time detection of anomalies in health and emotional state.'"

"Oh wow…" you breathed, genuinely shocked. "Did you memorize all that?"

Steve laughed and nodded. "Tony insisted you should know exactly what you were wearing."

"Awww, babe…" You couldn’t stop laughing. "This is the most romantic stalker device I've ever had."

He let out a hearty laugh and showed you his ring. "It’s connected to mine," he said, pulling you closer, his hands settling at your waist as he pressed his forehead against yours. "And I used a golden thread—the one that represents life—because you’re my life now."

"Steve…" You gently caressed his face, looking down at your hands, the rings connected by the golden thread. Really in shocked.

"And… you’re sure? Won’t people notice?"

"Trust me, I went through 1,278 protocols before deciding on this. Honestly, I made up my mind long before that. Hill said I could've spared her the torture of explaining all those, and she wanted to punch me right in the face afterward, but…" His voice softened.

"I don’t want you living in shadows or secrets anymore. I’ll be with you, always, by your side. And…"

"And since whoever our enemy is already knows about me, they’ll think twice before coming after us, seeing that I’m with the Captain of the Avengers." You nodded.

"Yeah, that. But more importantly…" He kissed you softly after laughing.

"Because I don’t know how to live without you. This ring… it’s just a way of showing how serious I am. How much I love you."

He smiled suddenly, a memory flashing in his eyes. "Do you remember what you asked me the first day we met?"

"I think so…?" You hesitated, unsure which moment he was referring to. "We talked for like 10 hours that night."

"You asked me, when you added your number to my phone, 'What do you want me to be, for you?' And I answered…"

"‘My Everything,’" you whispered.

"That’s right." He sealed it with a kiss.

"You are my everything."

You were quiet, and in awe. Just like the night you met him. For so long, you’d been searching, drifting in and out of the shadows, living in the remnants of broken fairy tales. But now, standing here with him, you realized those tales had never really been broken. They’d just been waiting — for this.

You were no longer lost, no longer broken and sifting through the ashes of old stories. You’ve found this. Your own spectacular fairy tale, and the best part? It’s real. You had been given the right to love, to be loved, to finally be someone’s everything.

And for the first time, you truly believed it.

End

Continue to:

7: Hypnagogia |

8: Lull |

9: Vigil |

10: Eclipse |

Divider Credits: to the wonderful @cafekitsune

Andddd I'm sorry I'm posting so late today, but having two full time jobs is hitting really hard, will try to maintain regularity as I can. But its getting hard! Thanks for reading thus far and I hope you enjoyed the chapter, mayb posting a different story next friday ;) See you then!

Tag list: @vioplay19 / @jamneuromain / @steviebbboi / @heletsmelovehim

Love.,

Moon.

#captain america x reader #steve rogers x ofc #steve rogers x reader #captain america x you #chris evans fanfiction #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers fanfic #captain america x ofc #captain america fanfiction

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imtryingbuck · 11 months ago

Text

Little Wolf

~ gif not mine credit to owner ~

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x wolf!fem!Reader

Summary: he finds a wolf injured on his run, the wolf doesn’t seem to be all that it appears.

Word count: 5,925

Warnings: angst. fluff. swearing. hunting animals (not detailed) gross hunters pissing on the animals. shooting. hit with an arrow. fire.

Masterlist

Death. Pain. Blood. The chair. Screams. So so, so much blood.

The punching bag was hanging on for dear life as his fists took his frustration out on it. The flashbacks driving him further into beating the bag that shakes with each punch. Ignoring the pain in his right hand and back he continues his assault.

Three hours. That’s how long he had been punching the bag filled with sand. When the pain in his hand got too much he steps back taking in a deep breath he watches the punching bag swing to a slow stop.

Normally after spending a few hours in the gym he would meet with Steve and go on a run together, sometimes Sam joining too but they were both on a mission together. They had their own pathway that they preferred to run but last time he went running on his own it came to an abrupt end when he was surrounded by police, all pointing their guns at him. Someone had seen the former Winter Solider running and thought he had done something so they rang for help. It took Steve, Tony and Fury to come down and tell the cops to stand down, told them he posed no threat.

Bucky stopped running on his own after that.

Normally he would just go back to his room, have a shower and try to relax but his mind was working overtime plagued by the memories of his time at Hydra so he decided to take that chance and go on that run on his own. He was just going to change his location of his run.

It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. He told himself as he found a new area, it was the woods that were near the compound. It had a trail that never seemed to be used, so hopefully he wouldn’t bump into anyone.

His feet pounded the ground as he pushed his legs to move faster with each passing tree, the sweat was dripping off him and his hair was slowly falling out of the bun he put it in. On his seventh lap of the entire woods from end to end he finally slowed down as the stitches in his side were getting painful. A twig breaking from inside the woods had his feet stopping, his head snapping to where the sound seemed to have come from. Another snap of a twig had his eyes squinting to try and locate the person or animal causing the sound.

And while yes he was a super solider who was dubbed by the world as the deadliest assassin to ever exist who had a metal arm that could punch through walls easily he stood there in the middle of the pathway feeling scared. If it was Hydra agents he knew he didn’t stand a chance of fighting them all off, he had no weapons on him to fight them. If it was a person who was just taking a stroll through the woods and they thought he was doing something wrong he couldn’t let Fury or Tony defend him again. If it was a bear-

You’ve never seen bears around here Buck.

A small whimper coming from where the twigs were breaking had his feet moving faster than his brain could try and talk him out of it. If it was a person he could help them. If it was an animal he could help them. If it was an agent of Hydra then he was falling straight into their trap.

Taking careful steps he followed the sound of whimpering, stopping when his eyes landed on a large black wolf. Looking down where the wolf was licking he saw the metal contraption of a bear trap locked painfully on its back leg. Bucky looked around to see if there was another wolf or two, knowing they mainly traveled in a pack he moved slower and with more caution when he didn’t see any others.

The wolf snapped its head in Bucky’s direction baring its teeth releasing a deep growl that had the hairs on the back of Bucky’s neck stand to attention. “I-I’m not going to hurt you. I promise” he stuttered out feeling stupid when he heard his own words. It doesn’t understand you idio-

The large beast stared him in the eyes for a few minutes before continuing to lick at the wound, Bucky took it as a sign that he could move closer, as he does the wolf looks at him without stopping its movements. Bucky slowly reached out to the trap and began pulling it apart, the wolf pulled its leg out and scampered off through the trees without looking back.

Bucky smiled at saving the beautiful creature.

For weeks Bucky would run the trail in order to see if he could find the wolf again, for those weeks he kept coming up empty.

Until one day. As he was running he came to a halt at seeing the wolf again, sitting in the middle of the trail looking at him. It stood up moving closer, he noticed that it had a little limp from the injury. Just in front of him the wolf sat staring up at him, its fur was jet black and looked so soft that he really wanted to reach out and touch.

“Do you remember me?” A head tilt from the creature. “A-are you friendly?” It yapped “I’m taking that as a yes” he chuckled which caused the wolf’s tail to wag. Reaching out slowly he half expected the wolf to move away but it didn’t instead moved its large head closer to him and rubbed along his hand.

Bucky knelt down and began running his fingers through the thick jet black fur that was unbelievably soft. Steve wasn’t going to believe him when he told him that he had befriended a wolf. “Where’s your friends huh?” Another head tilt given as a response. “You’re so soft aren’t you boy?” A low growl from the wolf had him taking his hand away. “Oh, you’re a girl? Oka-“ his phone cuts him off, answering it as it was Steve he chuckles when the wolf’s head tilts from side to side as if she’s trying to understand where the voice is coming from. “I’ve got to go pretty girl, but I’ll see you tomorrow okay?” Bucky truly felt terrible about leaving her behind especially when he looked behind him to see her still sitting there.

Over the course of a week Bucky left for the woods to see the wolf he had befriended, and like he said Steve did not believe him when he told the blond. Bucky would run with her by his side, he would stroke her fur when she won the unofficial race they were having. His wolf friend no longer limped as her leg was healing perfectly.

“So tomorrow I won’t be here to see you little one, I’ve got to go on a mission. I know I don’t like it either. Yes I’ll miss you” he explained and told her when she answered him with a bark, he wanted to pretend that he could understand her even though he in fact couldn’t.

Saying his goodbyes his feet leads him back to the compound. He’s already counting down the minutes until he’s back from the mission that hasn’t even started yet.

Five days later the jet was touching down on the runway at the compound carrying all members of the Avengers, Bucky’s plan was to take a quick shower, get dressed and head to the woods to see his wolf.

Going towards the woods a little later than he wanted as Steve all but forced him to have something to eat he looked around expecting to see her, he walked further into the woods looking between the gaps of the trees for his little wolf.

Just as he was about to call out for her he felt a presence behind him, before he could turn around he was knocked on to his front with a loud thud. He manage to turn his body around coming face to face with his wolf whose whole body shook due to her tail wagging furiously from side to side.

“Hi pretty girl, you snuck up on me. Yeah yeah I missed you too”

He manages to get her off him so he could sit up, she walks off but looks behind her to see if he follows, he does once she yaps at him. “So bossy, jeez.” Another yap comes from her. “I’m coming hold on!”

He follows her throughout the woods, getting further away from the trial, reassuring her that he was still behind her every time she looked over to him. He frowns when she stops in front of a tent that was mostly ripped. “What are we doing here pretty girl?” She goes inside and he hears a noise and then rustling. “Little wolf?” He panics.

His heart stops.

“P-pl-please don’t freak out.”

“Wh-what…”

“I’m little wolf… I’m human, well I’m a wolf, well you know.”

“I-I don’t understand.”

“Which part?”

“You’re a wolf?”

“Yes.”

“But you’re also human?”

“Yes.”

“Jesus, I’ve seen it all now!” You watch him as he paces up and down, his eyes bouncing from you to the ground. “How?”

“I don’t know, I was born like it.”

“Is this a trick? Is little wolf inside?”

“It’s not a trick.”

“I don’t believe you.” His eyes narrow at you.

“Right.” Taking off the clothes you had just put on, you want to laugh at how bright his face goes at seeing your naked form. “Watch.”

And he does. He watches as the human in front of him instantly becomes a wolf. His little wolf. His eyes blink in quick succession at the sight. “This is insane!”

Turning back in to your human form, you put your clothes back on again. “I didn’t think you’d react like this, I’m sorry if I’ve scared you. I promise I’m not going to hurt you.”

“How else am I supposed to react?” He snapped at you.

“I-I don’t know, you’re the first person I’ve ever shown… I’ll-I’ll go now, please, please don’t tell anyone about me, they’ll hunt me.”

Bucky watches as you grab your things from the wrecked tent, quickly packing whatever you had to your name in a duffle bag. “Wait, just… you don’t need to leave. I just wasn’t expecting you to turn into a human, I’m sorry for snapping at you.”

“No-no it’s okay, I-I shouldn’t have shown you, I’m sorry.” You said as you scramble to grab all your things.

“Hey, hey stop. You don’t need to leave.”

“I-I do.”

“You don’t, I’m not going to tell anyone I promise. It just freaked me out, I wasn’t expecting little wolf to turn into a person, you know?”

“I’m sorry for freaking you out.” You kick a pebble finding it more easier than to look at him. “You promise you won’t tell anyone?”

“I promise.”

“I don’t have any friends by the way.” Bucky’s head snapped up to face you, a puzzled expression on his beautiful face. “You asked where my friends were, I don’t have any.”

Moving slowly to sit down on a log you pat it as an invitation for him to sit too. “My… my pack kicked me out.”

“Why?”

“I’m the runt.” Picking up a stick you began to pick at it. “I’m weaker than the rest of them so I was kicked out.”

“You’re not weak-“

“I am compared to the rest of them.” You shrugged, still playing with the stick.

“What’s your name?” He asked after a few minutes of silence.

“Y/n, yours?”

“Bucky.”

“Weird name.”

“Your name is weird!”

You both sat there on that log arguing about whose name was weirder, for nearly twenty minutes. The argument only coming to an end when Bucky’s phone started ringing. You could see it on his face that he was nervous and felt terrible about leaving you alone in the woods but you waved him off telling him that it’s okay. You both walked silently towards the entrance of the woods, Bucky smiled as you shifted back into your wolf form.

“Hey Y/n” you turn around to face him. “Your name is weird.” Bucky chuckles when you growl in response.

It had been four months since you showed Bucky your human form, and truly you were shocked that he kept coming back to see you, he would even bring food and drinks with him when he came. Sometimes the two of you would sit on the log and talk about everything and anything, sometimes you’d both walk around the woods - taking down the snares and disabling the bear traps that hunters would put there.

Bucky opened up to you about his past, told you things that not even Steve or his therapist knew about, he told you all about his nightmares and how that sometimes he would see the ghosts of his victims. He sat there on that hard wooden log pouring everything out to you and when he found the courage to look at you he was surprised not to see the look of fear, judgement or even pity in your eyes. You didn’t even say anything, there was no ‘it wasn’t you’ or ‘you’re a good man now’ like he always got told, no you took his hand in yours and laid your head on his shoulder.

You opened up about your own past, you told him that your mum was human and your dad was a wolf who met and fell in love, you didn’t go to school but was taught maths and English with the rest of the pups, and even though your former pack were also human they preferred being in their wolf form that mainly lived in woods.

“One night my mum was hurt by a wolf, I didn’t get back to the manor in time an-and when I did my mum was badly injured, my dad killed the rogue wolf and once my mum was being treated for her injuries my dad told me to get my things and to leave his pack.”

“But why? It wasn’t your fault.”

“Because I was supposed to stay there with her, it was my fault she was attacked.”

“Where was you?”

“My friend wanted to go on a run and asked for me to go with her, my mum told me to go and have some fun.” Shaking your head at the memory, you shrug your shoulders. “I shouldn’t have listened, I should have done what my dad said and stayed with her.”

“How old was you?”

“Fourteen.”

“Jesus, Y/n you was a child!”

“That didn’t matter I was weak in my dads eyes, he would have rather lose his pup then his mate.”

Bucky wrapped his arm around you and pulled you closer to him and rested his head against yours.

“Y/n!” He called out for you one day as he tried to make sure that he didn’t trip over and drop the bag he was carrying. “Y/n?”

“I’m here!”

Turning to where your voice was coming from he saw you in the lake, the first thought that came into his head when he laid eyes on you was that you were the most beautiful thing in the world. “What are you doing in there?”

“I’m a fish!” You sarcastically say. “I’m bathing.”

“It’s about time, you started to smell.” He grins softly, as he turns his back on you to take out the food he stole from the compound for you to eat.

“I don’t smell no more. Don’t look, okay?” You say even though he’s already seen you naked a few times. Wrapping an old towel that you stole from someone’s backyard around you, you walk quickly past Bucky going straight into the tent.

“It’s going to rain tomorrow you know.” Bucky says as he gets the fire started.

“Is it?”

“Yeah so why don’t you-“

“Nope.”

“I didn’t even fin-“

“Nope Buckles.”

“Y/n.”

“Buckanna.”

Bucky rolled his eyes at the different names you were calling him, even if he did have a small smile on his lips. “Please just stay at my apartment, I don’t even live there.”

“Buckaroo, I’ve told you I’m okay.” You come out of the tent dressed and took a seat next to Bucky. “Now, what interesting stories do you have to tell me?”

He handed you your favourite snack and drink before taking his own out of the bag. “Well Sam did the splits when he slipped and he made sure everyone knew about it.”

“Was he okay?”

“Even though he told everyone he got split in half, he seemed alright to me.” Bucky’s lips curled up into a smile at hearing your laugh, he always wanted to hear more of the sound.

“He’s a bit dramatic isn’t he?” The super soldier nods with a chuckle. “So what else has happened?”

He fills you in on all the things that the team did in the two days that he didn’t see you, your face lighting up at hearing the crazy things they do. Bucky had asked you to meet them, even promising you that they wouldn’t judge or fear you but he also understood why you kept saying no. Even though your mum is human you was brought up to never trust them, you had been told that all humans were evil and would hurt you if you ever let them get too close. Bucky was confused because you had let him get close and he was surprised that you didn’t have a response to that, you just shrugged your shoulders.

Despite not wanting to meet Bucky’s friends you still liked hearing about them and all the things they get up to, he assured you that they were great people and that they would welcome you with open arms, you was just too shy to admit to Bucky that you liked it just being the two of you.

Little did you know that Bucky felt the same.

“Sir there is a fire.”

FRIDAY’s voice interrupted the movie that the whole team was watching in the cinema room, they were treating themselves to a relaxing day after a long week of missions, when they registered the words from the A.I they were all confused as the alarms didn’t go off, Tony asked where the fire was and the response had Bucky jumping up from his seat and running out of the room leaving everyone confused.

“In the woods, sir.”

Steve and Sam were right on the brunettes heels, from where they were they could see the whole woods ablaze. Steve tried to get Bucky to slow down but all he could hear was “Y/n. Y/n’s in there.”

They had no idea who Bucky was talking about and they couldn’t get him to slow down enough to even explain, but they continued to follow him.

Bucky’s heart was in his throat the closer he got to the woods, he kept calling out your name waiting to hear your voice to call back but there was nothing, his eyes bounced around to see which best way he could get inside and when he found an opening he took off running as fast as his legs would take him. He could hear Steve shouting for him to stop and then Sam telling Steve to stop but he wasn’t focused on that, he needed to find his little wolf.

“Buck slow down!” Steve shouted as he tried to keep up with his best friend.

Bucky wouldn’t, he couldn’t, he was trying to find the correct trail that would lead him to the wrecked tent that she was calling home despite his insistence that she could stay at the apartment he had, the one he never stayed at. “I need to find her!”

You was in your wolf form - true form as you always called it - trying to find some food, you came to a halt when you heard unfamiliar voices of two men, crouching low you made sure that they didn’t see you, you crept forwards until you could see them, gulping when you did.

Hunters.

They were standing there counting their kills, laughing and mocking and even mimicking the action of one of the deers, you let out a very low growl when one of the men unbuckled his belt and opened his zip and began urinating on the animals. You couldn’t understand why they were doing what they were doing, you only ate the animals you found because you were hungry, even as a wolf you hated doing it because you knew what it was like to be hunted.

Your heart stopped when a twig snapped behind you, instantly knowing it was a rabbit by the smell of it. The hunters heard it too.

“Shit, is that a wolf?”

“Yeah, fuck you know how much that things head will pay us? Come here little doggy we aren’t going to hurt you.”

Letting out a deep growl you hoped that they would get scared and just leave but sadly they just laughed. One of them pulled a gun out and fired a shot towards you and with that you took off. They were fast but you were faster.

Zigzagging and flinching as bullets were flying past you, you let out a sharp cry when a bullet struck your hind leg. Despite knowing the woods better than anyone else you couldn’t think straight, and because of that you were going in further and further away from your camp. A strangled cry came from you as fell hard on the ground, an arrow had embedded itself into your side. Scrambling to your feet you managed to keep running despite the agonising pain radiating through your entire body, hiding under an undergrowth you tried to keep your breathing under control.

The smell of smoke hit your nostrils as you continued to hide underneath the undergrowth, finally gaining the strength to come out of your hiding spot your eyes went wide with fear. The place that you had been calling home was on fire.

Rabbits were running around trying to find a way out - skidding to a halt when they saw you standing there, only continuing their escape when you moved slightly to the side. Trees were falling down around you, loud frantic heartbeats of the other animals were pounding in your ears, you needed to find a way out but you just couldn’t move.

You were panting heavily as the smoke filled your lungs, finally making your legs move you began trying to find a way out of the burning woods.

“Y/n!” Your head snapped in the direction you heard your name being called from but all that was seen was fire and trees falling down, you kept hearing your name from a familiar voice that you instantly recognised as Bucky’s and an unfamiliar voice was also calling your name.

Limping towards where the panicked voices where coming from you tried to keep away from the growing flames as well as trying not letting too much smoke in, you kept letting out deep howls in hopes that Bucky and this other person could hear you.

The pain of the bullet lodged into your back leg and the arrow embedded into your side was getting worse with each and every step you took towards safety. The last thing you see is a a blurry image of someone before you passed out.

When Bucky found you he felt like his heart had stopped beating, he couldn’t tell if you were alive or not, he couldn’t hear anything over the rushing sound of blood in his ears. Despite the fact that there was fire everywhere and growing by the seconds he took slow steps towards the body of his little wolf, seeing the arrow sticking out of you had his hands balling into fists.

Steve tried to get him to move so they could continue to find this Y/n girl, he did find it sad that they were looking at the dead body of a wolf - slightly shocked that one was even in the woods - but they needed to find the woman Bucky was so worried about. “Come on Buck, we need to find your friend.”

“She-hurt-I need to-“ Steve couldn’t make sense of Bucky’s words as the brunette got closer and to the wolf.

“Buck?” Steve watches as Bucky crouched down, slowly and gently lifting the wolf into his arms whispering ‘It’s okay sweetheart. I’ve got you’ to say the blond was confused was an understatement of the century.

“We need to leave.”

“B-but Y/n?”

Bucky shot him a questioning look before looking down at little wolf in his arms, his eyes bouncing back up to Steve’s. Bucky would have laughed at the confusion written all over his best friends face but right now wasn’t the time or place.

The team looked at the super soldiers with wide eyes and confusion but Bucky didn’t pay them any attention, continuing to run past them going straight to med bay. Cho was puzzled as to why Bucky was bringing a wolf into her lab, once he explained the truth Cho got to work, well once she managed to get the distressed man away from his friend and out of the room.

Steve watched as Bucky’s leg bounced up and down, his eyes not moving an inch from the door he was pushed out of by Cho. “Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you name the wolf Y/n?”

“No, her parents did.”

“What?”

He sighed, he didn’t know how Steve wasn’t understanding. “Y/n, yes? Is the wolf but she’s also human.”

“Wha-how?”

“Her parents, one human and the other just like Y/n.”

“Oh.” Steve nods and the pair quickly settles into silence.

When Cho comes out she informs Bucky that she did all that she could, his heart stopped beating assuming the worst only beating again when she says that it’s up to Y/n when she wants to wake up. Bucky walks fast into the room once Helen says he could go in and see her.

Running his fingers through your fur he told you to wake up and be fine, he begged you. “Please Y/n, I-I don’t want to lose you.” He sat there for hours just stroking your fur and watching as your chest rose and fell. Only leaving your side to stretch his legs. Steve had come in to check on the two of you, giving Bucky some food the brunette wanted to laugh as he watches Steve’s hand hover over your body.

“You can stroke her.”

“I-what if she doesn’t want me to.”

“She’s asleep she won’t know.”

Steve’s whole face lit up once his hand came into contact with your fur. “She’s so soft.”

Bucky hummed in agreement as he continued to eat the sandwich Steve had made for him, he began telling his best friend how they met and his first reaction of seeing her in her human form. To Steve it made so much sense hearing where Bucky had been sneaking off to every day when he wasn’t on missions, he smiled knowing his friend was happy for the first time since they were younger.

Not long after Steve left to get some sleep, Bucky went and sat on the floor - the softness of the chair was making him uncomfortable. His eyes had just closed when he heard rustling from the bed, before he could stand up you jumped out of the bed.

“Y/n, hey little wolf look at me.” He tried to get you to calm down but so far it wasn’t working your eyes were frantically searching around the unknown room, your tail was in between your legs and you were letting out low howls. “Y/n.”

Once he caught your attention he relaxed a little. “Hey pretty girl, you’re safe I promise.” Smiling instantly as you came running straight towards him and climbing on him. “I’ve got you pretty girl.”

He lets out a oof as you put your head on his chest he wraps his arms around you, whispering that you was safe when he felt your heart beat still beating erratically, careful of your injuries he ran his fingers through your fur as your eyes started to close. The next morning when Steve walked towards the room with Sam trailing behind him, they stop at the doorway at seeing a wolf lying on top of Bucky, too scared to go inside the room as the wolf began growling at them.

“Bucky.“ He shifted from his spot on the ground but didn’t open his eyes. “Wakey wakey Bucky!”

“Stop poking me Y/n/n.” He grumbled, moving his head further away from your finger as you kept poking him in his cheek.

“Well wake up then.”

“I don’t want to, I was having a nice dream.” Bucky reluctantly opens one eye, seeing you sitting on your knees with a big smile on your face he couldn’t help but smile too. “What time is it?”

“Eleven.”

“Oh right. Where did you get those clothes from?”

“The doctor gave me them.” You shrugged, the clothes were comfy although they were slightly big. “She’s nice I like her.”

“How long have I been asleep for?”

“Since yesterday, you lazy bum.”

“Shut up.” He winked at you, before you could reply back he quickly yet carefully pulled you onto his lap and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer to him. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine, Helen said I was healing better than she expected.” You nodded when his hand reached out to the shirt you were wearing, lifting the material up he flinched seeing the large bruise.

“What happened?”

“There were hunters and they spotted me, they shot me in my leg and then I don’t know where it came from but I got shot by an arrow.” You point to your side. “I managed to hide then next thing I know the whole woods were on fire.”

Bucky somehow managed to pull you even closer to him and rested his head on your shoulder. “I should have been there, I’m sorry.”

“Then you would have been hurt or worse so please don’t be thinking like that, I’m fine now Bucky.”

“I don’t care, I should have be-“ his stops speaking when your hand covers his mouth.

“Stop.” Giving you his best glare, you just smiled in response well that was until he licked your palm. “That’s gross Buckles!”

He smiled in triumph as your hand instantly leaves his face. “Y/n?”

“Yes?”

“Where are you going to go? The woods are completely destroyed.”

“I-I’ll find somewhere else.” You shrugged. “Now don’t be sad that you’ll never see me ever again because I’ll draw you a picture of me for you to keep.” Winking at him causing him to laugh… sarcastically.

“You’ll do me a drawing? You’re the best.” His words dripping in sarcasm, it was his turn to wink when you rolled your eyes. “But I’m being serious Y/n, how about you stay here? I don’t think Tony will mind.”

“I-I don’t want to overstep and make anyone uncomfortable.”

“You wouldn’t, I’ll talk to Tony and if he says no then you’ll stay at my apartment, I don’t want you to leave.”

The thought of never seeing Bucky again even though he would probably find you and the thought of finding somewhere else to call home made your heart ache, plus you had lost what little things you had to your name in the fire so you nodded your head, a huge smile taking up Bucky’s face instantly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah but you have to promise that you won’t get mad at Tony if he says no, okay?”

“I promise.” Bucky said as he placed his left hand on your cheek, his eyes slowly moving between yours and your lips, as he slowly moved in you found yourself doing the same until your lips touched.

“I really like you Y/n.” He says once the two of you reluctantly pulled away from each other.

“I really like you too.”

Bucky leads you towards the common room after he asked FRIDAY where everyone was after you helped him stand once you two had finished kissing some more, hand in hand he took it slowly as you were walking with a limp and your side started to hurt. He promised that everything was going to be okay when he noticed your heart started to beat frantically.

Introducing you to the team and them to you, Bucky was right when he said that they were all great people who wouldn’t judge you, though they all found it fascinating. You was practically hiding behind Bucky as he asked Tony if you could stay at the tower, Bucky and the team expected a dog joke to come out of the billionaires mouth, all shocked when he didn’t make one.

“Welcome to our crazy family Y/n.” Tony says with a smile. “Barnes can show you to your room oh and make him take you shopping I assume you need clothes and stuff.”

“Thank you.” You say but Tony just waves you off with a gentle smile.

It’s been three months since the fire and living at the tower with Bucky and the team, if they were honest it took them a few weeks getting use to seeing a wolf walking around, and there’s only been one incident where it took all of them to get the SHIELD agents to stand down after they pulled their guns out on you. But overall it’s been great living with them and getting to know them all.

Bucky had showed you to a room next to his where you only spent one night on your own, the next night Bucky had knocked on your door and asked if he could sleep in bed with you, from there your room became his. Despite him taking you shopping for clothes, shoes and essentials you mainly wore his shirts, which truthfully he loved seeing.

Everyone knew that there was something going on between you and Bucky but never made any comments, you had confessed to him that he was your mate then explained what it meant when he looked confused. That night the two of you made love.

You had even become an unofficial member of the Avengers when the tower was attacked and you were taking the bad guys down a lot faster than the team could. Tony had created a suit that wouldn’t have you be naked once you turned to your human form, it took him a few tries to perfect it, he picked you up and spun the two of you around once had.

“Y/n?”

“Hi, I didn’t mean to wake you.” Taking off your suit you climbed into bed with Bucky wrapping his arms around you straight away.

“You didn’t don’t worry, how did the mission go?”

“It was good, nobody was hurt.”

“Good, get some sleep okay pretty girl.” He mumbled tiredly.

“You too pretty boy.”

“Funny. Night night doll, I love you.”

Your eyes shot wide open as those last words hit your brain. It was the first time he had said those words and by the way he was softly snoring he hadn’t quite realised what he had said. Smiling shyly to yourself you snuggled further into his warm embrace.

“I love you too Bucky.”

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