#when in doubt blame roger

[allpromarlo]

roger goodell when i CATCH you

[wewringmagicfromtheordinary]

the narrative also just went downhill the writers said that tony wouldn't have had this reaction if he had been told early on basically the writers were saying that Tony would have been on his side if steve had told him earlier they want to put it on steve and make it seem like tony was in the right he wasn't and if he could come to a separate conclusion after sitting down and thinking about it why didn't he pick up the phone and call steve this is a one sided fight it has no emotional impact on the audience because we never thought they were even friends if we saw their friendship devolve an impossible force against and immovable object then maybe it would have made sense but instead we got an emotional fistfight side note: why does nobody extrapolate how howard got the serum how SHIELD would have had to be complicit with experimentation to make it Howard didn't make it and not test it that's SHIELD and the head of SHIELD  via cosmicmechanism

okay but tony making steve out to be the bad guy in the beginning of endgame is LAUGHABLE. “you weren’t there when we needed you” what the fuck!! steve has been a fucking fugitive because he refused to be held under the thumb of a politically driven and potentially corruptable government. steve literally gave tony a phone that would be a direct line to tony whenever he needed steve. and then! tony fucking hesitated and ended up NOT calling steve when he had every fucking reason to! tony trying to blame steve for “not being there” as the avengers is the most laughable and dumb shit that he’s ever done. lmao

[simplyholl]

Fireworks

Summary: Loki uses an illusion while you have fun during a fireworks show.

Pairing: Loki x F. Reader

Warnings: Smut. Minors DNI. 18+ Only.

See My Masterlist Here

“We can’t, not here.” You protest, trying to talk some sense into your fuck buddy, Loki. “No one will miss us.” He tempts you, raising a suggestive eyebrow. You can’t resist him, it was like trying to hold your breath. Eventually you would give in, needing him more than you ever thought possible.

The Fourth of July was usually reserved for barbecues and pool days, but this year Tony wanted to throw a lavish dinner party to impress some higher ups who still had their doubts about the Avengers. So here you were, Earth’s Mightiest Heroes wearing stuffy suits and elegant gowns eating prime rib and lobster instead of wearing swimsuits and stuffing your faces with hotdogs.

You all had been warned to be on your best behavior, especially Loki and Thor whose Asgardian liquor often times made them and everyone they shared it with bad decision makers. You wished you could blame the alcohol when you took Loki’s hand, letting him guide you out of the dining hall while everyone started to gather outside for fireworks. But you didn’t drink anything except for water. You didn’t have an excuse, momentarily dickmatized, you went willingly.

“Nope. Not tonight, get your asses back here right now.” Tony stops you, pointing to the wrap around porch the others were gathering on. You sigh, giving your best puppy dog eyes to him, hoping it would work. If anyone understood the importance of getting off, it was Tony.

“Don’t give me that look. If we didn’t have the very people who could shut us down in attendance, I would even cover for you. But we have to make it seem like we are the best people they know.” Tony explains, adjusting the collar on his dress shirt nervously.

Loki turns, following him out, never letting go of your hand. Once Tony does a headcount, Loki brings you to the darkest corner of the porch. A flash of green passes by so quickly, you’re sure you imagined it. But this is Loki, and he was always up to something.

“What are you doing?” You whisper so no one can hear you. One of the old men look in your direction, you fake a smile and wave at him until he takes his attention off you. In the distance Mr. USA himself, Steve Rogers sets off the first firework. An explosion of red lighting up the sky.

“Do you trust me?” Loki whispers in your ear. “Yes, but now’s not the time to live up to your namesake, Mischief.” You answer, eyes narrowing suspiciously. You would both be in big trouble, possibly kicked off the team if you did anything to portray the Avengers in a negative way tonight. “To everyone else, it looks like we are enjoying the fireworks. They can’t see what we are really doing.”

He leans down to gently kiss your shoulder, long fingers sliding your dress straps down your arms exposing your breasts. You gasp, trying to cover yourself. The nosy old man from earlier looks over at you, but doesn’t notice your uncovered body. He looks away as another firework illuminates the darkness.

“I would never let them look at you like this.” He purrs. His rich voice washing away any doubt you had. He nuzzles his head to your chest, his fingers lightly pinching your nipples. You moan, and Natasha turns, looking at you questioningly. “They can’t see what we are doing, darling, but they can hear us.”

“Loki, we have to stop.” He instantly goes still. “What’s wrong?” You rub his cheek to reassure him. “I can’t be quiet. They will hear us.” You can see the gears turning in his head, his eyes lighting up when he gets an idea.

Loki drops to his knees, large hands sliding up your thighs until he reaches your panties. He works them down your legs as you watch in anticipation. He wads them up, his obscenely big hand covering them completely as he brings them to your face. His thumb taps your bottom lip, beckoning it open. When your mouth forms an O, Loki places your panties inside. “There that should muffle any sound you make.”

You watch in disbelief, turned on by his antics. You feel the unmistakable warmth of your arousal drip down your thighs. Loki lifts your gown, settling on his knees once again. He places your leg over his shoulder, your fingers tangle in his curls as he dives in.

His talented tongue swirls your clit before dipping inside you. He thrusts his tongue, while the tip of his nose rubs against your most sensitive part. You shudder, lost in the pleasure he’s giving you.

Loki takes your clit between his lips, sucking gently as his tongue flicks in unison. Your legs tremble as his soft licks grow firmer. You groan, your panties keeping the sound from reaching the ears of the others. But Loki hears it, he loves that you will do anything for him.

You’re typically a rule follower, always early for your appointments, avoiding trouble at any cost. Until he showed up, he turned your world upside down. You would never consider letting someone eat you out in front of company, depending on him to use his magic to conceal you. You would never trust anyone else like him. He supposed that was what he liked the most. You trust him completely.

He strokes you with his velvet tongue once more, adding two fingers. The intrusion sends you spiraling. Fireworks exploding behind your closed eyelids mirroring what was happening around you. You bite down on your panties, fighting every primal urge to scream Loki’s name.

Loki turns you around, pressing you against the building. He quickly slides his pants down, reaching below to gather your dress, bunching it up on your side. His large hands run along the curve of your backside, giving it a squeeze. He parts your legs with his own, positioning himself.

He bottoms out in one thrust, you moan loudly, praying the panties will do their intended job. You always feel so full, so complete when you have sex with Loki. No one could ever compare. He slides his hand between you, thumb working your clit as you clench around him.

The sounds of skin slapping against each other is unmistakable. You can’t be bothered to worry about it when he rearranges your guts like this. You’ll feel it all night and tomorrow. You always do. Your side will ache, too sore to bend over. It was a delicious reminder of him.

The finale of the fireworks coincided with your orgasm. You were thankful for the noise of the pyrotechnics. Every drag of his cock made you scream as you came around him. He was close behind, spilling inside you as your visitors clapped when the show was over.

Loki turns you around, retrieving your panties from your mouth and using them to wipe away the mess he made of you. He kisses your shoulder before pulling your dress straps back where they belong. You extend your hand reaching for your panties, but he shakes his head placing them in his pocket instead.

Another flicker of green surrounds you, dropping the illusion. Loki motions to your hair, letting you know you have more than a few tresses out of place. You’re smoothing your hair down as Natasha comes over, a knowing smirk on her full lips. “It sounded like you two were doing more clapping than our visitors over there.” She says, laughing as she walks away.

Tags

@cindylynn @wheredafandomat @multifandom-worlds @lokischambermaid @lokisgoodgirl @wolfsmom1 @loz-3 @kats72 @crimson25 @litaloni @zombiesnips-blog @gruftiela @mochie85 @cakesandtom @eleniblue @violethaze @lokidokieokie @buttercupcookies-blog @mjsthrillernp @chantsdemarins @lulubelle814 @anukulee @theallknown213 @alexakeyloveloki @tmilover1993 @fandxmslxt69 @artemis-13 @fictive-sl0th @nomajdetective @goblingirlsarah @foxherder @kathren1sky-blog @javagirl328 @kcd15 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @soggylampshade0 @weirdothatwritess @silver-tongue-taken-to-bed @mischief2sarawr @ozymdias @freegardenbanananeck @lamentis-10 @jainaeatsstars @aoirohi @mushycore @marygoddessofmischief @queenshu @jasmine-pudding @kcd15 @jiyascepter @daddieslut1 @macnbriee @sammichdog

[navybrat817]

Focus

Pairing: Motocross!Steve Rogers x Motocross!Female Reader Summary: You have a crush on Steve Rogers, but you don't think you're his type. Word Count: Over 1k Warnings: Crush, longing, slight insecurities, swearing, nicknames, Curtis is a good friend, Motocross!Steve Rogers (he's a warning, okay?) A/N: Finally an intro for Champ and Daisy in our Dialed In AU! Took me how long, @yenzys-lucky-charm ? Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated! ❤️

A 450 rider like Bucky with a lot of wins under his belt, Natasha was serious when she said Steve was one of the best riders in his class.

It was one of the reasons people called him “Champ”, a nickname he wasn’t overly fond of since some of the guys liked to tease him after races where he didn’t place first. It also gave him flashbacks of when he was younger and smaller, virtually ignored or told he wouldn’t excel in anything physically.

With a lot of heart and a late growth spurt, he proved them wrong.

Bucky said once that his nickname should be “Adonis” because of his now statuesque looks and the pit lizards fawning over him or “Golden Boy” because of his success and admiration.

Steve never let any of that get to his head and refused to let the pit lizards distract him. He worked hard to get where he was and continued to give it his all on and off the track every single time.

His determination was one of the many reasons you found yourself drawn to him. He was the kind of rider and person many aspired to be.

Your crush only grew the day you two actually met.

A rider yourself, you earned the nickname “Daisy” thanks to the flowers on your helmet and general sweet demeanor.

The helmet was the very thing Steve complimented you on when he walked by you at your first pro race.

You hadn’t meant to stare when he walked by, but his reputation preceeds him. Clad in red, white, and blue like a patriotic God, his blonde hair sparkled in the sunlight and his eyes looked like the sky on a cloudless day.

The sheer size of him almost made you whimper when he got closer. How a man was able to walk with such confidence and dominance yet still had an air about that said he was humble was a gift.

He even stopped to speak to a few kids who were eager to meet him and you couldn’t stop smiling when one little boy wrapped his arms around his legs in a tight hug.

Who wouldn’t fall for him?

You were certain you still had a dopey smile on your face when he looked your way.

“Beautiful.” The deep timbre of his voice sent a shiver down your spine when you realized he was speaking to you, which you tried to blame on pre-race jitters. “Your helmet. It’s beautiful,” he said when you didn’t reply.

You deflated slightly because of course he didn’t think you were beautiful. You were just a rider and not like the girls who flocked to him.

“Oh, thanks,” you croaked, clearing your throat immediately to try and save face. “I like daisies,” you added, mentally kicking yourself for stating the obvious. Why else would they be on your helmet?

The lopsided grin he gave you brought your smile back to your face. “You’re Daisy. Heard good things about you.”

Biting your lip and glancing away briefly, you didn’t catch his gaze following the movement. “You have?” You asked, slightly surprised that your name made the rounds.

“Yeah.” He nodded toward the track. “And I’m eager to see what you do out there.”

Your stomach did a somersault, but you held your head high. “I’ll try not to disappoint.”

“I doubt you could disappoint anyone,” he quietly spoke, looking over his shoulder when Bucky called out to him. “Gotta go. Good luck out there, Daisy.”

“Thanks, Champ,” you said, shifting back and forth on your feet when he stood up straight and flexed his gloved fingers. Maybe you shouldn’t have used his nickname. “I mean, Steve.”

You couldn’t read his expression, but you felt better when he gave you one more lopsided smile. “Champ sounds nice coming from you,” he said before he walked away.

You tried not to swoon or check out his ass when he went on his way, but Curtis clocked you immediately.

“You might wanna wipe that drool off your chin before your race,” he said, nudging you with his shoulder when you glanced at the ground. “Nervous? Don't be. You’re gonna kick ass out there.”

“Not nervous,” you said, biting your lip again. “He said he heard about me.”

“Yeah. Riders talk, you know that. And the guys saw you practice, so they know you have skills,” he said, sighing when you lifted your head and longingly stared after Steve. “Look, don’t let him distract you.”

“I’m not letting him distract me,” you argued, moving your helmet between your hands. “It’s just nice to get a compliment from such a skilled rider,” you said, especially since a lot of guys had a tendency to ignore you once they knew you loved to race.

Curtis narrowed his eyes. “I’m a skilled rider and I compliment you. I don’t see you walking around with hearts in your eyes and having a little crush on me.”

Your cheeks flamed before you hit his arm. “More like you bust my nonexistent balls. That’s not the same thing,” you said.

He didn’t move an inch when you hit him, the wall of muscle that he was. “Perk of being my friend,” he deadpanned, looking in the direction that Steve went, too. “I’m not one for gossip, but Champ is single.”

You put your helmet on so your friend couldn’t see your face. “Good to know, but I doubt I’m his type,” you said.

Because why would he like you?

“Rogers is a fucking idiot if he doesn’t want a girl like you,” he said sincerely before he hit your helmet with the palm of his hand, the familiar grumpy stare back on his face. “But enough of that shit. Get out there and win your fucking race.”

Which you did.

Steve's heart skipped a beat when you removed your helmet and smiled.

Because the truth was, you were exactly his type.

And he’d sweep you off your feet if you let him.

They're sweet, okay? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Steve Rogers Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[delaber]

Firestarter (Loki x Reader)

Summary: After having been granted safe passage to the Avengers’ head quarters, Loki’s delighted to learn that he can pass the time by toying with the hate of the newest recruit.

Tropes: Enemies to lovers.

Words: 4.2K

Warnings: smut, mentions of battle injuries

Find part 2 here

They would all be fools to trust him. They know it. Loki knows it. Hell, even the specs of dust floating around know it!

The only one that seems eager to patch up the growing rift between the opposite sides of the room is the meathead of his brother who is blabbering away, trying hard to ignore the cold air coming from the other Avengers.

He's persistent, you'd have to give him that. They must really love Thor to grant Loki safe passage in their home like this.

- The stab of a thought hits Loki straight in the chest. Sticks to his ribs as he contemplates the sharp hate radiating off of the cotton-clad team opposite him. They don't look the least bit threatening in their oversized casual wear, but they've still granted his brother the upper hand so graciously, and for the first time in a while, he feels the balancing scales tip. It was easier when it was just the three idiots Fandral, Hogun and Volstagg who were fawning over his brother - Sif on occasion too, though Loki had had her in multiple ways Thor could never even wrap his pea-sized brain around.

The thought alone makes the tar on his ribs slowly drip away.

He must've drifted off, lost in thought of Sif with her bare ass in the air because the next thing he registers is Thor's meaty hand between his shoulder blades. "You all know my brother..." he chuckles awkwardly and pushes Loki forwards. Adds his name for clarification when nobody answers. Idiot.

The room's almost dead-silent. Stark scoffs theatrically loud and that Barton fellow turns a lovely shade of plum as he immediately races out of the room without uttering a single word - not that Loki can really blame him; he's killed for less.

Even the newbies on the team are staring daggers at him, though Loki doubts he's ever met any of them before; Captain Rogers' brooding siamese twin, the beefed up action figure beside him and that... woman - the pretty one - her eyes ablaze with a certain kind of hatred that he can physically feel down his spine as she scowls in his direction.

Loki cocks an eyebrow, amused that his reputation precedes him so much that her hate is tangible, and she huffs and pushes through the crowd while the one with the metal arm - the siamese twin - grabs her shoulder to prevent her from stepping too close. It only angers her even more and she shakes off the vibranium hand but stands her ground with her head lifted in cool arrogance, her eyes never wavering from Loki's.

Oh, she really hates him!

The look on her face reminds him of the tales he's heard of Muspelheim. Of Surtur and flames shining brighter than the sun; all of Asgard burning while the glass of the shattered rainbow bridge glistens in the flames and sticks to his skin, covers his hair. With her, there's fire in the air. He feels it immediately and it draws him in.

***

He spends his days in the shadows, observes the dynamics of the Avengers, gathers information in case he has to do something... drastic. He's not exactly planning on betraying the trust his brother's placed in him, but it's never unwise to have a plan to overthrow the Avengers - just in case. So he learns what he can from afar; their likes, their dislikes, their routines. But mostly, Loki just observes her.

She really loathes him which only makes it all the more fun. She storms off whenever he comes close. Flares her nostrils, squares her jaw, stamps away like a petulant child - and he must admit that he does love it! He enjoys having her wrapped around his little finger, that his mere presence can pull such a sincere reaction out of her. It makes the seidr in his veins feel electric; like pure voltage in the palm of his hand as it begs him to show off - show her - what he can do with it. He wonders if this is what Thor feels like when his eyes turn bone-white and arctic blue with lightening.

"I wish you would stop with that."

Loki glances towards his brother, tries to look as bored as possible as if he really doesn't know what he's talking about. "Stop with what?"

Thor gives out a long sigh and Loki is reminded of the first time Thor was disappointed with him; even though it's almost a thousand years ago, he can still smell the sweetness of the stolen tarts he'd hidden underneath his pillowcase and the empty hole in his chest where he knew he should be feeling shame but didn't.

"You know what I mean... It's not nice."

"In case you haven't noticed; I don't care about being nice."

"You're taunting her."

"She's an easy target," Loki hums with remnants of a chuckle, places his hands on the back of his head as he looks over at her. Even as she does something as mundane as drinking her morning coffee, she keeps a wary eye on him. It's entertaining. "You really can't blame me."

"It's not as if she's dangling bait, brother. You hurt her."

"I hurt her?!" Loki snaps, offended, "- when?"

"You really haven't realised?"

"Realised what?"

Another sigh. "Can't you tell she's from New York?"

Loki stops replying after that. Settles on picking an imaginary crumb from off his chest; thin crusted and rhubarb filling. He avoids Thor's gaze. He doesn't feel empty now and they both know it.

***

He'd come running through the compound with the rest of them as soon as the strangled war cry had met his ears.

Half-hiding behind one of the huge stone columns, he takes her in; she's covered in blood from head to toe, panting harshly as she stands in the middle of the hall, daggers still clutched tightly in both hands as her friends surround her. She looks fiery, evil, war ready - like the Valkyries from back home with their spears and their feminine hands skilfully wringing death out of anyone who crosses Asgard.

There had been a time where Loki had been afraid of them, and then, as he grew a little older, completely mesmerised by their raw beauty and the smell of battle as they rode towards the Royal Palace to report back to Odin and his ravens. He remembers standing in the hallowed halls of Valaskjalf with Huginn and Muninn circling above him as the Valkyries take off their helmets and look towards his brother. What he wouldn't have given to have one of them stab him, let alone notice him. Five hundred years later and it still hurts...

Steve Rogers is standing right by her side, not covered in as much blood as she is but still looking relieved to be back home. He sends a nod in Stark's direction and throws an electronic device across the room with a defeated sigh. It doesn't take a genius to see that even though the mission went well, they'd been ambushed.

Rogers takes a step closer to her, puts his arm around her shoulders as to hug her, and for the first time since they appeared in the entrance hall, she howls in pain, collapses on the floor and wrings her face in the most horrible way.

Loki notices the hole in her suit first. Sees how the red comes in pulses and flows down over her shoulder and chest. She's been stabbed, and by the looks of the dark red tissue in the gap, it's deep.

Steve Rogers yelps in shock, throws himself down on the ground beside her and instantly starts pressurising the wound with his bruised hands while his two companions are by her side immediately, ready to scoop her up in their arms and carry her to safety.

Loki takes in the scene unfolding before him; the three frantic men, the spurting blood, her panicked face as she cries. Swears he can hear Hel whisper her name.

"Leave her," he suddenly hears his own voice booming through the echoing hall and it drowns out the whisper.

They all stop dead in their tracks. Look around for him.

He's not sure exactly where all of this is coming from; he really couldn't care less if she died, but he finds himself stepping around the column, and he comes out with his arms raised as if surrendering. "She's gonna bleed out before you reach a doctor."

Action figure-man is on his feet almost immediately: "And what do you suggest?," he hisses angrily, "that we leave her be? Let her die here on the floor without even trying?"

Loki raises his arms a little higher and takes another careful step towards them. "I can help."

"You can help? And why should we trust you?"

"First of all, you shouldn't," he states as he simply cannot help himself. "- But it's your only chance of saving your friend."

"You're not serious!" Tin-man hisses and looks towards Loki while helping Steve Rogers putting pressure on the gaping wound, "as if we're supposed to believe you suddenly care."

Loki wants to bite back but a painful sound from her makes him hold his tongue.

"- We're not gambling with her life!"

"Are you sure?" Loki retorts and it finally makes Captain Rogers look up. "- Because it looks to me as if you are."

Loki cannot see Thor who's standing behind him, but he imagines the slow nod of approval he gives the Steve Rogers trio, because suddenly the Captain gives out a heavy sigh, his eyes downcast. "Alright then," he says in defeat and waves Loki closer while clutching her tight.

"Steve!" Tin-man appeals but his best friend has made up his mind.

All eyes turn to Loki.

He's surprised to learn that he doesn't enjoy it as much as he'd imagined he would. He supposes it's because the main difference between him and his brother has once again been underlined so cruelly.

"If you try anything," action figure man warns and Loki bites back: "What? You'll kill me? As if I haven't heard that before. Now get out of my way, mortal."

He steps forwards, squats down beside her and summons the green sparks in the palm of his hand, looks her in the eye for the first time since the day they'd been introduced. There's fire behind her colourful irises; mistrust, chaos and fear. She leans towards him and with all her strength grabs his wrist. "What - are - you - doing?" she pants and wrings him tightly.

"Saving you," he mumbles and turns his palm around, directs the sparks at her gashing wound.

She gives out a small painful hiss as the wound closes up immediately but her eyes never leave his face. They transgress from pain to panic to relief. He's there with her for the whole ride and it does absolutely nothing to drown the embers inside of him.

"Oh my god," Captain Rogers mumbles and runs his fingers over the newly-formed scar on her front as he stares in disbelief.

Her doubting eyes are still carefully watching Loki, her small fingers still wrapped tightly around his wrist. Her mouth goes slack and she finally lets go of him, looks towards the closed up wound, then back at him. "Thank you," she whispers apprehensively.

It makes his seidr glow fluorescently green in his veins and he gets the sudden urge to fall to his knees and lick her clean.

Had Huginn and Muninn only still been alive, he would've made them watch this up close so they could report it back in detail to all of Asgard.

***

The Avengers are not as cold after that. Still wary of him - as they should be - but the hatred and constant fear is gone. And when she comes back from her bed rest, it tickles him that the first thing she does is to seek him out.

"Thank you," she says slowly, almost controlled, and extends her hand as a peace offering, "- for saving my life."

"You already said that."

"Well, I meant it."

He looks up at her. Her mouth is formed to a pout, her body poised in vigilance, her eyes carefully watching his every movement while her hand extends into dangerous grounds. She's still not sure what his motives are and it gives him the opportunity to toy with her a bit. "...I'm honoured?"

A short-lived flame of annoyance flashes across her features as she retracts her hand back to safety with a huff.

"Did I say something wrong?" he quips in the hopes that he can keep her attention.

"You're trying to rile me up."

"How dare you!" He says in mock offence. "I would never!"

She crosses her arms underneath her chest, "I'm trying to offer you an olive branch and all you do is ridicule me. Are you really that desperate for attention?"

It amuses him. He loves when she shows him bits of the real her. "Are you calling me desperate for attention because I don't care I saved your life?"

“Then why did you do it?”

“It was merely strategic,” he shrugs and hopes she doesn’t detect the lie that tastes bitter on his tongue. Why did he save her? The question’s been nagging him for days now. “- it’s never unwise to have an Avenger owe you their life.”

“Wow,” she blinks and shakes her head in disbelief. "I don't know why we all listened to Thor - he said you'd changed but you're clearly still a conniving snake.”

"A snake?” he smiles, relieved that his lie has her convinced, "is that supposed to hurt me? Trust me, darling, I've been called worse."

"Just a gentle reminder that you'll never be anything but a villain."

"I suppose every villain is a hero in their own mind."

She takes the bait and narrows her eyes. "You absolutely destroyed my hometown. All the places I loved. And you have the nerve to call yourself a hero?!"

"Would you prefer a god?"

She flares her nostrils in frustration, "is everything a joke to you?"

"...Mainly?" he smirks "in case you haven't noticed, I'm the God of Mischief - it's in the job description."

She takes a few angry breaths. "Life is always a performance for you, isn't it? Whether it's an endless need for attention, a humorous quip, or the unfolding of another of your great plans, it's always just for show!"

He's excited to feel that the full-blown anger's back and she's seeing red. And to think he was almost disappointed in her?!

She grinds her teeth. "Just so we're clear, I'm not doing this to imply we're even or to make you feel just the slightest bit better about yourself for what you did. Trust me, I'd still rather see you rotting away in a prison cell. You-"

"I must admit," he drawls, gives himself some time to enjoy her undivided, flaming attention as he so impolitely interrupts her, "I like you much more when you're honest with me. When you admit you want to watch me burn! This front of niceties you just put up? This so-called olive branch while you so uncharacteristically give up control? It doesn't suit you."

She wrings her arms in frustration, narrows her eyes into slits. "You're goddamn insufferable!"

***

She's not more intoxicated than the rest of the Avengers, but she is drunk. Agent Romanoff keeps handing her clear liquor in small glasses that they down in a single second, followed by strings of laughs when the alcohol burns in their throats.

He remembers being drunk like that; fresh, sweet-smelling mead from oak barrels in the hundreds, wine in golden carafes on every table. He used to love the parties him and Thor threw; the chaos, the abundance! A heavy flow of alcohol was always a neat little excuse for his erratic behaviour, but the best part was always when the mead was extra good and strong and he could get Thor to follow his lead. Oh, how they used to cause rampage! They would've been unstoppable, had they only been on the same side.

Loki turns around the brown glass bottle in his hand so he can read the blue label; five percent...

He misses the lightheadedness, the parties, him and Thor being on the same side, Asgard. He's never longed for a taste of home this much before. He looks back at her.

"You're being unusually quiet this evening," Thor says from layers away, "should I be worried?"

"Hmm?" Loki snaps out of it, turns his head towards his brother who's sitting with an annoyingly smug expression plastered on his face. "No, I'm just contemplating this piss they call beer. How can they drink it?" He gives the bottle a sniff and winces. "I never thought I'd hear myself say it but I miss Asgard."

"Is that sentiment I sense in you, brother?"

"Absolutely not," he scoffs and looks back at her and Romanoff as they give out a loud laugh. "I'm glad it burned."

Her eyes scan the room, land on Loki's for a split second too long to pretend they didn't register him. For some reason, it satisfies him. She's aware of his presence.

"You like her," he hears Thor's chuckle from beside him.

"Bite your tongue!"

"I notice you stare at her a lot," he chuckles again.

Loki wants to say something. Wants to make Thor pay for what he's implying, but he doesn't really have a great comeback to that.

***

It's later that same evening when she finally approaches him. Toned legs walking towards him, wide hips swaying up the small set of stairs, shoulders pushed arrogantly back as she determinedly stares him down. She only has eyes for him. Finally.

He can't help but meet her halfway; he leans forwards, balances his elbows on his knees, impatiently waits for her to spit on him.

"Loki," she hums with fire in her eyes when the syllables hit her tongue.

"Yes, little dove?" he quips, excited to see her riled up and finally talking to him again.

"I want to talk to you," she scans the room for unwanted attention before her sharp eyes find his again and he feels the bone-white and arctic blue. "This little game you're playing?" She says harshly, "It ends now."

He almost gives in. Almost. "What game?"

"Don't play stupid," she huffs. "I can't do anything without you keeping an eye on me. Tell me what it is you want."

He cannot help the smirk that appears on his lips and he leans a little closer, spreads his knees apart.

"Answer me," she demands, her chest heaving.

"You haven't asked a question," he says calmly as if he truly didn't notice the way her eyes lingered on his crotch.

"You want me to be sincere," she states and takes another step towards him. "-I want the same thing from you."

She's so close he can smell her; sweet, salty, tang on the back of his tongue. She's ripe like a fucking goddess!

He absentmindedly rubs his thighs. "Darling, I assure you; this is me being sincere."

Her chest is heaving in heavy pants. She's annoyed. "Then tell me exactly what you want from me."

She holds his gaze in an insane power play while he ponders for a second. Should he tell her his intentions? String her along for a little while longer and make her second-guess everything? He is the God of Mischief, he supposes, but she looks so sweet, so damn fuckable as she angrily stares down at him. So he gives in and tells her what he wants. After all, why shouldn't he? What's he got to lose?

***

A decent man would've probably kept her at an arms length, tucked her into bed and told her she was way too drunk to make decisions like this, but Loki's not a decent man. He'll take what he can get and leave the decency to team Cap.

With a flick of his wrist, they're back in his bedroom. She's naked in his lap, pushing her lovely tits up against him as she pulls him closer. "You like me," she whispers and licks the shell of his ear. Moves her pelvis against his leather clothing, "you like watching me."

"Shut up," he groans and pulls her flush against his chest, pushes his tongue past her teeth as he grinds her bottom against his crotch.

Her hand comes down between them, slides down over the trail of hair underneath his navel before her fingers find their way to the buttons of his leather pants, unleashes him without a single touch. She eyes him hungrily but keeps her hands to herself, nonverbally insists she has the power to control him. The way she looks at him: he's so hard, it's verging on torture.

"Tell me you like me," she pulls harshly down on his hair, bites him; draws blood from his lower lip.

"Ah!" he hisses though he likes it! "Careful!"

She yanks his hair again with an evil smile and Loki swears, he almost comes.

"You're a devil, aren't you?" he hears himself say as he smacks her ass and bites her nipple, takes advantage of her little jump to push two fingers inside her pulsing heat. She's gushing already, soaks him all the way down to his knuckles as she rides his hand, pinches her own nipples.

"Say my name," he pulls on her earlobe with his teeth. "Spit on me!"

She finds his eye, gives him the same evil smile as before and whispers a short "no," as she arches her back and pushes her nipple back into his mouth. Cheeky little thing.

He curls his fingers and strokes her g-spot, enjoys the sounds she's making for him. Only for him, he reminds himself and feels his chest expanding with something unfamiliar that makes him want to melt into her. He pushes it away; concentrates on the tangible pleasure and not how it makes his head dizzy.

As if on cue, her hands finally find his aching cock and she starts stroking him slowly. He's harder than ever and leaking already.

He looks down between them; small feminine hands caressing him so sweetly is a fantastic contrast to all the biting and pulling. He feels his chest expanding again. "Fuck!" he hisses and pushes himself into her hand to feel something else. Focus on the pleasure, he tells himself and stutters his hips upwards again and again.

Her fingers are running through his hair and she's sucking on his tongue while her hand sets the pace, runs over his stained head. "You want this?" She whispers, bites the thin skin below his jaw.

Fuck yes he wants this! Wants her! He groans.

"You want to save my life?," she bites him again, pulls on his hair. "You want me to spit on you? Are you so desperate to fuck an avenger?"

He hisses at that, grabs her jaw tightly. "I hate the Avengers!"

"Are you sure?" she smiles devilishly and points at the scar on her shoulder. "Are you sure you really hate us?”

He groans in defeat and releases her pretty face with a hiss and positions himself at her entrance, finally pushes himself inside with the same pace as she lowers herself down towards his hips. “Ah! Fuck!”

It's an immediate collision of universes, Loki is seeing stars and needs a second to come down to earth, to savour the feeling, but he hardly has time to get used to the warm wetness squeezing him tight before she starts moving in long, warm pulses.

He's captivated, enchanted! He bites her neck, holds her down, desperate to keep her bouncing in a speed that makes him flex his toes without making him explode. He wants this to last. He wants this memory of her hatefucking him into oblivion. This beautiful, vengeful woman who's mounting him like a stallion and riding him like a valkyrie riding to battle. "Goddess!" he hisses against her neck and she finally finds his mouth and without the use of teeth, presses silky lips against his, makes everything inside of him glow green with desire. It’s desire, he tells himself though it feels like something else.

"Loki," she finally moans in his ear and he's never heard anything sweeter.

He pulls her closer, fucks into her and smells her skin. Kisses the scar below her shoulder.

He saved her.

His seidr runs crazy, tingles throughout every limb, makes him see everything clear: he wants her to want him and only him!

That’s why he saved her.

His last thought before he completely lets go is of the disaster he knows this will bring upon him; his own, personal Ragnarok visible on the horizon. She has the power to make him crumble, to make him burn brighter than the sun and turn to ash. He feels it already and there's no stopping it.

He thinks of Valaskjalf. Of molten gold and flames licking his father’s throne.

She speeds up, moans his name, fills his chest with fire.

Valhalla, I'm coming home.

Find part 2 here

[kurishiri]

95k bonus . . . Liebe geht durch den Magen

꒰ ִ ֺ ⊹ @ notice ⊹ ֺ ִ ꒱ this translation may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties due to characterization or narrative flow purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost these or claim these as your own!

꒰ ִ ֺ ⊹ @ warning ⊹ ֺ ִ ꒱ none; it’s really just vogel being silly! hope you’re ready for the dari, nica, and ring galore, hehe.

Kate: A tea party with all of the members of Vogel…?

Victor: Mhm, it seems like all of them have taken an interest in you. So they asked for a chance to speak with you.

Kate: Well, seeing as I’m the only one who isn’t Cursed, I guess it makes sense they would hold an interest.

Victor: Indeed. …How would you like to answer? It’s completely up to you.

V: …However, both parties hold their own secrets.

V: And we do often take care of them, seeing as they are diplomatic guests.

V: Should there be anything making you anxious, or you feel even slightly you don’t want to do this, or anything of the sort, then you are always free to turn them dow—

Kate: …Victor. I will attend the tea party.

Victor: Wait, really? Are you sure?

Kate: Since they have come here to deepen relations between the organizations, turning down an opportunity like this wouldn’t leave a good impression, I’d imagine.

K: And besides, I would like to be of some use to you and Crown, for extending such hospitality to me.

When I expressed my honest feelings, Victor’s expression softened in turn.

Victor: I’m grateful for your honesty. Well then, it’s about time I give them a response.

V: Ahh, but… I’ll have Roger listen in from nearby, so if something happens you can just give a shout, okay?

V: No matter the time and place, I’ll come running.

After Victor’s words resonated in my heart, several days passed——

Darius: Thank you for accepting our invitation, miss fairytale keeper.

D: Did you perhaps prepare everything on this table?

Lined up on the table was filled to the brim with snacks, causing Darius to blink.

Kate: Victor and I prepared them. We were hoping it would be nice if you could eat these…

K: And that we can be on more friendly terms as we’re chatting like this.

Ring: You want to be on more friendly terms with the ones who might kill you? I don’t see the point?

Kate: …Gh.

Nica: Riiing, now don’t go saying gruesome things like that. You’ll bother the Spatzi.

N: So sorry about that? Ring is a Jungfrau [1] who tends to get a bit more nervous around cute girls.

Wearing an amiable smile as he faced me, Nika lifted the heavy air around us.

Kate: Jung…?

Ring: Y-you don’t have to ask what it is! …And also, it’s not like I’m nervous.

R: But, I won’t deny… that you are… cute…

He was simply cautious around me; it was not as though he was really doing me any harm for now.

…Even so, though, I myself had become ever so slightly anxious.

(The members of Vogel are also Cursed, if I recall, right…)

(If they had such intentions, they could easily take my life.)

The fear that I had first felt when I started working for Crown started to paint over my heart, when…

Darius: …Are you nervous, by any chance?

Donning a childlike innocence, Darius looked into my face.

Kate: Ah… umm…

Darius: Well, well… if we did possess a strong ability much like Sir Rex…

D: I wouldn’t blame you for feeling powerless even while simply conversing.

D: But you can relax around us. My ability will not kill you.

D: ——In fact, there is absolutely no way it will. Okay?

Nica: Oh, me and my brother’s abilities aren’t really harmful too.

N: That said, it can probably make you feel really good and maybe make you feel a bit fuzzy, but that’s actually a good thing, isn’t it?

Kate: R-right…

(Just what ability does that entail…?)

Although I still held my doubts, I knew that their abilities didn’t pose a danger to my life, which ebbed my fear.

Darius: Now then, now that you know we mean you no harm, how about we partake in these?

With Darius’ encouragement, Ring quickly reached out to a cake in front of him.

Ring: Mm…! This is really good.

Taking large bites, the cake was gone before I knew it, and Ring then reached out for another snack.

Nica: Geez, Ring, why are you just taking whatever’s in front of you? Pick the ones that especially look good.

While saying so, Nica reached for a baked pastry diagonal of him.

Nica: I recognize this shape. Isn’t this from the high-class bakery near the castle?

Kate: I’m surprised you know of it! That shop——

Nica: Mn… hm? It’s good, but did it really come from that shop?

Kate: Well, what I wanted to say was that shop’s pastry shapes were the inspiration for these homemade sweets.

That said, this time, Victor and I did make our rounds around a variety of bakeries, and put this together.

And I tried to make homemade pastries here at the castle that were freshly made or were hard to obtain.

Nica: They’re ‘homemade’? So they’re basically cheap foods, in which case I don’t want any.

Kate: Eh—

Nica: Here, Ring, say ‘ahh.’

Nica pushed his half eaten pastry into Ring’s mouth.

Ring: Mn… this is also really good…

When he was eating it, Nica said it was ‘good,’ but maybe he’s actually not good with homemade pastries…?

Darius: Hey, miss fairytale keeper, this is Baumkuchen [2], isn’t it?

This time, Darius called out to me while pulling on my sleeve.

Kate: That’s right. We figured since you’re here, we could prepare some German pastries… or that’s what Victor said.

Darius: Ho-oh…

Darius used a knife to lightly cut a slice before he carried it to my mouth.

Darius: Here, have a bite?

Kate: Mn… mmm, it’s really fluffy and delicious!

Darius: I’m glad to hear. Then it’s my turn.

With layers of the Baumkuchen spilling, Darius brought it to his mouth.

Darius: Mm, it’s delicious. …But, I take it it’s not something made in most of England. So where did you get this?

Kate: Actually, while I was racking my head on how to make Baumkuchen…

K: Victor made a gadget that could make it.

In order to make a delicious Baumkuchen by the tea party, I practiced baking it day in and day out.

…I feel that I can keep the fact that for some time the castle’s snacks consisted of nothing but Baumkuchen to myself.

Darius: He made a whole gadget just for this? Hmm… he’s quite strange, I’d say.

Kate: I can’t argue with that… but I’m sure it’s just that he was happy.

K: Happy that you guys, who are also Cursed, have come to England——or rather, to Crown.

Darius: …The pleasure is ours. I’m delighted at how warmly we’re treated here.

D: I do like the Baumkuchen, so do make it again sometime.

Kate: Alright!

I was so glad he liked it that I gave an immediate answer, but…

(Making it is quite time consuming and requires skill… but I’ll try my best.)

Nica: This topic’s all well and good, but what I really want to hear about the Spatzi [3] herself.

N: You know, like what fragrances you like, or which types of guys you fancy, that kind of thing… what about you, Ring?

Ring: Mngh…!? U-uhm…

R: ………M-maybe, like, which color of the sky she most likes?

Nica: The sophistication’s lacking, I see.

Ring: And what’s the problem with that?

Darius: I do agree with Nika here though. I would also like to get to know you better.

D: But simply asking would be a bore, so how about we play a guessing game?

Nica: So, Ratespiel? Now we’re talking.

Darius: Let’s make it so each person can make a single guess, and until then, we can continue asking questions…

D: Come play with us, why don’t you, miss fairytale keeper?

D: If possible… I would prefer you choose a topic that pertains to yourself.

Kate: Alright, then…

K: Out of the foods on this table, which one is my most favorite?

Darius: Hehe, that’s quite a charming topic? Then let’s start.

Nica: Sounds good to me, though I’d like to propose another twist.

N: The first person to guess the correct answer will be able to ask the Spatzi out on a date. Well, how about it?

Ring: A date…!? [surprised]

Darius: You do make a good point. A competition does call for a prize of sorts… well, miss fairytale keeper? Are you fine with this?

Kate: U-um, I think a date may be a bit——

When I tried to speak up, though, the three of them looked at me, causing my breath to catch in my throat.

Ring was looking at me with a guarded look, as though he were a guard dog who could tear my neck apart with a single order.

Nica was looking at me with a scrutinizing look, as though he was thinking about how to play with a toy.

And Darius was wearing an amiable smile, but his eyes alone were sharp, like that of a predator aiming for its prey——

With the three of them looking at me in their own way, I couldn’t bring myself to disagree, feeling myself surrounded by a heavy air.

Darius: ‘I think a date may be a bit’ what was that now?

Kate: …Nope, never mind. That works for me.

Overwhelmed by the pressure, I could only nod, and Darius returned the gesture with an angelic smile.

Like a signal, the tense atmosphere became more lax.

Darius: Thank you. Then, let the game start.

With that, the tea party proceeded such that Darius, Nika, and Ring asked me questions.

While the discussion occasionally went off track, this peaceful time continued to pass by——

Ring: I got it!

The one who had his answer ready first was Ring.

Darius: A friendly reminder that you only have one chance. If you miss the mark, that will be the end… are you sure you would like to answer?

Ring: Don’t worry, I’m sure of this.

R: The answer is——that fruit before your eyes!

Kate: …Miss.

Ring: Wh…!? I-I see… so it was wrong…

Ring looked a bit despondent at my answer, and though he looked like a guard dog before, in an instant, he looked more like an abandoned puppy,

and I had to desperately fight the urge to say ‘actually, it’s a hit.’

Nica: …Hey, Ring. Mind if I say how you got to your answer?

Ring: ‘How I got to my answer’?

Nica: When you were about to grab that fruit, the Spatzi said ‘go ahead’ to you with a smile and put it on your plate,

N: and so you held a positive association with that fruit, leading you to your answer?

Ring: N-now that you mention it… that might’ve been the case… it was completely unconscious…

Darius: Ahaha, you’re so adorably honest, Ring.

Nica: Well then, it’s about time I guess too. The correct answer is… this chocolate.

N: It’s a bit on the mini side, and it looks cute too, and not to mention the packaging is also intricate. It practically oozes the traits a girl would like.

Kate: Miss.

Nica: Oops, too bad.

As opposed to Ring, who seemed down upon getting his guess wrong, Nika didn’t show any signs of caring, even if he did.

It was as though he knew from the beginning his answer was wrong.

Darius: I would prefer you make a serious guess, or this game will really end up in a bore.

Nica: But I thought long and hard about what girls would like and picked based on that?

N: Besides, this is where a subordinate hands the torch to the master.

Nika gave a smug wink, and Darius shrugged his shoulders in response.

Darius: It seems I bear a great responsibility now. If I’m unable to answer correctly, I’m afraid the little miss fairytale keeper——

D: And Crown as well would be disappointed in me.

Kate: Don’t worry, I won’t be disappointed even if you don’t answer correctly. It’s just a game, after all.

Darius: Hmm, so you believe I won’t get the answer right, is that it?

Kate: That…

(If I’m being completely honest, yes, I did think that.)

(Because the answer to this question is… a bit special.)

Darius: Hehe, seeing you have such low expectations of me makes me want to try my utmost hardest.

D: Alright, I have my answer.

D: I see you were trying not to eat this chocolate cake, right?

D: Because you like it, you saved it for last, I take it. So, my answer is that chocolate cake.

I was about to reply with an immediate ‘miss,’ when he opened his mouth before me.

Darius: …is what a normal person would say, but that would be incorrect.

Kate: Eh…

Darius: The answer to your question is——-

D: ‘Everything here on the table.’

Kate: …That’s a hit.

Ring: A-all of it…!? Is that answer even possible?

Nica: Well, we never established that the said thing had to just be a single thing, so yeah, it’s fully possible.

N: But even so, way to bend the rules there, Spatzi. I didn’t think you had it in you.

N: …You really are an interesting one, aren’t you.

Darius: I did think it was a strange answer, but considering the little miss fairytale keeper’s character, it wasn’t too difficult.

D: Perhaps you thought something like, ‘If I’m preparing something for guests, I would choose the things I believe are the most delicious’… am I right?

Kate: It is as you say…

While consulting with Victor, I chose all of the pastries here.

So, that’s why if I were to choose my most favorite among these, the answer would naturally be ‘everything.’

Kate: It was a bit of an underhanded answer, so I didn’t think you would get it.

Darius: Hehe, but I did. Oh, but, I don’t think it’s underhanded.

D: After all, I take it you thought up of such an answer so that you didn’t have to assign winners and losers, yes?

Kate: Yes, there was also that. Since it was such a fun tea party, I didn’t want to label anyone as winners and losers…

Darius: To see you try to put us on an equal footing without assigning a winner…

D: You truly are sweet to the point it’s cloying… and kind as well.

Ring: B-by the way… will Darius ask her out? O-on a date, that is…!

Darius: Ahh, that nearly slipped my mind. Well, miss fairytale keeper, will you go out on a date with me next time?

Kate: …I will.

I didn’t have much reason to turn him down, and now that I got to talk with them like this, I started to become more interested in the members of Vogel.

(…And going out together with them seems pretty fun too.)

Nica: Okay, then, when you’re done with your date with Dari, let me know, okay? We can plan a date of our own then.

Kate: Eh—

Nica: The prize for the game was the right to ask you out on a date, but there’s no need to hinge something like that on a game, right?

N: Besides, if the answer to the question is ‘everything on the table,’ that would technically make my answer right, too, yeah?

Kate: I… guess so…?

Nica: And you caught my interest too anyway…

N: …Ah, that’s right. Since we’re talking about this, why don’t you invite the Spatzi on a date too, Ring?

Ring: O-on a date…!? I… I’ll pass.

R: …But when you go on your date with Nica and Darius, I’ll tag along behind you guys.

Nica: Wait, why though?

Ring: If she’s around, you’ll let your guards down and lose sight of your surroundings, right?

R: So I’ll cover those bases during your date.

Nica: Ehh…

Darius: Hehe, thank you, Ring.

D: …Hey, miss fairytale keeper. I must say that half a day isn’t nearly enough.

D: Why don’t we take our sweet time chatting on our date, the two of us?

A smile played on Darius’ lips, and I couldn’t look away from his honey-colored eyes.

Just then, I remembered Victor’s words from before I went out.

—— Flashback ——

Victor: Ahh, that’s right, Kate. There’s one thing I should say.

V: If you wish to return to your normal everyday life after this month passes… you mustn’t let your heart get stolen by them.

—— End flashback ——

(It’ll be alright… I think I was able to enjoy this time today when I tried talking to them.)

(This feeling won’t blossom into love. Surely…)

Fin.

will vs darius jude vs nica alfons vs ring

NOTES:

[0] according to our handy google translate, the title of this story, Liebe geht durch den Magen, translates to “love goes through the stomach.” I assume this may reference or be the equivalent to a similar English saying, “the way to one’s heart is through their stomach.”

[1] “virgin” in German nhdkshfds

[2] and here we have a quote from Wikipedia: Baumkuchen is a kind of spit cake from German cuisine. It is also a popular dessert in Japan. The characteristic rings that appear in its slices resemble tree rings, and give the cake its German name, Baumkuchen, which literally translates to “tree cake” or “log cake”.

[3] originally, I had Rotkehlchen, which is like the literal translation for “robin” as far as I know. Spatzi means “sparrow,” but can be used as a term of endearment in the same way the Crown members call Kate “robin” out of endearment. In his collection story event, he mentions that the word he used is German for robin, but it could be localized to something like “it is a German-equivalent term of endearment for robin.” Thanks to @.citrusmornings for providing this link!

END NOTES: did you enjoy this story? because i know i did, haha. i really enjoy all the vogel characters so far; they all have interesting personalities, and they bounce off each other in a fun way as well.

honestly, i’m still trying to sort of get an idea of how i want to sort of translate and write these characters. overall, though, i tried to give darius a more innocent air, with some hints of his nobility, while also having a strong sort of presence. and i tried to capture nica’s sort of casual and flippant (but also clever and sharp) air, which contrasts with how ring gets shy and flustered pretty easily.

i’d love to hear your thoughts!

full masterlist 🕊️

[huffelpuff210]

Fighter Dark Alpha Tony Stark X Dark Alpha Steve Rogers X Dark Alpha Bucky Barnes X Reader

Fighter

Warning:This is a dark fic may contain violence, Noncon, and other dark elements keep in mind all events and characters are fictional you have been warned!

Dark Alpha Steve Rogers, Dark Alpha Bucky Barnes, Dark Alpha Tony Stark

Not: Please to feel free to leave comments.

Summery: In a world where Alpha’s and Beta’s exist one is rare to come by, Omega’s and what happens when they find a rare Omega who has been in hiding. 

You walked through the market looking over you’re shoulder every now and again a habit you always seemed to have, You seemed to always on edge and on the lookout, You were an Omega, but you were also on suppressants  making sure no Alpha would be able to detect you, 

You refused to be dominated by an Alpha you were a fighter,No Alpha or Beta told you what to do, not if You could help it. You’re father and Brothers made sure of that from constant years of abuse, without it known to them they were preparing you for a fight with any sort of Alpha, You’re mother died after giving birth to you you’re father blamed you for killing her and not being an Omega, after running away from home at the age of seventeen, you knew it was only the beginning of you’re fight for survival, 

As soon as you learned of the suppressants that existed blocking you’re Omega smell you didn’t hesitate to purchase them, sure they were highly illegal but you refused to become a mate to an Alpha who would decide everything for you, tell you how you are supposed to think, and you’re only purpose is to be bred it wasn’t going to happen not if you were going to help it. 

You purchase you’re food from the fruit stand when a smell hit you’re nose, It smelled musky, with a hint of pine, You slowly turn towards the smell and see a man with Dark hair and blue eyes, he had a metal arm, He was looking directly at you smirking, the way he was looking at you sent a shiver up you’re spine, 

You could tell he was an Alpha and that terrified you even more, 

you casually walk out of the market and make you’re way home, looking over you’re shoulder making sure he didn’t follow you, as far as you could tell he didn’t but the way he was smiling at you was making you very uneasy, 

Did he know what you are? 

Could he smell past you’re suppressants? 

All the questions going through you’re mind were making you more and more anxious, You finally made it to you’re apartment locking all the windows and bolt locking the door, shutting all the curtains you were anxious and nervous you just didn’t like the way the man was staring at you. 

Bucky returned home where Steve and Tony were lounging on the couch watching TV, 

“Did you get the food?” Tony asked 

“No but you two are never going to believe what I stumbled on.” He says 

They both look over their shoulder at him, Looking quite puzzled 

“An Omega.” Bucky says with a smirk 

“That’s impossible Omega’s are rare finding one is like 1% chance.” Tony says 

“Well I found one, and she’s on suppressants I could smell her it was there but faint.” Bucky says 

“Well if she’s on those drugs I doubt she’s registered.” Tony says 

Everyone nods 

When you are an Omega you have to register to let the world know of you’re existent so an Alpha can claim you. 

“And here I thought Omega’s didn’t exist anymore.” Steve says with a smirk 

“Shall we go find our Omega?” Tony asked 

Everyone nodded with a smirk

Bucky led them to a run down apartment complex in a bad part of town, They follow him as he pinpoints her apartment on the fire escape, being super-solider enhanced his abilities to smell past everything and smell a further distance. He stops on the third floor where the curtains were closed, 

“She’s smart.” Tony says smirking, 

They can hear you rustling around in the apartment, You’re heart beating about a mile a minute, 

“Something’s got her spooked.” Steve says smirking at Bucky 

That night you couldn’t sleep that night, you felt on edge, You could smell that Alpha all night, You arrived at you’re place of work dead tired, You worked for a law firm crunching numbers, you were very smart and good at you’re job, But You just couldn’t seem to get the look of that Alpha out of you’re head, The way he smirked at you, You were seated at you’re desk when You see two Alpha’s walk in, 

You keep you’re eyes trained on you’re computer thank goodness you were not a receptionist, 

You peek up at them, they looked oddly familiar, One had blonde hair and blue eyes, He had some muscles to him, he was drop dead gorgeous  the other man, He had dark hair a goatee and dark eyes, You looked back down just as the blonde looked you’re way, Not wanting anything to do with these Alpha’s. As you continue you’re work Someone knocks on you’re desk. You slowly look up, It was the two Alpha’s 

[bensonoliviasstuff]

“Turning Page”

Chapter One! “ ‘I'll never leave’, never mind”

Masterlist for “Turning Page”

Bucky Barnes x fem! Reader

Summary: Once Bucky regained consciousness and was no longer the Winter Soldier, all he missed from the 40s was his wife. But maybe she's closer than he thought.

Warnings: English is NOT my first language, so I'm sorry if there are too many errors. Futhermore i don't think there are many warnings, a little bit of angst, memory loss, betrayal, trauma, Insecurities and other things that you will discover throughout the story. And the best part: Thanos doesn't exist here

The infirmary doors were opened in an angry shove, making a loud noise as the metal of the door met the wall. A nervous Bucky walked past with hurried steps.

“Bucky, Wait!” Steve shouted trying to keep up with his friend's steps. “No one can enter the room yet, they are carrying out tests”

“I need to see, Steve!” He shouted in a broken voice as he continued his way through the corridors of the compound's medical wing. “I need to see with my own eyes...”

The sentence died down when he stopped walking, facing the glass window of the hospital room.

It was you.

Bucky had the image of you memorized perfectly in his head, he could describe everything that had changed since 1940 with just one look, your hair was a few inches longer, there were a few small scars on your face. But it was still you.

He felt like his heart had stopped beating for a few moments.

He ran a metal hand over his face, holding back the sob that threatened to escape his throat. “It’s her Steve” Bucky placed a hand on the glass, almost as if he could feel it.

“It's her, Bucky” Steve said cautiously “But... We don't know what happened to her this whole time, we'll only know how she is when she wakes up.”

That's when realization hit Bucky, his fist closed against the glass, about to punch the wall.

“I’m going to kill those bastards” Bucky said, unable to calm the anger he felt towards those men, what if you went through everything he went through? All the torture he had to endure for years and years? The thought of you suffering like he did made Bucky's heart sink towards his stomach.

“Natasha is interrogating the man who told us she was there” Steve said “She’s waiting for us.”

“I was waiting for you” your voice echoed through the room before Bucky took you by the waist and gave you a kiss full of love. “Sergeant Barnes now then?”

You pulled away to take a good look at your husband, he was wearing the brown suit of a WWII soldier.

“For you it’s always ‘my love’, doll” Bucky said taking you in his arms, this was something you loved about your relationship, even after so long together you still acted like teenagers who had just started a fiery passion.

But Bucky didn’t fail to notice when you lowered your head to hide your teary eyes.

“Hey, doll, what’s wrong?” He already knew the answer, he knew it and it left him almost inconsolable before going to sleep.

“I’m afraid Bucky, what if you don’t come back?” Her voice became lower and lower as the doubt became more terrifying in her mind.

“I will come back doll, I promise you, not in a million years i'm leaving you alone” He placed a hand on your neck, forcing you to look at him.

“You can’t promise that” You said unsurely. “You don’t know if you’re really going to come back. ”

“Then you can marry Steve” He tried to joke to lighten up, and you couldn’t help but let out a tearful laugh, punching him in the shoulder.

“This isn't funny, you know?” You said wiping away your tears. “I know, I know” he apologized pulling you into a tight hug. “I will never leave you doll, that's the only thing I'll keep in mind while I fight: I can't leave my princess behind.”

“How did you know Y/N Barnes was alive?” Natasha asked the man chained in front of her, Bucky and Steve were on the other side of the mirrored glass.

“She was never dead, Hydra has been with her since Steve Rogers was presumed dead” Steve looked down, he still blamed himself for that, for leaving you alone even after you losing your husband.

“What did Hydra wanted with her?” Natasha asked coldly, leaning over the table. “Why did they taked her?”

“Even after we erased the Winter Soldier's memory, he always ended up remembering her at some point, we wanted to create an advantage in this regard, if he decided he was no longer on our side, we would threaten to kill her”

Bucky kicked the nearest chair, cowering in rage. He was ready to go into that room and kill that man in the most violent way ever recorded. “And why didn’t they do that when he disappeared?”

“He was already gone, we couldn't find him, but she didn't lose her usefulness, during the time she was at the base, she made a lot of noise after finding out that James Barnes was alive, sometimes she could spend an entire day screaming for her husband, it was irritating, so we decided to erase her memory, it became much easier to experiment on her after that.” The man was dismissive, he had nothing left to lose, he was already sentenced to prison, now he just wanted to see Sergeant Barnes suffer.

“Still, she always remembered him eventually, we also used it to test the soldier's memory, every time after we erased his memory, we took him to her, only to see he didn't recognize her, she would cry for days.”

At this point, Bucky was curled up in the corner of the wall, holding his head as the tears fell. You called out to him, you spent days screaming for him, you were in the same place as him all the time and he was never even able to recognize you.

It was tearing him apart, it was breaking everything inside him. He was about to leave, unable to listen any longer, when Natasha's question reached his ears.

“Experiments? So she has the super soldier serum?” Bucky turned around, waiting for the answer “No, but we trained her, she was very good at carrying out the missions she was sent, Y/N Barnes killed a lot of people”

That was the final straw for Bucky, they made his precious sweet girl spill blood.

He walked into the room, ignoring Steve's comments about calming down. He grabbed the man by the collar of his clothes and pushed him violently against the wall, starting to throw punches with his metal arm, he could spend hours beating and it still wouldn't be enough, but Steve ripped him off before the man's face was deformed.

“Never put her name in your mouth again! Your bastard! I'll kill you!" Bucky screamed trying to free himself from Steve, Natasha got in front of Bucky and ordered Steve to get him out of there.

Steve left dragging a nervous Bucky. “Look, I have the same desire as you, I wanted to go in there and finish him off, but that’s not how you solve things Bucky!”

Bucky sat on the chair he had kicked minutes ago, putting his head in his hands, everything in him was shaking, a mixture of hatred, anguish and guilt. “They put her through hell, Steve!” He stood up abruptly, putting his hand over his mouth. “All this because I left her alone, I forgot about her! I promised I would always be there for her and I just forgot about her!”

Steve looked at his friend with a very strong tightness in his chest, this whole situation hurt him in a way he couldn't even explain, imagine how much it was hurting Bucky? How much did it hurt you, going through all of this alone?

He still remembered when he had to break the news to you.

“Steve!” You said happily after opening the door to the apartment you and Bucky shared. “Oh, I'm so happy to see you! I still haven't gotten used to the fact that you're taller than me now” You walked forward giving Steve a hug, noticing that his face wasn't looking good but you wanted to ignore all the crazy theories in your head. “Where is my husband? Why didn't he come with you? I already said you can't steal it from me” You joked, despairing when Steve didn't laugh.

“I'm so sorry Y/n... Bucky...” Steve started to speak but you interrupted before he could finish his line of reasoning. "No! Don’t say that Steve, it’s not true, it can’t be true, don't you dare to lie to me!” You said taking steps back, with your hand on your stomach, feeling like you were going to throw up.

“He promised... He told me he would come back!” You started to cry as Steve walked over pulling you into a hug.

Your legs no longer had the strength to keep you standing when you started crying and sobbing in Steve's arms. “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry” Steve kept repeating, even though his heart was breaking more and more.

“He promised me Steve! He has to come back” You repeated between sobs, Steve didn’t know what to say when your pain seemed to be consuming you.

That day, he laid you in bed, made you some tea and sat next to you until you Say a sentence that ended that super soldier.

“The worst lie I’ve ever heard: ‘I’ll never leave.’” You sighed with heavy eyes “Never mind”

After saying that you fell asleep, Steve couldn't put into words how painful it was to see your red and swollen face sleeping.

“I promise to take care of you Y/n, I won’t leave you alone, for Bucky”

Even so many years later Steve's heart hurts knowing that if he hadn't left, maybe you wouldn't have been alone, and now he feels even more guilty knowing that if he had been around, Hydra wouldn't have taken you.

He felt like it was his fault, even if it wasn't.

Steve's thoughts were interrupted by the door opening.

“Sergeant, Captain” Tony appeared in the room, a curious and relieved look on his face “She woke up”

[straystarr]

i miss you, i'm sorry; lmh

 in which alcohol and a broken heart prompts you to make a phone call to your ex.

Reference(s): “I miss you, I’m sorry” written by Grace Abrahams and a line from Notting Hill directed by Roger Michell

~

“I miss you”

The flashing lights seemed to somehow mute the chaotic noise around you. Head hurting, mind overwhelmed, and still, your fingers unconsciously danced across the screen of your phone, typing a number you had deleted months ago.

Some things don’t stay the way they're supposed to. Out of sight, out of mind right? Funny how all logic and rational thinking is suddenly muddled by the denial of a broken heart. 

“y/n.”

If it weren’t for the alcohol in your system, you’d cry at the sound of his voice. Instead, the concern in his tone forced a bittersweet smile to form on your face.

He shouldn’t be worried, he shouldn’t have even answered. But he did. And you hated that you knew he would. Because even in your drunken state, it was so natural for you to go back to him. 

“You promised.” 

You felt pathetic. Clinging onto his promises of forever, even when you fought his declarations towards the end of your relationship. The need to be right overpowering the need to be loved.

It was careless, taking everything you loved and disputing it with cruel words driven by a fixed mindset. And he did the same. Hurt people hurt people, because no one wants to be hurting alone. 

You did your best to move on. You really did. It was easy at first, fueled by anger and pinpointing all the blame of your failing relationship on him was something you did with your head held high. 

And then all of a sudden, your pride became too hard to swallow and all the hate you spewed ricocheted in the forms of longing and regret. 

You often found yourself reminiscing about fights in his apartment and the disappointment that came with broken dishes, just to get a glimpse of him.

Because he was always readily available in your mind, whether it be in the form of heartbreak or not. And the extent to which you would willingly fall back into these moments only resulted in any progress of moving on to slip through your fingers.

“y/n, where are you?”

How do you move on from someone who is so deeply engraved into your mind, someone who has touched every part of you with sweet kisses and gentle hands, someone who starts your thoughts and always ends them.

For these reasons, your doubts and hesitations were not baseless. Because how do you move on from someone you once promised forever to? It almost seems wrong to do so. 

“I don’t know what to do Minho. Everywhere I go leads me back to you. Everything I know brings me back to us.” 

There was so much to say, so much you wanted to tell him. It was desperate and embarrassing, but others might say you were simply in love; that you were just a girl, talking to a boy, asking him to love her. 

“Y/n, please….go home.”

“I can’t.”

“Y/n–”

“Every corner of that fucking house is haunted Minho.” 

It was suffocating. Home was no longer home but a place filled with traces of his presence. Bittersweet reminders of the life that once flourished remained in every room.

His coffee cup in the cupboard, his hoodie tucked away in your drawer, the silly love notes he left embedded into your books, his morning kisses, his laughter, his smile, him. 

He was everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Even in his absence, he was consuming you. So no, you wouldn’t go home, you couldn’t. Because the definition between home and Minho seemed to blur overtime. 

“I don’t know what to do anymore."

The drunken daze was now fading away, your clouded mind becoming overwhelmed with the sober emotions that flowed through your body, because they were one in the same when you were drunk, just easier to handle in a state of intoxication. 

“I thought you hated me.”

Such a statement was not meant to be laced with the gentleness he evoked, so much so, a certain heaviness clung to your chest. For the reminder of the three words you spewed at him the last time you spoke will forever bring feelings of angst and regret. 

“Minho…”

Some things are better left unsaid. Until the time comes when those things are all you can think about, clouding your judgement and cultivating a narrative of missed opportunities guided by the words “what if”.

You had many. And they creeped up on you, leaving you lost in your thoughts of love that you’ll never be able to live, at least, not with him.

But not was not the time to wallow in your self pity and despair. Not after all the time you had dedicated to pondering over the “what ifs” and certainly not when the person these “what ifs” revolved around was here, listening to you. 

“I was angry and upset and desperate to hurt you. I don’t hate you—I never could. I’m sorry.”

The slow sigh that ran after your words displayed your relief more than you intended. Thinking back to the last time you spoke to him was routine for you.

But this time, instead of being tormented by the hurt laced in the memory of that night, you were now comforted by the fact that your truth was now something he knew.

And you weren’t going to deprive yourself of his, no matter how much it may break you. You were in too deep to consider that now. 

“Do I still make you sick to your stomach?” 

It was his turn to let out an audible sigh. And it seems as though you weren’t the only one reminiscing back to that night; for his response appeared to be nurtured with time and consideration.

“No y/n, you never did. You never will. I didn't mean that. I wish I had ever said those words to you, but I did. I’m sorry.”

It’s one thing to say something. It’s another to mean it. And it felt nice to hear he didn’t. You knew he could never have meant it, but the assurance you experienced upon his confession pulled apart the remaining angst embedded in your memories. You could only hope he felt the same.

It was cold outside. Somehow, your feet carried you out of the stuffy place, the moon illuminating the still street, a complete contradiction to your surroundings a few seconds ago. 

The silence seemed to emphasize your acknowledgement of everything that had happened and was happening. The phone pressed to your ear. The quick beating in your chest. The familiarity of the slow breaths he took as you listened. Your boldness. His patience. 

“I’m sorry I called. I know we said we weren’t talking—”

“I miss you too.”

You almost didn’t catch it. His voice low and quiet, almost as if the statement was a passing thought that had slipped past his tongue. But you caught it, as did your denial, that after all this time, he too missed what once was.

A part of you wished your ears had been deaf to his words. Because the way your hand fell to your chest, the way it felt as though your heart had paused, the way tears immediately lined your waterline, was the same way you recognized exactly how much you missed him.

One step forward and three steps back is the damage his words did. But you started it first, and it was only fair to finish what you started. 

An absent smile lined your lips with tears falling down your face. Your tears were warm against your cold skin and you so badly wanted the warmth to stay.  

“Everything we were scared of happening, happened Minho.”

“Nothing happened in the way we wanted Y/n.”

Your absent smile turned bittersweet, fingers gently grazing your cheek in an attempt to catch the warmth from your eyes. You were right. And he was too. They say that nothing that is meant for you will ever get away, so why did he?

“Is this better for us y/n?”

It’s hard to make peace with something you don't entirely agree with. He hurt you more than anyone else has. But he loved you better than anyone ever did. 

“I don't know. I’m still confused.” 

Your eyes shut, squeezing what was left of your tears out. 

“I do know that I was really happy with you, we were happy together. And we were really good to each other.”

You went into this conversation with hope and uncertainty. It was only normal for that hope and uncertainty to cultivate into doubts and hesitation. He didn’t deserve that. And you didn’t want to make things worse than they already were. Not now. Not ever. 

“But….”

“But we’ve been here before. And I want to love you because I love you, not because I need you— I missed you Minho…..I miss you. I’m sorry.” 

And in an instant, no sound came from his phone. Your voice, gone, as if it were never there.

Gone before he could familiarize himself with the highs and lows of your tone. Gone before he could tell you to not cry, for he recognized the tell tale signs that you were. Gone before he could say everything he wanted to say and more. 

And perhaps that's why he continued to hold the phone to his ear, head falling to the back of his couch as he allowed the words he meant to say to you, the second your name appeared on his phone, break free from his lips.

Barely a mumble, but with his whole heart and all his truth. 

“I still love you, I promise.”

Check out the easter egg in this story!

𝙎𝙏RAy𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙍r★

[trekscribbles]

Failsafe: Chapter Thirteen

...I came across the John Rogers line "Eliot's job is to be the failsafe that never fails". And I couldn't help thinking... What happens if the failsafe does fail?

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve

Note: I made a few adjustments to chapter 12, but I'm not posting them here--I'll just post the corrected chapter on AO3 when it gets to that point. The details I added are: Rosner has been sending hitmen after Eliot over the last 4 months, and Eliot has been using them to keep Rosner's attention on him in the hopes that he'll leave the team alone.

(Disclaimer: This is a relatively rough draft and subject to change when I post to AO3.)

Now on ao3

Hardison found Nate in the main office, sitting shoulder to shoulder with Sophie. They looked up when he entered the room, but didn’t move apart, and the sight of them together eased something in Hardison’s chest. Things had been tense between them, but their respective close calls seemed to have given them some perspective.

“I got a name,” he said simply, forcing a sense of enthusiasm he didn’t feel into his voice.

Nate’s eyebrows went up. He waited for Hardison to elaborate, so he did, explaining everything he’d seen on his screen: the name, the title, the location. “He’s here in Portland,” he finished. “I’ll keep looking to dig up more connections between him and Becker and Wilcox, but this is him for sure.”

“Good work,” Nate said, in the tired, distractedly sincere voice he’d been using over the last few months. Hardison had never thought he’d miss Nate’s abrasiveness, but that gentle tone grated on his nerves. He hated feeling like Nate was being careful with him.

He hated feeling fragile.

“So, uh...” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m gonna keep looking.”

Sophie tilted her head. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Hardison flashed her a smile, making sure it reached his eyes. “We’re getting closer, right? All good news.”

“Right,” Sophie said slowly.

“I’ll let you know when I have more,” he promised. 

He turned before she could call him back and retreated to the hallway, where he paused to lean against the wall. The ache in his eyes had spread to his forehead, where it dug in and made itself at home inside his skull. It was probably from the screens—he’d been staring at them for hours—but there wasn’t anything he could do about that. He had to keep looking. It was the only useful thing he could do.

You want Eliot to come back, don’t you?

Hardison leaned his shoulder into the wall and let his head rest against the cool surface. Parker’s question had surprised him. Hurt him, if he was honest. How could she doubt that he wanted Eliot back? Did she think he could blame Eliot for what happened? That he wouldn’t understand? Sure, he had nightmares sometimes—waking up with a scream lodged in his throat, cut off by the arms he’d always trusted to defend him, but that—that was to be expected. That was a normal reaction to being choked out in the middle of a pitch black basement outside a morgue. Throughout this whole damned nightmare, Hardison was the only one reacting like a sane person.

And he was getting a little tired of it.

He’d always been able to channel his emotions into creating, into solving problems with his keyboard and his brain, but this... it wasn’t enough. He wanted to be out searching. He wanted to lie to a mark and punch bad guys in a warehouse parking lot. He wanted to punch Eliot for leaving in the first place.

But he couldn’t do any of that, because he was just the guy with the computer, and he had to keep up a front for the others. He had to be the one to smile so Nate and Sophie felt guilty about fighting. He had to be strong for Parker.

Sighing, Hardison straightened and went back to his screens. “I told Nate,” he said, rubbing his eyes as he entered his office. “But I still have to...”

The room was empty. That was fine—at least then he didn’t have to pretend. Parker may have gone to get something to eat, or to stretch her legs, or base jump off a skyscraper or something, who knew. She wasn’t the most communicative under normal circumstances, and the last few months hadn’t helped. It was fine. Fewer distractions, that was all.

He moved toward his desk, but then kept going and went to the window instead. A gray sky stretched over the city, and judging by the coats and hats and scarves wrapped around the people on the street, it must be a cold, damp day. Hardison wasn’t a believer in the benefits of fresh air, generally, but the tension in his head made him reconsider. Maybe opening the window would help. Just for a few minutes.

He reached for the window latch, but a screech of tires below pulled his attention back to the street. A car had slammed on its breaks, and a body—a body—rolled across the hood and tumbled off the other side onto the pavement.

Parker.

Hardison ran for the stairs. He was down into the brewpub and through the dining area before he thought to call Nate, but it didn’t matter—no one was wearing their comms, not when they were all together at the office. He’d have to go back up to explain what he’d just seen, and he couldn’t—not until he knew she was okay.

He pushed through the crowd of diners gathered at the door, and then he was out on the sidewalk, running for the street, for the car still stopped and the driver standing with his head in his hands by the hood. Hardison slowed, panting, frowning at the empty spot on the street where Parker had been standing.

He angled for the driver. “Hey, you okay?”

The man lifted his head and fixed Hardison with a confused, anguished look. “I don’t know what happened. I saw her on the sidewalk, but she didn’t look like she wanted to cross, so I kept going. Then all of a sudden she steps out in front of me. I didn’t have time to stop, I swear—”

“Where’d she go?” Hardison interrupted.

“I don’t know,” the man said miserably. “I don’t know. She just took off. I swear, I didn’t mean to hit her.”

Hardison put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “This is gonna sound crazy, but she does that. She got up, right? She’s fine. Go ahead and go, man, it’s all right.”

Probably. It was probably all right. Parker took a car hit like a stubbed toe most of the time, but she normally didn’t do it just to freak out civilians. He turned again, searching the street, a sick feeling rising in his throat. His earbud was in his pocket, and he slipped it free and put it in, hoping one of the others had forgotten to take theirs out.

“Parker?” he tried. No answer… but he hadn’t really hoped for one. “Nate? Sophie?”

Nothing. He turned back to the driver. “Did you see which direction she went?”

The man pointed down the street, and Hardison patted his arm once more before hurrying away. He’d been willing to let Parker process things on her own terms before, but he drew the line at causing car accidents. He had to find her and get her to talk through whatever she hadn’t told them about that night. There was something, Hardison knew, because she’d started to tell him a dozen times before changing her mind, like she was afraid of what he might say.

First Eliot, now Parker. Did nobody trust him to handle anything harder than a tricky line of code?

Hardison shook his throbbing head, focusing back on the task at hand. Where would Parker go? If she was looking for heavier traffic, she could have taken any number of streets toward a busier part of the city, and he’d never be able to guess which. Maybe he should go back in and track her phone? That would probably be faster. He turned back toward the brewpub.

A woman up the block shrieked. Hardison spun, following her pointing finger—not toward another accident, but up—up the side of a building, to the roof, where—

His body went cold. A figure stood on the top of an office building. Not stood… walked. It stepped up onto the little wall running along the edge, and—it—she—

She went over the edge, and another woman screamed, and Hardison couldn’t move. He couldn’t see. Something was wrong with his eyes—black spots filled his vision, just like that night, when the arm went across his throat, and he sucked in a breath and tried to see where she’d gone—where she’d fallen—but there was nothing. No body hurtling through the air, no broken figure on the pavement. He took another shuddering breath, but the sidewalk stayed the same. She wasn’t there.

He ran for the building.

“Nate,” he said, but there was still no answer, so he fumbled for his phone as hurtled through the automatic doors and ran for the stairs. A receptionist shouted something after him, but he didn’t stop—he dialed Nate’s number and ripped open the staircase door with a shaking hand.

He answered on the third ring. “Hardison? Where are you?”

“Parker got hit by a car.” A tremor ran through his words, and his voice was strained as he leaped up the stairs. “She walked into traffic, and then got up and went—she went to the top of a building, the offices down the street—up on the roof, and she—she walked off, but—”

“Hardison, slow down,” Nate said. “What happened?”

“Parker jumped off a building.” It came out as a sob, but his eyes were dry. He thought they were dry. He couldn’t take a full breath. “She jumped, but she didn’t fall. I was standing right there, but I didn’t see her fall, so she must have gone back, but I saw her, man, she went off the side—”

“Sophie,” Nate said, his voice distant. “Okay, Hardison, where are you? We’re coming.”

“I’m in the building, going up the stairs. I’m—”

“Hardison?”

Hardison froze, his breath ragged. “Parker?”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice clear and calm over the comms. “You’re coming up the stairs?”

“Parker,” Hardison echoed. “You’re—you’re okay? You’re not—you didn’t—?”

“I’m fine,” she said.

Hardison’s legs gave out. He dropped against the wall, his head pounding in time with his heart, his phone loose in his hand. Nate’s voice kept coming through the speaker, but Hardison couldn’t make sense of the words.

“Hardison?” Parker said.

Nate spoke through the earbud now. “Parker? What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Parker said. “Everything is fine.”

“Hardison said you got hit by a car?”

“Barely.”

“And you jumped off a building?”

“No,” Parker said. “I walked off. But it’s fine, I didn’t—”

“Parker,” Nate snapped. “Get back to the brewpub, now. I know what you’re doing, and it’s stupid and reckless and—what do you think, Eliot’s just going to swoop out of the sky because you put yourself in a dangerous situation? We don’t even know for sure that it was him helping us. He’s not going to—”

“It worked,” Parker said.

Everything went quiet. Hardison looked up the empty stairs, his heart twisting into horrible new contortions that made him feel like there wasn’t enough space in his chest for his lungs.

It worked. The car, the building… she did it to draw Eliot out of the shadows, and it worked.

“Where are you?” Nate asked.

There was no emotion in his voice, but that wasn’t surprising. Hardison didn’t know what he was feeling, either. He got unsteadily to his feet, shoving his phone into his pocket, holding onto the railing for support.

“Coming down the stairs,” Parker said.

Hardison started upwards, still clinging to the rail, fighting for control over his breath. Nate was quiet again, but Hardison thought he could hear doors closing in the background. He and Sophie were on their way.

Hardison turned a corner for the next flight, and there they were—Parker, flushed with excitement the way she always was after a brush with adrenaline, and behind her…

Eliot. 

He looked the same, and something about that felt wrong. Like nothing had changed, like they hadn’t spent the last four months wondering if he was still alive, and if he was, why he hadn’t come back.

Why hadn’t he come back?

Parker jogged down the last few stairs, and Hardison stopped on the landing and swept her into a hug that lifted her off her feet.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her lips on his ear. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Hardison held her, closing his eyes and sinking into the feeling of her arms around his shoulders, her breath on his skin. She was okay. More than okay—she’d figured out what to do to bring Eliot back, even if it put her in danger, and he was both terrified and proud of that. And now…

Hardison opened his eyes. Eliot stood two steps up, his gaze averted, his expression blank. Now that he was closer, Hardison could see that he looked a little pale, and there were dark circles under his eyes. Parker pulled away and stepped past him onto the landing, and he could feel her watching him. Watching them.

“Eliot,” Hardison said.

If Hardison didn’t know him better, he would have said Eliot flinched. There wasn’t quite a movement, but the skin around his eyes tightened, like he was keeping himself from looking away. Hardison stepped toward him.

“Well?” he said.

Eliot didn’t answer. His hands were shoved into his pockets, giving his shoulders a hunched, hurt look. At this angle, Hardison had to peer up into his face, and Eliot did his best to avoid eye contact. Then he swallowed, gathering himself with a long breath, and looked up.

“You look tired,” he said.

Whispered, really. His voice sounded like he hadn’t used it in months, like it hurt to speak. Maybe it did. Maybe he’d spent their time apart holed up in a basement somewhere, when he wasn’t following them around and saving their butts from behind the scenes. Hardison lifted his hand, and Eliot held his gaze with a flat, resigned look.

Waiting.

Hardison looked at his hand, and found it had tightened into a fist. He hadn’t meant to do that—had he?

You want Eliot to come back, don’t you? Parker had asked.

You aren’t angry with him?

“You’re not even going to defend yourself?” Hardison said.

Eliot didn’t answer, and that was answer enough, and before Hardison had decided how he was going to act, he was moving again, and Eliot stood still and waited for the blow to land.

Hardison grabbed him behind the shoulder instead, dragging him down a step and into a rough hug. He reached around Eliot’s back with his other hand, holding him close when he stiffened. He stood unmoving inside Hardison’s embrace, his hands in his pockets, his head on Hardison’s shoulder. He didn’t return the hug, and he didn’t pull away—and it didn’t feel like Eliot, which made the tears finally sting in Hardison’s eyes.

“You didn’t think I could take it?” he said, his voice low and hoarse. “You didn’t even let me decide for myself whether I wanted you around?”

Eliot’s muscles tensed, and Hardison tightened his grip, digging his fingers into Eliot’s jacket and squeezing until his hands ached.

You’re not even going to defend yourself?

“We’re outside the building,” Nate said through the comms. “Where are you?”

For one more moment, Hardison kept his arms around Eliot’s shoulders, trying to think of something to say to break his silence. If he would say something, then Hardison could argue, but he was just standing there like none of it mattered, like he hadn’t wanted to come back, and the twisting feeling in Hardison’s chest was growing hotter and sharper and darker, until it felt like it would break through his ribcage and tear him apart.

“You’re tougher than that,” Eliot said, and the torrent in Hardison's chest went still. He put one hand on Hardison’s arm, clasping so hard it hurt. “Tougher than me.”

Then he stepped out of Hardison’s grasp and lead the way down the stairs without looking back.

[sambucko]

Redemption and Understanding: The Apology That Defined Sam and Bucky's Journey

One of the most significant moments in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier is Bucky’s apology to Sam in Episode 5, a scene that is deeply rooted in the show’s exploration of legacy, race, and understanding. To fully grasp the weight of this moment, it’s important to consider the context and backstory leading up to it.

Early in the show, Bucky introduces Sam to Isaiah Bradley, a Black super soldier whose story is a tragic mirror of Steve Rogers’—but with a devastating twist. Isaiah was a soldier and a good man, just like Steve, but was unwillingly subjected to human testings of the Super Soldier Serum. But instead of being celebrated as a hero, Isaiah was imprisoned and experimented on for 30 years simply because he was Black. His existence was erased, with Isaiah only gaining freedom because he faked his own death. By showing Sam Isaiah’s story, Bucky unintentionally highlighted the harsh reality of how America treated a Black man who dared to embody the ideals of Captain America.

However, despite introducing Isaiah’s story, Bucky failed to connect the dots. He didn’t grasp why Sam felt the weight of taking up the shield or why he chose to give it up. That lack of understanding led Bucky to push blame onto Sam throughout the series. Bucky constantly insisted that everything happening with the shield was Sam’s fault—John Walker getting the shield, parading it as Captain America, and even Walker brutally killing a man and staining the shield with blood. Sam wasn’t fully convinced that he was to blame, but Bucky’s relentless accusations—paired with Sam’s own internal conflict—caused doubt to creep in. Bucky’s refusal to listen to Sam and acknowledge the complexities of his decision was not just frustrating; it was cruel.

This is why Bucky’s apology in Episode 5 is so important. When Bucky says, “Whatever happened with Walker, it wasn’t your fault,” it’s more than just an apology. It’s an admission of his own ignorance. For the first time, Bucky acknowledges that he didn’t understand the implications of a Black man becoming Captain America. He recognizes that his anger and frustration blinded him to Sam’s perspective, and he apologizes not only for blaming Sam but also for failing to support him.

This apology is critical to Sam’s journey of accepting the shield. It shifts the narrative away from blame and toward understanding. It validates Sam’s experience and shows that even Bucky—a man who knew the shield better than anyone else—needed to learn and grow. This moment isn’t just about clearing the air between them; it’s about giving Sam the space to embrace the legacy of Captain America on his own terms.

The scene’s significance lies in how it reframes Sam’s journey. It underscores the importance of empathy, of listening to perspectives beyond our own, and of recognizing the weight of systemic inequality. Bucky’s apology is a turning point—not just for their relationship but for Sam’s eventual acceptance of the shield. It’s a moment that deserves more recognition for its role in the show’s narrative and its message about understanding and accountability.

[mirrorball-leclerc]

paint the town red - part two

PRESEASON TESTING + EMOTIONAL SUPPORT DOGS

series masterlist

AN INTERVIEW WITH FERRARI'S NEW TEAM

scuderiaferrari posted a new story

i don't think bahrain is ready for the new and improved ferarri. let's get pre-season testing over with to show people what we're made of!

liked by arthur_leclerc, sebastianvettel, tonystark and others

scuderiaferrari preseason testing has got charlos feeling like a couple, our engineers super sleepy, and seb stressed over driver/engineer shenanigans. also featuring our emotional support dog enzo woofstappen and our emotional support ferrari academy drivers. not pictured is tony and seb cuddling as christian horner watches with longing in his eyes (you wish that was you huh?)

tagged: carlossainz55, charles_leclerc, biancastark_potts, harleykeener, arthur_leclerc, sebastianvettel, olliebearman

view all comments

username why do you guys have an emotional support dog?

↳ scuderiaferrari the previous owners had these drivers traumatized. now the drivers are traumatizing seb. yes, the dog is named after enzo ferrari and max verstappen, we blame scott.

username enzo woofstappen is such an iconic name

maxverstappen1 i can't believe you people named a dog after me

danielricciardo I CALL GODFATHER!

↳ harleykeener YES! 100% TAKE HIM WITH YOU!

↳ biancastark_potts STOP GIVING MY DOG AWAY! I'M TELLING STEVE!

↳ scuderiaferrari WHO'S AMERICA'S ASS NOW? STEVE ROGERS OR LOGAN SARGEANT?

↳ username STEVE ROGERS, FORMER CAPTAIN AMERICA, IS CALLED AMERICA'S ASS?

↳ logansargeant i got nothing on steve rogers, i will gladly give up the title to him.

username POST MORE ENZO WOOFSTAPPEN CONTENT! HE'S OUR EMOTIONAL SUPPORT DOG NOW!

↳ scuderiaferrari i'm not allowed to spam post enzo pictures on here, go to my account!

carlossainz55 charles and i look like a couple of besties!

↳ landonorris you two are in love

↳ charles_leclerc you said you loved me? was it all a lie?

↳ carlossainz55 amor no. i love you.

↳ username loving this new ferrari. carlos and charles' friendship seems better now.

↳ harleykeener carlos calls charles honey 24/7. it's sickening.

christianhorner it was not longing. seb is still our golden boy, you people have chuck leclerc.

↳ scuderiaferrari you snooze you lose old man. he’s ours now.

↳ maxverstappen1 wow, your current world champion sure feels loved

liked by biancastark_potts, natasharomanoff, michellejones and others

peterbparker as demanded by one person, here's enzo woofstappen. he's never done a thing wrong in his life except that time he pissed on bucky and when he chased alpine, the cat, up a tree.

view all comments

samwilson he fucking chewed on my wings one time

↳ biancastark_potts maybe you shouldn't have left your wings out in the common area

clintbarton he shit in my shoes

↳ peterbparker you threatened to shave him. it was deserved.

steverogers he chewed my shoes. all of them.

↳ harleykeener he was bitter about the avengers civil war

alexalbon it seems roscoe has competition for cutest paddock pet

↳ lewishamilton roscoe wins. no doubt

↳ biancastark_potts i doubt it, enzo's clearly cuter.

↳ lewishamilton i bet no one's ever told a stark they were wrong, but you're wrong

username who's enzo favorite ferrari team member?

↳ peterbparker charles, but only because he gives him extra treats!

↳ charles_leclerc I DO NOT!

↳ biancastark_potts that's something a guilty man would argue.

username who's alpine the cat?

↳ peterbparker enzo's mortal enemy and bucky's adopted cat. REMEMBER ADOPT DON'T SHOP!

↳ username was enzo adopted?

↳ biancastark_potts he was a gift from a friend. his dog had puppies and he gave me one

bianca stark-potts posted a new story

team bonding but everyone seems to be on their phones???

the new ferrari team sat in a meeting room, both drivers feeling like they were about to be scolded. peter felt like he had been called into the principal's office, which was a feeling he hated.

"why are we here?" harley questioned tony. both drivers turned to look at the younger boy, if he didn't know why they were here then bianca didn't either, meaning they could be getting in trouble.

noticing their tense faces tony chuckled, "you're not in trouble, all of you can calm down."

"oh thank god," peter whispered, "i thought i was in trouble for that america's ass comment."

"oh, you are," tony replied, "but that's for a different day. we're here for a completely different reason."

"and that is?" sebastian questioned, "don't tell me you're firing us already."

"you're kidding," tony muttered, "this is the best performance i've seen from a ferrari in years, the car that is, not the drivers. i'm making a few changes," tony gestured to his daughter, "bianca, if you would please."

"he's being lazy," bianca joked as she stood up, "he wants to throw the 1st and 2nd driver rule out the window. the first race is coming up in less than a week, so what we propose is letting you two battle it out until miami, by that point whoever has the most points will lead in the championship and the other will defend. the next year we rotate and so forth. questions?"

"would it be before or after the miami grand prix?" charles questioned.

"after," bianca answered, "it gives us enough time to gather data and study it. the rule is only implemented if you two agree, otherwise we keep going as is."

"i think it works," sebastian said, breaking the silence, "it also guarantees both of you on the podium or at least one of you every race."

“and if we don’t agree?” carlos questioned.

“then we continue as is, charles as 1st and you as 2nd,” bianca answered, “we know it’s asking for a lot, one of you has to give up the championship for the other. the car is good, we know it can beat red bull, you both have a contract extension until 2025, by that time both of you could be world champions.”

“it is a good offer,” charles reasoned with carlos, “the car is good for both of us, it gives us equal opportunity.”

“and if we are tied when we get to miami?” carlos asked, clearly the spaniard would be the harder one of duo to convince.

“we push it until one of you gets ahead,” tony answered, “however long it takes, but mark my words, one of you will be world champion by the end of the season.”

“i will do it,” charles agreed. everyone turned to look at carlos and the spaniard nodded, “me too.”

tony clapped his hands, “well boys, let’s get that championship back to maranello, one way or another.”

taglist: @celesteblack08 @be-your-coffee-pot

¡leclerc-s speaks! would this strategy ever work out irl? no fucking way but that's the beauty of fanfiction anything and everything can work out as long as you write it the right way. so, the question is, who should get the championship first charles or carlos? i'm leaning towards charles because he won monza in 2019, and carlos hasn't achieved that yet. i also am a charles girl, incase that wasn't yet obvious. so, answer the poll below and tell me who you guys think should win the championship first. let me know if you guys want to be added to the taglist.

¡disclaimer! this is in no way making assumptions about the people involved in this story, this is all fake. it is a fanfiction please don't take any of what is said seriously. this is all for entertainment purposes and as a creative outlet for me. enjoy!

[ronearoundblindly]

Day Eighty-Three (1)

CEO!Steve Rogers x CEO!Reader

10 A.M., an It Had To Be You tale (see previous or series)

Summary: A joint meeting between AmCaps and the heads of four other major companies goes about as horribly as possible...or is it exactly as you expected? Either way, Steve messes up big time.

Warnings for (hi, I'm Ro) arguments, the absolute shittiness of misogyny, degrading use of petnames, language, social idjit!Steve (he honest-to-god tried his best but whoops). MINORS DNI. If this is not to your taste, please feel free to search lighter stories here. WC 2571

Sadly, the whole thing would have gone better if Tony Stark showed up.

Stark doesn’t do meetings like this though, and you may never bother with one again. You may have no need.

Clammy hands grip the leather spine of your monogrammed portfolio, comfortingly thick with the employee files you’ve brought as ammunition. This is a battle, no doubt in your mind, but Steve acts as if it’s any other day. To him, it probably is.

This is Steve’s fourteenth quarterly get-together of entities using the stabilizing, hydrostatic, insulated, electro-neutral, lead-dense (aka S.H.I.E.L.D) modules which American Capsules supplies. You’ve worked here for twelve of those but never been in the room.

The room feels as big as a concert hall with you an ant in the back pew.

Since the meeting is on your turf, you and Steve wait till the others arrive, your boyfriend highly aware of your nerves but without a clue as to why.

You’ve been preparing for this far longer than the not-quite three months you’ve held the title of co-CEO. It’s important to understand what is really happening between these companies and who exactly is to blame. It was also important to tell Steve nothing until you knew all the facts, and you didn’t until the phone call you just got off three minutes ago.

That’s not enough time. He’ll have to enjoy the show like everyone else,

Steve loosens his skinny black tie and repeats that you shouldn’t worry. He can take the lead. All the stats are printed in the binders laid in front of six chairs around the oblong table. He touches you, reassuringly he believes, at exactly the wrong moment.

Justin Hammer saunters through the door, clocking the intimate hand on your arm when Steve leans forward to whisper, “what’s wrong?” The outrageously pompous pumpkin sucks his teeth, winking at you, and spins to moonwalk closer. Hammer even goes so far as to cup your other elbow with an over-tanned palm.

“Peach, you’re gorgeous. Don’t ever change,” he flirts, damn well knowing that you aren’t the assistant anymore but are dating the man right beside him. “Hey, pal, how’s it going? Lookin’ sharp.”

Justin wheels the nearest chair away from the conference table and plunks down, lounging against the high-backed seat, swinging his feet up onto the adjacent chair. He may as well be at the beach.

He snaps, hand landing in a finger gun pointed at you—or your backside, more accurately, where he’s also staring.

“I like mine sweet and dark. Thanks. ‘Preciate you.”

There’s no elaboration. You’re just the coffee bitch to him.

What’s wrong, you want to tell Steve, what’s wrong is that asshole is only twenty-five percent of the shit I have to deal with this morning!

Before you or Steve can respond, however, the other three arrive in quick succession.

Darren Cross of Pym Technologies might actually be the least offensive of the bunch. His smile is polite and jovial, he greets Steve simply and shakes your hand, and he smacks Hammer’s calf hard enough to make a sound as he passes by.

He, unlike Justin, brought a briefcase, keeping up the illusion that he participates in the company he’s here to represent. Cross probably does still participate, considering he was only promoted recently after Hank Pym retired.

Aldrich Killian is undoubtedly (one of) the brains behind his think tank, AIM, and Brock Rumlow is undoubtedly smug, being a lowly former associate at Stark Industries, now an executive for the Roxxon Energy Corporation.

Each of them has skin in each other’s game; throughout the history of American Capsules’ products, innovations have been shared between them to either create suitable shipping containers or to have their products shipped via those containers. They’ve quite literally shielded their collective work.

It’s a symbiotic relationship.

It’s a circle jerk.

Killian and Rumlow do not bother to walk around and say hello. They fake niceties and unbutton their suit jackets to sit on the other side of the table.

Noticeably, none of them chose either ‘head’ of the table. No one was willing to take a position of power equal to Steve in his own house. Your boyfriend seems to interpret this as acquiescence of some sort—proof that they’ll blindly respect what and who Steve himself respects,—and then Steve wrongly decides to gently run his hand the rest of the way down your arm, his fingers curling to lift your limb until the very last second.

He made it look like you were reaching out for him, like you were a scared child in need of support. You are, in a sense, but he didn’t have to fucking advertise it to these men.

Steve doesn’t make mistakes. He did that on purpose. Maybe he meant to establish some sort of claim to you? To stop them objectifying you? Whatever they do now is solely out of respect or fear of him though, not you.

You’re frozen in place—in anger, truth be told—until Justin drops his feet to the floor dramatically.

“Indulge me, sweetcheeks.” He winks again. “I’m thirsty.”

Doing your very best Vanna White impression, you step back and sweep an arm out toward the drinks on the side server. “Help yourself,” you say with a smile.

It’s only because Justin is an idiot that he misses the dig.

Open to the page he wants, Steve tosses his binder to the wood surface, the slap of lamination to varnish attracting the attention of all the men, and takes his seat at the end.

You waltz to the other side, a clear and distinct separation between you and Steve, equals in life and work but opposites today.

“Shall we wait for Stark,” Rumlow growls in his low voice.

“Not necessary,” Steve allows. “If he shows, he shows. Let’s get to it.”

Steve begins, pointing out a few key concerns. Since you already know all of this, he doesn’t look to you while speaking, but neither do the other men when they respond.

They talk over you as if you’re not there, being blowhards and patting each other on the back for ’surviving in this economy.’ You let them go on. Steve gets nowhere. He gets excuses. He gets parroted promises.

Justin dismisses insufficient specs by saying he’s just a pretty face. He leaves all the numbers to nerds. He laughs about how he’ll have to check with his people about the nitty-gritty details, but he’s sure it’ll work out.

He stands to get his own black coffee, plopping three cubes of sugar in the chrome mug.

Rumlow barks out that shoddy Hammer tech nearly sank a Roxxon oil rig.

Justin feigns ignorance of the incident.

Killian uselessly offers a fix for that, at a price.

Darren argues that Pym has followed their agreement with AmCaps to the letter.

Everybody is fucking lying to themselves.

The shouting continues, escalating until it looks like Killian and Rumlow are close to throwing punches, though you’ve missed why those two are at odds.

Finally, Steve rises, stretching his hands out in peace.

“Everyone, calm down! Take a breath. Have some water. Sit.”

He’s stressed, clearly, defaulting to conditioned behavior which means Steve then looks right at you with a pleading expression.

Wrong again.

Darren lets out a huff and nods at you. “Yes, I think that would be nice.”

“I’ll take a glass,” Rumlow adds with a tap of the table in your direction.

Killian sighs an unmistakable ‘loser’ to Rumlow, and suddenly, the fight is back on.

Time to lock and load.

You cough and stand, flipping open the portfolio in front of you, adjusting your hips in your pencil skirt with a tug but only for affect. You know exactly what draws the attention of these men.

The room goes mostly quiet.

“Water. For the table,” you deadpan command Steve.

Picking up your copy of the report set, you clear your throat.

“I’m afraid Rogers has given you all the impression this is a negotiation. It’s not.” You slide the binder to the center. “It’s a courtesy. A courtesy which none of you deserve.”

“What the hell is she talking about?” Rumlow gruffly asks Steve.

“I’m talking about unpaid balances and unfulfilled orders. I’m talking about product tampering and verified illegal activity that hereby voids your contracts, effective immediately.”

Darren shoots out of his seat. “You can’t do that!” He turns to Steve. “She can’t do that, right?”

Steve, however, is blanched with shock. “Wait, I—“

“Each of your agreements with us—“ you barrel over his protest “—contains a morality clause which was broken by Hammer Tech when they conspired to produce a subpar protective lining and pad Roxxon gas sales in the region, unwittingly causing unsafe storage at a Stark factory in Galmira because the entire operation no longer followed American Capsules specifications—your specifications for transporting your own products.

“Pym,” you continue with force, “failed to produce compact enough items for the containers they ordered and instead chose to resell the regulated lining materials for a premium.” You toss a packet of papers down to Darren. “In your infinite wisdom, this also means you violated multiple Customs laws by forging shipping weights and ignoring safety guidelines.”

Killian puts a bejeweled hand over his vested heart. “Cross, you didn’t?”

“Which brings me to fucking AIM,” you grit.

“Precious,” Steve breaths with a warning tone, but you can’t stop. You’ve waited too long for this moment.

“Because who the hell do you think created the new formula for a light-weight, lower-cost, shitty lining?” You take such pleasure in stabbing a finger in his direction then flinging stapled proof across the table. “Evidence. Evidence of all of this provided by multiple sources. And you were warned…”

Now comes the really fun part.

You spread out eight folders.

“…warned by Roxxon’s own Betty Ross, Wanda Maximoff, and Kamala Khan. By Hammer’s Monica Rambeau and Kate Bishop. AIM’s doctors, Christine Palmer and Helen Cho, and finally, Pym Tech’s Mary Jane Watson—none of whom, I’m excited to say, work for you anymore.”

There’s a stunned heft to the frigidly controlled air in the large room. The florescent lights overhead buzz harshly.

“Are you fucking serious?” Killian rasps.

“Put your bitch back on her leash,” Rumlow bites to Steve.

“Don’t speak to her like—“

“Wait a minute,” Justin snorts, “I’m confused.”

“Your nerds will explain it to you once you crawl back into your hole.”

“Prec—” Steve snips in alarm but catches himself. He looks panicked and blind-sided, which he would be. You kept their complicity from him until you had everything you needed to invoke the morality clause.

You turn to the junior CEO for Pym Tech. “Expect a call from Hope Van Dyne. She has a few thoughts on Cross Technologies.”

Called out for his as-yet-unannounced rebranding of the company, Darren breaks, and he breaks viciously, vaulting the three chairs between you.

“Fucking cunt,” he screams through bared teeth.

Steve launches past the skittering seats and makes it to Cross milliseconds before he can intercept you.

“I didn’t make you lie, cheat, and steal,” you screech. “You screwed yourselves!”

Killian straightens his lapels and smooths his shirt nervously. “Surely, we can come to some arrangement.”

“This is all a misunderstanding,” Hammer adds.

Rumlow simply walks out with a shout of “you’ll be hearing from our lawyers.”

Steve slams Cross into the window, an ominous rattle shaking the frame, the cheek of the struggling man whining as it smears along the glass. When Darren still tries to hiss something else at you, Steve pins him against the wall instead, a forearm choking off any other choice words the bald man might offer.

“This meeting is over,” Steve grunts, pushing at Cross until the man settles.

“Right,” you sigh, keeping your voice as level as you can. “Gentlemen, I’d say get your houses in order, but I’m afraid the furniture is about to be repoed.”

Killian runs his hand through his styled hair. “Think I’ll leave you to talk some sense into your precious partner. Good day.”

You’ll never forgive Steve for blurting your private nickname out in front of the worst possible people to know it, but this is how you chose to play the meeting. You knew there’d be…pushback.

The AIM founder takes a lazy sip. “Thanks for the water, Rogers.” He taps his pinky ring several times on the glass, a hollow, high ting lingering after each strike, and then Aldrich heads for the door.

Steve releases Darren despite the wild look in his eyes, but Cross would be a fool to make any move except to leave. He gathers his things and slips through the exit before it fully closes.

The only one remaining is Justin Hammer, and he tosses out his arms with a chuckle, shaking his head.

“Kitten, come on. This is crazy. Isn’t this crazy? We’re all friends here. Let’s just chill, relax, and work this out. How ‘bout a drink?” More snaps. More finger guns. “You want coffee? Alright, perfect. Love ya. We’ll have coffee.” The man fidgets, sweat visible on his lip and forehead when he turns in the window’s light and approaches the drink cart.

“Sure thing, Justin. I take my coffee like I take my women—“ you smile “—from you.”

Okay, that part just felt good.

“That—” Hammer’s brow raises and he wipes down his jaw with one hand “—now that was uncalled for.”

Steve cuts in, a solid dismissal in the form of “I said ‘the meeting’s over.’”

“Oh, boy. You—well, you better watch…This ain’t over.” Hammer makes a fuss of buttoning his jacket again, puffing out his chest, then walking off even more empty-handed than he arrived.

The enormous, heavy door shuts slowly on buzzing, bright silence.

After a pause, Steve heaves out a breath.

“That went well.”

Sarcasm is not one of his strengths.

You’re not sure what you expected. You stand as a block of granite decor in the corner you retreated to once shit hit the fan.

It was the right decision. This was the right thing to do, the moral thing. It’s in the goddamn contract.

Though physically he shows no signs of duress—Steve used very little of his actual muscle to subdue Darren,—he hangs his head, stepping to your spot at the table to look at what you brought in. After a pause, Steve rubs his temple like it aches.

“I…I have no words,” he mutters, tone inscrutable.

You don’t care if he has words or not. You only have to wait until they’re out of the building.

“I don’t understand. What just happened?”

The door opens to reveal a bored-looking Topaz.

“Boss, Stark sent a catered lunch over. Where should they set up? It’s shawarma.”

“I don’t care,” Steve bursts. “Just take it down to R&D or something!”

That’s your cue to leave.

You shut your mostly-empty portfolio and tuck it to your chest.

A hand wraps around your wrist, unyielding.

Steve’s stormy blue eyes are felt more than seen, his hold tightening, trying to inch you closer, but you rip away.

“I’ll send you a memo,” you tell Steve without looking directly at him. “Keep those. I have copies.”

Fast as you can in heels and a skirt, you hurry after Topaz and past the food, fleeing first to your office and then to your own home.

[Day 83: 6pm]

[tender first aid drabble; Big Girls Don't Cry]

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

A/N: Ahhhhh! Next up is how Steve makes it up to you...or at least starts to...😱😵‍💫🥴

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555

@yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory

@brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @late-to-the-party-81

@bigtreefest @rogersbarber @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads

@fallinallinmendes @rach2602 @royalwritersoftheuniverses

[sam24]

Officially Confused

Summary: Tony thought you and Steve were enemies. Apparently not.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!reader

*****

Tony sighed as he took yet another sip of the tea Bruce had given him.

“It’ll help Tony, I promise. Just try it.”

Bullshit, Tony snorted. No matter how many cups he drank of Bruce’s alleged ‘calming’ tea, it wasn’t working.

His sleep-deprivation, bags under his eyes, major headache, and lots of meetings and press conferences needed to be attended to didn’t immediately disappear like he was secretly hoping.

And on top of that were you and Steve.

You two were a major pain in the ass for Tony, arguing all the time, during missions and meetings.

Even though he loved drama, the constant bickering had gotten a little out of hand.

Steve’s loyalty didn’t sit well with you, and your sarcasm didn’t sit well with him.

And Tony was stuck in the middle.

The first time you two had met was when he came out of the ice and Fury introduced him to you as his best agent.

The whole enemies thing didn’t actually start until you two went off on your first mission together a little bit after Bucky’s ‘rescue’ (Tony honestly didn’t know what to call it). Suddenly, you two were throwing passive-aggressive insults at each other like there was no tomorrow. After a while, the passive went away and they were just full on aggressive comments.

At first, Tony thought it was hilarious. Until he realized it was just annoying.

Individually, Tony actually really liked you, and he tolerated Steve. But together? Tony absolutely dreaded being in a room with you two in it, because nothing good could happen from that.

You both could somehow find the littlest things to argue about, and they would turn into full fledged debates in a span of 2 minutes. Usually you won, but that’s probably because Tony always waited until you had the last say to break it up.

But then something happened.

After your mission together in Craiova (even though Tony strongly vetoed the idea of you and Steve going together) something changed.

You stopped rolling your eyes the minute he opened his mouth, and he stopped leaning over to whisper something you probably wouldn’t like in Bucky’s ear whenever Fury mentioned you during Avengers meetings.

Tony once even thought he caught Steve looking at you during an Avengers Movie Night that Clint dragged you to, and not in the ‘what the hell is she doing here’ way.

Tony was needless to say shocked, but he didn’t have the time to enjoy it while it lasted because he was busy worrying that you would pull a ‘sike, you thought’ (at least that’s what Peter always would say) on him and you both would go back to making Tony go crazy.

That was the moment when you decided to walk in, taking a handful of m&ms from Clint’s ‘secret’ jar.

You raised your eyebrow at the empty tea packets decorating the kitchen counter.

“You might wanna throw those away before Steve calls the cops on you for littering.” You joked.

Tony hummed as he finished the cup with a long sip.

“Don’t blame me, it was all Doctor Bruce’s doings.”

You chuckled, not bothering to question it as you shoved another handful of stolen candy into your mouth.

“Well then please carry on. It would be hilarious to have ‘Death by Green Tea’ written on your grave.” You called over your shoulder as you left.

“Yeah, so funny.” Tony muttered before getting up to make another cup of tea.

He didn’t know if it was because he was tired, half dead inside, stressed out, or just high on tea, but he didn’t realize until 20 minutes later that the oversized hoodie you were wearing was actually Steve’s.

*

One hour later, Tony was fanned out on the couch, officially confused.

There was no doubt the hoodie was Steve’s, considering the fact he wore it all the time (and that it was an abnormal size).

Certainly you didn’t steal it from him. Steve would’ve guarded it with his life. But even if you did manage to, he would’ve hunted it down in 0.001 seconds.

Were you guys together?

No way, Tony thought. The only logical explanation is that she bought a ginormous hoodie because she was cold, and it looks exactly like his because they have similar style.

But even Tony knew that was stupid.

And in that moment, Steve strolled into the common room (what are we in, Hogwarts?), looking oddly happy.

“Oh, hey there Tone.” Steve pulled out a salad from the fridge. “You okay?”

Tony’s eyes narrowed.

He was supposed to be okay. The two people who hated each other like just last week were exchanging hoodies, so that was good for him, right? No more arguing?

Wrong.

Tony wasn’t worried anymore. He was suspicious. (Or, ‘sus’, as Peter would say.)

He decided to put Steve to the test.

“I’m fine, just tired.”

Tony continued talking about all the work he had to do as he watched Steve clearly zone out.

Step one: See if Her Name Gets His Attention.

Tony said your name, and Steve looked up so fast Tony thought his neck would snap.

“ -made me some tea though, and that really helped.” Tony carefully watched Steve’s face as he lied with no remorse.

“That’s good.” Steve was a master at the poker face, but Tony could tell it was coming down.

Step two: Watch His Reaction to Her Praise.

“I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

Tony was expecting jealousy to step two, but he got something even better.

“Yeah, she’s pretty cool.” Steve looked down.

Tony could’ve sworn Steve was blushing.

No, he did swear. That little bastard was indeed blushing.

At this point, the rest of the steps were useless.

Steve was making it incredibly obvious.

You know that proud husband look Tony had whenever Pepper did something great that made him wanna shout ‘THAT’S MY WIFE, BITCHES’?

Yeah, that’s exactly the look Steve had on.

Steve then had a very visible realization that he was smiling like a fool and staring into space, his salad forgotten.

Steve cleared his throat and devoured the remaining of the salad as quickly as he could and practically ran out.

Tony smirked and got up from the couch - but not to make another cup of tea.

His job here was done.

Now, all he needed to do was tell the whole compound.

[anika-ann]

Back and Forth - prologue

Prologue: Flash Forward

Type: series; agent!reader, inhuman!reader Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader    Word Count: 800

Series summary:  Calling yourself an Avenger would be overstatement, even if you have been joining them on missions quite frequently lately. Calling them your friends would be an overstatement also. Calling you and Steve Rogers friends, now that would be an insult to the entity of friendship – though unlike him, you have enough self-awareness to admit that he isn't the only one to blame for that. Most of the time anyway.

However, the Avengers need your abilities and so you and Steve tolerate each other... and then you’re thrown into a situation where mere tolerance isn’t an option. That should end well, shouldn’t it?

Series masterlist

Warnings: canon-typical violence, allusions to death, pain, blood, hurt/comfort-ish, language

A/N: prologue to a new series with enemies-to-lovers-ish vibes and inhuman reader; dividers by @firefly-graphics 💕; moodboard is for the vibes and does not necessarily reflect reader's appearance

The exhaustion was coming and going in waves, alternating with pain, concern and fruitless determination.

You wondered if Steve felt the same; you assumed he did. Asking would feel a little silly though; you didn’t see the point and frankly, you and Steve had never been close enough to just sit down on a couch and share your feelings, keeping them close to the vest except for the heat of your occasional arguments. So you stayed quiet, alone in your wondering.

The pulse of pain in your legs dulled a while ago; you let your head lull back against the wall you were leaned against, the thud sounding just as dull.

The irony wasn’t lost on you; you and Steve had been colleagues, reluctant friends as best, guarded and unsure about the other most times despite him being one of the most honest people you had ever encountered. It was true that you stood by his side and he did by yours, but there had always been an invisible wall between you. By the irony of fate, now, when an actual wall separated you, you could feel the figurative one crumble down.

It was surreal and frankly scary; which was just as ironic, given your circumstance that should feel much more terrifying. And yet… you couldn’t help the little warmth spreading in your chest, knowing your back was aligned to the same wall Steve’s was, mere inches apart, and while admitting certain things to him hadn’t been pleasant, in hindsight, it felt good. No matter the outcome, you had no doubt that if you survived, you’d remember these moments fondly, at least to some point.

And yes, it probably made you a masochist; but what else was new.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the files?” Steve’s low voice snapped you out of your musing, making your heart jump a bit in fright.

It shouldn’t have surprised you he asked one of many questions you didn’t want to answer. It was another of his annoying and endearing talents – and you rarely gave him the satisfaction of replying fully, just for that. But what the hell, right? Maybe you were about to die here. And you had just thought about how telling the truth, while embarrassing, felt liberating too.

“Would you have listened?” you questioned him back anyhow.

“Yes.”

“Liar.”

You heard him shift, the clank of metal and a low hiss escaping his lips making you gulp. You weren’t the only one battling pain.

“I would have heard you out. I admit I was angry at that time and I wasn’t… behaving as I should have and I’m sorry. But I would have heard you out.”

A brief barely-there smile curled your lips as he apologized again. Steve Rogers, ladies and gentlemen, unable to bear the fact he himself had been less than a gentleman. You might have been far from a friend and even farer from being able to tell you knew him and understood him despite having screamed at him the opposite, but you understood enough. Even if you sometimes wished you didn’t.

“But would you have listened?”

He didn’t reply.

You both knew the answer: no. He wouldn’t have, because he was the damn Captain America and he believed he knew the best, blindly following his inner compass pointing the true North even should all hell break loose, and those files weren’t a real concern anyway, were they?

Damn him.

And yet. As you challenged him further, you couldn’t stop the warm feeling in your chest humming louder, because yes, that was who he was, and you liked him that way, even if he was driving you mad at the same time.

“Or would have you just waved it off, because you are invincible?”

Silence stretched again.

You closed your eyes and tried to focus on hearing his breathing through the wall, still startled and relieved at how easy it was to do so. It was a good distraction from the pain still radiating from your wounds; and it kept your hope alive.

Dum spiro spero, right?

Despite the situation – or maybe out of spite, given both yours and Steve’s nature – you were still breathing and so was Steve. As infuriating as he was, you knew your heart would break to pieces if he stopped. Unable to walk or not, you’d find a way to break through the wall in mere seconds if he stopped talking to you.

Which he did just now.

Something in your ribcage contracted painfully, your voice shaky when you spoke his name, praying he was only offended at you calling him out. After all, being shot really fucking hurt, so you’d rather not move at all, let alone try to crash through concrete; that was the sole reason for your prayers. Liar, whispered a breathless voice, but you ignored it, your heart hammering against your sternum.

“…Steve?”

Next chapter

Series masterlist // S.R. masterlist

Well, well, well... I'm leaving - to a certain point - the realm of fluff to dip my toes in action and angst. Should end well too, right? Anyway. I hope you enjoyed this little tease😇

I admit this fic really is just a baby for now, even as the outline is done, but I simply had to share - too excited not to... oops?

I'm fairly confident this should be around 7 parts including prologue and epilogue, but I'm also me, so the number might slightly rise.

Thank you for reading 💕

[beanghostprincess]

Do you think shuggy ever gets possessive over one another?

Definitely. Undoubtedly. And it goes both ways.

I believe the most obvious answer would be saying Shanks is the possessive one because, you know, have you seen the rizz this clown has to always attract people? Cross Guild??? So Shanks gets jealous easily but I don't think he actively shows it because he wants to keep things peaceful and he truly does not want Buggy to get angry at him for this. So it's small, subtle moves that let others know Shanks is possessive over Buggy but without making Buggy notice.

On the other hand, Buggy is way more explicit with that. Shanks is just too nice. It doesn't mean he flirts with everyone he meets but he just has a flirty personality and it does look like that when he's being polite, plus, for some reason every girl wants to fuck Shanks. That man looks disgusting and very gay to me, but whatever the female gaze wants, idk-- And Buggy is more the type to get angry at Shanks and yell at him about it and quickly drag him away from any flirtatious conversation, but Shanks kind of sort of likes it, ngl. ("Awww you want me only for yourself, Bugs?" / "Shut the fuck up")

But this doesn't only happen romantically and I doubt you meant it only in that way. I was saving my favorite thing for last.

I think they were possessive of each other since they were kids. You know. Always being together and clinging to each other constantly. Never being without the other. They of course argue but they always have this "he should be with me" sensation when the other is with someone else because it just doesn't feel right to be apart from him. They have also always been possessive in the way of like-- Not the "you're mine" sort of thing but "we belong together, that's how it always has been". On the battlefield too, btw, if you touch one of them you will probably end up dead because they're just that protective (Shanks does it in a more obvious way and Buggy could kill someone to protect Shanks but he would blame Shanks anyway and say he didn't do it because of him when he totally did).

There's just something about them now that screams how they want to go back to the way things used to be when they could live in their own bubble together, only the two of them. And there's this clear possessiveness because their love is only theirs and no one else's. And I believe them to be extremely protective in all stages of their relationship. When they were kids. When they were teenagers. Even when they were fighting. And even more, if they date again.

By the way, I just had the most adorable thought about lil kids Shuggy being this possessive. A little headcanon-- Roger always playing with them and showering them with love because of course he did, and he used to hold Buggy and go "He's mine!!! <33 My ray of sunshine!!" and Shanks instantly got so possessive and angry going "No!!! Mine!!" and Roger kept joking about it until Shanks cried and he had to let go of Buggy if he didn't want the kid to have a whole breakdown about it (Buggy didn't give a single fuck btw he liked to be with Rayleigh better).