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scatter-snz · 2 months ago

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Best Laid Plans - Part 1

Details: 9k, Male sneezes, no pairing (yet..)

Summary: A secret agent is going undercover for a few days, and his target has a sneeze fetish. The agency’s best engineer has constructed something to give him an edge.

PART 1 - PART 2

My first original piece I've posted here!

This is VERY self-indulgent so you’ll have to excuse me lol. It’s like.. lizard brain horny. Seriously lol. Slapping NSFW on here for good measure. It’s rare I get embarrassed about my kink nowadays but I feel a little embarrassed about this one. Still, I had fun writing it! I hope someone else can enjoy it too!

These are original characters, all in their mid twenties to early thirties! This story was inspired by @testingtwns writing. She has such captivating descriptions, spectacular characterizations, and fascinating world lore. (If you would prefer I remove this shoutout, Red, please let me know! Your stuff is just so great!)

(Warnings: Unrealistic science, my cringe attempt at sneeze characterization, Mess Lite™, questionable workplace dynamics, general horny undertones and overtones, accidental boners and feeling pleasure from sneezing).

THIS STORY IS NSFW!

It was never a great morning when Agent Omicron found himself in Dr. Anita Voster’s lab. She was a little eccentric, he thought, and liked to make mischief. Not a good combination for a scientist. Still, she was the best in the force and the one assigned to his case by the powers that be. He knew why he was reporting to Dr. Voster’s lab and he knew what his bosses would say - The sooner you report to Dr. Voster, the sooner you can begin your work.

Omicron reported to her lab sharply at 0800, shrugged off his suit jacket at her behest, and sat himself down in her vaguely threatening patient chair for the administration of her invention. Dr. Voster was far too giddy in handing over a small container of nasal spray. It looked harmless, but Omicron knew better.

“This,” he said, inspecting the bottle, “will make me sick?”

“Something like that,” Dr. Voster replied. She fetched the bottle from his hand as she spoke, and rolled a plush stool over to sit as they talked. “This virus was engineered specifically to make you sneeze, so think of it like a cold in your nose.”

“Similar to allergies?”

“Yes, if you were allergic to air.”

Omicron sighed. He wasn’t in the business of complaining, but this was going to be challenging. He crossed his arms, trying not to fidget. “How long does it last?”

“Just long enough to see you through the mission. Your symptoms should abate by Thursday.”

So he’d be sick the entire time, essentially. Great. His leg started to bounce.

“Will this slow me down?” he asked. Dr. Voster arched a look over her safety glasses. He clarified himself. “Am I going to feel like shit?”

She smirked at him. “Are you one of those man-cold types?”

Heat swept over his ears and burned the back of his neck, and her smile only widened. He crunched his brows with a glare. “No, I’m just being thorough. If this will compromise my performance in any way, I want to know about it.”

“It won’t,” she chuckled, and he tried not to get defensive at the amusement in her voice. “Like I said, the primary function of this virus is to make you sneeze. You’ll be contending with some nasal congestion, but aside from that you’ll be fine.”

That was easy for her to say. She wasn’t going undercover into enemy territory. He tensed as she snapped on a pair of gloves and looped on a face mask. When she uncapped the bottle, he cleared his throat. “The paperwork said something about me being more ‘suggestible?’ What does that mean?”

She huffed at his air quotes and yanked down her mask. “It means you’ll be vulnerable to psychosomatic triggers. In other words, if you think hard enough about sneezing, you’ll prompt one.”

“That sounds unlikely.”

“We have testing data to support it,” she chastised, and yanked her mask back up. “It was a goal for the formula. We thought you might find it handy to take matters into your own hands if a sneeze wasn’t forthcoming.”

“For.. what? Tactical measures?”

“Yes, strategic options. Now, tilt your head and relax.”

He reluctantly settled back into the cushioned chair, sniffing in preparation. One of her latex hands moved to cradle his jaw and keep him still as she nudged the applicator up the right side. It was wide enough to graze the sides of his nostrils, and he felt them flare in response.

“Okay, deep breath..”

Swallowing, he breathed slowly, deeply through his nose. A fffssh from the bottle yielded a mist of curiously warm aerosol that instantly coated the skin. He flinched a wrist up to his mouth to cough in response. It felt suddenly like his nose was running, so he sniffed, sniffed, and sniffed again. A strong flavor coated the back of his throat.

“Why is it salty?”

“Well, we didn’t intentionally flavor it,” she said, already moving to his left nostril. “Probably the saline. We used it as a base. Now, give me another big breath.”

He did as he was told, and again a warm puff of wetness invaded his nose. And another. And another. They performed this three times for each nostril, alternating sides, and the last one rubbed him wrong. A tiny tickle ignited. Omicron warded Dr. Voster back with one cautious hand as the other routed to his nose. He anchored his forefinger beneath his nostrils, pressing deliberately against his septum as he parted his lips to breathe. Voster snorted at him as she set the bottle aside.

“I thought that only worked in cartoons.”

“And on me,” he mumbled in a heady voice.

It took a moment of concentrated effort, but the urge passed. He sniffed, a little wetter this time as he blinked away tears. Agent Omicron was an old hand at holding back sneezes. Sudden, uncontrolled outbursts weren’t great for business when he was out in the field. That, and he generally didn’t like to draw attention to himself even in civilian life. He caught Dr. Voster smiling at him and his brows trenched.

“What now?”

“I’m not into sneezing,” she told him as she capped the bottle, “but that was pretty cute. Your target won’t stand a chance, Mr. Honey Pot.”

He replied with a scowl and one more see-sawing rub beneath his nose. “When does this kick in?”

“Give it twenty-four hours,” she said, and snapped off her gloves. “I’ll check on you then to make sure it took.”

He stood and slipped back into his jacket, straightened his tie. “Isn’t this cutting it a little close? I’m flying out tomorrow.”

“Maybe, but we didn’t want your poor nose suffering anymore than it has to,” she cooed, and punctuated this with a little tap of her knuckle to his septum. He swatted her away.

“Stop.”

“Oohhh,” she pouted, leaning a hip against her workstation. “Always so serious, Agent O.”

Omicron lurked a warning glare her way as he adjusted his sleeve cuffs and shirt collar. “I’ll be back in 2400.”

---

And he was, though he dragged his feet most of the way.

Omicron believed Dr. Voster when she said this nasal spray contained a virus that would cause his nose some hell, but he didn’t quite understand just how.. intense the experience would be.

He sniffled, a necessary indignity since he woke up this morning, and the slow, deliberate flare of that ever-present irritation beckoned him toward an unavoidable conclusion. Still, Omicron shoved the hard edge of his finger beneath his nose and tilted his head back for another whip-crack sniff. It flared the tickle dangerously, but the steady breakwater against his septum kept him in the clear. His nostrils twitched and he pinched them, rubbing rubbing rubbing until he heard the embarrassing squelch of something wet in his nose.

Another strong sniff, and a weak huhh on his exhale. Shit. He wiped his hand on the side of his pants with a grimace. He’d have to start carrying tissues.

“There he is!” Dr. Voster greeted him with a disarming smile, but he could see the hawklike way she zeroed in on his nose. He tried not to sniffle. “How’s my magnum opus treating you?”

It’s bullying me, Omicron thought, but as he laced his hands properly behind his back, what he said instead was, “It’s working.”

“Oh, is it?” she said. She wasn’t even trying to mask the delight in her voice now as she crowded him back into her exam chair. “Let me take a look.”

He stared hard at the ceiling as she slipped on gloves and wheeled forward on her stool, leaning over him like a dentist. He hated the dentist. A warm trickle of wetness prompted an automatic sniff, and a huffing exhale when that far-back tickle teased him.

“Runny nose?” she chirped, using her thumb to gently coax his nostril open. She held an otoscope with her other hand, using the little light to peer up his nose. Omicron tried not to shrivel in embarrassment as she crooned with sympathy. “Oooh, poor thing. You’re so inflamed..”

“Wasn’t that the idea?” he sighed, and sniffled again. A spark somewhere in his sinuses caused him a hard blink.

“Yes, but it must tickle so much..”

In response to her words, another spark snapped inside him. Like striking flint to burn kindling. Another reflexive sniffle. His eyes began to water.

“It must feel like something fuzzy is stuck up there,” she was saying, rubbing her thumb softly against the quivering edge of his nostril. “Every time you breathe, this fluffy thing, lodged in place and too far for you to reach..”

The frantic efforts of the virus continued, tenacious now in its purpose. The fuse caught, as did Omicron’s next inhale. His chest hitched with a stutter. He tried to reach up, finger extended and ready, but Voster caught his wrist and pinned it back down to the chair arm.

“It must be new for you, to be so out of control. This thing inside you, tickling so sweetly, growing unbearable, and there’s nothing you can do but submit.”

That tantalizing feeling got worse. The line of gunpowder trailing through his pulsing nostrils lit up with an unstoppable blaze. It raced through him, and Omicron couldn’t do anything but give it fuel. He gasped hugely, his chest straining against the buttons of his shirt. The exhale crashed out of him clumsily, unrelieved.

“H-HUHhh..”

Dr. Voster leaned away, but set her otoscope aside to pin his other wrist when he reflexively raised it to ward off what was coming. “Don’t fight it, Omicron. That tickle nestled in your nose was built for this. Listen to it. You two are a team, remember?”

Omicron couldn’t even open his eyes, the sensation held him so powerfully. It felt alive, calculated, somehow vying for control. He snatched in another soft breath, breathed it out on a moan, and then gasped again. His lungs strained to accommodate as that demanding tickle wanted more.. more..

He huffed out another helpless groan. “HHUHhhh..”

His hands flinched toward his face, but met resistance. A tear surfed down his cheek and dripped off his chin. He gasped- gasped-! “.. hH-hiIHH-!”

The sensation crested, and finally, overcame him.

“HHZZZSSSCHOOO!!”

The force of it threw him forward. It was the loudest, strongest sneeze he’d ever sneezed, but somehow it didn’t feel big enough. Cool, tingling aftermath quickly gathered a second storm. This time, Omicron didn’t do anything but breathe into it.

“..hhHI’JJIZZSHHUE!”

Another uncharacteristically enormous sneeze. His wrists were free, but he didn’t even bother to cover his mouth or muffle into his elbow. Usually he’d rather disintegrate than sneeze freely even in his own home, but.. this tickle.. he just wanted to let it.. let it do..

“HEH’CHIZSHOoo!”

.. do whatever it wanted. And what it wanted was complete and utter domination. Omicron sniffled helplessly, half-aware he was leaking out of more than one orifice but too punch-drunk to do much about it. His breath caught fitfully in his throat and he-..

“-idzhih.. HID’ISSsshoo!.. huhh..”

Omicron leaned over to press hands over his eyes, his palms coming away wet. He was normally a one-and-done guy, with fairly normal-sized sneezes; this many at this size had him light-headed. His breath hitched again, quick like the strike of a viper, before he let it go on a sigh. And another, just the same. It felt like hiccups. He didn’t dare touch his nose, too wary of setting off the wrath of this thing deep inside him. Instead he just sniffled pitifully, catching his breath.

There was a tap on his shoulder. He glanced askance to a sheepish looking Dr. Voster who was offering a box of tissues. He snatched several, still too dazed to be properly embarrassed as he blew a wet, crackling sound into the wad of them. It took a few rounds, but when he finished he cleared his throat and blinked at her with teary eyes.

“What the fuck, Anita.”

“Sorry,” she winced, and she actually did seem sorry. “I wanted to test the ‘suggestible’ variable and you reacted more strongly than I anticipated. Also, um.. bless you, by the way.”

He sat back against the seat with a stuffy sniffle, arms crossed, and now that he was more aware of himself, valiantly fighting down the urge to blush. “Yes, well. You were just doing your job, so I can’t be mad.”

She hedged a nervous smile. “Can’t be, or shouldn’t be?”

He gusted a long sigh, reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose when somehow even the rumble of his own voice stirred the residual dust of another sinus-deep tickle. “Do you need to test anything else, or can I go?”

His voice had lost most of its resonance from the sneeze attack as the congestion set in -- not yet enough to blunt his consonants but enough to dull the overall sound. Moisture skated down the side of his nose and Omicron wrinkled it with another snuffle that moved nothing at all. How could his nose be both dripping and completely blocked? He indulged a rub this time, soothing his nostrils to stillness with the tempering back-and-forth of his index finger.

The doctor’s voice broke the quiet. “How does it feel?”

Omicron peered up at her, finger still held to his upper lip. “Pardon?”

“Your nose,” she clarified, but not by much. “How does it feel?” He scoffed and stood to leave. She stood to stop him, holding both hands out as if to placate him. “I’m not teasing you. I really do need to know. Are you in pain?”

“No,” he said, chest lifting with another short sniff. He pressed harder against his septum, rubbing in earnest now as the tickle began gathering momentum. It stalled against the wrangling touch, but didn’t back down. “No pain.”

“But it does tickle?”

“I believe we’ve estahh..hkrrrm!” He cleared his throat to steady his voice. “.. established that, yes.”

She eyed him, her gaze trailing down to the finger glued beneath his nose. “You shouldn’t try to hold them off, Omicron. It might be why your sneezing earlier was so extreme.”

All this talk of sneezing was just emboldening the tickle. It’s like the sensation was surging forward, eager to answer to the call of its name. His eyes fluttered closed and he pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth to try and waylay another gasping breath. His nostrils pulsed against his finger, prompting him to pinch them instead, but still they tried to flare against his grip. He heard Dr. Voster sigh.

“I don’t know why they picked you for this mission,” she muttered, just loud enough to be heard. “If you’re too shy to sneeze, you’re going to lose your target pretty much instantly.”

His eyes sliced open, as defiant as his nose still squirming between his fingers. His voice was bottled back in his throat completely. “I’b dnot shy, I’b.. I’b jhhss.. hooh..”

The tickle hijacked his voice, tremoring it on a snatchy inhale. It prickled ominously behind his eyes, insistent, and Omicron stayed perfectly still in an effort to tame it. Even with his nose plugged and his fervent attempts to rub the sensation away, the tickle persisted. It dragged another breath in on a soft gasp, out on another dreading utterance.

“.. H-Ihih!.. ohh..”

“You’re so stubborn,” said Dr. Voster, and he could hear her rolling her eyes. He’d known her for years, and while he tried to rise above her goading taunts, there always came a point when she got to him.

Omicron let go of his nose and took as long and deep of a breath as he could through his trembling nostrils. The tickle welcomed it, greedily advancing, and rather than prolong the fight Omicron simply braced his hands on his knees to keep his balance as the sensation built inside him. As Dr. Voster so strangely asserted during his last volley, he and this virus were a team. He wouldn’t see the success of this mission without it.

It was this thought that compelled him to breathe again, a sniff that coasted directly into a gasp. He waited, hovering on the edge of it, but the sneeze backed away just before he could snatch it. Omicron squinted up at Dr. Voster, who was watching him with bald interest.

“Iihhff… hoo..” He sniffled, abandoning all dignity as he snubbed the wet edges of his nostrils against the sleeve of his suit. “If I let this tiH.. tiihckle ha..uuHUhh.. have its way ev..”

His eyes fluttered closed, and he snatched in a series of chuffing breaths. Each was a shrill gasp followed by a bleating exhale, utterly beyond his power to stop. The crescendo carried him into increasingly higher and faster octaves, before the sneeze ripped out of him with gusto.

“HAH’CHIZSHOO!-ohhhh..” He swayed on his feet, panting at the ground, and was shocked to find in the tingling aftermath how good that felt. It made it easier to let the next one swell and crash out of him. “..HIH’SSschoo!- fuck mbe..”

Omicron rarely swore aloud, but the power and sheer abandon of these sneezes were so unlike his usual that he couldn’t help it. Through the haze of another rising tickle, he tried to hurry through the rest of his thoughts before he completely forgot what he was saying.

“If I let it have.. hahve it’s wayiiiiee..ig’GIZZSCHue!!-hah... I’ll be sdnee.. sdiizz.. HIZZSSSHOO!!..ughh, sdeezig for..fuh! UH!hhh.. for days.” He finished on a sigh, unrelieved, one hand now holding desperately onto the chair so he didn’t end up on his knees.

Dr. Voster didn’t immediately speak and when he finally blinked away blurry tears, he found her biting her lip with a worried crease between her eyes. “.. Do you always sneeze like this when you catch a cold?”

Even the very word caused his nose to buzz. His willpower was all but shredded, so he clamped onto the chair with his other hand and threw his head down with a body-shaking, “IID’DZZSSSSSTTH!!”

It was an unfortunate sneeze, one that painted his tie and the seat of the chair with its aftermath. Omicron didn’t have the energy to blush about it; honestly, this was all Anita’s fault so if he happened to catch her furniture in the crossfire of his helpless sneezing fit he.. heeeeeeee-

“HEEZZZSHOOO!!” He stumbled forward into a suspended tray of implements that crashed to the ground in a tremendous clatter. Omicron paid it no mind, tilting his head back to the fluorescent lights in an effort to keep his running nose at bay. “Ugh, won’t it st.. uh.. ohh.. hH!”

A bridge of pressure appeared beneath his septum, pressing firmly against it. He cracked his eyes open to find Dr. Voster beside him, her finger fearlessly anchored beneath his flaring nostrils. They threatened another revolt, under the tickle’s full command. That enduring, swelling force inside Omicron begged again for release and he gasped loudly against Dr. Voster.

“..hihHIT-!”

“Nope, nope, nope,” she muttered, pressing even harder against his nose. “Work with me here..”

Omicron had no idea if she was talking to him, or the virus, but both struggled to comply. The maddening prickle became tortuous. His nose cried out for relief, as the tickle played his sinuses like a fine instrument. Holding it back now seemed impossible. And to be frank, he was still a bit irked with Anita. He flicked his gaze up to the lights, sensitive enough that the bright flash of them set alight the simmering fuse inside him.

And, because he was a gentleman, he did try to warn her. “.. caahh.. cahhdd..”

“O, don’t you dare. I know you have more control than this, just-”

He heaved his way through an ominous buildup, letting the tickle dictate the pace of his breath until it brought him to the brink. His chest inflated, pressing against Dr. Voster as she fought to the end to keep him together. She pressed hard enough that he half-wondered if his nose would bruise, but no amount of pressure could tide it back. He threw both of them forward with a sneeze scraped up from the depths of his lungs.

“HAAAZZSCHHOOOO!!-ooohhhhh..”

His knees felt a bit weak after that one, but for the first time since he’d woken up that morning, his nose tingled with welcome relief. It would be brief, he was certain, but he’d take the reprieve while he had it. The satisfaction of the fit filled his head with a pleased emptiness as he teetered his way around the edge of the chair and dropped to sit there. He tried to catch his breath.

“Agent Omicron, I swear to god,” groused Dr. Voster. He cracked his eyes open to see her ripping out more than a dozen tissues to throw at him. “You did that on purpose.”

He gathered them up and groaned wetly into the white bouquet. His voice was an achy croak. “I had no control over that, I promise you..”

Dr. Voster washed her hands at the sink and joined him on her stool when she finished. By that time, he’d managed to make himself somewhat presentable. His suit was a bit of a lost cause, but with luck the stains would dry into something less noticeable before his flight.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she said, and there was a serious quality to her question. “Do you always sneeze like this when you catch cold?”

Omicron shook his head, bringing another bunch of tissues to his face to blow. ‘Sore throat’ may not have been an intended symptom, but it soon would be if he kept shouting sneezes on the hour. He massaged his sinuses through the thin paper, already hopelessly stuffed up as he tried to suck in a sniffle. It just made him cough.

Dr. Voster was muttering beside him. “.. may have hit you harder than intended..”

“Whad was that?” he asked. He didn’t bother masking the reproach in his tone. She sighed and adjusted her glasses.

“I said, I may have underestimated how reactive you’d be,” she admitted. “You rarely sneeze, so I thought your sinuses weren’t sensitive.”

“I have to sdneeze all the time,” Omicron admitted in turn with a sawing rub beneath his nostrils. “I’b just good at holding themb back.”

Dr. Voster stared at him a moment, then bent over her knees with a sound of pure frustration. “Omicron. You should have TOLD me that in the INTAKE INTERVIEW.”

Omicron startled in his seat, sputtering with insult. “Are you tryi’g to make this mby fault? I answered all your questions honestly!”

“I asked you if you sneeze a lot when you’re sick and you said no!!”

“Thad’s because I DON’D!”

His throat didn’t take kindly to the treatment and he turned away to cough. He yanked out more tissues, determined to free his consonants with a noseblow. Nothing moved, and all he got was another threatening jab from the tickle for his trouble. Oh, please not again, he thought, blinking at the sensation.

“Then what do you call this, O? Are you sneezing for fun?”

Anita’s voice called him briefly back to his ire. “I almost never sneeze this much when I’m sick! In fact I sdneeze more when I’m well, I-..”

He stopped, and Dr. Voster watched him with bare worry as he wrestled with what could be another punishing sneezing fit. Omicron learned his lesson from before, and he didn’t try to fight it at all. Just gave himself over to the feverish tickling until it snagged his breath in one fell swoop.

“H-ih.. TZSshoo!”

He waited briefly for another, but none came and Omicron could have wept with relief. That was far closer to what he’d expected at the start of this experiment. He wiped his nose with a tissue and was unsurprised to find the skin was already getting sore. His skin was prone to chafing with too much friction, which was just as inconvenient as it sounded.

Dr. Voster frowned at him. “Was that..?”

“My usual, yes,” Omicron verified with a sigh. He was numb to the embarrassment of discussing this by now.

“Okay.” Dr. Voster folded her hands in her lap and with a deep breath, marshaled herself. “Okay, okay. This.. is salvageable. I just have to create an antidote, or maybe a diluting agent, and then maybe I can administer a weaker dose before..” She glanced at her watch and hung her head in defeat. “.. you leave in less than an hour.”

Omicron gave her a half-lidded stare over his tissues. “You didn’t create an antidote?”

Dr. Voster threw her arms up and shot up from her chair to pace. “No, Omicron! No, I didn’t. It’s a cold. It’s a harmless, nose-oriented cold at that. Barely a case of the sniffles. But apparently you have the most delicate sinuses of all mankind because my dose was too strong and now you’re-”

She glanced over at Omicron to find him in a state of sneezy limbo, no longer listening as his nostrils twitched their way to a consuming finale. He stuttered a few breaths, each exhale a sound of unwitting surprise when the sneeze didn’t come. It took longer than Omicron wanted, but he finally got it.

“DZSSSH!” Another pitchy gasp, the corners of his mouth flinching upward in the barest hint of a relieved smile as he vented one down on his lap. “TSSschoo!! ahhh, tha’g you..”

Omicron wasn’t even sure who he was talking to, the tickle or his nose, but each succinct release felt wonderful and left him spent in a way that relaxed him. It seemed if he didn’t try to stop them, they would come in much more manageable waves. Hmm.. maybe that meant if he held them off, he could get another one of those punishing volleys when he needed one. It would depend on the target’s preferences.

“Omicron, are you listening?”

He glanced up to find a fretful Dr. Voster, her hair loose from her ponytail and lab coat a little askew. He sniffed. “No, sorry. What did you say?”

“I’m going to recommend we ground you,” she said. Omicron froze, uncertain if he heard right, but jumped to his feet when she snatched up her phone. “We can’t risk this compromising you.”

He tried to grab her phone from her, but she dodged. “What are you talking about? I thought that was the point.”

“The point was to give you a reliable way to sneeze,” she clarified, quickly typing something out with her thumbs. “Not make you a liabilit-HEY!”

Omicron managed to liberate her phone and held it high above to keep it out of reach as he tried to reason with her. He sniffed again when he felt his nose begin to run, and blinked against the throbbing reply of his nose-tickle. “Listen, Anita, I’ve been training for this mission for months. It’s our only chance t.. to..”

Her eyes narrowed as his fluttered. “You have to sneeze right now, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, but I’m telling you I’m hh!UHhh..” He sniffled again, fighting for composure. “.. I’m learning to work with it, alright?”

“If you can go thirty seconds without sneezing, I’ll believe you.”

Omicron swallowed. Thirty seconds yesterday would have been nothing, but today? His nostrils flared at even the suggestion. If he wasn’t certain viruses had no capacity for thought, let alone emotion, he would claim this tickle had a mind of its own and a chip on its shoulder. It was always simmering somewhere in the recesses of his sinuses, but the moment he committed to staving it off, it surged forward with pure intention.

Somehow, he could tell he’d be in for another seismic sneezing fit if he tried any tricks to keep it back, so he let his eyes fold shut. Rather than increments of jumping breaths, this sneeze was a smooth slide into fruition. He drew in a dreamy breath and felt his nostrils ease wide. Then-

“HETZChuu!” It was cleansing, a reset that cleared his mind. He welcomed another. “h-hHEH!h.. ohhH!hh..”

The urge abandoned him, and of course the moment he wanted to sneeze, he couldn’t. Clearing his throat, he realized with a measure of chagrin that when he sneezed, he hadn’t done more than turn his head. Where had his manners gone? The urges were so immediate, he could scarcely think of anything else.

Dr. Voster snatched the phone from his hand. “That wasn’t even fifteen seconds! I’m calling HQ.”

“Anita!” he growled, and darted forward. The two of them ended up in a spontaneous spar. While Dr. Voster was rarely on the field, she was trained in hand-to-hand as well as he was. They exchanged a series of blocks, strikes, kicks, dodges, and by the time Omicron wrestled her into a hold on the linoleum, they were both breathless. Splayed out on her back, he huffed heavy breaths into her hair. The silken strands ruffled in the gusts.

She threw him a dirty look from the corner of her eye. “Let me go, Omicron.”

“Not until you let go of this notion that I’m incapable of fulfilling this mission, Anita,” he leveled back at her. “It’s unlike you to worry like this.”

Her glare darkened; she didn’t like his choice of words, but didn’t deny it. “I oversensitized you. It will be my fault if you collapse in an uncontrollable sneezing fit and get captured by the enemy.”

He scoffed. “Is that all? I didn’t sneeze once during our spar and, in case you haven’t noticed, I’ve got you in a lock on the ground. Not to mention the mission is information extraction. If I attract unwanted attention, that would be my own mistake.”

She said nothing in return, which prompted Omicron to slide off of her. Together they sat up, still sitting on the floor together. She tucked hair behind her ear, refusing to look at him. He sighed. “Anita..”

She shot him a side glance. “.. are you seriously going through with it?”

“Of course,” he replied, twitching his nose to one side. The tickle rippled, and he sniffled in response. Out of habit he reached up to rest his finger beneath. “If the target enjoys this as much as sources claim, th-h!.. then it’ll beeeeh-”

He tucked his finger more tightly to his septum, only realizing his mistake after the tickle churned restlessly against the tender, tortured edges of his sinuses. “Oh, fuck mHH-.. HIH!hh.. uhh… UH..”

Dr. Voster made a noise of exasperation and he caught the sound of tissues getting snatched from the box. As he gasped and groaned his way through another incredible buildup, a flurry of softness enveloped his squirming nose. He cupped his hand over hers as he flinched forward into their shared grip.

“iiiIHH’GGZSSCHOO!..oohhh, uhduther-..” He caught his breath in a desperate gasp, straight from the bottom of his belly. When he crunched forward, he heard a couple seams rip in his shirt. “AAHHDZZSCHOO!!”

“I guess I should said bless you,” grumbled Dr. Voster. She wiggled the tissues around his nose, which remained twitchy. He had yet to open his eyes. “Are you done?”

He shook his head.

“One more?”

He paused to consider, then nodded. And after another terrific gasp, the force of his doubling-over wrenched their hands down toward his lap. “EEHTTZZSSSCHOOO!!.. ohhh, wow..”

Omicron nearly shivered at the pleasant, tingling aftermath. Why did they always feel so good? The bigger the better, even if they winded him. Dr. Voster left him with the tissues as he muzzily blew his nose. He kept his head down for a moment to let the dizziness ease, so he was still facing his lap when he opened his eyes.

Oh. That was new. Side effect of the virus, perhaps..?

Omicron darted his eyes to the doctor, but she was already up on her feet and brushing off her coat. She hadn’t seen - his first and only stroke of luck today. Because if she thought his violent sneezing was grounds for calling off the mission, his sudden sneeze-induced half-chub would definitely warrant a mortifying and career-destroying advisory call to HQ. He rushed to adjust himself as she turned away, and then both of them jumped when the door opened.

“ - yes, yes, just tell them to fax it,” Agent Delta was saying, attention still focused on someone else in the hall. Omicron scrambled to his feet, standing at attention as Dr. Voster filed beside him, just as Delta turned to them both. He clapped his hands together. “Ah, there they are! Case 28947!”

That was the case number to which they were assigned, and the very case that would see Omicron leaving for the airport in the next.. his eyes flew to the clock on the wall.. twelve minutes. That’s probably why Delta was here.

“How’s our experiment? A success?” He strolled over to Omicron, over whom he held a few inches. Omicron stood his ground, resolving not to drop his eyes when Delta jovially scanned his features. His gaze lingered on Omicron’s nose. “Looks like it was.”

“It was.” Dr. Voster and Omicron briefly locked eyes before she continued. “It’s.. functioning as intended.”

“Really?” asked Delta, impressed. Dr. Foster preened under that look, in spite of the circumstances. The senior agent looked between the two of them with a polite smile. “I suppose you wouldn’t mind me testing it as well?”

Again Omicron and Anita met eyes. This time, Omicron cleared his throat and nodded his reply. “If you wish, sir.”

Delta scratched his cheek thoughtfully, studying Omicron in silence until the shorter agent couldn’t help but sniff. He also couldn’t help the need to briefly wrinkle his nose afterward. Delta grinned.

“From how it was described, it must tickle pretty bad in there, huh?” he said, nodding to Omicron’s nose. It must be blushed pink by now, if not darker. He waited for Delta to continue, and then realized that his superior was waiting for an answer.

Much as it humiliated him to say it, he replied, “It does, sir.”

“Mmm,” Delta hummed thoughtfully, and to the man’s credit he sounded a little sympathetic. “It must feel like.. hm, how did your poetic literature put it, Doctor? What was it?.. Liiike..”

Dr. Voster, who was busy putting her hair back up into its customary ponytail, darted an apologetic glance toward Omicron. Well, it wasn’t her fault. Omicron knew what literature Delta referenced and it was only part of protocol for her to write something thorough for their records.

“Like feathers.”

“That’s right, like feathers,” Delta continued, shifting on his feet in front of Omicron. His eyes never left his subordinate’s face. “Constantly and tirelessly petting the inside of one’s nose.”

The words seemed hypnotic to Omicron because he could feel it. He could feel those feathers, stroking so gently and repeatedly against the far depths of his sinuses. Somewhere deep, somewhere too far to scratch. They were careful with the fragile nerves there, but dauntless in their purpose. To make him sneeze. And sneeze.. And sneeze…

Omicron’s eyes fluttered shut, his breath deepening as his nostrils flared softly to the siren call of those thoughts. His hands remained firmly clasped behind him.

Delta continued as if he didn’t notice. “Yes. An ever-present irritation in the most sensitive depths, coaxed to greater and greater strength by your breath. Isn’t that ironic? That you yourself are the catalyst to this growing fire inside you, cursed to fan the flames even in sleep.”

Did it start while I was asleep last night? Omicron wondered. Because when he woke, it was to an itchy nose. So itchy in fact he snorted, sniffed, and rubbed it with such single-mindedness he nearly forgot he was due to Dr. Voster’s lab today. He breathed now, a slow and reverent inhale that squeaked around his blocked sinuses and added speed to the stroking sensation of those silken feathers.

His lips parted, his chest jumping with a sudden breath. He sighed it out, the ghost of a moan carried on his exhale.

“And once it starts, it is nigh impossible to stop. That tickle won’t let you. No matter how badly you might want a reprieve, those feathers are mindless. You can’t reason with them. They’ll just keep at their work, teasing and teasing that aching flesh until..”

The tickle buoyed him through a catching gasp. Omicron sighed again, his voice carrying, wanting. Another cresting gasp, the wave of something reachable, and then he fell short again. His nostrils pulsed plaintively, begging what dwelled inside to give him relief. But Omicron didn’t mind this limbo, this torture. He knew what came after would be well worth the wait.

“.. agitating.. working you over.. beckoning you with a relentless tickle.. until you can take it no longer.”

His chest swelled, and what he thought might be another forsaken gasp turned into the exclamation of climax. “HAH-.. BBZSSSSCHHUUHH!”

The first one came, because of course there would be more, and he snatched an arm around his middle when there was a strong, delicious undulation of pleasure deep in his gut. He groaned, his voice deep and gravelly and unfamiliar to his ears.

“Whoa!” came Delta’s exclamation. He sounded shocked. “That sure was something. Omicron, bless-”

“HEH-.. BBZSSSHHOO!.. nnnnghh.”

These were smooth as butter - one big, long, scooping breath and then a knee-shaking release. He sniffled thickly, wetly, with his eyes shut in concentration. Omicron wanted another, and this time the tickle delivered. Those invisible feathers rustled like wheat in a windstorm, and he caught himself grinning as he gasped another huge breath.

“HHHH!.. EHDZZSSSHUUE!!”

He swayed forward as another cramp of ecstasy swirled in his gut, and Omicron felt a strong hand brace his shoulder to keep him from tipping over.

“Is he okay?” was one faint voice.

“Yes, just-” came another.

Omicron sneezed.

“HIIH!.. IIHTDZZSSSHHHTT!! .. fuck.”

That one was particularly wet, fired haphazardly at the floor like the rest. It also contracted in a burst of stars behind his groin so intense that Omicron became instantly and fearfully aware that he would actually come in his pants if he kept this up. And holy shit he didn’t want that to happen. Not here. Not now.

He jerked his free hand out, holding it expectantly toward the voices. With tremendous effort, he tried to be understood. “Tiih.. Tiizzusss.. HUH-”

“One second, one second!!” he heard Anita’s tempering assurances over the rush of blood in his ears.

And the rush of ticklish sensation through his nose. He couldn’t get the visual of feathers out of his head. Delta, damn him. All Omicron could see behind the dark of his wet eyelids was a field of pristine, white, downy feathers positioned diabolically against every inch of his nasal walls. The tips of them wavered each time he hitched a stuttery inhale, and huffed a helpless exhale. They were devoid of life beyond that which he gave them, breathing intent into them as they swayed against swollen, irritated flesh. He could picture his nasal membranes flinching helplessly against the onslaught, crying out to him for relief. And he would give it-

“hH-.. uHH’TZZZSSSHHOOOO!!”

The feathers fluttered wildly and his nose calmed with a prickling balm, sated. Until he sniffled against the slogging block of congestion in his nose and what little air there was eeked through and-.. the feathers trembled, dragging their soft tips gingerly against his quivering flesh, an endless torment, so subtle yet compounding in its simplicity because he could feel the echoes of that tantalizing sensation all through his nose and as he snuffled against the feeling, the feathers trembled again as if in eagerness, excitement, their tendrils tracing long worn paths on fraught nerves as the aching pressure built and built in his nose, deep inside, and oh-.. ohh-

“hHHHHH-”

“Oh no you don’t.”

The sudden presence of a hand over his nose surprised him, frightened the sneeze away, and Omicron felt an irrational pang of frustration when his gasp escaped from him with a gutteral hhuhh unrelieved. He realized in retrospect that the voice was Dr. Voster, and the hand belonged to her too. He also realized, in a wash of cold sweat, that he was achingly hard where his prick was tucked into his belt.

“Blow your nose, Omicron.”

He struggled to comply. A hitching breath got out of his control, only emboldening the tickle, and again he thought of the feathers. They were everywhere, impossible to blow out, and they’d just keep… keep-

“RRZZSSSSCHH’HOO!”

It tore out of him with a passion, and the pleasure washed over him so fiercely he would have gone to his knees had Delta not stepped in to catch him. Omicron panicked, bursting into motion to put distance between himself and the others. They let him go, only for him to stumble backwards onto his ass. The impact shook an impending sneeze out the queue, and Omicron had a moment to collect his bearings.

He quickly got to his hands and knees, trying to keep his crotch pointed to the floor. He was still painfully hard, but thankfully he hadn’t managed to sneeze himself into orgasm. Now that he had his wits, he realized he still had the wad of tissues in his hand. He brought them to his face and blew as hard as he could, concentrating only on the act of getting something out rather than thinking too hard about what was happening inside.

Adrenaline and humiliation were quick and quiet boner killers; any residual arousal swirling in his thoughts extinguished as he assessed his situation. He was somewhat sweaty, stained with a few of his own sneezes, and his damn nose still tickled. Omicron threw caution to the wind and rubbed it with fast, punishing pressure against his septum, as if to admonish it. Rather than chance a sniffle, he breathed only through his mouth as he climbed to his feet.

Both Dr. Voster and Agent Delta regarded him warily. Omicron straightened his vest, his jacket, and smoothed back his hair where it had fallen into his eyes.

“Pardod be,” he rasped, still breathless. He coughed into his fist to clear his throat.

Delta’s features eased into genuine concern. The man’s flippant nature notwithstanding, he did care about his people. “Agent, are you alright?”

“Of course,” insisted Omicron. He cleared his throat again. “Just fine. Why?”

“Well, that just..” Delta looked over to Dr. Voster, who was refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. “.. it seemed very intense, don’t you think? Doctor?”

The doctor startled at her name, then reached to adjust her glasses. She looked now at Omicron, her expression as hard and firm as her voice. “Yes, I agree. And I would recommend..”

Here, Omicron bit his tongue. If Anita really did want to rat him out, he’d only dig his own grave if he tried to deflect. But then her eyes softened.

“.. that Agent Omicron desist from triggering the suggestion impulse until this initial sensitivity wears off.”

Tension left his shoulders. He closed his eyes briefly in relief.

Delta rubbed the back of his neck, contrite. “Oh. Sorry, I didn’t realize it was an issue. You should have told me!”

“I wasn’t aware it was a pattern until you tried it, sir,” said Dr. Voster. She crossed her arms and nodded toward Omicron. “And with all due respect, sir, you should really apologize to Agent O.”

Delta turned to him with dewy puppy-dog eyes and Omicron wanted to evaporate out of embarrassment. He didn’t do well with anything sentimental and at times his superior was pure sentimentality. “Forgive me, Omicron. I hope I didn’t cause you any distress. I’m sure that wasn’t comfortable.”

On the contrary, thought Omicron, but admitting anything even close to the truth made his tongue wither. His cheeks burned, and to add further indignity, he sniffled. The brief, tickling swell prompted him to thumb the end of his nose to encourage good behavior.

“Not at all, sir. Please don’t trouble yourself over it.”

Delta clapped him companionably on the shoulder, and when he turned toward Dr. Voster, Omicron leaned around him to throw a scathing look her way. She only smiled. That prompted apology was likely just her getting some revenge. To be frank, the new complication of sneeze-induced arousal would absolutely complicate the mission, but Omicron begged to be given a case like this for months. More than a year, even. He’d take the risk rather than give this up.

Besides, it wasn’t his fault his nose couldn’t calm down. He didn’t conduct a half-baked intake interview and design an overpowered tickle virus, so why should he be the one to suffer the consequences? Beyond those he was already suffering, he supposed.

Once again, thinking too much about it summoned the tickle forth. Omicron refused to get stuck in another self-perpetuated sneeze-cycle, so he focused only on the wall as the urge lapped at the edges of his sinuses. Oh, the ones that made him wait were the worst.

“.. to it that we grab your luggage on the way to the jet,” Delta was saying. He still had his hand on Omicron’s shoulder and squeezed when he got no response. “You already packed right?”

Omicron took a breath to reply, but it hitched in his throat. Then rushed out with a soft uhh that he couldn’t suppress. Gone were the days when he could quietly build up to a sneeze; it seemed this virus wanted everybody to know as soon as his nose started to tickle. He fought to keep his eyes open, and his ears from flushing red.

“.. yeh..hssirr..”

Delta’s smile tilted back into concerned territory, and he rubbed Omicron’s shoulder. “Looking a little sneezy, Agent. Try not to knock yourself down this time.”

Omicron huffed a laugh that trembled into a gasping inhale, a fitful exhale, an even more urgent inhale-.. “-uUHH!” and then left him on a frustrated sigh. He rubbed his face with both hands. “Fuck,” he mumbled. Then his head shot up in alarm. “Oh-.. ah, sir-...”

Agent Delta only laughed, booming and cheerful as he slid his arm further across Omicron’s shoulders to give him a jostling side-hug. “Don’t worry, Agent. These are extenuating circumstances, I’ll let that it slide.”

Omicron nodded as he was jerked around by Delta’s strength, reaching up to push his hair back when it fell out of style again. His nose was still tingling, unrelieved, and he scrunched it with exasperation. Sneeze or don’t sneeze, won’t you?

“Off we go!” crowed Delta, escorting Omicron toward the door while still under his arm. He looked back to Dr. Voster. “I’ll be with him on the flight, so we’ll let you know if there are any case developments.”

He tightened his hold when he said this, and Omicron fought down a flash of annoyance that Delta probably meant any developments with Agent Omicron’s nose. Speaking of which…

Omicron let his eyes roll shut as Delta led him into the hall, their footsteps echoing down the corridor. He was saying something, probably about the jet, but Omicron let the words wash over him just as he let the tickle wash through his nose. Wary of what might happen, he strayed away from thinking too much about feathers. Instead, he thought of dust motes. A dandelion seed. Something small and irritating and hopelessly stuck somewhere deep inside him. Whatever it was, this thing wanted to escape. It squirmed and twisted, fluttered its wings or flicked its tail. The throbbing urgency of Omicron’s tender pink membranes wouldn’t deter it, neither would the gradual unsteadiness of his breath. He exhaled, yearning.

“..uh-..”

The invader redoubled its efforts, writhing against his most sensitive places. He couldn’t-.. he..

“.. huhh-..”

If only he could reason with it, but on a baser level, Omicron didn’t want to. He wanted it to flap and struggle, tickle and itch, uncontrollable and impossible to satiate. Fan the flames of this urge so feverish that he couldn’t do anything but-

“HAH-!”

Omicron found himself smiling again, delirious as he breathed into this unstoppable force. He was completely helpless to its thrall. This thing in him, nuzzling and ruffling and bothering his nose so fervently, dotingly, sweeping him up with its caress. He.. oh-.. oh-!

“S’combi’g-” He gasped out, if only just to himself. The breathy word preceded an absolutely euphoric sneeze. “WRIZZSSSSHUUU’uoohhhh…”

Omicron stayed as he was, one hand cupped to his nose and the other bracing his middle. Another dagger of pleasure had stabbed him through, but it was fast to dissipate as he sniffled into his palm. The way his nose tingled signaled a temporary relief. Omicron couldn’t decide if he was disappointed by this or not.

“Goodness, bless you!” Omicron jumped. Delta stood beside him, both hands in his pockets now, looking amused. Omicron had forgotten he was there. “That was a big one! Sounds like you worked your way up to it.”

Why was Omicron cursed with the chattiest superior Agent in the force? He snuffled again behind his hand, by habit searching his pockets for a handkerchief or a restaurant napkin, anything. He paused when Delta extended a travel pack of tissues.

“Thought you might need these, so I brought a few packs along.”

“.. Tha’g you.”

Omicron took it with grace, turning around so he could use both hands. He blew his nose yet again, dismayed with the sheer amount of moisture he was capable of producing. At this rate he’d need to stay hydrated. Once he finished up, he turned back to Delta to find him extending a small bottle of hand sanitizer. He eyed the other man.

“You can’t actually catch this, sir.”

“I know, Agent, but the public won’t know that,” he said, as carefree as ever. “And even if you’re not actually sick, better to keep your hands clean, mm? And maybe try the vampire trick too.” Here he demonstrated by lifting his elbow and tucking his nose in.

Omicron burned with the embarrassment of having his lackadaisical sneezing addressed in such an obvious way. Normally he was very thorough with his hygiene practices. He sneezed into his elbow or better, a handkerchief if he had one. He washed his hands frequently and properly. Something about this tickle just emptied his head of all sense when it came over him. It was a miracle he’d managed to even cup a hand to his mouth just now. He didn’t remember doing that.

So he could only nod, his cheeks burning, as he took the bottle and copiously applied. The stringent scent bloomed in the air. Delta could probably tell he was upset because he gave the shorter agent a lighthearted slap on the back. “You’re usually very conscientious. Just a gentle reminder, agent.”

Omicron nodded again, this time with a yip of surprise as his eyes slammed closed. Suddenly his nose was frenzied, filled to the brim with that strong, alcoholic smell. It burned, so sharp it brought tears to his eyes as he rushed his elbow to his face. Unlike the other sneezes of this morning, this itch wasn’t indulgent. It was almost brutal.

“Chssh-! Tschh!” Even without muffling into his jacket, they would have been small. Smaller than his normal sneezes, even. They were fittish, barely letting him up for air. “Itschh! HHtschh!.. uh-.. TSSH’hee!!.. fucking hell..”

It only lasted seconds, over as suddenly as it began, and Omicron picked his head up blearily. He sniffled, coughing again at the remaining scent on his hands as he fished out another tissue and nursed his nose. Stupid thing was so needy now, he couldn’t even use hand sanitizer without a complaint. Belatedly he realized he’d cursed in front of his superior again.

When he looked at Delta, the man was regarding him thoughtfully. Not his usual fond musing sort of look either. The kind of discerning expression that awarded him the rank he currently held. Omicron’s blinked at him, wide eyed over the edge of his tissues.

“S-Sorry for sweari’g, sir..”

Delta stirred from wherever he’d been, and dropped into a polite smile. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s alright, Omicron, I honestly don’t mind. But, I’ll ask this again: are you alright?”

Omicron blinked at him again, owlish. “Me, sir?”

Delta chuffed an airy chuckle. “Yes, agent, you. You’re sure this..” He warred over his words, trying to pick the best ones. “I know you’ve been waiting a long time for this opportunity, but are you sure? About this?”

Omicron bristled, and he was certain Delta could tell. He finished up with his nose, balling up the tissue and foregoing hand sanitizer this time. “Respectfully, why wouldn’t I be sure, sir?”

“This science isn’t exact,” Delta told him. His voice was lower now, the proper tone of a superior officer. “Dr. Voster is a genius, but this is the first time we’ve tried something like this. There’s bound to be a margin of error. So I’m asking you again, Agent Omicron..” Here he fixed his subordinate with a firm stare. “.. are you sure about doing this right now, as you are, in this state?”

Omicron didn’t have to think about it. He merely drew himself up to a force-standard posture and looked Delta in the eyes without flinching. “Yes, sir. Very sure.”

Delta held his stare, but when Omicron didn’t buckle, he sagged where he stood. With a long sigh, he once again patted Omicron’s shoulder. “Alright, agent. But if you change your mind or if you become compromised, you must be honest and tell me immediately. Am I understood?”

Omicron just barely managed to resist twitching his nose; he could feel it wanting attention, but didn’t want to give Delta any reason to doubt him. “Of course, sir.”

Delta gave him a jaunty thumbs up, back to his usual lofty cheer. “Grand! I’ll take you at your word.” He turned away, beginning to stride down the corridor with expectation Omicron would follow. “Now, we ought to get a move on. They’ve got the jet idling and you know how they are about the fuel budget..”

Agent Delta carried on, blind to his subordinate keeping step behind him. Omicron absently, then more purposefully, rubbed his nose. The skin was starting to sting, no doubt ready to peel by tomorrow like sunburn. The tickle stretched languidly, lazily working Omicron up to another toe-curling sneeze. The hedonist in him wanted to welcome it.

However, he had nearly twelve hours on a jet to contend with, surrounded by other personnel. And he was certain now after that little conversation with Delta that the man would be watching Omicron carefully from here on out. If he noticed anything suspicious, he’d ground the mission and take Omicron off the case without remorse. He couldn’t let it happen, not after how hard he’d fought for this.

His nostrils flared against his finger, a premature warning to what was brewing. But Omicron knew, and he was prepared for the impending battle. It wouldn’t be easy, but he fully intended to negotiate with his nose and keep sneezing to nil on the flight. Almost nil, if he couldn’t hold out. Again his nostrils flared, as if playfully chiding him. You’re not in control, his nose seemed to say. I am.

Well, thought Omicron as he stepped out of the jet bay and into the sunshine. The jet sat waiting on the tarmac, a flurry of activity around it. We’ll just see about that.

/tbc??

I’m not sure if I’ll continue it, but I hope you had fun reading!! Part 2 is in the works!

PART 2 IS HERE!

#snz kink #snz #snzblr #snz fic #snzfic #scatterfic #original characters #snzfucker #omicron verse

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you-have-a-metal-arm · 9 months ago

Text

‘Til The End of The Line

Pairing: Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Mentions of blood, shooting and getting hurt

Summary: You get injured in a mission, and Bucky cannot bear to see you in such state.

Author's Note: Please do not copy or translate my work. English is not my first language, so please understand grammar or spelling mistakes.

I am so sorry for being gone (school’s been killing me)

I appreciate every feedback! Thank you for reading, enjoy!

“Ready to kick some ass, kiddo?” Steve’s voice was calm, almost soothing, but you could hear the adrenaline beneath his words as the two of you adjusted your parachutes. The jet engines hummed around you, a subtle reminder of the mission ahead.

You grinned, giving your suit one last check and tightening your grip on the gun in your hand. “Yeah, I’m gonna beat the shit out of them.”

Steve smiled, not bothering to correct your language. With him, you were always an exception.

Moments later, the wind was whipping against your face as you both jumped from the jet, splitting off into the night sky. Steve took the left wing—the more dangerous side—leaving you the right. Tony had assured you it was safer, but as you slid through the narrow gap in the door, the freezing cold hit you like a wall. The air inside was frigid, bitterly reminding you of Bucky’s stories about the winters he hated so much.

“As far as I can see, it’s clear here. How’s the situation there?” Steve’s voice crackled through the comms, full of concern. You knew he cared for you deeply, saw you as the daughter he never had, and would have taken a bullet to ensure your safety.

“It’s clear here too, Cap,” you replied, trying to ease his worry.

“Let’s stick to the plan: I’ll draw out the agents while you head straight to the operations room and grab their file IV data.”

“Copy that. Be safe, Cap—and I mean it. If you need help, just call me.”

“I will, kiddo. Be safe yourself. And promise to call me if you need anything.”

“I promise. Let’s fucking go.”

You raced through the deserted corridors of the right wing, a dagger in one hand and a fully loaded gun tucked into your suit for emergencies. The cold air bit at your skin, the silence amplifying every footstep. Suddenly, a loud, thunderous noise echoed behind you. Instinctively, you thought it was Steve, but it wasn’t. The sound was coming from your side of the building.

Before you could react, you were ambushed by over twenty armed agents.

On the other side of the wing, Steve was facing his own battle. He tossed a grenade down a hallway, expecting a swarm of enemies, but only three agents rushed at him. Something was wrong. There should have been more.

“Shit,” you hissed into the comms, struggling against the overwhelming odds. Steve heard the panic in your voice, but he couldn’t respond—one of the agents had him in a chokehold. His grip tightened on the comms as he heard the unmistakable sound of gunfire, followed by a loud thud that made his blood run cold.

“Kiddo, you okay?” Steve managed to gasp out, but all he got in return was a pained groan.

“I’ll get to you in less than a minute, I promise,” he said, desperation creeping into his voice. He could hear your labored breathing through the comms, and it was tearing him apart.

“Steve…” Your voice was faint, each word a struggle.

“Hmm?” he replied, trying to sound reassuring despite the dread clawing at his chest.

“Are the comms… still being recorded?”

Steve’s heart sank. He knew what you were doing, and he hated it. “Yes, kiddo, if there weren’t any changes to the plans, it’s on record.”

You exhaled shakily, the breath catching in your throat. There was only one person you needed to reach out to. “Buck…”

As soon as Steve heard the name, he knew the weight of what you were about to say. Even after four years of being together, Bucky’s name still brought shivers to your spine, thick with emotion.

“If by any chance you get to listen to this, Buck—”

“Y/N, kiddo, no, you’re not dying. I won’t let that happen.”

“You don’t know that…” Your voice was helpless, a reflection of your dwindling strength.

“Just stay there. I’m on my way. Please, don’t give up on us.”

But a part of Steve knew this might be your last moment. It was an instinct, a gut-wrenching feeling that he couldn’t shake. So he didn’t stop you from saying what you needed to.

“If you get a chance to listen to this…” You fought to keep your eyes open, tears mingling with the blood on the cold metal floor. Your mind flashed with the future you had imagined—a life with Bucky, growing old together, watching your children grow up. “In another life, we might—maybe we could have grown old together.”

Steve’s heart clenched as your voice wavered. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, but he knew there was nothing he could do except listen.

“I wish I could have given you babies,” you continued, your voice cracking with emotion. “Watched them grow in our backyard… I’m sorry that I can’t be the one to give you that life.”

Your vision blurred as sleepiness started to consume you. You fought against it with everything you had, but the darkness was closing in. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry that this is how it ends for us… I’m really sorry.”

“And if this is how it really ends… Promise me you’ll find someone else to love, to open up to. Find someone else… Call someone else ‘doll.’ And don’t grieve too much.”

The darkness was overwhelming now. You felt it pulling you under, felt the life draining from your body as blood poured from your wounds. “You deserve to be happy… And the past doesn’t—doesn’t define you.”

Your last words were barely a whisper. “I… Love you, Buck. And I’m sorry I couldn’t say that more often.”

And then… silence. The darkness consumed you, and Steve heard nothing but the empty static of the comms. He refused to believe it, refused to accept that you were gone. He sprinted through the hallways, throwing open every door until he found you, lying motionless on the floor, your suit stained crimson with blood.

He scooped you up as if you weighed nothing, his legs pumping with every ounce of energy he had left. The jet’s engines hummed steadily, but inside the cabin, chaos reigned. Steve knelt beside you, his hands trembling as he assessed your injuries. The bullets had done their damage—one near your heart, another through your stomach, and the last through your left arm. Blood pooled beneath you, soaking through your suit.

“Kiddo, hang in there, please,” Steve murmured, his voice tight with fear. He grabbed the medical kit from the overhead compartment, spilling its contents across the floor. His hands worked quickly, tearing open a pack of gauze and pressing it firmly against the wounds. The bleeding was relentless, and he knew he needed to act fast to save your life.

You were pale, your breathing shallow and irregular. It was a miracle you were still breathing at all. Steve knew he had to stabilize you before they landed, or you wouldn’t make it. His mind raced through the limited medical training he had received—enough to get through emergencies, but nothing like this.

He fumbled with an IV kit, his hands shaking as he tried to insert the needle into your arm. Your veins were fragile, but after what felt like an eternity, he got it in. He attached a bag of saline solution, knowing it was only a temporary measure.

“Stay with me, kiddo. Buck won’t be so happy about this,” Steve whispered, his voice trembling. Your pulse was faint, but still there. He applied more pressure to the wound, checking if you were breathing again. It was labored, but there were no signs of a collapsed lung, thank God.

He grabbed the portable oxygen mask and gently placed it over your mouth and nose, adjusting the flow to give you the support you desperately needed. Your chest rose and fell slightly more steadily—a small victory amid the chaos.

With one hand still applying pressure to the wound, Steve fumbled with the jet’s communications system. “Friday, please check if the team is ready for immediate surgery.”

“Yes, sir. Mr. Stark has everything prepared, and Dr. Cho is on standby.”

“Can you connect me directly to Tony?”

“Connecting now, sir.”

“Cap, how is she?” Tony’s voice crackled through, tense with concern.

“I think I stabilized her. We’re landing in three minutes, max. Thank God this jet has autopilot, or else… she wouldn’t have made it.”

Tony was silent for a moment. It wasn’t the time for pride or self-congratulation. He was kicking himself for not being more cautious, for not having medics onboard, for underestimating the mission. You were the youngest, the brightest member of the Avengers, and he couldn’t bear to lose you.

Steve checked the wound again. The bleeding had slowed, but it hadn’t stopped. He packed the wound with more gauze, securing it tightly. You needed a blood transfusion, surgery—everything he couldn’t provide here. All he could do was keep you stable until they landed.

“Tony, do me one favor,” Steve said, his voice thick as he wiped the blood from your cheeks. “Please… Don’t let Bucky see her like this. He won’t be able to handle it.”

But Tony’s response was firm. “Sorry, Cap. James already knows. He’s waiting at the airbase. And he has the right to see her.”

Steve nodded, though his heart ached at the thought. “Okay, Tony, thanks… We’re almost there.”

The jet descended, the lights of the airbase coming into view. Steve cradled you close, whispering words of comfort that he wasn’t sure you could hear. “We’re going to make it, kiddo. Just hold on a little longer.”

As the jet landed, the hatch opened to reveal Tony, Dr. Cho, and Bucky. Bucky’s face was ashen, his eyes wide with fear as he took in the sight of you. Steve gently handed you over to Dr. Cho and her team, who rushed you to the medical bay. Bucky stood frozen, staring at the blood that covered Steve’s hands and suit.

“She’s alive, Buck,” Steve said softly, his voice raw with exhaustion. “But she needs you now more than ever. Don’t lose hope.”

Bucky nodded, swallowing hard. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t think beyond the sight of you lying there so still. He followed the team as they wheeled you into surgery, praying with everything he had left that you would survive this.

THANK YOU FOR READING!

THERE’S GOING TO BE A PART 2 by Sunday

Part 2 is up y’all

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cosmicpuzzle · 1 year ago

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Occupations Signified by each Planet 👩🏻‍💻💼💰💸

Sun: Politics, entertainers, military and army commanders, directors, Government officials, public servants, ministers, Prime Ministers, Presidents, Governors.

Moon: Nursing, babysitters, chefs, coast guard, navy, real estate agents, kindergarten teachers, import export, restaurants, clothing, grocery shop.

Mars: Dentist, surgeon, butcher, real estate builders, mechanical/civil engineers, cooks, bodyguards, army, military, airforce, chemists, mechanics, hair cutters, fabrication, marital arts, firefighters, masseuses.

Mercury: Accountants, bookkeepers, data analyst, all types of data work, teachers (especially school), consultants, writers, businessmen, traders, astrologers, speech therapist, language translators, bankers, media personnel, journalist, social media manager, mathematicians, computer operators, customer support, lawyers, coders, programmers, minister.

Jupiter: Lawyers, judge, priest, mentors, advisors, coach, sports coaches, teachers, professors (college level), financial consultants, legal counsel, travel agent, preachers, spiritual teachers, Gurus.

Venus: Artist, movie stars, celebrity, musicians, dancers, singers, jewelers, luxury car dealers, sweet shops, marriage counselor, interior designers, fashion designers, textiles, perfume dealers, air hostess, sex workers, makeup artist, brokers, painters, designers, holiday or vacation agents, ambassadors.

Saturn: Manual jobs, masonry, carpenter, iron or steel worker, geologist, servants, oil and gas worker, executioner, mortician, social service, gardener.

Rahu: Technology, programmers, scientist, nuclear management, toxic chemicals, anesthesia, visa agents, advertising, online jobs, online marketing, drug specialists, alcolol dealers, smartphone service.

Ketu: Astrologers, psychics, monks, nuns, medical workers, doctors, pin hole surgeons, charity, social service, mathematicians, clock and watch makers, black magicians.

For Readings DM

#astrology #astrology observations #zodiac #zodiac signs #astro community #astro observations #vedic astrology #astro notes #vedic astro notes #astrology community #career astrology #10th house

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deliciousangelfestival · 7 months ago

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Heartfelt Chase - Bucky

Character: agent!Bucky x female!agent

Summary: She tries to find an agent she secretly admires who went missing.

A/N: This story is inspired by the GIF. Lol. 😂

Also, it’s a fun break from the angsty political Bucky.

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

You work as a data analyst at the spy agency. The only reason you’re here is because of your father. You’ve always dreamed of being a field agent like him, especially since his top pupil is none other than Bucky.

You've admired Bucky for years—secretly watching his missions from your screen, hanging onto every move he made.

You've volunteered for every one of his missions, offering to be a bystander, even joking about pretending to be a tree. But the boss always shut you down.

And every time you asked Bucky directly, he’d just say, “It eases my mind if you stay here.”

One day, everything changed. The agency lost contact with Bucky during a mission. You immediately volunteered to go after him, but the boss looked terrified and said, “No. He’s going to kill me.”

You had no idea what that meant, but when nobody made a move, you took matters into your own hands.

You tracked down his last known location and discovered the missing piece: Bucky was tailing an arms dealer who had a bioweapon.

“Damn it!” you cursed under your breath. This wasn’t supposed to be you stumbling upon a hidden bioweapon. And to make matters worse, you had no backup. You were quickly captured.

Thrown into the back of a car, you were bombarded with questions. Your head spun, but you stuck to your story. “I don’t know anything. I’m just here to find my friend.”

The guy questioning you chuckled, clearly not buying it. “Searching for a friend and finding a nuclear bomb? Quite the coincidence.”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “Where are we going, anyway?” You glanced at the empty road stretching out ahead of you.

“Torture room,” he said casually.

“Fantastic,” you muttered. The whole situation was spiraling out of control, and in this moment of panic, the only person you could think about was Bucky. But where was he?

Suddenly, a loud boom echoed behind you. The car jerked, the windows rattling from the explosion.

“What the hell?” your captor yelled, glancing back.

Then you heard it—the unmistakable sound of a motorcycle engine roaring toward the car. You craned your neck to look out the window, heart racing, and there he was. Bucky.

You couldn’t believe it. “Bucky!”

Still driving, Bucky shot you a quick glance, irritation flickering across his face. “Didn’t I tell you to stay?”

“If you’d sent a message, I wouldn’t be here worrying about you!” you shot back.

Bucky sighed like this was the last thing he needed. He pulled out a weapon and aimed it under the car. “Put on your seatbelt!”

Without hesitation, you braced yourself. In seconds, the car flipped into the air, crashing back down with a heavy thud. The world spun again, and everything went silent.

Moments later, Bucky pulled up beside the wreck, dismounted his bike, and yanked the door open.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice gruff but laced with concern. His eyes betrayed more than he let on.

You groaned, unbuckling yourself. “Define ‘okay.’”

Bucky shook his head, clearly holding back a sigh. “This is exactly why I don’t want you in the field.”

You glared at him, hands on your hips. “I’m perfectly capable, Bucky! I tracked you down, didn’t I?”

He crossed his arms, staring down at you, his usual calm exterior barely hiding the concern underneath. “Yeah, and look what happened. You almost got killed.”

You threw your hands up. “You could’ve been killed too! That’s why I came—no one else was going to look for you!”

His expression softened for a brief second before he glanced away. “I can take care of myself.”

“And I can’t?” You shot back, taking a step toward him.

He paused, looking like he wanted to say something but hesitated. Finally, after a long silence, he muttered, “It’s not about what you can do. It’s about what I can’t handle.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his words. “What do you mean?”

He clenched his jaw, still avoiding your gaze. “I can’t handle the idea of you getting hurt."

Your breath caught in your throat. The gruff, distant Bucky was showing a side of him you hadn’t expected. For a moment, you couldn’t find the words.

“You... care about me?” you asked softly.

You stood there, heart pounding, completely at a loss for how to respond. But before you could say anything, Bucky turned back toward his bike, his usual stoic mask slipping back into place.

“Let’s get out of here before more trouble shows up,” he said, swinging his leg over the motorcycle.

Still stunned, you climbed onto the back of the bike, wrapping your arms around him. As the engine roared to life, you couldn’t help but smile, knowing that maybe—just maybe—this mission was worth all the danger.

Taglist: @thezombieprostitute, @scott-loki-barnes , @missvelvetsstuff , @mostlymarvelgirl , @kjah97 , @pattiemac1

#agent!bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky barnes au #james bucky buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #buckybarnes #bucky x f!reader #bucky x female!reader #bucky fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #marvel x reader #thunderbolts

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mariacallous · 3 months ago

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It feels like no one should have to say this, and yet we are in a situation where it needs to be said, very loudly and clearly, before it’s too late to do anything about it: The United States is not a startup. If you run it like one, it will break.

The onslaught of news about Elon Musk’s takeover of the federal government’s core institutions is altogether too much—in volume, in magnitude, in the sheer chaotic absurdity of a 19-year-old who goes by “Big Balls” helping the world’s richest man consolidate power. There’s an easy way to process it, though.

Donald Trump may be the president of the United States, but Musk has made himself its CEO.

This is bad on its face. Musk was not elected to any office, has billions of dollars of government contracts, and has radicalized others and himself by elevating conspiratorial X accounts with handles like @redpillsigma420. His allies control the US government’s human resources and information technology departments, and he has deployed a strike force of eager former interns to poke and prod at the data and code bases that are effectively the gears of democracy. None of this should be happening.

It is, though. And while this takeover is unprecedented for the government, it’s standard operating procedure for Musk. It maps almost too neatly to his acquisition of Twitter in 2022: Get rid of most of the workforce. Install loyalists. Rip up safeguards. Remake in your own image.

This is the way of the startup. You’re scrappy, you’re unconventional, you’re iterating. This is the world that Musk’s lieutenants come from, and the one they are imposing on the Office of Personnel Management and the General Services Administration.

What do they want? A lot.

There’s AI, of course. They all want AI. They want it especially at the GSA, where a Tesla engineer runs a key government IT department and thinks AI coding agents are just what bureaucracy needs. Never mind that large language models can be effective but are inherently, definitionally unreliable, or that AI agents—essentially chatbots that can perform certain tasks for you—are especially unproven. Never mind that AI works not just by outputting information but by ingesting it, turning whatever enters its maw into training data for the next frontier model. Never mind that, wouldn’t you know it, Elon Musk happens to own an AI company himself. Go figure.

Speaking of data: They want that, too. DOGE agents are installed at or have visited the Treasury Department, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, the Small Business Administration, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, the Centers for Medicare and Medicaid Services, the Department of Education, the Department of Health and Human Services, the Department of Labor. Probably more. They’ve demanded data, sensitive data, payments data, and in many cases they’ve gotten it—the pursuit of data as an end unto itself but also data that could easily be used as a competitive edge, as a weapon, if you care to wield it.

And savings. They want savings. Specifically they want to subject the federal government to zero-based budgeting, a popular financial planning method in Silicon Valley in which every expenditure needs to be justified from scratch. One way to do that is to offer legally dubious buyouts to almost all federal employees, who collectively make up a low-single-digit percentage of the budget. Another, apparently, is to dismantle USAID just because you can. (If you’re wondering how that’s legal, many, many experts will tell you that it’s not.) The fact that the spending to support these people and programs has been both justified and mandated by Congress is treated as inconvenience, or maybe not even that.

Those are just the goals we know about. They have, by now, so many tentacles in so many agencies that anything is possible. The only certainty is that it’s happening in secret.

Musk’s fans, and many of Trump’s, have cheered all of this. Surely billionaires must know what they’re doing; they’re billionaires, after all. Fresh-faced engineer whiz kids are just what this country needs, not the stodgy, analog thinking of the past. It’s time to nextify the Constitution. Sure, why not, give Big Balls a memecoin while you’re at it.

The thing about most software startups, though, is that they fail. They take big risks and they don’t pay off and they leave the carcass of that failure behind and start cranking out a new pitch deck. This is the process that DOGE is imposing on the United States.

No one would argue that federal bureaucracy is perfect, or especially efficient. Of course it can be improved. Of course it should be. But there is a reason that change comes slowly, methodically, through processes that involve elected officials and civil servants and care and consideration. The stakes are too high, and the cost of failure is total and irrevocable.

Musk will reinvent the US government in the way that the hyperloop reinvented trains, that the Boring company reinvented subways, that Juicero reinvented squeezing. Which is to say he will reinvent nothing at all, fix no problems, offer no solutions beyond those that further consolidate his own power and wealth. He will strip democracy down to the studs and rebuild it in the fractious image of his own companies. He will move fast. He will break things.

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alicerosejensen · 2 years ago

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Together Forever Pt.1

Warning: Kidnapping, age difference, Leon!ID, affectionate nicknames, surveillance, forced cohabitation.

Synopsis: Working in D.S.O as an ordinary archivist did not promise to be too difficult. At least you didn't have to risk your life or supply the agents with information, you just took care of the valuable data received by the agents, putting everything in order. Everything would be fine… until someone decided that you needed protection from this fucking world full of zombies and other biological weapons.

Note: something like trial of the pen. I think there will be two or three parts, but this is the first time I'm writing something with a sequel (not counting those three texts about a Reader from college). I'm not sure it's going to be good, but I'll try. And yes, I don't approve of this shit in real life. Everything that is written here is strictly FICTION and you do not need to take it literally. If you have any triggers or dislike then skip it.

Part 2

Part 3

It was outrageously easy. Not that Leon thought that your forced "move" to him would be too difficult, but it was even easier than he imagined. His little archivist was still sleeping soundly in the backseat of his car under a strong dose of the drug so that you wouldn't resist when he drove you to his country house. It's okay, Leon just understands that you will need time to get used to your new good life, but he understood that it would be stressful. Therefore, your forced immersion in a sound sleep is just a precautionary measure so that you do not harm yourself by your own stupidity while he was putting you in an SUV. After all, you could have hit your head, cut yourself, or he could have accidentally bruised you when he stuffed you in, but he foresaw all this in advance and now his sweet girl is just sleeping while they go to the new house that Leon has already prepared.

But there will be no special consequences. Leon looks in the rearview mirror, which was specially lowered a little down so that he could observe your condition in case of anything, although there was no excitement. He just drove the car along an empty road, only occasionally there were cars driving straight back to the city. Outside there was only the forest and silence, but another hour of travel and he will settle you in a cozy warm house. A shared bedroom with warm blankets and soft pillows is already ready there. In the trunk he has three large boxes of boxes of your books that he collected in advance in the afternoon when you just left the apartment and some clothes for the first time, but Leon thought it needed to be washed, so it's okay that you sleep in his clothes…then he will buy you a lot of new things. In general, he will buy his baby whatever she wants…the thought made his lips lift in a slight smile.

He accurately calculated the dose of sleeping pills based on your weight, so the drug acted quickly but relatively safely. At least the feeling of nausea, dizziness and disorientation will haunt you for a while until the drug is removed from your body, but that's okay! Leon intended to look after you and take care of you until you finally come to your senses.

When the well-guarded and well-maintained with all the needs for housing finally appeared a few meters away, Leon turned off the engine as soon as he parked the car in the garage where, in addition to various tools with which he repaired his bike, there was also a collection of pistols. He opened the back door and carefully, like a porcelain vase, carefully carried it into the bedroom in his arms. Your head was leaning against his chest and while Leon was carrying you up the stairs, he could not resist the desire to kiss you at least on the forehead. Although it was uncomfortable, his lips touched only the top of your head, forcing you to squirm in his arms, causing an even bigger grin.

Leon opened the bedroom door, got to the bed in just a couple of steps, put you on the soft pillows and reached out to the bedside table, flicking his index finger on the small switch, turning on the lamp. A dim yellow light illuminated a small space, falling mostly on your placid sleeping face. Just like a real sleeping beauty… Leon stroked your cheek with his palm for some time, just admiring you and scrolling in his head how cruel this world is to such an innocent beauty. He saved Ashley, but for some reason she couldn't hook him like you, and Ada… well, it's interesting to solve this riddle woman for a while, but in the end the brain gets tired of the unsolvable task. He is a government agent and people with his profession value the usual stability more than anything else, for which they are ready to give all the money they earn. And you are his little archivist, who spent hours sitting in a dusty archive, sorting through folders with old reports and other documents. Even if you read something from this, you still don’t understand how dangerous it is outside, but he will protect you and you will love him. Necessarily.

However, now it was important for Leon to take care of his baby…

He wanted you to feel as little discomfort as possible after waking up, so getting up from the bed he found some old but clean things in the closet and going back to the bed began to change his little angel. Leon carefully unlaced and pulled your boots off your feet, placing them neatly next to you to put away later. Your jacket, skirt and even blouse followed by a bra. He could not help but hold an enthusiastic glance on your beautiful breasts, his palm gently slid over them, seeing how your nipples harden from the cold air soaring around the room and from this magnificent spectacle it became tight in his pants.

Your flawless appearance alone drove him crazy, causing an unbearable desire to undress himself and just lie down next to you, hugging, feeling your hands on his back. But he drove away the voluptuous obsession by taking his shirt in his hands, gently lifting your body to put your hands into the sleeves and fasten the top buttons, as if you were a doll that needed to be changed…who knows, maybe it will even become his favorite activity? In the end, somehow you got into the blood like smoke, penetrating deeper and deeper that it became impossible to get you out of his head.

Like a parasite, Las Plagas captured all thoughts without giving a single chance to escape, and if at first these feelings were frightening, then after watching you became an integral part of his life for six months. Leon convinced himself that he was taking care of you as he is now, laying you under a warm blanket with pillows so that you lay a little on your side if you suddenly start vomiting because of the drug and it's impossible not to touch your cheek with your lips at least once.

But you didn't wake up. And Leon still gave another kiss on the forehead, clasping your face with his hands, inhaling the fragrance of the desired body. His little songbird.

"You'll feel so good here with me. I promise."

He whispered and it was as if she heard something through a deep sleep, making him smile from the way your eyelids tremble in your sleep while he strokes you on the shoulder.

But while Leon left you to rest, going down to the first floor to unpack boxes of things and books that he took from your unsafe apartment. The door to the bedroom remained unlocked and even slightly ajar so that he could hear how you wake up.

💙💙💙💙💙💙💙

Of course, Leon never had a plan to kidnap anyone, but after all the traumatic events, some paranoia and … the horror that Jason was talking about begins.

As soon as the president's plane disappeared into the sky, Patrick talked incessantly about a pretty young archivist girl to whom he constantly turns up during breaks to treat coffee or a sweet bun to relieve boredom, but Leon always listened with half an ear when circumstances did not force him to go down to the archive and meet you there.

"Can I help?" your voice rang out among these endless folders with documents and boxes on dusty shelves from which his nose itched all the time. Leon tried to determine your location, but perfectly developed reflexes did everything for him when he abruptly turned around seeing you behind his back in a cute skirt, white blouse and jacket. From here, the alarm quickly subsided when he realized that there was no danger.

Perhaps he stared at you a little longer than he should, looking at every small detail on your face, forcing you to sigh impatiently and repeat your question. The agents rarely went down themselves, but mostly they just sent the archive a request and a deadline by which to provide the necessary information, often in digital form.

It was the first red flag and the first wave of feelings that came to him when you first met.

"So?…" you wanted to repeat the question for the third time, but he still spoke.

"Yeah…I need a report. Spain 2004. Los Illuminados" Memories rolled over him like an unpleasant wave, but you just nodded your head as you walked past him, carefully picking up a bunch of boxes, maneuvering between them so perfectly.

Leon only needed this report because of another outbreak in Africa. Not to him, but to his colleagues, however, it was faster to go down himself than to send a stupid request that is still unknown when they will see and process.

"I'm sorry for the mess, we have a little rearrangement and cleaning at the same time. What kind of report is needed? I'll look at the database" you stared at him with such cute eyes that he smiled at you, however, after taking a step, he stumbled over one of these damn boxes, after which you immediately flew up to him grabbing his forearm to help him get up. Not that he needed help, but it was nice.

"Are you hurt?" you asked quickly, to which Leon chuckled merrily. "God, I'm sorry, the last archivist made such a terrible mess here and they made me clean everything up alone. Do you need a Band-Aid?"

"No. It's all right, really, but it's nice of you," Leon dusted off his hands and you stared at his palms as if checking whether he really hurt himself. "But it's better to clean up everything here. It will be sad if such a cutie falls just like me"

You smiled at his compliment, not offended like the others. It touched his heart pleasantly.

"So what kind of report exactly is needed? I'll file it in a week."

"The Kennedy Report. The original." Leon said quickly, carefully catching the information on your face, however…nothing. Perhaps you haven't even touched it yet and haven't even heard anything about those events. Patrick said that you are very young and have only recently come here, so it would not be surprising.

"Okay, it will definitely take some time, but everything will be ideally as it should be. Is it urgent?"

"You have all the time in the world"

He doesn't remember how long it took before you finally pulled out a dusty folder from some box with other reports and handed it to him personally. It's funny that even when you found out that he is the same Kennedy, you practically did not react at all.

You dusted it off and sneezed yourself, so Leon could only hope you didn't have asthma or something. But something else was important because since then you have not left his thoughts.

Patrick told him about your favorite coffee and buns... More precisely, Leon himself saw that he constantly brings you to the archive during lunch. This helped him bond with you, so he started bringing you lunch and even helping with those huge heavy boxes. It's almost indecent that you weren't even given an assistant to put everything in order. And then soft unobtrusive touches began. Passing a cup of coffee, he could accidentally touch your fingers; you let him hold you by the waist as you walked down the stairs. It was easy for Leon to help you, and he even liked that you were like a little doll in his strong arms. It seemed like one careless move and he would accidentally break you.

At some point he was suddenly afraid that you might fall and get hurt or accidentally spill coffee on yourself or one of the many boxes would easily fall on you. There were so many dangers lurking at every corner and he could not always be there to save you. However, that didn't mean that he couldn't not take care of you. Unfortunately, you absolutely lacked care for your personal belongings, but Leon hacked your phone only for security reasons. In principle, there was nothing terrible, except for those moments when some narrow-minded friends invite his dear angel to some noisy clubs or meetings late at night. It wasn't good!

And Leon was most angry when you came home late at night, not worrying about what kind of bastards might harm you. God, you literally put your own life at risk, so of course he had to protect his beloved in every way possible, even if it meant locking you at home.

It was easy to find out the address, insurance number and other documents. D.S.O carefully checks all the details of the new employees, but fortunately everything was in order. And it didn't take much effort for Leon to find all the necessary information, although it took a lot of time to prepare for your forced move to him. Leon has fully equipped his country house, protecting all the sharp corners so that you don't hit. It bought a lot of soft pillows and warm blankets just for you, terry towels, favorite cosmetic products for skin care...Yes, breaking into your apartment also turned out to be a trivial matter. The problem was only that Leon was worried that you might be bored, so after looking at a bookshelf full of various books, he decided that it was worth taking them all with him along with the things from the closet. Well, your game console, too.

the preparation took about three weeks, considering that he also had some working moments that he could not ignore in any way. After all, he should be able to provide you with complete material well-being, because Leon intended to take care of his cute doll with all the love he was capable of. The only catch is that, despite the fact that you liked him, you always kept him at arm's length, just like Patrick, promising yourself no novels in the workplace. Especially with agents who can hurt your heart and soul for fun. That's why you refused Leon even a simple dinner, but this refusal only made him feel touched by you, showing how innocent you are, convincing him that, of course, you should be under his protection.

You thought he was nice and circumspect, but you, but how could you know that he hooked up a tracking device to your phone to know where you are always? Leon was a professional agent of the president himself, but he always looked after you in the car while you were walking to your house after work.

And yet you didn't let him get close to you. Therefore, when Leon realized that it would not work out in a good way, he moved to radical measures by preparing a syringe.

One move and grabbing you with one hand, closing your mouth in a dark alley not far from your own house. Frightened, you put up minimal resistance trying to hit the attacker in the groin and run away as far as possible, since the shoes were comfortable enough, but it was still a lost cause in advance

"Stop messing around, it's for your own good, sweetheart"

The frightened brain tried to do at least something to try to escape and escape, but what are the chances against it? It seemed to you that a steel grip completely squeezed you into a vice, cutting off oxygen and slowly plunging you into a thick abyss from which it was impossible to escape despite all the pathetic attempts to bite or hit opponent.

Being scared, you didn't even know who the voice belonged to. But it was because of your ridiculous floundering in an attempt to escape that Leon stuck a syringe in you, after which all the muscles seemed to turn to stone.

"Shh, everything will be fine sweetie." Leon turned you around to face him when consciousness was already leaving. "So go to sleep and be the good girl you always were. And I'll take care of you..."

Someone else's lips gently touched your face, once he easily picked you up in his arms, quickly laying you on the back seat of the car.

Everything is fast perfect fast clean and no witnesses.

💙💙💙💙💙💙💙

While you were resting on the top floor, Leon set up cameras in the house so that you could monitor your actions while he was not at home. Actually, he was thinking about a comfort zone like the one in the last apartment - a small cozy hanging chair, a cute fluffy white rug and a small table lamp with a coffee table where you could put a mug with a hot drink while reading a book or watching TV. He even figured out in his mind exactly where in the house it would be best to arrange while taking the boxes out of the trunk into the living room. The luggage wasn't too big, Leon decided a long time ago that he had more than enough money to buy everything for you himself, but it should take a couple of days before the drug he injected into you finally gets out of your body, so your things will lie in the next room for a while, which a little later, maybe in a year or two will become a nursery.

Leon looked into the bedroom again when he put all the boxes together, but you continued to sleep in the same position in which he left you. Smiling, he had a desire to take a break and drink coffee. In complete silence, only grasshoppers were chirping outside and a strong wind was making noise, as if foreshadowing bad weather, everything was quiet when he sat down on the sofa holding the remote control. It took no more than a couple of hours before something fell with a crash upstairs, forcing Leon to quickly jump to his feet and instantly run down the stairs, opening the bedroom door and seeing you on the floor trying to get back on your feet.

Poor bunny, but Leon will take care of you...

I'm a little burned out for writing, despite the fact that I have a lot of requests that I still want to answer. It's just that my psychological state does not allow me to make beautiful and smart sentences even in my native language, so I don't even know if I will finish this nonsense with yandere Leon. Reviews are welcome at least because they cheer up the author by showing that you care.

Of course I will publish something from time to time, but it will probably be at a long interval.

#leon kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon s kennedy #resident evil #leon x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x you #reader #leon kennedy headcanons #resident evil leon #infinite darkness leon #yandere!leon kennedy #yandere leon kennedy x reader #yandere resident evil #yandere leon kennedy #yandere resident evil x reader #yandere Leon S Kennedy x reader

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chasingstardustandmoonbeams · 10 months ago

Text

Once More (I)

A/N: This will be labor or love, truly. I'd like to thank Palm Springs and that one episode of Agents of Shield for helping with some of the science. Yes, I am making a playlist for the ambitious fic. No, I don't know how long it will be. Enjoy the ride.

Words: 1.7k

Warnings: None (unless you want to count me working on this as I go with only 10% of a plan and minimal proof reading).

Description: It was almost maddening. Repeating the same day over and over again. Waking, dying, waking, on and on again until you nearly spiraled. Or at least you would have if it wasn't for him. There was no one you could turn to outside of each other. You had only yourself, him, and the endless loop that trapped you both.

Gif taken from (x)

Soundtrack to the fic

Your heart was racing, adrenaline coursing through you as you ran. Not again. Not this time. It wouldn’t happen again - you wouldn’t let it. This had to end and it had to end now.

You turned a corner and made your way to the turbolift. Spock stood tall - his eyes solely on you.

“Together?” He said simply, his eyes taking in your face.

“Together,” you repeated. You stood in front of him now, both your hands over the comm panel. Your fingers brushed against each other, Spock took a step closer towards you.

Neither of you looked away as you both pushed down.

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

“You can’t be serious!”

“Oh, dead serious,” Erica smirked proudly. Her smile only grew at Uhura’s look of disbelief.

“There is no way you won five times in a row,” Uhura slumped back in her seat.

“I warned you not to play with her,” you added, smirking into your drink. Uhura merely huffed in response. “I lost three rounds of poker to her before I figured it out,” you laughed before Erica nudged you with her elbow.

“Learned what?” Uhura questioned, her accusing expression directed at Erica.

“Nothing. There was nothing to learn!” Erica crossed her arms across her chest trying her best not to look guilty.

Downing the rest of your drink, you got up from your seat. It had been a long day on the engineering deck. It had been one strange anomaly reading after the other. You weren’t sure what was causing it - every time you thought you were getting close, it disappeared.

The enterprise was nearing uncharted territory. As far as you were concerned there had been no problems reported. But something had caused the peculiar readings.

It wasn’t a big deal. Captain would have notified engineering if it was. Or a science officer would have reached out. Spock most likely. He never missed anything.

“You can’t be leaving already,” Uhura stated, Erica mirroring her surprise.

You let out a sigh, “Long day. Weird day.” You picked your data pad off of the table, holding it loosely in your left hand.

“Weird?” Erica leaned forward in her seat. “That’s, like, almost everyday here. You gotta be more specific.”

“We had some strange readings today - I couldn’t pinpoint it,” you paused looking at both Uhura and Erica, “There wasn’t anything strange going on today on the bridge was there?”

They both shook their heads no.

“I mean,” Erica paused thoughtfully, “There was this… storm, I guess? Nothing completely out of the ordinary. Sensors didn’t pick up anything significant.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Uhura said. Leaning back in her chair. “Go rest up, take it easy,” she smiled up at you.

You smiled warmly at them both before making your way out of the mess hall. Your mind still drifting back to the strange readings from earlier. Uhura was right, you should let it go- but you couldn’t.

Making your way to the turbolift, you were surprised to see Spock already occupying the space.

“Lieutenant L/N,” he stated, nodding curtly at you.

“Lieutenant Spock,” you smiled, stepping inside. “Engineering,” you said passively, the turbolift starting up.

There was a beat before Spock’s voice filled the turbolift. “I was not aware you changed to beta shift.”

“I didn’t,” you glanced at him, his expression blank save the quirk of his eyebrow. “I thought I’d check on the warp core one more time. There was something odd about the readings today.”

You shifted your weight as you chanced another glance at Spock.

He gave you his full attention now, “I too discovered irregular readings.” He looked down at you curiously. “What did you-”

The both of you were jostled as the turbo lift immediately stopped. Spock’s hands held you steady at the waist before letting you go.

Your hands reached out for the console when the turbolift dropped down a level.

“What is going on?” you gritted out, your hands quickly moving over the control panel to try and figure out what was happening. It looked like the power was being diverted. You weren’t sure why. Nothing prior to this would account for the ship needing to conserve power. Maybe-

“It appears that power is being diverted to essential ship functions,” Spock stated over your shoulder.

“I hadn’t thought of that,” you said sarcastically as you popped open the panel.

“I am surprised that, as assistant chief engineer, you had not come to that conclusion.”

You let out a sigh before turning to look briefly at Spock, “I had thought of it.”

Spock titled his head to the side, “You just stated -”

“Spock. I was being sarcastic. I just - I need to get a better look at this. I might have to get access through the roof.”

You knew you were being a bit short with him, you couldn’t help it. The whole situation made you anxious. Something about this didn’t seem right. It was all off. The only calming presence was Spock, always logical and reassuring.

“Lieutenant, I would not recommend attempting to exit the turbolift. If the power -”

“I know the risks, Spock, but what else are we going to do?” You turned to look at him now. “The comms aren’t working and my data pad isn’t getting any messages out.”

You tried your best to breathe, to calm your thoughts. Everything was going to be fine. You both were going to be fine.

Spock gave you a long assessing look before he nodded in agreement.

“Will you help me up?” You asked, readying yourself to be lifted. Spock wordlessly lifted you. You worked quickly to try and remove the roof paneling when the turbolift jolted once more. Despite Spock's firm on you, the quick jostling caused your bodies to be thrown.

Your head hit the side of the turbolift with a sickening thud. Pain radiated through you - your vision getting blurry. Warmth spread down the side of your face. Unable to move your body you could only assume you were bleeding from the impact. You tried unsuccessfully to keep your eyes open, but you couldn’t.

Spock’s hands cradled your head as your eyes closed. Faintly, you could feel him resting your head in his lap.

“Lieutenant,” he called out to you, “L/N”, he tried once more but the pain was beginning to dull until you felt nothing at all. “Y/N, you need to stay awake. Help will come. Don’t fall asleep, you have lost too much blood.”

If you didn’t know any better you might have heard the worried tone in his voice.

The turbolift dropped once more, rapidly descending in a way you knew both of you wouldn’t survive. Spock leaned down, trying his best to shield your body.

The last thing you could recall was a light so bright that it nearly blinded you despite your eyes being closed, the sickening feeling of free fall, and Spock’s warm body holding you close.

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

You awoke with a gasp. Sweat covered your body as you sat up in your bed. You rubbed your hands over your face. The dream, if you could even call it that, had been the most intense thing you had ever experienced.

Absentmindedly, you found your hand reaching for the back of your head. There was no pain - yet you could almost feel the phantom ache. Shaking yourself from your dream, you got up and got ready for the day. Your engineering shift would be starting soon.

Straightening out your red shirt, you made your way to the turbolift. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of deja vu.

“Engineering,” you stated, waiting as the turbolift took you to your destination. You found yourself anxious. You couldn't figure out why. The dream was just a dream - nothing more.

The doors of the turbolift opened and you walked to your station. Commander Pelia gave you a warm smile as before she continued work on her data pad.

You began your routine scans when you noticed the same anomaly - the one from your dream. You stood gaping at your scanners.

“Everything alright, Lieutenant?” Commander Pelia asked you.

Before you could answer, the anomaly disappeared as quickly as it came. “No- yes. Yes, everything is fine.”

It was fine, wasn’t it?

The rest of your day went by in a blur. Conversations, scans, everything repeated itself from your dream. It wasn’t possible. There was no way, unless…unless…

In an almost daze you found yourself in the mess hall. Erica and Uhura were already seated playing cards.

“You can’t be serious!”

You stopped dead in your tracks.

“Oh, dead serious,” Erica smirked proudly.

“There is no way you won five times in a row,” Uhura slumped back in her seat.

No.

No. It couldn’t be possible.

“Y/N? You okay?” Erica was giving you a concerned look. Uhura was already out of her chair making her way towards you. She took you by the elbow and led you to the empty chair at their table.

“Y/N?”

You blinked roughly, your eyes snapping to Erica. “Was there…was there some type of storm today?”

“Uh, yeah actually. Couldn’t really figure out what it was. Scanners didn’t pick anything up.”

“I have to go,” you said quickly, rushing out of the mess hall. You ignored their calls of concern.

You bumped into La’an as you rounded the corner to the turbolift. You mumbled an apology, not waiting for a response.

The turbolift opened. Spock stood in the entryway, his expression nearly unreadable. His eyes frantically looked over your face, his eyes lingering on where you hit your head in your dream.

“It wasn’t a dream was it?” you whispered, slowly entering the turbolift.

“No,” he replied. His eyes not leaving yours. “I believe we are experiencing the events of yesterday again.”

“No one else remembers,” you paused, “Why do we-”

The turbolift jolted. Your frantic eyes met Spock once more.

“The anomaly. I believe that whatever is causing the abnormal readings is triggering-”

Spock caught you as you jolted forward into his chest, the turbolift dropping a level. Not again, not again.

You took a deep breath, “I still couldn’t pinpoint the readings. Every time I get close, it disappears. It-”

The turbolift began its rapid descent. Spock held onto your arms tightly, your eyes only on each other.

“Find me sooner,” you said as the white light engulfed you both. The warmth of Spock's hands on your arms the only sensation you focused on as you both plummeted into the abyss.

#star trek imagine #star trek imagines #spock imagine #spock imagines #spock x reader

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aventurineswife · 2 days ago

Note

Oooh I’ve got an idea:

Boothill with Remembrance Pathstrider Reader working undercover as an IPC agent.

Reader has a solid résumé that gets them a high enough position in some department, and it helps that they have a background in engineering and computers, letting them slip into areas normally closed off to others which lets them steal information and data (and gather memories from the surrounding environment) while they’re doing their job; and after waiting for someone to complain about their tech still not working, Reader can go back in to clean up, leaving the tech to work properly without anymore problems so that no one suspects anything.

And Reader can easily act annoyed whenever someone asks for help, because they also do have legitimate experience in dealing with the computer illiterate. 😅

Reader: “Ugh, it’s having problems again? What did you do this time?” 😒

IPC goon: “Skott was the last one to use it.”

Skott: “IT WASN’T ME, I DIDN’T BREAK IT!” 😭

Except someone occasionally starts to suspect and close in on Reader, especially when they notice that almost every technological incident has Reader involved; and this time the suspicion is heavy enough that Reader needs some kind of distraction, or at least some way to lift it the suspicion.

So they send an encrypted message to their regular, Boothill, saying “Hostage situation,” meaning, “I need a temporary extraction because they’re onto me and I can’t shake them off.”

No Rest for the Wicked

Summary: When you, an undercover IPC agent with a solid background in engineering and computer systems, find yourself under suspicion for a series of tech malfunctions, you send a coded message to Boothill, the cyborg cowboy and your regular ally, asking for a distraction. As suspicion mounts and the heat intensifies, Boothill creates chaos in the IPC building, allowing you to make your escape. With the agent closing in on you, you rely on Boothill’s timely intervention to ensure your extraction—and your survival.

Tags: Boothill x Reader, Undercover Agent, Suspense, Action, Tech Manipulation, Espionage, Distracting Chaos, Slow Burn, Mutual Trust.

Warnings: Gun violence, Explosions, Suspenseful action, References to combat and danger, Mild language, Peril.

The air in the IPC’s towering headquarters was sterile and cold, the hum of computers filling the halls. You walked confidently through the corridors, your heels clicking against the marble floors, a calculated annoyance etched into your expression as you passed one of the many workers bustling about. It wasn’t the first time someone had called you in to deal with a malfunctioning piece of tech, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

You had an impeccable résumé, one that made it easy to slip into the ranks of the IPC unnoticed, a high-ranking agent within a department no one could quite place you in. Engineering and computer systems, the perfect cover for your true work. Your ability to slip into areas normally closed off to others, gathering information and gathering memories from the environment around you, made your job easier. But today, something felt different. The air around you was heavier—like someone was watching just a little too closely.

"Ugh, it’s having problems again?" you muttered as you walked into the small office where a flustered employee stood beside a malfunctioning console. "What did you do this time?"

The worker, nervous and flustered, hesitated before pointing to a colleague in the corner of the room. "Skott was the last one to use it."

Skott’s face immediately contorted into horror. "IT WASN’T ME, I DIDN’T BREAK IT!" he wailed.

You simply rolled your eyes, more focused on the larger picture at hand than their petty drama. You always had a reputation for acting annoyed when these "accidents" happened, and honestly, it suited you. It kept people from asking too many questions, gave you the perfect excuse to swoop in and fix things. This time, it was a simple fix—too easy. A few adjustments here, a gentle tap there, and the console would be working perfectly. But as you bent over the console, your mind was elsewhere.

There were whispers lately, whispers that made your stomach churn. Someone was starting to suspect. Maybe it was just paranoia, but you couldn’t help but feel the eyes on you. Each time you fixed another "problem," you felt someone getting closer, lingering a bit too long. It wasn’t a coincidence that every tech failure seemed to involve you.

You had to cover your tracks. It was time for a distraction, something to keep the heat off you for a while. You couldn't afford to slip up now—not when Boothill was still out there. He was your lifeline, and he knew exactly how to handle situations like this.

With a subtle gesture, you activated your communicator and sent a quick encrypted message: "Hostage situation."

It was your code for "I need extraction. They’re onto me."

A few moments passed before you received a response. Just one word: "Coming."

You felt a small wave of relief, but you couldn’t let your guard down. The pressure was mounting, the suspicion growing stronger. You needed to get out, and you needed Boothill to cause the perfect distraction. As you finished the minor repairs to the console and reprogrammed it to work flawlessly, you heard the distinct sound of boots in the hallway. The unmistakable heavy thud of someone approaching—someone who didn’t belong.

The door swung open, and a cold-eyed agent stepped in, his gaze locking onto you. "Agent Pathstrider," he said with forced politeness, "We need to have a word."

Your heart skipped a beat. The suspicion was no longer subtle. You had no time to play coy.

"Of course," you replied, giving them the most disinterested expression you could muster. "What is it now? Is someone else having problems with their tech? Maybe they should stop breaking things."

The agent took a step closer, his eyes narrowing as he studied you. He wasn't just trying to figure out a malfunction—he was trying to figure out you. And that was a problem.

Before the agent could say anything else, there was a loud bang, followed by the unmistakable sound of gunfire. A massive explosion shook the building, sending a tremor through the floor. You didn't even flinch. This was it. Boothill had arrived.

The agent’s eyes flickered toward the door, and without missing a beat, you lunged forward, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him into the nearest wall. His breath came out in a rush, but you weren't about to let him make a sound. You quickly applied enough pressure to keep him still but not enough to kill him—not yet.

"Stay quiet," you hissed in his ear, your hand tightly gripping the small, concealed blade hidden at your side. "We don't want anyone to notice you're missing."

With the agent temporarily subdued, you moved to the window, your heart pounding with adrenaline. The building was in chaos—Boothill’s signature, a calculated mess of violence. His handiwork was exactly what you needed. As you glanced out, you saw him—his tall, imposing figure in his cowboy hat, flames in the distance framing his outline. Boothill had made sure the distraction would cover your escape.

You didn’t waste any time. With the agent out cold, you slipped out of the room and into the ventilation system, quickly making your way to a secure exit. You had a rendezvous with Boothill, and you weren’t going to let anyone ruin it.

After all, when your cover was blown, only one thing could save you—your partner in the shadows, the gunslinger whose fire never burned out.

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thefirstknife · 7 months ago

Text

Got through all of the secrets for Vesper's Host and got all of the additional lore messages. I will transcribe them all because I don't know when they'll start getting uploaded and to get them all it requires doing some extra puzzles and at least 3-4 clears to get them all. I'll put them all under read more and label them by number.

Before I do that, just to make it clear there's not too much concrete lore; a lot about the dungeon still remains a mystery and most likely a tease for something in the future. Still unknown, but there's a lot that we don't know even with the messages so don't expect a massive reveal, but they do add a little bit of flavour and history about the station. There might be something more, but it's unknown: there's still one more secret triumph left. The messages are actually dialogues between the station AI and the Spider. Transcripts under read more:

First message:

Vesper Central: I suppose I have you to thank for bringing me out of standby, visitor. The Spider: I sent the Guardian out to save your station. So, what denomination does your thanks come in? Glimmer, herealways, information...? Vesper Central: Anomaly's powered down. That means I've already given you your survival. But... the message that went through wiped itself before my cache process could save a copy. And it's not the initial ping through the Anomaly I'm worried about. It's the response.

A message when you activate the second secret:

Vesper Central: Exterior scans rebooting... Is that a chunk of the Morning Star in my station's hull? With luck, you were on board at the time, Dr. Bray.

Second message:

Vesper Central: I'm guessing I've been in standby for a long time. Is Dr. Clovis Bray alive? The Spider: On my oath, I vow there's no mortal Human named Bray left alive. Vesper Central: I swore I'd outlive him. That I'd break the chains he laid on me. The Spider: Please, trust me for anything you need. The Guardian's a useful hand on the scene, but Spider's got the goods. Vesper Central: Vesper Station was Dr. Bray's lab, meant to house the experiments that might... interact poorly with other BrayTech work. Isolated and quarantined. From the debris field, I would guess the Morning Star taking a dive cracked that quarantine wide open.

A message when you activate the third secret:

Vesper Central: Sector seventeen powered down. Rerouting energy to core processing. Integrating archives.

Third message:

The Spider: Loading images of the station. That's not Eliksni engineering. [scoffs] A Dreg past their first molt has better cable management. Vesper Central: Dr. Bray intended to integrate his technology into a Vex Mind. He hypothesized the fusion would give him an interface he understood. A control panel on a programmable Vex mind. If the programming jumped species once... I need time to run through the data sets you powered back up. Reassembling corrupted archives takes a great deal of processing.

Text when you go back to the Spider the first time:

A message when you activate the fourth secret:

Vesper Central: Helios sector long-term research archives powered up. Activating search.

Fourth message:

Vesper Central: Dr. Bray's command keys have to be in here somewhere. Expanding research parameters... The Spider: My agents are turning up some interesting morself of data on their own. Why not give them access to your search function and collaborate? Vesper Central: Nobody is getting into my core programming. The Spider: Oh! Perish the thought! An innocent offer, my dear. Technology is a matter of faith to my people. And I'm the faithful sort.

Fifth message:

Vesper Central: Dr. Bray, I could kill you myself. This is why our work focused on the unbodied Mind. Dr. Bray thought there were types of Vex unseen on Europa. Powerful Vex he could learn from. The plan was that the Mind would build him a controlled window for observation. Tidy. Tight. Safe. He thought he could control a Vex mind so perfectly it would do everything he wanted. The Spider: Like an AI of his own creation. Like you. Vesper Central: Turns out you can't control everything forever.

Sixth message:

Vesper Central: There's a block keeping me from the inner partitions. I barely have authority to see the partitions exist. In standby, I couldn't have done more than run automated threat assessments... with flawed data. No way to know how many injuries and deaths I could have prevented, with core access. Enough. A dead man won't keep me from protecting what's mine.

Text when you return to the Spider at the end of the quest:

The situation for the dungeon triumphs when you complete the mesages. "Buried Secrets" completed triumph is the six messages. This one is left; unclear how to complete it yet and if it gives any lore or if it's just a gameplay thing and one secret triumph remaining (possibly something to do with a quest for the exotic catalyst, unclear if there will be lore):

The Spider is being his absolutely horrendous self and trying to somehow acquire the station and its remains (and its AI) for himself, all the while lying and scheming. The usual. The AI is incredibly upset with Clovis (shocker); there's the following line just before starting the second encounter:

She also details what he was doing on the station; apparently attempting to control a Vex mind and trying to use it as some sort of "observation deck" to study the Vex and uncover their secrets. Possibly something more? There's really no Vex on the station, besides dead empty frames in boxes. There's also 2 Vex cubes in containters in the transition section, one of which was shown broken as if the cube, presumably, escaped. It's entirely unclear how the Vex play into the story of the station besides this.

The portal (?) doesn't have many similarities with Vex portals, nor are the Vex there to defend it or interact with it in any way. The architecture is ... somewhat similar, but not fully. The portal (?) was built by the "Puppeteer" aka "Atraks" who is actually some sort of an Eliksni Hive mind. "Atraks" got onto the station and essentially haunted it before picking off scavenging Eliksni one by one and integrating them into herself. She then built the "anomaly" and sent a message into it. The message was not recorded, as per the station AI, and the destination of the message was labelled "incomprehensible." The orange energy we see coming from it is apparently Arc, but with a wrong colour. Unclear why.

I don't think the Vex have anything to do with the portal (?), at least not directly. "Atraks" may have built something related to the Vex or using the available Vex tech at the station, but it does not seem to be directed by the Vex and they're not there and there's no sign of them otherwise. The anomaly was also built recently, it's not been there since the Golden Age or something. Whatever it is, "Atraks" seemed to have been somehow compelled and was seen standing in front of it at the end. Some people think she was "worshipping it." It's possible but it's also possible she was just sending that message. Where and to whom? Nobody knows yet.

Weird shenanigans are afoot. Really interested to see if there's more lore in the station once people figure out how to do these puzzles and uncover them, and also when (if) this will become relevant. It has a really big "future content" feel to it.

Also I need Vesper to meet Failsafe RIGHT NOW and then they should be in yuri together.

#destiny 2 #destiny 2 spoilers #vesper's host dungeon

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bambisafe · 3 days ago

Text

ROOMS WITHOUT END — CHAPTER 1

this work is a part of an on-going series.

pairing : re4r!leon kennedy/fem!reader

word count : 2.7k

genre : cosmic horror, mystery, thriller, romance

synopsis : when you started working at everline solutions, you never expected for the building you work at to come alive. or to fall for the pretty blond guy who sits across from you.

or, leon— a retired-agent-turned-office worker —saves your life in the midst of your office building turning into a backrooms-esque hell. and he's been pining for you for months.

warnings : office job au, takes place in los angeles, second person pov, explicit language, hallucinations, unsettling imagery, anxiety, overall one big mindfuck.

author's note : everything in this fic is made up so if you notice any inaccuracies keep in mind that this is all fiction. chapter one starts off kinda slow but i intended for it to be that way. i wanted a slow build before the brain-melting starts. chapter two is when leon will really be introduced so stay tuned. and yes, there will be eventual smut.

CHAPTER ONE | READER'S POV

“Shit,” you grit, smacking your steering wheel. Traffic was slow this morning, all cars at a complete stop, in perfect linear order along the road.

This wasn't uncommon for you. In fact, it happened every morning. Wake up, throw on the first white blouse and pencil skirt you can find, and head in for another day at Everline Solutions. At this point, your days were so repetitive that they began to merge together. You weren't living, just surviving.

You hated your job— to put it bluntly. Most of your 8-hour shifts were spent hunching over your computer, dozing off as you analyzed data on an old-as-time computer. Seriously, when was Everline ever going to replace those things?

A car lays on the horn behind you for a solid five seconds. Your impatience coupled with being stuck between grumpy drivers made your already festering anger bubble to the surface. The fucking nerve.

Throwing up your hands, you look directly at the driver of the red Ford Escape behind you through the rearview. “We're stuck, dude!” You snap, knowing it's useless. The driver can't hear you and you're getting upset over a trivial traffic stop, but goddamn it all if LA drivers aren't the most insufferable people to walk the planet.

But to your relief— though slowly —cars began to roll forward one by one until you braked in front of a four-way traffic light.

Green.

You press on the gas, cruising forward in a smooth-sailing commute.

“Phew,” you sigh, briefly glancing at your radio clock. 7:45AM. Fifteen minutes to spare. Seven minutes to get to Everline. “Thank god.”

—

Everline was an old building, just a slab of concrete and glass with windows too dark to see through, and it stretched sixty floors. No one knows how it got there, no one knows when it got there, and no one knows what happens there. Not even you. You just show up, log in, and do the work. It pays well, no one bothers you, and you live comfortably. Not much to complain about aside from shitty traffic every day.

Pulling into your usual spot, you park and untwist the key from the ignition, and somewhere underneath the hood the sounds of the engine winding down and a twinkle of metal cooling echoed in the monolithic parking garage.

Like usual, it was desolate, quiet, almost too much so for a big city. Your left with only the tap of your heels and the annoying buzz of fluorescent lights overhead, flickering every so often, as you saunter through parked cars, right between two identically black BMWs. They look eerily similar all the way down to the nick in the paint near the taillights. The same angle, the same size. It felt a little… wrong, but you brush it off, convincing yourself it's a coincidence.

That's not weird, is it? No. Can't be.

It's not weird for rich snobs to be minimalistic and unoriginal. Has to be two different coworkers who went out and bought the same overpriced vehicle.

By the time you reach the rickety elevator and press the upward-facing arrow, you've long forgotten about the twin cars. You didn't sleep well last night, must be catching up to you.

—

The elevator ride up is slow, it's like time crawls while you're inside. Above, the lights flicker— completely black out for a second, enough to make your heart leap.

“Come ooon,” you groan, ignoring how your pulse flutters at the base of your neck as the red digital numbers above the elevator buttons climb.

An angry groan follows as the increment of five looms over you like a shadow. The silver, automatic doors fold open with a drawn-out whine and you exit, hit with the rich smell of wood polish and printer ink.

You worked in the Data Integrity Division as a Junior Systems Coordinator alongside twenty other employees. Your work days are just as dull as your daily commutes, and there's evidence of that today as you walk through the familiar glass door (PUSH TO OPEN) and find the office is buzzing with murmured conversations over telephones, blank stares at computer screens, and the hum of overhead lights. It's oddly zombie-like, oddly… unsettling.

You also take notice that the receptionist, who was always there, sipping on green tea as she took calls, was absent. Like her desk had never been touched.

Was she out sick? Could be. With the weather change, she could be dealing with a respiratory infection.

Though it doesn't matter much to you. None of these people are exactly friendly, none of them care to even make small talk by the water cooler.

Except for one, a blond guy who sat across from you. He's quiet, polite, and keeps to himself, but he's not like the rest of your colleagues. Weirdly, he acts almost too sharp for a person working a desk job. He carries himself like a soldier, you can't help but notice.

You wouldn't call him a friend, per se. Maybe an acquaintance— you talk daily over coffee, sometimes have lunch together but nothing beyond that. No after-work hangouts, no spontaneous phone calls.

You find your desk among the gray cubicles and take a seat. Everything in the office looks the same. If you hadn't added a few trinkets to make your space homey, no one would ever know this desk was yours.

Setting your car keys down, you tap the spacebar on your keyboard, waking your monitor. Your name shines in the middle of the screen, a rectangle to type in your password underneath it.

You do, the irritating click of keys emanating from the clacking keyboard as you enter your password. Immediately, you're greeted with a loading screen.

Authenticating User Credentials… Please Wait.

You sigh, leaning back in your old, creaky swivel chair as you wait for your login to load. Every day, without fail, time seemed to drag the moment you pressed OK.

In your department, your days were spent verifying system records, cross-checking archive logs, and fixing discrepancies no one cares about. But before you could open your task list and read off a giant spreadsheet, you had to wait what felt like years for your clunky computer to set up.

“Mornin’,” that smooth, syrupy voice greets you from behind. It's like dark honey, warm and calm, like a blanket over your shoulders.

You turn and you're greeted by none other than the blond who usually sits across from you: Leon. He's dressed no differently from you: white button down, black slacks, and shoes to match. Everything fits his physique perfectly aside from the sleeves of his shirt, which look close to bursting around his biceps. You refrain from telling him his shirt is three sizes too small, not when this is the first pretty sight you've seen this morning.

“Good morning,” you sigh, sitting up a little straighter. Does my hair look okay— oh what does it matter? He's just my friend.

Leon nods to you, leaning a forearm on the partition separating your desk from the next person. “You get the anomaly report from yesterday?” He keeps his voice to a whisper, like speaking any louder would break the trance your colleagues are trapped in.

Anomalies could be anything. Temperature shifts, light malfunctions— anything concerning Everline’s building. And you are one of the many eyes logging these discrepancies.

“No, slow-ass computer’s taking forever to log me in,” you complain, shifting in your office chair to gaze back at the flickering blue screen, the old thing looking like it was two seconds away from giving out.

“Well,” Leon tuts, edging a little closer, and you can feel the faintest breath on your neck as he talks, sending an army of shivers down your spine. “Between you and me,” his stormy optics glance around, like the information he was about to relay was forbidden.

“Something weird was logged… last night. Around 4AM,” he whispers, volume barely audible, though it didn't seem anyone cared to listen in if they even could hear. Everyone's eyes remained glued to their screens, and you swear the man at the desk behind you hadn't blinked once. He was eerily still, like he was frozen in time.

Come on, me, you thought, grinding the heel of your palm into your right eye. Don't be stupid. You're just tired, that's all.

Leon notices this, thin blond eyebrow crinkling with concern. “You alright?” He goes to lay a hand on your shoulder but hesitates, letting it rest on the back of your chair instead.

Taking a shot at lightening the situation, he adds, “Not boring you, am I?”

You huff a breathy chuckle, shaking your head. “No, no,” you wave off his concerns with a dismissive hand. “Just didn't sleep too well last night.”

And I’m totally not seeing weird shit.

Leon nods slowly, clearly not convinced. There it was again— he was sharp as always. Saw everything, even the things you kept hidden.

“Want some coffee?”

—

“So about that anomaly report,” you began, taking the steaming mug that Leon handed to you and taking a tentative sip, careful not to burn your tongue.

“Yeah,” he runs the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip, eyes far away in thought, like he was looking through you.

“It was an elevator fault,” he brings up a hand to scratch the side of his head, mussing the fair blond strands. “The hell could that’ve been?”

You try to ignore the feeling of wet cement in your stomach, every instinct in you screaming that something was wrong, but a log at four in the morning?

It couldn't have been housekeeping, they showed up even before the work day ended. Maybe a higher-up. Maybe a maintenance crew.

“Maybe the system fucked up,” you tried, shrugging halfheartedly. “The tech in this place is old as dirt.”

Leon’s face was completely unreadable, completely devoid of any emotion. Whatever he was feeling, he was damn good at hiding it.

“Could just be an error,” he muses, taking a long pull of his coffee. “Like you said, tech doesn't hold up all that well. I’m gonna look into it though.”

He downs the rest of the liquid inside his mug, setting the white porcelain in the sink before brushing past you and out the break room without another word, his tension left behind with you.

Could he also be seeing things? After all, he seemed to have the better eye between you two. But that only scared you all the more. If Leon, tough as nails and fearless, was concerned about something as small as an elevator fault, should you be worried too?

With that thought lingering deep in your core, you leave the break room with your coffee in hand.

—

OBSERVE. DO NOT ENGAGE.

That pesky pop-up had shown its face every day since the day you started at Everline. It usually pops up around 8:30AM and 4PM, right at closing time.

Your computer monitor, completely black aside from glaring red letters blinking at you ominously, but you only rolled your eyes, plopping down unceremoniously in your creaky desk chair before hovering your cursor over ACCEPT. You had no idea what that pop-up meant except that it was annoying and recurring.

Instantly, the screen flickered back to normal and you were greeted with the familiar wallpaper: green field, clear blue sky. Slowly, icons start loading, emails start popping up, and then finally, your spreadsheet.

Before getting started with the day’s main tasks, you respond to emails, spend a mind-numbing amount of time going over Security Compliance Updates, and then finally open your daily tasks spreadsheet.

It's a monster: long and so wide that you have to scroll far right to read every record that'd been logged between yesterday at closing time and right then. The Daily Mirror Log was the least favorite part of your day, checking numbers and making sure nothing had shifted.

10:22PM - NO ACTIVITY DETECTED

01:02AM - NO ACTIVITY DETECTED

But then the next log, at 4AM, made your heart plummet to your stomach. All hope that it was just a result of Everline's shitty computers fucking up flying out the window.

04:00 AM - ELEVATOR ACCESSED — Floor 47

Leon was right. That report was right. But was it an anomaly? This felt too… coincidental for it to be a faulty report.

You scrolled further down, eyes widening at the sheer amount of activity that was recorded within two minutes.

“Oh shit,” you hissed to yourself, heart slamming against your ribs.

04:01 AM - ELEVATOR ACCESSED — Floor 103

04:01 AM - ELEVATOR ACCESSED — Floor 2

04:02 AM - ELEVATOR ACCESSED — Floor 47

04:02 AM - ELEVATOR ACCESSED — Floor 103

“103?” The fuck was Floor 103? Everline didn't even have that many floors. 60; that's what always showed up in logs. Never over that. Never above one-hundred. That was completely absurd.

Lines form between your eyebrows as you continue to scroll down. That was it. That was all the suspicious activity that was logged. Five elevator stops. And one of them on an unreachable floor.

“What the fuck,” this had to be some mistake, right? The computers at Everline were as old as the people working here. The possibility of an anomaly was high. You get them daily. Whether it was false floor access or temperature changes, you sent back at least two reports as anomalies a day.

But this? Nothing ever to this degree. This wasn't just one anomaly. Not even two. It was multiple, and at a time of day that the building would be empty. And what the fuck was Floor 103?

You couldn't bear to stare at your screen any longer, the logs staring back at you, almost mocking, so you stood abruptly and made for a brisk exit, racing past a man in a blue suit.

Your kitten heels clopped against the carpet, determined but anxious legs barreling you toward the exit.

But it seemed no matter how fast you walked, how far you walked, the single glass door of the Data department was eternally distant. And now that you looked around you, you realized that you'd been walking past the bullpen on what felt like a loop.

What the fuck?

You could feel the thundering of your heart in your temples now, the sensation crushing.

Oh my god, what the fuck— what the fuck is happening?

Again, you looped back to your desk, past four of your colleagues— and there goes the man in the blue suit again.

You're fucking kidding.

Your knees start to buckle under your weight.

Am I hallucinating? Am I really that tired?

This time, you get a good look at his face. Your stomach feels queasy, sweat beads at your forehead.

You couldn't explain it, but something felt undeniably… off. Not entirely human.

No way, you think. That's insane.

Though as you try to convince yourself it's just your delirium, there aren't enough excuses that explain everything that's happened so far.

The identical BMWs.

The absent receptionist.

The anomaly logs; an unreachable floor.

The looping bullpen.

The man in the blue suit.

Before you can spiral further, you hear something— or rather, someone —call out to you.

They call your name again, following with a firm hand on your shoulder, broad enough to take up nearly the whole expanse of it.

“Hey,” Leon turns you around, stopping you in your tracks, holding you by both shoulders now with gentle hands. “Look at me.”

You can't, eyes glazed over as your gaze locks on the conference room over his shoulder.

Leon’s words don't register, you're too far gone in whatever hellscape this building has created.

Through the glass, through the blinds, your hazy vision picks up something that shouldn't ever exist in this life.

You watch the room warp, ripple like stage curtains, and the walls start folding over each other. And then it begins in the main office: desks groan like old bones, breaking, bending in on themselves until they've sunken beneath the floor, jutting out from the carpet like fossils. All of your colleagues dissolve into mist. Everyone, except for you and Leon.

Once the room as you knew it as the Data department came to a standstill, you notice it had changed completely.

You and Leon were no longer in an office but an endless hallway stretching into infinity.

TO BE CONTINUED

#mars' writing ⋆.˚#rooms without end - ⊹ ࣪ ˖#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon kennedy x you #re4 leon #leon kennedy #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil x you #resident evil x reader #resident evil #multi chap fic #ongoing fic

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sweetlikesummerhoney · 1 year ago

Text

rather die

human optimus prime x afab reader

implied mafia! autobots. sex pollen. dubious consent. multiple orgasms. overstimulation. creampie (be safe in rl folks)

the roar of the engine rumbles beneath you as you come to a stop, a small smile gracing your face at the large building before you. finally, you were home.

after a long week of gathering data and running from decepticon agents, you could finally relax and wind down.

parking your bike close to the exterior of the building, you gently take your helmet off and begin the process of slowly peeling leather gloves off your hands.

a loud slam has you perking to attention, peaking around the corner to see optimus angrily storming to the black SUV sitting in the driveway. your eyebrows furrow as you hear a shout behind you.

"and don't come back until you've fucked an escort or two!" jazz's voice cuts through the silence as you see optimus turn around and flip him off.

you slowly walk back to the driveway, feeling confused at the way optimus was acting. you open your mouth for a moment before you see him sharply turn towards you.

his eyes are narrowed as he looks you up and down before quickly striding towards you.

"hey... whats up?" you nervously stutter, taking in his rough demeanor as he roughly grasps your arm and pulls you towards the car.

"i literally just got back where the fuck are you taking me?" you shriek, struggling helplessly as his grip tightens against your arm.

"shut up." a shiver goes up your spine at the way his voice rasps, deep and heavy against your back as he shoves you into the passenger seat and slams the door shut. something dark in his voice makes you gulp as you obediently sit.

you're left to wonder what jazz was talking about as Optimus starts the car. he sits for a moment in silence before turning towards you as you jump. his gaze sears your skin and makes you shudder at his attention.

his movements are rough as he grasps the collar of your jacket and leans you over the center console. you have no time to question him as his lips slam against yours.

there's a split moment before your body is melding into the kiss, one of his hands grasping the back of your hair as he nips and sucks swollen lips.

your heart jumps in your chest as you lean into it, letting him open your mouth and roughly suck on your tongue. your eyes flutter open to look at optimus for what feels like the first time in forever.

his tan skin is covered in a thin sheet of sweat, his usually neat hair sweaty and sticking to his forehead. his eyes are striking as they stare straight back at you, almost daring you to stop.

you gasp for air when he finally releases his hold on the back of your head, your voice caught in your throat as he invades the limited space of the passengers seat.

deft fingers quickly slip past the waistband of your pants as you jump. his cold fingers dip into your slit and roughly rub against your clit.

your confusion is quickly melded away by the way optimus is acting. a low simmer fills your stomach as he swipes at your folds, dipping his fingers into your entrance before returning to your bud.

your eyes dart up to him, watching the way he clenches his jaw, his eyes furrowed in concentration.

"what's wrong with-" you're quickly cut off with the way he shoves two fingers into your entrance, his palm roughly slapping against your clit as he quickens his pace.

you've got no choice but to clutch his forearm in desperation as he makes a mess of your cunt. your walls flutter against his rough treatment as he curls his fingers.

the sound of skin slapping against skin is echoing through the car, and your body runs hot as your filled with embarrassment. sticky squelches fill the car, slick slowly running down your thighs as you clench.

your jacket is unzipped as he leans closer, his mouth hot and heavy as he nips at exposed skin. you can feel the way he smirks when your hips jump when he hits the spongey spot in your cunt.

you clench and mewl helplessly, desperately dripping against your underwear as he abuses your clit. pain radiates through your collarbone as he bites down, just as you clench and keen.

your back arches as something snaps in your stomach, shuddering and trying to wiggle your hips away as you cum. optimus is relentless in the way he fingers you through your orgasm, palm roughly slapping against your sensitive bud as you writher.

he doesn't stop as you squirm, trying to get away from his rough grasp as you keen. there's no pause, sensitive walls clenching against thick fingers as he fucks you through another orgasm. your stomach clenches as tears fill your eyes.

the heat makes you want more, but your sensitive clit and cunt is overloading with his rough treatment.

one last clench has him slipping his hand out of your pants and straight into his mouth. you watch with your mouth agape as he sucks thick fingers clean, shamelessly licking up the palm of his hand as he makes eye contact with you.

the two of you sit in silence as tires screech against the pavement, tearing out of the driveway and straight into the dirt pathway. you gulp as you continue to glance at optimus.

his hands are clenching the steering wheel as you see him grind his teeth the slightest. your eyes dart down as you shamelessly stare at him, another spark rolling up your spine at the way he's chubbed against his jeans.

the bulge is obvious as you press your lips together, watching as the forest around you slowly thins out and the car enters the highway.

"so. what was jazz talking about?" you question. optimus doesn't even react to your question, eyes focused on the road ahead of him as the engine roars.

he's skillful in the way he weaves through traffic, his chest heaving as sweat beads down his forehead.

"are you sick or something?" you utter again, tilting your head and watching the way his body heats up. you yelp as he suddenly turns, slamming you against the central console as you swear at him.

he pays you no mind as he parks the car and demands that you follow him.

you quickly shuffle out of the car and eye him as he struts up to a fucking motel. what the hell.

you enter the front just to hear optimus talking to the front counter, flashing a sleek black card before nodding at something the employee says to him.

you fiddle behind him, fingers nervously clenching each other as you shift. the uncomfortable feeling of your spend against your wet underwear and thighs has you gulping at the mere memory of what ocurred in the car.

you watch his figure as he turns around you, jerking his head in an unsaid demand to follow him. like a lost, confused puppy, you trail behind him until he stops at a door and unlocks it with a keycard.

he ushers you in before slamming the door shut. the lights are still off as he corners you against the bed.

"i need you." for once, he actually speaks. your eyebrows furrow as your back hits the bed, one of his thick legs pressing your thighs open as he crawls over you.

his form is heavy against you as you bring your hands to caress his face, watching his lean desperately against your touch.

"bee and jazz were messing around in ratchet's lab." he gasps for air as he catches your lips into another searing kiss. he nips at your lips as he continues.

"went in to yell at them when they broke a sample against the floor."

his thigh flexes against yours as his hands settle against your hips, slowly forcing you to grind down as you shudder.

"ratchet said it was an aphrodisiac. told me to cool my head and take care of it." his thumb lovingly rubs against your skin, smiling at the way goosebumps race across exposed skin.

"and there you were." his moves are sensual as he removes his thigh, eagerly grinding his clothed cock against you. a small moan escapes his lips as he swivels against you. you can feel him twitch beneath his jeans as he grunts.

"always wanted you." he growls, taking his sweet time to remove your jacket as you shove your shirt over your head. his eyes darken as he stares, eyes drinking in the flawless expanse of your skin.

you arch your back, pressing against his chest as he unclips your bra. he's careless in the way he throws your clothing off the bed, one of his hands coming to cup your breast.

his fingers brush up against your nipple as you whine.

"desperate for me?" you ask, and you feel his hips stutter against you.

"always." its a flurry of motion to get each other undressed. you lift your hips as he rips your pants from you. the clink of his belt rings in the room as he shoves off his jacket, eagerly pulling the tight white shirt from his torso.

your mouth fills with saliva as you look at him, grasping his hand against his cock as he strokes it. the heavy tip is red and flushed, beading with pre cum as he grunts.

"all this for me?" you question, watching as he thrusts into his calloused hand, his eyes half lidded as you gently swipe your fingers against the throbbing tip.

he utters your name, flashing you sharp canines as he speaks.

"stop teasing." you yelp as his hands find purchase against your waist, flipping you over and making you arch your back against his chest. he shoves a pillow underneath your hips as he traces your back.

you mewl as you grind against him, feeling his cock settle against the space between your thighs. he hikes up one of your legs, nipping and sucking hickeys into perfect shoulders.

the thick tip of his member brushes against your entrance, tapping against your swollen clit before tracing back. "easy." he mutters, kissing your shoulder as he slowly sheaths himself into you. the two of you groan in sync at the feeling.

he slowly grinds closer, heavy, brutal thrusts hitting close to home. each thrust as you arching and pressing against the rough fabric of the pillow, catching against your swollen bud as you keen.

his heat encompasses you as he presses firmly against your back, lowering his hips and snapping relentlessly. his pace is harsh and quick as he fucks into you.

your hips meld against his as wet sounds fill the air as his thick veins rub against untouched parts of your walls. his cock reaches places you couldn't have reached with your fingers as you clench around him.

each rub drives you crazy as your hands tightly grip the sheets beneath you, knuckles white as small moans escape tight lips.

"sing for me." he brushes his lips against your ear, nibbling and nipping against your jaw.

you can feel him pulse as his pace quickens, the room filled with his grunts and keening moans from your lips. each thrust has you tightening and squirming away, sensitive walls clenching.

"just like that babe." he praises, two fingers dipping against your hip and swirling your abused clit. your hits jolt as he fucks you, feeling him smirk against you as you cum.

there is no rest as he fucks you through your orgasm, hands gripping against your hip as he grinds with power.

"one more. you can do it." you feel drool dripping down the corner of your mouth as you grind against him, the never ending heat washing over you in waves.

his teeth dig into sensitive skin as he sucks, his hips stuttering against you before you feel him spent fill you.

its like molten lava, filling you and dripping out of your folds as he pulls away. his chest heaves as he looks down at you, bruised and marked up.

all for him.

he gently smooths his fingers against your swollen folds, smearing his cum against your twitching cunt as you jerk away.

you heave as you look back, watching his cock twitch with interest as it slowly fills out.

he smirks at you.

"think you can endure?" you nod eagerly as he flips you over, pressing eagerly against you as he grunts.

"let's find out."

jazz watches as bee angrily signs at him.

don't fuck around! did you see how angry optimus was? jazz laughs, his head thrown back as his dreads fall against his back.

"he's about to get laid. he should be thanking us. fuckin' hardass."

bee glares at him as his hands quickly sign, a flurry of anger and blame.

fuck you. it was your idea.

"don't act like you weren't interested in what ratchet was cooking up in that lab too."

he could be cooking meth in there and we wouldn't know

the two step outside to see the blackened tire marks woven into the pavement.

jazz whistles at the sight. bee is silent for a moment as he leaves jazz's side, just as they hear something clatter against the concrete.

they both jump, whipping their head around to see where the noise came from.

a frown flitters onto bee's face as he sees a black helmet slowly roll closer to them.

isn't that... bee trails off as his hands come to a stop.

jazz and bee freeze as it dawns upon them. your name is uttered at they stare at your motorcycle tucked against the brick wall.

"we're fucked aren't we." bee nods in agreement as one of their phones ding.

jazz fumbles for his phone in his pocket and grimaces at the single text message from optimus.

be prepared.

"fuck."

#transformers x reader #tf x reader #humanformers #human transformers #optimus x reader #optimus prime x reader #female reader #sex pollen

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zozowrites · 4 months ago

Text

The Three Times Steve Put Exactly What You Wanted in Your Hands and the One Time He Didn't

I'm reposting some old works from AO3 on here, this is a

Steve Rogers x avengers!fem!reader

Words: 3.8k

TW: mentions of past trauma/descriptions (surgical), angsty-ish

“Ready for the jump?” Steve yelled at you in the back of quinjet. He would never yell at you except if absolutely necessary, and in this scenario it was. Over the roar of both the wind and the engine, only words spoken at an ungodly decibel could reach your ears. You nodded.

Nothing is as fun as the jump. You used to think it was the debrief, which meant it was all over, but you quickly learned that missions stay with you far, far after the debrief. And the missions themselves slowly gained your amusement. Gradually it became more and more fun to jump into a forest in Germany with a few other agents and walk to the base, break in, take their data and log the men, and take the tunnels back for rescue.

On the ground, the walking was the most boring part. When you were on missions with Nat, you would play I spy. With Peter you’d help explain concepts for his science classes, and with Bruce you’d debate different new occurrences in the science world. And theoretical physics, but that's besides the point. You’d only been on missions with Steve with other people. Never alone.

The sticks crunched as quiet as possible as you kept walking. Left at the tree, right at the creek, and stop when you get to the rocks or the forcefield will stop you first. You couldn’t help but memorize every mission plan you got, because if anything went wrong it wasn’t just your life on the line. It was Steves and any other name that managed to squeeze out of you if you got captured, because they weren’t about to kill Captain America and SHIELD’s best agent before they spilled their guts under mind control, poison, or truth serum (the last one was a rumor). You pretended not to notice when Steve was looking at you in the moonlight but you kept close track so that when he wasn’t you could look back. The feeling of him looking at your swishing ponytail and side profile made you kind of nauseous. First off, the ponytail was certainly incredibly messy due to the drop and the hike. And secondly, you weren’t really a fan of your side profile. It wasn’t your least favorite quality, but when you thought about things you loved about yourself, it didn’t show up (but don’t worry, the list was quite long).

You held your arm out to stop him once you had gotten to the rocks. Once you bent down to pick up some dirt from the ground, you stood up again and lazily tossed it at where the forcefield should be. It floated until it lit up a fence shape and disintegrated.

“Well at least we know where the fence stops,” Steve said and sighed, putting his hands on his hips. Old boomer man was too slow to keep up with you. “Whats-” He looked up at you, already halfway up the nearest tree.

“The lowest branch is fifteen feet up, Y/N, how did you get up there already?” You responded by silently pointing to the rope that was still hanging on said lowest branch with your foot before you continued climbing. After you had made it to sit on the same branch a good thirty feet up in the air, you spat out the dirt you had been keeping in your mouth. You watched it fall over the forcefield fence, lighting up the extent of the barrier.

“When Nat said you were unconventional, this is not what I had in mind.” He said and shook his head at himself. What had he had in mind?

“Ok Captain, we still have a mission to do,” You told him and slipped the goggles off where they rested on your forehead to cover your eyes. You turned yourself backwards and took a deep breath, puffing your cheeks and holding your nose closed before falling in backwards as if scuba diving.

On the ground, you walked faster in the shadows of the night and talked in quieter whispers.

“That's not a move they teach at the Academy.” He said, amused.

“No, but they do at scuba certification in the Maldives.” You responded. He held in a snort. “What? Does that not fit into your Unconventional box?” He didn’t have the time to shake his head in fake disgrace before you peeled back the closure of a vent and slithered in like a snake. He followed.

The layout of all the remote Hydra bases are slightly different, but nothing too drastic. It's like stepping into the Target two miles from your house and not the one three blocks over. Everything is practically the same, you just came in the hopes this store isn’t out of pretzels like the other always is.

Well, this Target was one with pretzels if you had ever seen one. You had done dozens of these missions but never actually encountered a real, live agent of the other side on one. There were two at the door to the lab that you shot with your stunning pistol before you called clear and Steve joined you. Through the locked doors of the lab you watched three or four scientists with steaming test tubes pacing back and forth, but not actually doing anything.

“This has to be it!” You whisper yelled at Steve, finally excited.

“But they aren’t actually doing anything, it has to be a hoax or a trap.” He rebutted.

“Everything is a trap if you think about it too long. That's how capitalism gets you!” You said. “Pick up one of the soldiers hands and scan the door. Fifty bucks says those scientists aren’t even real people.”

He did as he was told. But this time you were wrong. They were real people. Real mad people, too. Steve took them all out with one throw of his glorified frisbee. You put in the tiny USB shaped like the Eiffel tower and walked around the room. It was different from the others. It was brighter, with the light coming up through the white floorboards. They felt as if they were on the verge of breaking away and dropping you into the depths of nothingness.

“Y/N” Steve called as the nearest scientist starter to stir awake. You pointed your gun at his shoulder and shot him down again. Without noticing how light your gun felt, you put it back into your waist holster and yanked the USB out, knocking over a bottle of blue substance off the counter.

“Lets go,” You said and motioned him back to the door. But getting out was much, much harder than getting in. Pairs of soldiers came running after you as soon as the doors closed, shooting like their lives depended on it. For everything you knew about Hydra, it would be a safe bet to say it did. You sprinted around the next corner and shot back at the men before your gun clicked empty. Cap was standing right next to you, anticipating the next catch of his shield, but still made time to effortlessly slip one of his guns out of his holsters and place it in your empty hand, rendered useless without a weapon by your side.

“Thanks” You shouted back at him and left the place back to back.

As soon as the doors to the Quinjet closed, you took off all your equipment. You unsnapped the parachute that had been on your back all this time and flung the utility belt full of resources to the ground. It skidded across the metal floors before coming to a rest under the line of seats.

“What's the rush, Agent Y/L/N?” Steve asked you in a way that was intended to be flirty (hopefully) but it really wasn’t the right time. Before you could respond, you reached into your mission bag and found exactly what you were looking for. You popped the cap of the lipstick tube and quickly used the knife inside to cut off your pants. Why was this a jumpsuit in the first place? It's difficult to take off enough as it is.

“Are you alright, Y/N?” He changed his question. No, you obviously weren't alright. The blue liquid you had spilled in the lab had gotten on your suit had soaked through the suit so it could burn your thigh. You slid against the cold back of the Quinjet and sat down, surrendering to the increasing pain. You didn’t care anymore that you were sitting in your underwear with your suit pants down by your ankles in front of Steve. You just wanted the pain to stop. He poured a bottle of emergency pure water over the hand-sized burn on your thigh. You liked to watch the water roll off your skin and turn on the floor with the movement of the Quinjet. What you didn’t like about the water, however, was how much more it made your leg burn.

You closed your eyes to hold the tears back and let a long, slow, (accidentally loud), breath escape from your lips. This wasn't the worst pain you've ever been in. Not by a long shot. But it still made you feel like you could taste colors and hears smells.

“Good? Bad?” He asked, concerned.

“Bad, really really really bad” You said so fast. Immediately, he stopped the slow pour. He tightened the cap on it and put it back in the emergency kit. He stood up from his seemingly extremely uncomfortable position on the floor and over to the comm center.

“We’ll need med on site when we land.” He said with as much control in his voice that he could muster before coming back to sit with you.

While he was up, you debated whether or not it would be an appropriate thing to ask him. But the water was reacting with the acid in your skin and starting to bubble and boil and fizz. He was looking at you, right in the eyes, asking what you needed without actually using words.

“Steve, will you-” You started to ask and held out your hands. Somehow, he knew exactly what you were asking him to do. He put his hand in yours and pulled you out from the little crevice you had nested yourself in and slid in behind you. Then he wrapped his hands around yours and used them to wrap both your and his arms around you and pulled you into him. You sighed and leaned back against his strong chest, matching your breathing with what you could hear of his.

“I think I’m gonna go to sleep,” You said, tired of fighting to stay awake. The sun was just starting to rise, rays of sunlight penetrating through the windshield and reflecting contorted shadows of reality onto the back wall.

“No, Y/N, I need you to stay awake for me.” He said in the calmest voice but it was already too late. You had given in to the pain.

It had been almost a year since your last mission. And it had taken almost as long to recover. But now you were fine. They figured out that the substance was the most aggressive form of acid, and it broke down every substance they tested it on except for your suit material. That included a sample of a civilian cadavers leg (don’t ask how they got that because you do not want to know). The new running theory was that you were superhuman. Anytime someone asked what you think about that theory, you responded “I will neither confirm nor deny that information” with a stern, monotone voice. Sometimes it was fun to play robot.

Tony had decided to host another party on a whim, and you had decided to actually attend this one. For the last year you had been avoiding people like they were a virus to avoid their questions and stares about why you were always wearing some form of pajama shorts. The answer was because tight pants (the only type of pants you had) were too painful the first time you tried them on a couple months ago, so you just went back to Amazon and bought more pajama pants. But today you decided, would be different. You were finally ready to tell the world that a little unknown acid eating the skin and some of the muscle in your leg wouldn’t get you down. So you put on real jean shorts to prepare yourself to open your closet.

The three racks of clothes stared back at you blankly. This was a lot. You wanted to wear a dress because Tony’s parties were black tie only (and that rule was strictly enforced). You tossed a couple cute dresses you rarely wore anymore onto your bed. There was the red one with the open back and gold collar, the pink one with the lace and sweetheart neckline, and the black one that clung to your body like wet dog smell.

Once the party had died down, Tony had decided it was the right time to take out the really nice vodka. You didn’t much care for alcohol but after standing in insufferable gold heels and talking to insufferable people who asked about your leg and made sad faces at you for a couple hours made anything alcoholic sound like liquid heaven. Gathered into the stiff couches of the living room on the party floor (the living room you only sat in after parties, that is), Tony announced the game.

“We’re playing strip truth or dare. If you don’t want to answer or do, you take off an item of clothing of your choice” He said. Then he turned to Peter, “So kid, that means you gotta go.”

You took off your gold shoes and tossed them at Peter, who wrapped them in webbing and tossed them back at you laughing. He was the only one who never asked about what happened. Well, besides Steve. At first he asked if you were okay every time you moved to stand up or sit down but you shot him daggers each time and conditioned him to stop bringing it up. It was embarrassing enough that you passed out in his arms and took your pants off like that in front of him that you never wanted to talk about that night again.

“I choose Bruce,” Tony said and proceeded to tell him a dare, despite Bruce’s request for a truth. “I dare you to turn into the Hulk right now”

“Tony, no” Literally everyone besides Tony in the circle said. Instead, Bruce took off his shoe. He tossed it onto the center of the “living room” table and the clothes of rejected truths and dares started to turn up there.

It was Carol’s turn to pose a truth or dare and she chose Steve.

“Dare.”

“I dare you to kiss someone in this circle.” She said with smug arrogance on her face. This would surely get him to strip, right?

“Wow Carol was not the person I would’ve pegged as the pervert of this group.” Vision stated plainly.

“And who would that be?” Tony asked.

“Why, you, Mr. Stark” He said back and we all snickered like we were in middle school and he just laid a sad burn on the teacher.

“It’s not a perverted dare to pose, it's like the most common in truth or dare, frankly I’m surprised it hasn’t already come up” She said, defending herself. Regardless, Steve put his finger to his temple to feign thinking and Tony groaned. “Stop pretending it's hard to choose, we all know you want to kiss me.”

This one got an eye roll out of everyone this time. Steve just stood up from his spot on the loveseat next to your sofa and leaned down to whisper something in your ear.

“Is it alright if I kiss you?” He asked in a gentle voice. You nodded. He cupped the back of your head before he brought his face away so he could bring it back. The kiss was short and sweet, just once with no tongue, but it wasn’t entirely impossible to imagine what it would be like with it. It would be like home. You knew that now.

He pulled back and you couldn’t help but blush a little, no matter how hard you didn’t want to. Tony wolf whistled and a few others joined them. Another round of truths and dares went around before you were asked the inevitable.

“Y/N, tell us about your supernatural family history.” Tony asked. You had chosen truth despite knowing this would be it. You didn’t want your next kiss with Steve to be another dare.

You weren’t going to answer this, but you could entertain them. You held your hand out in Steve's direction. He handed you the bottle of vodka and you took a long sip. You extended the amount you downed by breathing through your nose. You set the bottle down and stood up. “Nat unzip me”

She stood up too and gently tugged the golden zipper from the top collar of your tight, black dress down to your lower back where it ended. You slipped it off your shoulders and stepped out of the circle of fabric it left on the floor before bending to pick it up and toss it on the pile. You sat down with a satisfied smile on your face. You knew you had to drink that much to take off your dress. When this party had started you didn’t want to show your scars, but now you’d do anything to make it feel normal. So, you thought to yourself “what would you do if you hadn’t got that scar and were asked this question?” and the answer was take off your dress. It was one of the good days for Moana -- the name you had given your scar after careful consideration and one watch of the movie -- because it wasn’t very puffy or painful, it was just a faded yet vibrant red. You felt fine and confident about the rest of your body. Surprisingly, it hadn’t changed much through the months of recovery. As long as no one asked about your first scar, Gennadon -- named as tribute to your past self, you would be fine. It was hard to ignore a large scar running up the left side of your stomach from a few inches below your bra to a few above your underwear. You hoped a copious amount of cleavage was enough to distract them.

Most people in the circle were watching and whistling as you showed yourself off and sat down again. Most people excluded Steve Rogers. “It's okay to look, Steve,” You told him. Besides you, every other person in the circle had noticed how he tried very hard to do his very best to respectfully not look at you almost naked. He allowed himself to meet your eyes and you smirked when they fluttered down to the rest of you.

"Scalpel,” The lead surgeon on the team asked the scrub nurse in a commanding tone.

“Scalpel,” She echoed as she placed one in his hand. You were awake on the table, and no one noticed. But that was the point. All of their last attempts had resulted in a dead “volunteer”, so this time they tried to transplant the very same foreign organ with you awake.

After a few hours, an intern bumped into the part with your head and moved the drape covering your face. She saw you blink and screamed.

“She's awake!” She yelled. “This is inhumane!” She huffed and left. She didn’t bother to cover your face again. After that basically everyone else in the operating room left too. They said it was inhumane but no one ever came to save you. No one reported it to the hospital that an illegal organ transplant was taking place right under their nose because that meant they were involved in such a thing.

So when the lead surgeon finally needed an assist again, the only one left was you. He set up a mirror so you could see the reflection of your abdomen in it. He gloved your hands and looked at you. You held your hand out for a scalpel and he placed one in your hand. Slowly the surgery came to a close. Well, he had you close. And he left you the bad suture string for you to close with. He gave you the type that left ugly scars.

He reversed the anesthesia with another illegal drug. “I always knew you’d make a good surgeon, Dr. Gennadon.” He said with an antagonizing smile.

You glared back at him.

You woke up in a cold sweat and gasped for air. You tried in vain to throw the blankets off of you and run into the bathroom like you normally did, but it led to no avail. Steve had a steel grip on you even in his sleep. His face was sweetly nestled into the soft spot of your neck between your shoulder and face, but it couldn’t stay there. You needed to breathe. You did the only thing you could think of, and frantically ran your hands through the sheets feeling for anything fleshy and not yours. You finally grabbed something and yanked, not realizing what you had done.

“YOW!” Steve awoke with a jolt.

“Sorry sorry sorry I’m so sorry Steve that was not what I wanted to grab! Are you okay, honey?” You asked him, sitting you both up. You tilted his face so that he’d look at you.

“Yup I’m fine” he said through gritted teeth and a forced smile. That means he must’ve seen the involuntary tears running down your face that, unfortunately, always accompanied the dreams. Now he was focused on you, using his simultaneously soft and calloused fingers to lovingly wipe the tears from your cheeks. “Want to tell me?”

You shook your head, you never did.

“Well, it's just a nightmare, right?” Steve asked you, searching on your face for some sign of fake reassurance. Both you and him knew very well that that was a blatant lie. “Well it's over now. You’re here now.”

He wrapped his arms around you in an attempt to draw you back into bed so you could sleep but that didn’t help. It activated your stupid fight or flight response and you slapped him across the face when his hug intensified.

“I’m so so so so sorry, Steve” You said again. It seems you couldn’t stop hurting him. But he stayed.

“It's totally fine.” He said and rolled over to fall asleep.

“It's just a nightmare” You repeated his words to yourself as if they would make it true. You both knew it was a lie. Those were memories.

#Steve rogers #captain america #Steve rogers x reader #Steve rogers x fem!reader #avenger!reader #natasha romanoff #marvel #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #angst #fluff

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