#Mega Fic

[kowabungadoodles]

New Chapter! Mind those tags :)

[moshuwu]

So, Ive finally started my mega fic and I was thinking that as I introduce characters I could add their initial descriptions to this post and maybe people could guess who it is? that might be fun?

[ricky-mortis]

I was inspired by @tapestryoftrauma ‘s wonderful writing, so here’s a drawing of Mark Chasity from his fic called Sink Into Me

[happy74827]

I Want To Be Your Lover

[Colt Seavers x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: You’ve always felt something for Colt, resorting to a friendship as he is completely unaware. But when he comes knocking at your door… it’s hard to not connect reality to fantasy {GIF Creds: @colt-and-jody // Please go and watch the edit they made of Colt + Jody. Literally Amazing 🤩}.

WC: 2199

Category: Slight Fluff + Spice/Lime, First Kiss, {TW: Mentions of Murder}

Obsessed… I’m so obsessed with him…

FALL GUY SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT

『••✎••』

His hands grasped your face as he pulled you close, your heart pounding, breath quickening. The way he could pull you up onto him without warning and how it was so effortless. The way he'd hold your thighs around him as he made out with you, his hands traveling up your thighs, then under your shirt, touching your bare back, your waist, your chest.

Then he'd lean into your ear, those stupid lips kissing the bottom of it, gently, delicately, but firm and knowing. It was the way he'd whisper something so unserious that would almost turn you off him for a minute, but then he was smiling with those stupid dimples, eyes sparkling like the stupid sea, and you couldn't help yourself from melting all over again.

That’s what you believed about Colt Seavers. That was the dream, the fantasy, the perfect little love story between the two of you; that was the life you'd created in your head. He was the love, the life, the future.

But the sad truth was, it was only a dream because the real Colt Seavers was painfully oblivious.

He would laugh, smile, and give you that wink that was meant to be sexy but was actually kind of stupid, and then he'd be gone, and you'd be left with that aching in your heart.

The one that showed the fact that you were a friend, nothing more. A good friend, a best friend, someone to be close to, someone to talk to, but not someone to love. Not the way you loved him.

So you would often find yourself in your head, where it was safe, where there were no consequences. Because in your mind, Colt did notice you, he did care, and he did love you back. In your mind, he'd wrap his strong arms around you and kiss you with all the passion that you'd wanted for so long.

In reality, you'd be walking along beside him, listening to his voice, laughing at his jokes, and wishing that he would see you, the real you, and not just the friend.

And then, one night, it was as though the angels had heard your prayer.

You were sleeping, probably dreaming of Colt if you were honest, when you were awoken by knocks at your door. At first, you thought it was your imagination, or the wind, or whatever, but it happened again, and you groaned, throwing the covers off you and shuffling your way to the front door.

When you opened it, you were surprised to see Colt standing there, looking as if he had gone through hell and back. His eyes were bloodshot, and he had the most pitiful expression on his face.

You stared at him for a moment before speaking.

"Colt…?” You still couldn’t believe it was him. “What’re…what're you doing here?"

Colt shrugged and looked down. "Can I… uh, spend the night? Here?"

Your mind immediately went straight to the gutter. The two of you, alone, in your home, late at night, and no one around.

Yes, yes, yes.

But you weren’t completely lost to him. You were still aware of the situation and the fact that you had no idea what was going on.

You raised an eyebrow at him. "Don’t you still have a hotel room? Since you’re working?"

He started at you, blinking, while you waited for an answer. He seemed almost taken aback by your response, but he didn’t seem surprised.

In fact, his expression turned a bit sheepish. If it weren’t for the fact that it was late and that you were so confused, you would have found it adorable.

"You haven’t watched the news yet, have you?" He asked.

You frowned. "No. Why?"

“Good, that means you’ll let me in."

Before you could reply, he took the opportunity to step inside. You watched him, eyes wide, as he made his way into your kitchen, opening the refrigerator, pulling out a drink, and grabbing a slice of pizza from your leftover box.

It wasn't until you heard him groan that you snapped out of it.

"Colt? What are you doing?"

"Eating,” he said with a mouth full of pizza. He was sitting on your kitchen counter. “God, I miss this, and I don’t know why."

Sometimes, your crush on him was questionable, especially times like this.

"That's great," you rolled your eyes. "But why are you here? And what about the news?

He paused for a second and then looked at you, eyes soft, a small, apologetic smile on his face. It almost melted your heart.

You didn’t even realize the fact that he was soaked until that moment. And was he… was he bleeding?!

"Colt, are you—”

"I’m wanted for murder, which, to set the record straight, I did not do," he answered, taking another bite of pizza.

"Wanted for—what?!" You practically shrieked.

He held his hand up to stop you and finished his bite of pizza before speaking again.

"I know, I know. Crazy, right? This pizza, by the way… amazing. Where did you get it from? Dominos? This… This is what heaven tastes like, I think. It's gotta be.”

You were stunned. Speechless. Absolutely flabbergasted.

He didn’t even seem to notice your distress as he hopped down from the counter and threw the now-empty pizza box into the garbage.

"Long story short, the world thinks I’m dead after Tom — who turns out to be even more of an asshole than I thought — tried to have me killed to be the fall guy of his murder. Didn’t work, obviously, but it's not like he knows that."

He continued talking, but at this point, you had zoned him out. Your head was spinning, and you could barely keep up with him as he paced around your kitchen.

"So, anyway, I got away, and now I have to stay hidden and all that jazz. Hence, why I'm here, I couldn’t go anywhere else. I figured you would let me crash here tonight. I hope that's cool. And hey, if not, then that's fine; I can… find a ditch of something to sleep in, or a hay bail, or a cow shed, or whatever. It's cool."

You still couldn’t process it. None of it made sense. You weren't sure if you were dreaming or not. Maybe it was a nightmare. You had been thinking of Colt all night, and now he was here, and everything was insane.

You weren’t even sure if he had stopped talking or not or if he had noticed the fact that you were practically catatonic.

You needed to lie down. You needed to think. You needed to…

You were pulled out of your thoughts by Colt waving his hand in front of your face. A normal behavior for him, but somehow, right now, it sparked something inside of you.

He dropped his hand when he noticed the stare you were giving him. But it wasn’t just any stare, no. It was one that said a million things at once.

And you were sure he saw it because he, too, had a look. One that was much different than the one he normally gave you. One that was a bit more… serious.

His eyebrows were furrowed together, he had a frown on his lips, and his eyes were softer but also darker and deeper. They were the eyes of someone who had gone through some shit. Real shit.

It was a look you'd never seen on him, and you were sure the look you gave him was a first for him, too.

Different reasons, of course.

And for a moment, you had forgotten that this was the real Colt Seavers. Not the one from your fantasies, not the one from your dreams.

But the real Colt.

Which meant you had to take a moment to collect yourself. Acting out and getting all crazy and lovey-dovey wasn't something he needed right now.

"You… can stay. Of course you can," you sighed. "I'm just a bit overwhelmed, is all."

Colt's serious face didn’t drop, but he did nod, understanding.

"Thanks. I'm sorry for barging in here and acting all crazy. It's just I had nowhere else to go, and I figured… you'd be the one to understand."

You smiled softly. "Don’t worry about it, Colt. Seriously. You can’t even kill a bug. So, a murder charge is the last thing I'm worried about."

The corner of his lip twitched into a slight smile. "Did I ever tell you about the time I caught a rat?"

"No. No, you did not."

"Yeah, it didn’t end well.”

“For the rat or you?" You grew a grin on your face.

“I’ll leave that to your imagination," he teased, glancing up at the ceiling. It gave you a chance to examine his face. Messed up and bruised, but it was still him—still your Colt.

"So… the rat won?"

"He put up a good fight, I'll tell you that."

"Did you cry?"

"Nope, I was a total badass."

"Oh yeah, I'm sure. Taylor Swift would be so proud."

"I know she would."

"She'd probably write a song about it."

"Well, duh. Of course, she would. How else would she immortalize our love story?"

It was at this moment that your brain and your heart finally got in sync, and you realized exactly what was happening.

By the time you looked at him, just to see if his tone matched his expression, Colt was already staring at you. And even though he was smiling as he normally would, his eyes were different.

You couldn’t make it out, but something was there. Something that wasn’t usually there but was now, and it wasn’t a nice feeling. It made you feel uncomfortable.

It was the same feeling you had when you caught him talking to girls but then flashed his smile at you. When he'd call you his 'best bud' and then hug you for a little too long.

This was that feeling, but worse. So much worse.

You’d see this part in your dreams, but they usually had a happy ending, one that included a kiss. Well, more than a kiss.

You’d take the initiative, and he’d go along with it, slowly becoming more and more in control until it was him, him, him.

And in the dream, you'd kiss him and feel him on you, his hands traveling up and down your body, his breath hot against your neck, his lips leaving marks all over your skin.

But when you opened your eyes, usually you were back in bed, the fantasy ending. And it was hard not to feel sad.

But, for some reason, when you opened your eyes this time, Colt was still there. And his hands were still touching you, and his breath was still hot, and his lips were still kissing you.

You weren’t sure if this was reality or not. You had dreamed about him so many times it was hard to tell the difference.

But the longer you kissed, the more it felt real.

You had no idea how you got there, how it had happened. All you knew was that Colt's hands were grasping your face, your hands were in his damp hair, his mouth was against yours, and the whole murder thing was forgotten.

And it was a good kiss, too. The kind of kiss that made your toes curl, your body tremble, your mind go blank, and the only thing you could focus on was the craving for more.

It was a desperate, needy, passionate, hungry, messy kiss.

When Colt pulled away, you were breathless, and your head was spinning. Your lips were numb, and you could barely stand, but Colt had an arm around your waist, holding you up, his other hand still touching your face delicately, tenderly.

"That was the best pizza I've ever had," he breathed out. "Ever. In my entire life."

It was at this moment you knew for a fact that this was the real Colt and the real you. And you were both awake, and it was happening.

Colt Seavers, the boy or man you'd loved forever, had finally opened his eyes.

And you were going to kill him.

You were going to actually, truly murder him.

He couldn't kiss you like that and say something stupid like that?

But before you could get a word in, he was kissing you again, and you were melting, and all anger had vanished. A lot of power this boy had over you.

This time, the kiss was different. More controlled, calmer, sweeter.

He took his time and savored every second. It was a lot more intimate, and the hand on your face was gone. Instead, it was on your neck, tilting your head upwards, and his other arm was around your waist, keeping you close.

When you were left breathless, he didn't pull away. Instead, he continued kissing you, his lips traveling down your jaw to your neck.

You gasped, feeling his tongue on your neck and his hands roaming your back. It was the exact fantasy you'd imagined for so long. Except this was so much better.

Because it was real.

It usually takes me about two to three fics before I fully “understand” the character’s personality… and Colt turned out to be MUCH HARDER to write about (I kept rewriting this from the beginning at least 10 times). So, apologizes if you this sucks and is totally ooc 😬😬

I half-heartedly blame it on the fact that my memory is garbage and I’m too broke to rewatch it in theaters.

But, nonetheless, I’m happy to add and help populate the growing fandom — even if this isn’t up to par.

And to everyone who is still reading this, thank you for making me not feel alone with my Fall Guy obsession 🥹🫶

[ghost-bxrd]

Prompt:

Bruce is Jason’s biological father.

He finds out about it during the autopsy after Ethiopia.

[frownyalfred]

a what-if scenario, as proposed by @lurkinglurkerwholurks and developed by myself, @audreycritter and lurker over on discord.

The original what-if: You know those delightful scenarios where Bruce is so pressed or scared or in danger that he yells for Superman and Clark POOF appears? Take alllllllllll of those, all that fear and pain and desperation...What would be required in that moment for Bruce to yell Clark’s name instead of Superman?

He’s so so so careful. Would it be an extreme amount of those emotions, like Jason’s death? Or is it something he specifically needs Clark for and needs him NOW? Like how much would that scare the living snot out of Clark to hear?

What if: Bruce finds Lois close to death -- maybe a few seconds away from dying, and it's a sure thing. Her heart is still beating, but she doesn't have long.

It’s kind of like a scene in a movie, where something happens that’s so big, so quietly awful, everything slows down and the rules don’t matter anymore. Internally, Bruce would go really still and hyperfocus to figure out how to fix this, but he’s not stupid.

Bruce sees Lois and knows. He clears the comms, kneels down next to her, and calls for Clark -- all in less than five seconds. Because there's no one else to make those snap judgements right now other than him -- or even knows why they need to be made.

Clark hearing his name shouted like that would make his entire world go staticky with panic. Because hearing Superman’s name shouted like that by Bruce Wayne has always meant the end of the world, and somehow this is so much worse.

He’d hesitate for a second because surely it’s a mistake? Why would Bruce call him that on open comms? Why is Bruce's heart suddenly pounding in his chest?

Bruce calls him Clark for two reasons: 1) Because he's about to give Clark the worst news of his life and 2) to remind him of his humanity. To remind him he's Clark at his core, because what he's about to see will shake those very foundations.

There’s nothing they can do. No medevac, Clark can’t take her anywhere. She will die, and it’s a certain thing. Lois just needs to see Clark. She needs to be able to say goodbye.

Bruce is both their friends and that’s what makes it worse. The weight of that grief -- grief for Clark, but also Lois because she is his friend too. He loves her, too, in a completely different way. And now he’s watching another person he loves die in front of him and he can’t stop it.

[spaciebabie]

Part 3!

Start / Part 2 / Part 3 (you're here!) / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Aftermath

Throws this at you n runs away

[wreckedandpolemic]

white and gold - matty healy (teaser)

i got a taste for men who are older, it’s always been, so it’s no surprise

young, rich, hot, and spoilt rotten, the summer before your final year of university should be the best time of your life. instead, though, you’re trapped in your father’s corporate world of grey suits and greyer personalities. just when you start to surrender, start wondering if it’s worth fighting against the inevitable, a chance run-in with your father’s boss might save your summer after all…

[cowboycomics]

scene from @unvexes curtwen fic which you should go read RIGHT NOW!!

[bad-tf-fic-ideas]

(203) The Decepticon Justice Division is hot on the trail of a Megatron impersonator who has lately attracted a certain amount of fame for his pornographic holovids.

He's been bumped up to the top of The List because his fame is owed in part to dramatic fake overloads that are really quite obscene and make a terrible mockery of Megatron and, through him, the whole Decepticon cause.

And this reasoning is a transparent rationalisation that the wider team is letting Tarn get away with because they ALL want to see what happens when they catch up to Pegatronus and his massive tool.

[clownfishbites]

Back in ye old Y2K DC put out a little comic run called Batman: It’s Joker Time. It has its issues for sure, it’s a bit like Batman: Cacophony in that it’s a story about Joker getting badly hurt and the only one that actually cares in the whole world is Batman.

It’s also interesting in that the unethical ‘therapy’ they put Joker through actually has an effect. After they lock him in a small room for months with no stimulation that isn’t a mindless reality show he becomes a shell of himself. In this altered state he’s vulnerable and is kidnapped to be used as entertainment on the show himself. As he’s effectively held prisoner here and the police don’t care, the only one left to help him from the outside is Batman, and some of his men once Joker starts an affair with a producer lady just to get him items like, better clothes, furniture, a phone and the assurance of some privacy.

So actually it’s pretty dark and pretty sad, and it brings us not just to Batman: Cacophony but also Batman: Devils Advocate, where Batman has to step in to actually get Joker some human rights every once in a while.

It makes me think about the concept of Joker and bodily autonomy. His masochism is a well known fact but it’s not a big reach to suggest there is an element of reclaiming EVERYTHING for himself, because he knows terrible breaches of his autonomy will happen anyway, so in his mind it’s better to not just accept it, but embrace it, so his spirit remains undamaged even in the face of great harm. He breaches enough people’s bodily autonomy daily, he understands how easily it’s done.

And yet in Joker time, cacophony and devil’s advocate Batman is there to pick up pieces of a person even Joker would’ve shattered.

[kowabungadoodles]

Mega fic update :) Mind those tags!

[tokruta]

I can’t explain why, but this is my favorite hilson edit ever and I can/will watch it on loop for an uncountable amount of times

[ricky-mortis]

So- Spytown?

I’m in love with this au so much

Inspired by @dxppercxdxver ‘s Spies Are Forever/Hadestown AU. Also by @szollibisz incredible, just out of this world art, and @smytherines many, many text posts about it from the past few days.

[happy74827]

Cool Rider

[Steve Rogers x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: When another date ends in disaster, and Steve shows up in an attempt to “cheer” you up, you’re instantly against everything. But it’s Steve, and you should know by now that he never takes no for an answer.

WC: 3859

Category: Fluff

A lot of people liked my other Steve fic, so I felt inclined to make another. This time with a lot more fluff (you’re welcome @summerrivera777777).

『••✎••』

Needless to say, you were shocked when you heard the roar of a motorcycle.

You didn’t do well with dates. In your 24 years of life, you had a total of one boyfriend, and he was the absolute worst. So, in the last six months, you have been avoiding all social activities like the plague and focusing solely on yourself and your future.

That meant that you had become very comfortable being a hermit and avoiding any and all contact with other human beings. You were happy that way.

So why was a man who looked like an absolute God sitting on a motorcycle at the front door of your house?

Well, because you broke that rule a week ago.

In all fairness, the man was cute. A nerdy, awkward kind of cute. And he was a gentleman. And you were lonely.

So, when he asked you for your number, you were too lonely to turn him down. You hadn’t expected him to call, and you certainly didn’t expect him to ask you out on a date. But you also didn't think you would have the willpower to say no.

So you accepted, and it turned out to be the biggest regret of your life. The “nerd” was actually a complete dick, and after 30 minutes, you just wanted to go home. But you couldn’t because he refused to pay for the meal, so you were stuck there with him.

The worst part of the night was when he got into his car and tried to follow you home. He kept insisting that he just wanted to be a good guy and make sure that you got home safely, but you were sure that he just wanted to see where you lived and probably get in a few gropes along the way.

Luckily, you were able to lose him about three blocks from your house. It was a good thing, too, because your phone had died a couple of blocks ago, and you were afraid that if you got caught by him, you wouldn't have a way to call for help.

The next day, you made an executive decision to stay the hell away from men, with the exception of a few nice, safe friends. That was how you ended up here, seven days later, hiding in your room and ignoring your doorbell.

The bell kept ringing, and you knew that whoever was out there wasn't going to go away anytime soon. Groaning, you threw your covers off of your body and stomped towards the front door.

You threw open the door, ready to rip someone a new one, when your angry speech caught in your throat.

Steve Rogers was standing on your front porch.

He was a friend from work, to simplify a very long story. You met him two years ago when you started at SHIELD. You were a tech genius, and you worked closely with the Avengers to keep their equipment running.

Steve was always sweet and funny. You had a lot in common and were very close. After a while, you started hanging out with him and his friends, Natasha, Sam, and Bucky. It was great.

As exceptions to men go, he was definitely a big one. He was a walking god, with the physique and the looks to prove it. And here he was, on your front porch, holding keys that belonged to the motorcycle parked out front.

You looked at the motorcycle, then back to Steve, before your face went blank.

"No."

"What?"

"No."

Steve cocked an eyebrow. A smile tugged at his lips as if he were amused. "No?"

"Nope. Whatever you're trying to sell, I'm not buying."

"Why would I be trying to sell you something? I’m not even selling anything."

"It’s an expression, Steve, Jesus." You said, throwing your hands up in exasperation. Steve might’ve been your best friend, but the guy was such a 90-year-old sometimes. "If you think that I'm going to get on that thing with you, you're wrong. It's death on two wheels."

His eyes widened in surprise, a laugh bubbling in his throat. He looked over his shoulder at the bike, then back to you.

"That's... a little dramatic, don't you think?"

"I'm serious, Steve. It's not happening. I don't trust that thing, and I'm not going to die in some freak accident."

He crossed his arms over his chest, the sleeves of his leather jacket tightening over his biceps. His smile didn't fade as he spoke, which only annoyed you more.

"It's not going to kill you. I’m quite insulted that you would think that I would put you in danger."

"You're an Avenger. You put me in danger just by existing."

His lips twitched, and you had the feeling that he was holding back a comment.

"Look," he said, leaning against the door frame. "You haven't come out with us in weeks, and I'm worried. It's not healthy to lock yourself in your house all the time. With the job we have, there's never a guarantee of tomorrow, and if I were you, I'd want to spend every day living it to the fullest."

His words caught you off guard. He was right. It had been almost two months since you had gone out with the group. You just couldn't find the motivation. You were content being at home, alone. You had gotten a little lax in your friendships, only going to work and coming straight home. And now, with the… issues… with your date, you just didn't have the heart to try again.

You could feel your resolve starting to crumble, but you tried to stay strong.

"That's a low blow, Rogers." You grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest. "But my answer is still no."

"You think that was a low blow?” He scoffed as he pushed himself away from the door and took a step forward.

He was so much taller than you, and his presence was overwhelming. With the added tightness of his clothing and the confidence in his eyes, it tricked your eyes into seeing him as bigger than he really was. He was big, of course, but right now, it felt like he was towering over you.

Your heart began to race, a flush spreading over your cheeks.

"You clearly never played football because if you did, you'd know that this was a real low blow."

Without warning, he grabbed you by the waist and threw you over his shoulder.

"Hey!" You squealed, slapping your hand against his lower back. He was wearing a black shirt and jeans, and you could see the muscles ripple in his back with every step that he took. "Put me down!"

"You're going to have fun today."

"Steve! Put me down right now! I swear to God if you don't-"

"You'll what?" He laughed, the deep rumble making your stomach flutter. "Punish me?"

You huffed as you pounded on his back with your fist. You weren't mad at him, really; you just didn't know how to respond.

Steve practically dragged you outside. You were sure that you looked ridiculous, but you were thankful that you lived far enough away from your neighbors for no one to witness this. When he finally set you down next to the motorcycle, you gave him a glare.

"You're an ass, Steve Rogers."

He gave you a smirk as he swung his leg over the bike, his leather jacket tightening around his arm as his muscles flexed. Personally, you hated leather, but the way it fit him...

"Steve, I’m not wearing the right clothes."

He was quiet as his eyes swept over you. You were wearing shorts and a tank top since it was the middle of summer and you were hot, but he was looking at you like you were covered head to toe in leather.

"We can go buy something and change in the bathroom or something."

He seemed to think for a moment before he gave a single nod.

"Sure."

He started the bike and motioned for you to get on behind him. Goddamn it, Steve.

Sighing, you swung your leg over the bike and wrapped your arms around his torso. It was an incredibly intimate position, with your body pressed up against his and your faces mere inches apart. For a moment, you didn’t even realize when he swung a helmet down in front of your face.

"Put this on, Scaredy-Cat."

"Shut up, I'm not scared. Just... concerned."

He raised an eyebrow at you, his smirk still ever-present. You rolled your eyes before slipping the helmet onto your head.

The engine rumbled beneath you, and Steve revved the engine a couple of times, laughing when you squeaked in surprise and gripped him tighter. You could feel the laughter in his chest, his muscles moving under your fingers.

"Hold on tight, princess. Wouldn't want you falling off."

"You're a dick."

"Language."

"I will push you off this bike."

Steve didn't say anything; he just pulled the kickstand up and eased the bike into drive.

You squealed when the bike began to move, tightening your hold on Steve and burying your face in his back. He didn’t seem to mind; he just chuckled and sped up a bit.

You tried not to scream as he maneuvered the bike through traffic, weaving in and out of cars. It was a terrifying experience, especially since you had the distinct impression that Steve was taking advantage of the situation and driving recklessly.

You felt the wind on your legs and the constant hair strands whipping into your face, but you refused to look up. The speed, the closeness of the cars, and the fact that there was nothing keeping you on the bike except for Steve made it impossible to even think about moving.

When Steve finally stopped the bike, you had your eyes closed tight, and your body pressed completely up against him. Your arms were wrapped around him so tightly he was surprised you could breathe.

He took a moment to enjoy the feeling before gently prying your hands off of him and stepping off the bike. He turned and reached out a hand for you, waiting patiently for you to move. When you didn’t, he moved back towards the bike and took the helmet off your head.

You were breathing hard, trying desperately not to show how scared you were.

"It wasn’t that bad."

You shot him a glare, which made him grin.

"Just... shut up."

He laughed and helped you off the bike, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. He was a gentleman, of course, and you couldn’t complain about the feeling of his hard body pressed up against yours, but the sudden closeness was a bit overwhelming.

"Ugh, I think I have whiplash."

"Liar," said Steve with another laugh, be dramatic. You liked it, admit it."

"Whatever, why are you even kidnapping me, anyways?"

"I told you. It's not healthy to sit in a dark room, alone, all day, every day."

"First, rude.” You said, giving him a nudge in the side. He let out a small sound, which made your eyes widen in surprise.

"Did that hurt you, oh Captain, my Captain?"

"It didn't hurt," he grumbled, rolling his eyes. "And second?"

"What?"

"First, rude," he mimicked in a high-pitched voice. "Second?"

"Oh! Yeah, why are we actually doing this?"

That’s when Steve paused. Your heart instantly dropped at his hesitation. Steve only hesitated for two reasons. The first reason would be if he were completely at a loss for words, and clearly, by his recent attitude, that wasn’t the case. So that left the second reason: because he knew something that he either didn’t want to tell you or something he wasn’t supposed to know.

With recent events, it wasn’t difficult to guess what was happening.

"Natasha told you, didn't she."

You were already pulling away from him, ready to go back home and hide in your bed for the rest of eternity, when he caught your wrist.

“Hey,” His voice was softer, and there was a hint of sadness in his eyes. “It doesn't matter. What matters is that you have a good time today, alright? So, forget about what happened, forget about what Natasha said, and just focus on having a good day. Okay?"

“I don’t want a pity date, Steve. It’s nice that you care and everything, but-”

"I'm not pity dating you." His voice was firm, and his face was hard, the complete opposite of the way it was just moments before.

"Then what do you call this? My actual date sucked, and I've been cooped up in my house, so you thought, 'Hey, why not take her out and show her a good time?'"

Steve let out a sigh and shook his head, his fingers loosening around your wrist. "No, no. That's not... I'm sorry."

The change in him was drastic. He seemed to shrink in on himself, and his head drooped like a kicked puppy.

"Steve,"

He lifted his head and looked at you, his baby-blue eyes filled with guilt.

"You have no idea how badly I want to punch that guy for treating you like that.” He spoke softly as if the words were only meant for him to hear. But, as the saying goes, the walls have ears, and the parking lot was pretty damn quiet. “But that's not what this is. You're my friend, and I hate to see you sad. I'm not here just because of a stupid date. I'm here because I care about you."

There was a pause, a heavy silence hanging between the two of you. He was looking at you expectantly, a pleading look in his eyes.

"I'm not going to make you talk about it if you don't want to."

"Okay,"

"And I'm not going to bring it up again unless you do.”

"Okay."

"And, I'm not going to ask you for anything in return, maybe a little more conversation, a smile, maybe a laugh, but other than that..."

A smile slowly crept onto your face. He had the uncanny ability to make everyone else smile, regardless of their mood, and he was the only one who could do it. It’s not that his jokes were particularly funny because they weren't, but it was the way he said them.

He was an awkward, nervous mess most of the time, but when he was confident when he was in his element, there was no stopping him.

"You sure you want to waste all your energy on me, old man?"

His lips twitched at the nickname, his eyes brightening. "For you, doll? Anything."

And there it was. That goddamn smile that made your heart skip a beat and butterflies erupt in your stomach. He was just too sweet, and it was completely unfair.

"Come on," he said, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and tugging you close. "Let's get you something nice."

You smiled as you walked next to him. As much as you hated the motorcycle ride, it was nice to spend some time with Steve. He parked outside a Target, and the two of you walked in, immediately making your way to the women's section.

You took charge almost immediately, going to the racks and picking out different things. Steve followed behind you, carrying your armfuls of clothes as you added more. You went through rack after rack, throwing the things that caught your eye into his arms.

After about the tenth outfit, you turned around and saw him standing there, his arms filled with clothing and a smile on his face. You ignored it or tried to, as you turned back around and went to another rack.

When you finally finished, you had an armful of outfits, and Steve was practically weighed down. He didn't seem to mind, though, and you had the feeling that he had enjoyed his role as a pack mule. When the shopping was done, you ran to the bathrooms and changed into the outfit while Steve waited outside.

A pullover hoodie and a pair of jeans, the closest thing that Target had to leather. Not exactly what you wanted, but it would work. When you stepped out of the stall, you found Steve sitting in one of the chairs, flipping through a magazine. Such a 90-year-old, again.

He looked up when he heard the door open, his eyes sweeping over your form.

"Where to now? The ditch?"

Steve rolled his eyes, a smile spreading across his lips. "You’re an avid book reader, right? What's the biggest bookstore in the area?"

"Are we going to Barnes and Noble or something?"

"If that's what's closest."

You paused, watching his expression. There was no sign of teasing, no hint that this was a joke.

"…Really? Barnes and Noble?"

"Is that an issue?"

The disbelief must have been written on your face because Steve gave a loud laugh, throwing his head back.

"Oh, come on. I can be spontaneous!"

"Sure," you mumbled, trying not to show how happy his statement had made you. He remembered a stupid fact about you that you had told him months ago. And he had stored it, not forgotten it.

You felt like you were in the twilight zone, but you weren't complaining.

Steve bought the outfit and threw the tags away, and the two of you got back on the motorcycle. It was easier, this time, with the knowledge that he had cared enough to listen to your ramblings. Maybe he cared enough to calm it.

You had your face buried in his back, not out of fear this time, but out of comfort. You couldn’t see him smile as he sped up, but you could feel it.

At Barnes and Noble, he sat and watched as you wandered the store, a smile on his face. He didn’t say anything, didn't pressure you into talking, didn’t even try to join in; he just sat and listened as you read him the summaries of the books. You didn’t even mean to; it just kind of happened.

One moment, you were looking through the books; the next, you were reading the synopsis out loud to Steve. He didn’t say anything, didn't make any indication that he was listening, but you could tell by the way his head would turn towards you when you spoke. And once again, Steve was your personal pack mule, carrying the books that you were interested in.

By the end of the night, he had an armful of books, a satisfied smile on his face, and you were laughing. You couldn’t remember the last time you had laughed this much, the last time you had felt so happy.

When you got home, the sky was dark, and the moon was high. Steve followed you inside and set the books down on the coffee table. He had refused to let you carry them, insisting that they would get ruined in your hands. You didn't bother fighting him on it and allowed him to carry them.

"Do you want a drink or anything? Something to eat?" It was obvious you were slightly nervous now, but Steve didn’t seem the notice… or even care at this point.

"No, thank you. I should probably be getting back."

"Oh." You paused, not really wanting him to leave, but you couldn’t ask him to stay. You were friends, that was it, and nothing more. "Okay, yeah."

"Well," he started, his fingers flexing by his side. "I'll see you soon, then?"

"Yeah," you said, giving him a smile. "See you soon, Steve."

He looked like he was going to say something else before he gave you a soft smile and walked out.

Once he was gone, you shut the door and let out a sigh. Today was perfect, and you hated yourself for it. You hated yourself for enjoying yourself, hated that you were able to push away all thoughts of him. It was like the universe was taunting you, dangling the perfect guy in front of your face, and you couldn’t have him.

"Why him, huh?"

"I can still hear you." Steve's voice echoed through the house despite his absence in it, and you internally groaned as you got up to stare out the window. Damn, his super hearing.

You pulled the blinds aside and watched as Steve got on his bike, his helmet still in his hands.

"Steve."

He paused, turning his head towards the house. He couldn’t hear what you were saying now that he was by his bike, not with the closed windows, but he could see the silhouette of your body against the curtains. You lifted it up in an instant, an invitation.

"Steve.” You repeated, and this time he heard it. Loud and clear.

"Yeah?"

"Did you really mean it? That this wasn’t a pity date?"

Steve paused for a moment, his lips slightly parted. After a moment, he rested his helmet on the handlebars and made his way back to you. He stopped inches from you, slightly bending down through the window.

A smile and a simple glimpse at your lips was his only answer. He looked back in your eyes, his expression soft, waiting. He was leaving it up to you, not wanting to push, not wanting to scare. He wanted it, but he wasn’t going to force it.

It was all the incentive that you needed.

You reached through the window and grabbed his jacket, pulling him forward and crashing your lips together. It was desperate and slightly awkward since you were halfway through the window, but neither of you seemed to care.

Steve reached forward and grabbed the side of the window, pushing it open even further and lifting you through. You let out a surprised squeak, which quickly turned into a moan as he pressed you up against the house.

His lips were warm and softer than you expected. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss.

After a few moments, Steve pulled away, his forehead resting on yours and a smile on his face.

"Okay, this wasn't a pity date."

Steve let out a laugh, the breath puffing against your face.

"Good. Glad we established that."

"What was this, then? I've been told that Captain America wasn’t one to put out on the first date."

"Oh, yeah. Definitely not. I'm a gentleman."

"Then what's this, Steve? What was today?"

His arm tightened around you, and he pressed his lips against your forehead, taking a moment to gather his thoughts.

"Like I said, I can be spontaneous."

"Spontaneous," you mumbled, letting out a laugh.

"And," he continued, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. "It seems good girls like a little bad every now and then. You especially, given your choice of dates."

"So, is that what this is? Captain America showing me a good time?"

"No. This is Steve Rogers showing his girl a good time."

"Your girl, huh?"

"Yeah," he murmured, his lips inches from yours. "My girl."

And when his lips met yours again, all you could think about was the leather jacket, the motorcycle, and the promise of more.

And a whole lot more bad.

[hatchetverse]

ok but what if curt had kissed owen after one step ahead

at first owen is shocked and he pushes curt away but hangs on to his lapel- and mid push, changes his mind. curt still has his gun and

owen doesnt close his eyes as he drags curt back in for another kiss. then his hands are on curt's throat and he can't breathe. curt looks into owens eyes.

their lips still haven't parted and everything in curt just wants to give up and hold owen. he presses the hand without the gun around owens waist and into the small of his back, almost on instinct. but his eyes are watering now and his vision is darkening the longer he goes without oxygen. owen will not let up. he really means to kill him.

curt's heart sinks as he knows what he has to do. it's him or owen. its owen or the world's privacy. it's owen or shady chimera world domination.

tears fall from his eyes as he raises the gun to owen's temple. he squeezes his eyes shut as he pulls the trigger. he tastes blood. the other man collapses into his hold.

owen carvour, the love of his life, is dead.

curt has saved the world again.