#ABOUT THE ACTUAL PROBLEM WHY IS EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU

[helaintoloki]

For Better or For Worse

pairing: Bucky Barnes x avenger!reader

warnings: MAJOR SPOILERS, angst, themes of trauma, mentions of violence, mentions of pregnancy, eventual fluff, bucky and reader working out their marriage problems

notes: so i actually first started working on this piece a month before the movie came out and wasn’t able to complete it until i actually saw the film. there will be some inaccuracies since it’s purely based off memory but i hope you guys enjoy!

summary: You want a divorce, but Bucky needs your help for one last mission. Luckily, marriage is all about compromise

The court issued papers fill Bucky with unease as the two of you sit at the dining table in silence. Neither of you has said a word since you presented the documents to him when he returned from his office, and his gaze has been glued to the petition for a painfully long amount of time. The legal jargon doesn’t catch his attention, but one word has stuck out from the rest and branded itself at the forefront of his mind.

Divorce.

These papers are meant to finalize your divorce.

“I just need your signature,” you prompt him quietly after taking a nervous swallow. You try to remain poised, but Bucky knows you well enough to detect your anxious tells- the way your leg bounces nervously under the table while your right hand absently tries to fidget with a ring that isn’t there. He sighs and allows himself to sink back further into his chair while he attempts to organize the amalgamation of thoughts swirling in his mind.

“This is what you really want?” Bucky asks gently, tone devoid of judgement or resentment and instead filled with quiet defeat.

“Are you kidding? I don’t want this at all,” you insist miserably, unable to stop yourself from reaching for his hand across the table. “I love you, Bucky. More than anything. But we haven’t been on the same page in years.”

“Of course we’re on the same page,” he stresses incredulously as if it’s ridiculous to believe otherwise. “We love each other, we’ll do whatever it takes to keep each other safe, we’re a team.”

A disappointed frown takes hold of your features as you carefully pull your hand away. Your eyes are full of sorrow and grief for your failing marriage, and Bucky doesn’t understand why his words have garnered such a reaction from you. He asked you to be his wife out of love and complete adoration for the woman who had risked everything to help him become the man he is today. Wasn’t that enough?

“When we got married, you promised me we’d retire and start our lives somewhere quiet away from all the danger. We’d do the whole white picket fence thing and grow old together, maybe start a family now that all the super hero stuff was behind us. But then Sam needed our help, and I didn’t mind suiting up again for a friend.“

“Of course you didn’t,” Bucky affirms with a faint smile, heart nearly bursting with pride at the mere thought of your selflessness. Steve had once said your compassionate heart could melt even the toughest of soldiers, and Bucky had been no exception when first meeting you.

“I thought that would be our final send off, but then came Valentina, then your congressional campaign, and now the impeachment. It never ends, Bucky,” you say emphatically, exhaustion and defeat present in your tone. Quieter now, you let your eyes fall back to the documents and swallow back your tears before continuing, “I’m starting to realize now that there never will be a house with a white picket fence.”

“Y/n, come on,” Bucky pleads earnestly, “of course there will be. Just give me some time-“

“That’s what you always say,” you point out with a smile that fails to reach your eyes. Your husband is desperate to change your mind, the panic evident in his features as he scrambles to make things right before it’s too late.

“I can change.”

“If you can honestly look me in the eyes and promise me your days of fighting are over, I’ll shred the papers myself.”

A heavy silence follows your words, and you sit expectantly as you wait for him to make a move. Bucky’s eyes wander to every corner of the room, analyze every speck of dust that lands on the table, but they’re never once able to look into your own. You know you have your answer, and Bucky knows there is no changing your mind now.

“I’ll still help you find evidence for Valentina’s impeachment,” you assure him numbly, your fingers absently fidgeting with the buttons on your shirt. “I’ll help you organize your argument and figure out the next step, but you’re on your own after that.”

“About that…” Bucky utters guiltily, looking at you like a dog caught with its tail between its legs. Your brows furrow slightly in confusion before your shoulders slump in disappointment. You know what’s coming, and you know you’re not going to like it.

“What did you do this time?”

“The evidence I’m looking for, it’s not a paper trail or the location to some facility. It’s… people,” Bucky admits with a wince, sinking further back into his chair when he notes the frustration evident in your features.

“Oh my god, Bucky!” You exclaim in exasperation. “What do you mean it’s people?!”

Bucky hates seeing you angry, especially when your anger is directed towards him, but he desperately tries to extinguish the flames before they can get worse.

“Valentina sent people to cover her tracks- contract agents.”

“And who are the agents?” you press him, annoyance clear in your tone. He winces, clearly not looking forward to admiting the truth to you.

“John Walker, Ava Star, and Yelena Belova… But y/n, I swear to you, I had no idea about her involvement when I asked for your help taking Valentina down,” Bucky insists honestly in response to the ire clear on your features, hoping you’ll understand his point of view. Of course he didn’t mean to disrespect your wishes, but it had all happened so fast he hadn’t been given an opportunity to right it.

“Natasha was my best friend, and I promised if anything happened to her I’d keep an eye on Yelena in her place,” you remind him indignantly with an irritated huff. Bucky lets his head hang in shame. “You realize you’re asking me to go back on my word by going after her, right?”

“I know… and I’m sorry. But this is important. The fate of the world could be at stake.”

“It always is,” you mutter testily. Bucky sighs.

“Look, just… before I become a divorced middle aged man, can you just go on this one last mission with me? Think of it as a final send off,” Bucky coaxes with a nervous smile. “And when all is said and done I’ll sign the papers.”

You pull your lips back into a thin line as you stare down the man sitting across from you. You’re not exactly pleased with this entire situation, but a part of you knows you’d feel horrible turning your back on him when he needed you most. Despite your impending divorce, you still loved Bucky with your entire being, and you always would have his best interests at heart no matter the case.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” you curse under your breath, more directed at yourself than at Bucky. “I know I’m going to hate myself for this, but I’ll help you.”

The relief that washes over Bucky’s face is almost rewarding, but you try not to let yourself get too caught up in the fantasy. You still aren’t an Avenger, and going on a life threatening mission isn’t going to magically fix the problems in your marriage. You’re simply doing this as a favor to the man you love, and you’re adamant about not letting yourself fall in too deep.

You only hope Bucky keeps good on his promise to you because he can’t afford to break any more.

~~~

You carefully pull the zipper of your suit closed before taking a step back to catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Despite years of inactivity, it still fits you like a second skin, and you hate it. The last time you’d suited up had been to stop the Flag Smashers, and when it was over you swore to yourself you’d never put it on again. You’d shoved it towards the very back of your closet hoping to forget it existed, and yet here you stood being haunted by your past in spite of how hard you’d worked to separate yourself from your life as an Avenger.

“You look good,” Bucky compliments from behind you, figure leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest as he takes in the sight of you. He desperately wants to cross the room and pull you against him, hold you by the hips and pour all of his gratitude for your help into a kiss, but he refrains. He doesn’t want to cross any boundaries, but he isn’t exactly sure how to act around his soon-to-be ex-wife. The air is awkward with uncertainty and tense with your anger at having been dragged into this mess, but neither of you dare make note of it.

“I look like an Avenger,” you mutter dryly before pushing past him in search of your boots. “Now tell me again what the plan is.”

“Thanks to Valentina’s assistant I have their location. There’s an abandoned mechanic shop along the way, and you’re going to wait for me there while I bring them in. All I need you to do is help me keep them in line and present the evidence at the hearing.”

“Doing all the dirty work?” You muse with a raised brow. “How noble of you.”

“I know you don’t want to be here, so I’m trying to keep you out of the action as much as possible,” Bucky avows with a sigh, making a move to reach out for your hand only to quickly pull it back. If you notice his slip up you say nothing of it, only holding his gaze as he continues, “I can’t promise this won’t go sideways because it very well could, but I’ll have your back just like I always do.”

Your hard exterior softens at his confession, and you find your eyes quickly darting to the floor to avoid his burning stare. Your heart tightens in your chest with despair as you’re reminded of the fact that despite your impending divorce, you love him with your entire being. Bucky has been by your side for years, and you’re terrified of what life will be like without him as your partner, but you keep reminding yourself that it’s for the best. There isn’t a future there anymore, and you’re tired of living a life of fighting. You’re no longer compatible, and the sooner you accept it the better off you’ll be.

“You should go,” you urge, abruptly ending the tender moment he’d created. “If what Mel says is true about them escaping then they probably already have a target on their heads. You need to get to them first.”

Nodding in understanding, Bucky bids you goodbye by placing an awkward hand on your shoulder. It isn’t very subtle by any means, but the gesture has you cracking the smallest of smiles at the man. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Be careful, James,” you say quietly, a hint of vulnerability shining through your tone. Despite the front you out on, your eyes always give you away. Bucky can note the worry in them, the love you hold for the man you married all those years ago. He knows it’s naive of him to think a woman who’s always been so strong willed would ever change her mind after it’s already been made up, but he really hopes he won’t have to sign those papers when you finally get home.

“Always am for you,” he replies with a faint smile, unable to stop himself from gently brushing his knuckles against your jaw the way he knows you like. Your eyes flutter shut almost on instinct form the contact, and in spite of your better judgement you find yourself missing the feel of his touch when he pulls away and leaves you to your own devices.

As planned, you drive yourself to the mechanic shop and sit in wait for Bucky to return with the agents. You’re restless trying to find ways to keep yourself busy in his absence- stretching, unloading and reloading your gun, scrolling through the latest news articles regarding Valentina’s impeachment. You appreciate Bucky’s want to respect your wishes as much as he can in the situation you find yourselves in, but you feel useless not being part of the action. The quiet leaves you with nothing but your thoughts, and all you can focus on is your broken relationship.

Where had it gone wrong? When was the moment it finally occurred to you that you weren’t happy? Were you making a mistake?

Your agonizing rumination is interrupted by the sound of the front doors slamming open. You quickly rise from your place on the work bench and watch as the disheveled group is ushered in by your husband. Hands bound and defeat clear on their faces, you think it’s safe to say the rest of this mission should be easy enough.

“It cannot be,” a voice utters in awe, prompting you to turn your inquisitive gaze towards the man with the unkempt beard and red suit. “It is y/n Barnes! The Avenger!”

You shift awkwardly at the feeling of all eyes now focused on you and offer a meager wave of your fingers in response to the man. Bucky simply rolls his eyes and forces the group to sit before reinforcing their restraints so they can’t escape. You find your gaze subtly shifting to the blonde woman seated a few feet across from you, chest tightening at her mere presence. You don’t know her personally, but you’d heard endless stories about her from Natasha when she was still alive. She’s different from what you pictured, but there’s no doubt in your mind that this is Yelena.

“Y/n, great to see you again,” John greets with an airy grin despite currently being bound with a metal rod. You hold back a laugh when Bucky forcefully tightens the restraints in annoyance at hearing the man attempt to start a friendly rapport with you. It’s clear your husband still isn’t a fan of Walker, not that you blame him considering what you’d been through with the man.

“Wish I could say the same,” you hum with a subtle shrug. “I’m just here to help clean up Bucky’s mess.”

“And what mess would that be?” Ava prompts with a grunt after Bucky tests her restraints.

“Whatever mess I need to make to prove Valentina’s guilty,” Bucky answers for you. “You guys are the evidence, so you’re going to march into that impeachment hearing with me and tell the board everything you know.”

“No, no, see, we don’t work for Valentina anymore,” Yelena interjects despite Bucky’s skeptical glare. “We actually are working together to take her down.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that?” Bucky scoffs.

“She’s telling the truth, Bucky,” John interjects, and while the Winter Soldier doesn’t seem interested in what they have to say, you are.

“What’s really going on then?” You ask, inquisitive gaze meeting Yelena’s frenzied blue eyes.

“Valentina was going to incinerate us, but then we met Bob and escaped.”

“Bob?” Bucky retorts in disbelief.

“Yes, Bob! We thought he was just some weird guy, but it turns out he can fly which would have been good to know when we were stuck in that elevator and-“

“Okay, okay, enough. You can say whatever you want but it’s not going to work.”

“Bucky,” you call gently, his features immediately softening at the sound of his name falling from your lips. You shift closer to the man and lower your voice to a hushed whisper before speaking, “I don’t think they’re lying.”

“What? Of course they are!” He scoffs indignantly, prompting you to roll your eyes in response. “You expect me to believe a story about some guy named Bob?”

“I expect you to be impartial. Isn’t that kind of your thing, Mr. Congressman?” You rebuff sarcastically much to the man’s chagrin. “The least you can do is hear them out.”

“I think you should listen to her,” Alexei pipes innocently, only serving to agitate the man further. However, before he can offer a rebuttal the sound of his phone ringing interrupts your conversation. You watch your husband shoot him a warning glance before answering the call.

“Hey,” another voice calls, prompting you to shift your focus onto Yelena. “Are you really an Avenger?”

“Retired,” you correct her with a faint smile.

“But you were one,” she insists, “and if you were then… you knew my sister.”

You feel your chest tighten immediately at the mention of Natasha, the air around you suddenly becoming thick with tension as all eyes land on you. You shift uncomfortably on your feet and cross your arms defensively over your chest before offering a single nod of acknowledgement to her statement. By the look on her face you know she wants to ask you more, but your conversation is interrupted by the sound of Bucky’s exasperated voice.

“Valentina was working on something called Project Sentry?” He retorts, catching the attention of your hostages. “A guy named Bob?”

“Yes, Bob!” All four exclaim indignantly at finally being proven right. You hold back a laugh and instead give him a pointed look as he finally hangs up his phone and sighs.

“Alright, change of plans. I’m going to stop Valentina, and you guys are coming with me.”

“Wait, us?” Yelena retorts in uncertainty.

“Yeah, you,” Bucky replies with a raised brow. “Why? You got some place to be?”

“Bucky,” you interject pointedly, grabbing onto his arm and pulling him aside to create some semblance of privacy from the others. “What the hell are you doing? You said we were just gathering evidence, not risking our lives fighting against some super powered experiment.”

“That was before I learned she’d created a literal human weapon,” he rebuttals with an exasperated wave of his hands. “I told you things might get messy, but we can handle it. We always have.”

“You seem to forget that I don’t want to handle it,” you remind him pointedly. “I’m here because I care about you, because I love you too much to leave you hanging, but this isn’t my life anymore.”

“You think it doesn’t kill me to ask for your help?” Bucky prompts gently, unable to help himself from fervently taking your hands in his own. “You think throwing you into a dangerous mission at the last second isn’t gnawing at my entire conscious right now? I know what’s at stake here, and I know you don’t owe me anything, but we have to do this. You know we do.”

You pull your lips into a thin line and shift your gaze to the ground as you contemplate his words. You’d told him you were done with fighting, even decided to end your marriage because of it, but you knew he had a point. You couldn’t exactly retire if the world was left in ruins, and you also knew you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if something happened to Bucky because you chose to bail on him instead of seeing your final mission together through.

The feel of his hand gently squeezing your own brings you out of your thoughts and back to the present. You allow him to gently lift your chin with his metal hand so that he can meet your eyes, causing your heart to leap in your chest at the intimate gesture. You haven’t been this close to him since you professed your desire to end the marriage, but the man still has a way of softening your hard exterior with ease.

“You know I would never let anything happen to you,” he utters softly, “so I need you to trust me.”

Your lips pull into a slight pout as you fight within yourself to resist melting into his touch. You shouldn’t still be this attached to a man you’re about to divorce, but you love him, and that’s what makes this is all so complicated.

Finally, you let out a sigh and solemnly reply, “I trust you, and I’m going to help you see this through to the end because no matter what we’re partners.”

“Partners,” Bucky repeats fondly, chest swelling with pride at the notion. You may no longer be husband and wife, but at its core your relationship is one of teamwork and trust. Retired Avenger or not, you’ll always be there for Bucky when he needs you.

Because in spite of the legal documents sitting on your coffee table back at home, you still love him with your entire being.

And that terrifies you.

~~~

You feel the ground jostle beneath you as Bucky drives over another pothole. You’re not exactly the most comfortable stuck in the loading bed of the truck the team decided to steal, but Alexei had been so excited to ride shotgun with the Winter Soldier that you didn’t have it in you to protest. Besides, it was something you’d have to start getting used to now since ending your marriage also meant ending your passenger seat privileges.

Yelena, John, and Ava proudly boast their weaponry, but you’re too lost in thought to register any part of their conversation. Bucky had been vague when revealing the details of where Valentina’s Watchtower was located, and you knew him well enough to figure out when he was hiding something from you. You had no idea what secret he was keeping, but you had a feeling you weren’t going to like what was waiting for you at the end of this drive.

You feel a nudge against your boot and look up to find the three now staring at you expectantly. You blink in surprise before asking, “Were you saying something?”

“Are you really Bucky’s wife like John says?” Ava prompts with intrigue.

“I… technically still am, yes,” you reply with a careful nod, fingers already beginning to search for your missing ring on instinct.

“What do you mean by that?” John questions with furrowed brows. You shoot him a glare and awkwardly shift in your seat, not exactly thrilled at your personal life being put on the spot by people you’ve only known for a few hours.

“We’re getting a divorce,” you state bluntly in an attempt to simply rip the bandage right off. The man looks stunned, and the air has now suddenly become thick with awkward tension.

“Did not see that coming,” he breathes out remorsefully, clearly regretting having asked in the first place. “How could you be getting a divorce? The last time I saw you two you couldn’t spend more than five seconds away from each other.”

“It’s complicated, and no offense but I’m not about to get into my marriage problems with a truck full of strangers,” you snark defensively. He raises his hands in surrender and says nothing more, but your mood has effectively been ruined.

“I have a question,” Yelena pipes up with an innocent raise of her hand. “If you say you’re retired, then why are you helping us?”

“Because I can’t exactly retire if Valentina blows the world up with her bullshit,” you explain with a harsh exhale. Then, features softening, you utter, “and I couldn’t live with myself if I let innocent people get hurt because I chose not to help them.”

“God, you sound like an Avenger,” Ava scoffs in detestation, “so selfless and kind. How’d someone like you become the Winter Soldier’s wife?”

You smile faintly at the question, chest filling with warmth as your mind drifts back to all those years ago when you’d first met Bucky. Despite how things are now, you don’t think you’d change any of it.

You had just worked your way up to becoming an agent for S.H.I.E.L.D. when Pierce pulled you aside for a ‘special’ assignment. Too naive to question why he’d want to trust a rookie with an important job, you followed orders and went to the designated coordinates full of excitement for your first job. You had no idea he was setting you up to run into the Winter Soldier so he could see your potential firsthand. You barely survived the fight, and Bucky probably would have killed you if they hadn’t called it off, but Pierce decided then that you would be his new pet project. You were sworn to secrecy after being threatened with your life, and you didn’t dare try to resist.

You trained mercilessly under the watchful guidance of the Winter Soldier, pushed to your breaking point nearly every day until you were deemed ready to join him on missions. You became his shadow, following his every move and making it your own. Eventually, you were trusted to tend to him after assignments as well- cleaning his wounds, calming him into submission, tending to whatever need he had. In a strange sort of way you were partners, and he came to respect you as an individual instead of viewing you as a subordinate. You became close, too close for Pierce’s liking, and the man decided you no longer fit into his plans.

Bucky had been ordered to kill you the next time you were sent on an assignment together, but the plan was thankfully intercepted by the arrival of Captain America and Black Widow. The entire operation had blown up thanks to their efforts, and you were freed, but your companion was nowhere to be found. The Avengers took you in as their own, and in that time you struggled to accept that the man you’d grown so close to had left you behind.

Your paths crossed once more in the wake of the Sokovia Accords, and though your reunion had initially been uncomfortably awkward, you soon were able to fall back into your old routine. Your partnership became friendship, and when you chose to stay behind with him in Wakanda it evolved into a relationship of unwavering love and support. You helped each other work through what Hydra had put you through, understood each other in a way no one else did, and promised to be by one another’s side for the rest of time.

The trio is captivated by your story, and you find yourself falling quiet as you realize such a promise can no longer be kept. Your marriage is ending, and eventually you’ll go back to being strangers once more. You sniffle, awkwardly clearing your throat as you realize you’d become more vulnerable than you intended to be with the group. Their solemn gazes burn your skin in a way that’s suffocating, and you wish they’d just move on from the topic already.

“I know it’s not my place,” John begins, filling you with trepidation and unease, “but it sounds like you’re making a mistake.”

“Excuse me?”

“Look, I don’t know the full story, but it’s obvious you still love him. You shouldn’t give up so easily-“

“You know what, John? You’re right,” you retort bitterly, tone dripping with sarcasm, “it’s not your place. In fact, you’re the last person I’d take marriage advice from, so why don’t we just keep our opinions to ourselves.”

The man’s features fall at your harsh comment, and while you’d normally feel remorse for snapping at someone so quickly all you feel is anger at yourself. You know his words hold some truth to them; you still love Bucky, and you want nothing more than to stay married, but neither of you can seem to reach an agreement that suits both of your needs. He can’t live a life of inaction, and you can’t give up on the picket fence dream, so what the hell are you supposed to do?

The rest of the truck ride is quiet, and no one dares to ask anymore questions about your marriage.

~~~

You understand now why Bucky seemed to be so avoidant about disclosing the location of Valentina’s new base. How was he supposed to tell you that the new building she’d acquired was the one you once called home?

Your entire body feels on edge as you squeeze into the elevator and watch the doors close as you begin to move towards the top floor. It’s been years since you stepped foot in this building, but you still know every turn and corner like the back of your hand. Memories of the past haunt you like ghosts, causing your chest to ache with nostalgia and longing for a time that had long since passed. Your days as a fresh faced recruit had been so simple and safe; you hadn’t experienced real tragedy yet, and you were protected in the little bubble you lived in as an Avenger. Everything had changed so quickly, and you still found yourself struggling to pick up the pieces.

“Hey,” Bucky’s voice whispers gently, hand coming to rest comfortingly on the small of your back, “you okay?”

“I don’t know,” you answer truthfully. You feel like you’re in a daze, and you’re not sure how you’re supposed to handle being thrusted back to your past. “I never thought I’d come back here.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before,” he murmurs sincerely. “I know I should have, but I thought it might overwhelm you.”

Too lost in anxious thought, you absently reach for his hand just as you’ve done numerous times in the past and hold on tightly to ground yourself. Though he’s surprised by the action, he’s able to respond by giving your hand a gentle squeeze back.

“I’m here,” he promises you. You swallow thickly and give him a small nod, bracing yourself as the elevator doors finally open to the top floor.

Your hand never leaves Bucky’s as you cautiously step forward and begin to scan the room. You can see that Valentina has taken the liberty of redesigning the place, but the layout is still identical. You can almost see yourself sitting on the couch watching Tony attempt to lift Thor’s hammer, having a talk with Steve on the balcony after a rough day of training, lounging at the bar counter begging Natasha to show you how to make her signature cocktail.

Some of your happiest memories are permanently embedded in this building, but that all fades away at the sight of Valentina pouring herself a glass of champagne right where you pictured Natasha to be.

“Took you guys long enough,” she jests coyly before making her way around the island counter. “What do you think? This place certainly wasn’t cheap, but I think it’ll do just fine. God, can you imagine the glorious battles that took place in this very room? I know you can, y/n.”

You tense at her observation and feel your lips curl into an irritated scowl at her blatant disrespect. It takes everything in you not to lunge at the woman, and if not for Bucky still tightly grasping your hand you’d be in the midst of throwing a right hook.

“This ends today,” Bucky warns her lowly as your group begins to surround the woman. Each and every one of you has a bone to pick with her, and you’re eager to finally bring her to justice and get this whole thing over with.

“Congressman Barnes, wow,” she greets with feigned surprise. “You know, I never really thought you’d have a promising political career, but less than half a term? Yikes.”

You take a step towards her only for Bucky to pull you back, causing the woman to let out an amused huff through her nose. Her smug demeanor and careless need to insult your husband has you fuming, but that’s exactly what she wants. Valentina knows how to get under someone’s skin, and you fair no better to her mind games than anyone else.

“Mrs. Barnes,” she greets cordially with an air of false sweetness, “I can still call you that, right? Congratulations on the impending divorce. I gotta say, I like you much better as an Avenger than a housewife.”

“Retired Avenger,” you correct her through gritted teeth. “This suit’s coming off as soon as we kick your ass.”

“You know, I never understood why you two were together, but I’m starting to see it now.”

“We’re taking you in, Val,” John interrupts only for the woman to chuckle in response.

“I don’t think so, junior varsity Captain America.”

He immediately reaches for his gun, and though you’re interested to see where this will go Bucky is quick to interject and have the blond stand down. She hums, clearly unthreatened, and turns her attention to the other two women in the room.

“Oh, nice to see you, Ava. Yelena,” she pauses while looking the Widow up and down, “you look awful. Are you sure you’re really ready for that public facing role you asked me about.”

“Eat shit, Valentina,” Yelena says bluntly before taking a menacing step towards her. “Where’s Bob?”

Despite being clearly outnumbered, Valentina remains calm and sure of herself as she takes another drink from her glass of champagne. “Look at you, you all are so adorable. Just think, I send you down there to kill each other, and instead you make nice and form a team.”

The circle around her grows tighter, and you watch on edge as Bucky takes a step towards the woman with his hand aiming for her throat. However, an invisible force prevents him from moving any closer, prompting your group to look between each other unsurely.

“Oh, I’m not alone,” she explains apologetically before glancing towards the stairs. It’s then that a new face enters the room, and you watch with uncertainty as a blond man in a golden suit slowly makes his descent down the stairway.

“Bob?” Yelena calls skeptically. After everything you’d heard from the group, the man before you is certainly the last person you’d ever expect to be the Bob they’d discussed.

“His name is Sentry,” Valentina corrects, “and he’s my get out of jail free card. Once I bring him to the impeachment trial they’re sure to let me keep my job. In fact, I’ll be able to protect the American people in the way I see fit.“

“That’s never going to work,” you argue indignantly. “They’d have to be crazy to give you full control.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Valentina coos mockingly before turning to Bob. “Sentry, these people are criminals and a danger to the American public. I need you to dispose of them for me.”

You carefully rest your hand on the handle of your gun, watching intently as the man looks from your group to Valentina. You have no idea what he’s capable of or how this fight is going to turn out, but you’re ready to do whatever it takes to make sure you get to go home after all is said and done.

“I don’t want to,” Bob says uncomfortably, “they’re not a threat to me so why should I have to fight them? I don’t want to hurt anybody.”

Despite his hesitance to complete Valentina’s request and Yelena’s insistence for the group to back off, a fight soon breaks out between Sentry and your team with Alexei being the first to throw a punch. You assume that with the numbers on your side you’ll be able to defeat him with ease, but you couldn’t be more wrong. The hero is essentially indestructible, and every punch you throw or bullet you fire doesn’t so much as leave a scratch.

You barely manage to miss getting toppled over by Ava after she’s thrown across the room, rolling out of the way and landing next to Bucky who looks rightfully frazzled. You can tell he hadn’t been expecting this either, but the fact that you’re currently on the same page brings you little comfort.

“I have a plan,” you pant breathlessly while picking yourself up off the floor. “You distract him from the front and I’ll creep up from behind.”

“You really think that’s going to work?” He breathes, watching as you pull your knife from your thigh holster.

“Only one way to find out,” you reply with an easygoing shrug despite the dread that’s pooling in your stomach at the thought of this going wrong. While you’d initially joined this mission due to the fact that you couldn’t retire if the world was in danger, you’re starting to realize now that you can’t retire if you’re dead either. You just hope this works.

Bucky gives you a single nod before sprinting full speed at Bob, allowing you a window of opportunity to creep up behind him. You grip the handle of your knife tightly in your hand before lunging forward and driving the blade into his neck, but to your horror the impact causes the metal to crumple in on itself. Your knife falls to the floor with a deafening clatter, and suddenly Sentry’s focus is on you as his hardened gaze closes in on your terrified face.

His hand shoots out before you can react, fingers closing around your throat as he slowly lifts you off the ground. Your hands desperately claw at his arm while your feet try to kick him away, but he doesn’t even budge. His gaze is cold and unfeeling, as if your pathetic gasps for air are but a mere nuisance to him. You can feel the world fading around you as he tightens his grip, and you can’t help but to think how poetic it would be for you to die here in the tower.

“Let her go!” Bucky growls before pulling out his gun and relentlessly firing at the superhuman. He’s panicking. He can see the fight slowly starting to die within you, but he’s not about to let you be taken from him so easily.

“Fine,” Sentry utters unpityingly before carelessly throwing your body across the room like a rag doll. You slam into the wall behind the bar counter, bottles of liquor shattering from the impact and digging into your skin as you drop to the ground in a heap of broken glass. Bucky’s eyes widen in panic before turning sharp with unbridled rage. His chest is tight with an anger he hasn’t felt since his time as the Winter Soldier, and all he can see is red as he pulls off his jacket and tosses it to the side.

Your entire body feels like it’s on fire, a sharp pain shooting up your spine as someone rushes over and picks you up out of the glass. The room feels like it’s spinning and your vision is so spotty you barely register Alexei looking down at you with worry as he carries you over to the others. You reach back with a groan for Bucky, but the Red Guardian shushes you in what he hopes is a comforting manner before handing you over to John.

As you feel yourself finally starting to come to, the first thing your gaze focuses on is the sight of Sentry catching a punch Bucky has thrown with his metal arm. You watch in dismay as he slowly twists the appendage before ripping it straight off and hitting your husband upside the head. You cry out in horror as his body slides across the floor in front of you, and despite the way your own body screams in pain you forcefully drag yourself over to him. He’s barely conscious, a bruise already forming on his cheek, but the gentle touch of your hands on his face has his eyes fluttering open to meet your worried gaze.

“Y/n?” He groans, prompting you to let out a sigh of relief.

“Hey, I’m here, honey,” you assure him in a trembling voice, “I’m here.”

It’s clear there’s no winning the battle against Sentry, so your team quickly scrambles to their feet and makes a dash towards the elevator. Alexei helps you carry Bucky inside while Ava makes sure to grab hold of his discarded arm, and with a rapid push of the control panel the doors are sliding shut and sending you back to the ground floor.

Things fall apart pretty quickly after that.

Your entire team disperses despite Alexei’s insistence you stay together as the newly proclaimed Thunderbolts. Only you and Bucky are left standing in front of the tower as you try to figure out the next move, though you’re not exactly in a rush to throw yourself back into the ring with Sentry. Your body aches beyond relief and a dull throbbing sensation has settled in the back of your skull, and you’re barely able to keep yourself upright as you lean back against the building.

“It’s a good thing I never plan to wear this again,” you retort sarcastically while carefully pulling shards of glass from your suit.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asks solemnly, hands gently cradling your face to get a good look at you. Thankfully your skin only sports minor cuts and scrapes that will heal over time, but this doesn’t alleviate the guilt he feels in the pit of his stomach. You’re here because of him, because he’d begged you to come in a last ditch effort to save your marriage, and as a result you’d almost been killed.

As if reading his thoughts, you gently reach up to grasp onto his wrists to ground him and pull him out of his ruminative thoughts. “Hey, I’m alright. I’ve been through worse.”

“That doesn’t make it any better,” he murmurs repentantly before carefully pulling you closer to press a kiss to your forehead. You hum appreciatively at the gesture, having missed the feeling of lips against your skin and the tenderness of his touch. It’s getting harder and harder to resist falling back into old habits, but that seems to be the least of your worries now. “I thought I lost you.”

“So did I,” you admit disquietingly, troubled gaze meeting his own worried one.

“What the hell are we doing, y/n?” Bucky utters gently, the softness of his tone harshly contrasting his words.

“Attempting to save the world?” You answer unsurely only for him to shake his head.

“I mean about us, about our marriage. He almost killed you, and the thought of losing you forever terrified me,” he professes earnestly. “We were lucky enough to get out of there alive, but I never want to feel that way again. I can’t just let you walk out of my life when this is all over.”

“James, we’ve talked about this,” you beg him desperately, throat beginning to tighten with the amalgamation of emotions you hold back. “It’s just not going to work. I love you more than anything, but I want to start a family. I want something stable.”

“You’re not even willing to try?” He pleads despite the clear defeat on his features. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from crying and turn away so you don’t have to meet his gaze.

“I can’t talk about this right now,” you shudder while blinking back tears. “It’s all too much, I just-“

You’re interrupted mid sentence as the ground beneath you begins to rumble. Distant screams fill the air and Bucky quickly pulls you into his side as he scans the area for any signs of danger. Your eyes trail towards the skyline above you and you freeze, body becoming rigid as you grab onto Bucky’s arm to get his attention.

A dark shadow hovers above you, chaos surrounding him as he stares you down. Panic floods the streets of New York, and despite the excruciating pain you feel you’re quick to jump into action and assist civilians in evading falling debris and runaway cars.

It seems now you’ll just have to wait until later to discuss the future of your marriage.

~~~

You wake up somewhere cold.

You have no idea where you are, but the last thing you remember is following Yelena into the void in hopes of finding her alive. You’re alone, and your surroundings are unfamiliar as you slowly pick yourself up off the ground and begin to aimlessly wander around. Gravel crunches under your feet as you walk, the darkness slowly fading into light as you begin to hear a cluster of voices.

A door stands before you, cracked open slightly enough for light to seep through and beckon you inside. You slowly push it open and step over the threshold to find yourself in an abandoned warehouse. Across the way from you stands the silhouette of a man, his figure menacing as he hovers over a woman. Her hands tremble with the weight of the gun she holds, her heavy breathing and quiet sobs filling the air as she points the weapon towards the man bound to a chair in front of her.

“Pull the trigger,” the man utters in Russian, the familiarity of it filling your stomach with unease. A sense of dejavú washes over you, and as you come closer to the scene you start to realize that you do know where you are.

“I can’t,” she snivels, flinching as his hands come to rest upon her own and steady her grip.

“You must,” the man coaxes her, and after an agonizing pause of silence a gunshot rings through the air. You gasp, stumbling back in shock at being faced with a memory you thought had long since been pushed to the back of your mind and forgotten.

Your first kill under Hydra.

The sound causes both figures to turn, and you feel sick to your stomach as you meet the gazes of the Winter Soldier and your younger self. His eyes harden, his approach menacing as he begins to step towards you, and you quickly sprint back to the door in a desperate attempt to escape his clutches.

You slam it behind you just before he can grab you, falling back against the wood with a heaving chest as you try to catch your breath and steady yourself. Your eyes squeeze themselves shut in an effort to keep the rising tears at bay, and when you open them again you discover your surroundings have changed once more.

You’re in the training room of Avengers tower, and you’re met with the sight of yourself angrily swinging your fists against a punching bag. Your knuckles are raw and bloody from the force you use, but you remain relentless. You keep going, even as the sobs begin to wrack your body and your momentum begins to slow.

You frown, slowly walking up behind your other self and resting a comforting hand on her back. She seems to falter before collapsing against the bag and breaking down into an ugly crying fit. The sound echoes throughout the room and fills you with unease, but you continue to run soothing circles into her skin to calm her down.

“Why did he leave me?” She sobs, prompting a chill to go down your spine. You remember this point in your life, the aftermath of Pierce and the collapse of Shield. Bucky had disappeared, and though you were grateful to the Avengers for taking you in as one of their own, you couldn’t understand why he hadn’t come back for you. You knew you meant something to him, you had to after all the time you’d spent together and the fact that he’d defied his orders to kill you. You’d never felt more alone, and all you wanted was your James.

“He thought you’d be better off without him in your life,” you assure her even though she doesn’t seem to hear you. “He did it to protect you because he loves you. You’ll see him again.”

The memory resets, and soon she’s back to assaulting the punching bag with all of her pent up anger. You leave her to grieve and make your way out of the room. No matter where you go, the pattern is the same; each place holds a defining moment in your life, some more painful than others, but all of them force you to confront your past.

You’re still no closer to finding Yelena or the rest of your group, and you’re starting to become frustrated. None of this makes any sense, and you feel like a rat aimlessly running through a maze. At one point you become so fed up you break through a mirror in an attempt to land somewhere else, and you end up falling face first onto a patch of dirt. The sunlight is jarring after being stuck inside for so long, and you raise your hand to shield your face so you can survey your new surroundings.

Slowly getting back up onto your feet, you quickly put the pieces together and come to realize you’ve landed back in Wakanda. You think you’re alone at first, but as you turn around you come face to face with a pair of blue eyes. Your heart stops at the sight of him and you falter, unsure whether or not to reach out for him.

“Steve?” Your voice calls, but it isn’t your lips that his name falls out of. You quickly whip around to see yourself limping forward with a deep gash in your side that you desperately press your hand against. Your hair is shorter, features younger, and suit different from the one you wear now, but these details allow you to quickly determine what point of your life you find yourself at now.

“What happened? Where’s Bucky?” Your past self questions uneasily as she scan the area for any sign of the man. Steve looks away guilty, refusing to meet her gaze as he thinks of something to say. “Steve?”

“He’s…” the Captain starts to speak, unable to finish his sentence. Her face falls while her hand immediately rises to hover over her mouth in shock. Tears immediately well in her eyes as she slowly shakes her head in disbelief, suffocating anguish clawing at her throat as she struggles to breathe.

“No… No, he’s not. You’re lying!” She yells aggrievedly while forcing her aching body to walk towards the man. “Where’s is he?! What did you do?!”

“I couldn’t do anything to stop it,” Steve murmurs gently, eyes pleading as he begs you to understand. “He’s gone. I’m sorry, y/n.”

“You’re lying!” She screams, body finally giving out from the overexertion as she collapses onto her knees. Natasha quickly rushes over and helps your past self back onto her feet, allowing you to lean against her for support as you sob. “He’s not- he can’t be!”

You take a shuddering breath and turn away from the scene, overcome with emotion at reliving your grief and heartache. You thought you’d lost Bucky forever, and in that moment you felt your entire world had ended. He’d been taken from you, and you’d be forced to spend the next five years attempting to pick up the pieces and move on. You’ll forever regret lashing out at Steve so harshly, for taking out your anger on a man that had watched his best friend disappear into dust. He was hurting too, and you wish you could take it back.

You can’t be here anymore. It’s all becoming too much, and despite the fact that you’re starting to lose hope of ever being reunited with the others you know you have to keep trying. You push through the brush and shrubbery of the Wakandan fields in search of a way out, and after fighting tooth and nail to escape you end up stumbling into your apartment.

You feel disoriented and confused at being in your own living room, and for a moment you think you might have somehow managed to escape the Void and found your way home. Everything looks as it should, and nothing is left out of place. You take this moment to let your guard down and rest by taking a seat on the couch, allowing your aching head to fall back against the cushions while you gather your thoughts. You’re emotionally drained, and you don’t think you can keep this up for much longer. Would it be so bad to just give up and accept your fate?

“You finally made it.”

You jump at the sound of another voice in the room with you and look up to see Bucky standing over you with a weary smile. You jump onto your feet immediately and throw yourself into his arms for a hug. He catches you with ease, holding you tightly against him as if you’ll disappear otherwise.

“Bucky, oh my god!” You exclaim before pulling away to cup his face in your hands and look him over. “Is it really you?”

“It’s me, sweetheart,” he assures you before leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of your head.

“How did you find me here? These rooms are supposed to be my own memories.”

“That’s the thing,” he sighs solemnly before casting a glance towards the hallway, “this is my memory too.”

You look up at him with uncertainty and confusion, but before you can question him the front door swings open. You watch as past versions of Bucky and yourself walk into the apartment, both clearly exhausted from whatever public event they’d just attended. You kick off your heels by the door and set your purse on the counter while Bucky shrugs off his suit jacket.

“I think it went well tonight,” he notes with a smile before walking past you to get himself a glass of water. You stand in silence at the island table with your head hung low and hands planted firmly on the counter as you try to gather your thoughts.

“James,” you call gently, unable to meet his questioning gaze, “we need to talk.”

“What’s wrong?” He asks with a puzzled frown, clearly taken back by your sudden change in demeanor. You’d been all smiles the entire evening, so he wasn’t expecting such a drastic switch in tone.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you say in a trembling voice, finally lifting your head to look him in the eyes. Silent tears streak down your face and Bucky feels his chest tighten at the sight.

“Can’t do what anymore? What’s going on, y/n?”

“This!” You exclaim in frustration while gesturing to yourself. “The parties, the public appearances. You promised me when we got married we’d stay out of the spotlight, but not once have we ever been able to have a moment of peace just between the two of us.”

“Hey, come on, of course we have,” he tries to soothe you by gently resting a hand on your arm, but you’re quick to pull away from his touch.

“All the plans we make just keep getting pushed aside for something else. I wanted a house, but we got the apartment to stay in the city in case Sam needed us. I wanted to retire, and yet every time there’s a fight we’re there. I wanted to start a family-“

“We can still do all of those things,” he insists desperately only for you to shake your head in quiet defeat. “I love you, y/n.”

“I love you, James,” you sniffle with a watery smile that temporarily alleviates his anxieties, “but it’s clear to me that we both want different things for ourselves.”

“What are you saying?” He presses you, voice low and apprehensive as he waits for you to speak with bated breath.

“I want a divorce.”

You turn away from the scene in shame as it resets, leaving you and Bucky alone once more in the apartment. Neither of you dares to speak at first, the air thick with tension and discomfort. You don’t even know what to say.

“Hard to believe that was only a month ago,” he jokes humorlessly in an attempt to break the silence.

“I don’t want to end our marriage,” you profess remorsefully. “I just relived every moment we were pulled apart and it was hell. I can’t live without you, but I don’t know how to handle all of this.”

“No one says marriage is easy,” he reminds you, gently resting his hand upon your cheek. “And I definitely haven’t made it easy for you.”

“I just got so tired of fighting,” your murmur faintly, eyes beginning to well with tears. “I want to give it all up, but how can I? I could have said no to you when you asked me to join you on this trip, I could have gone home instead of coming with you to fight Sentry, but I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself if something happened to you because I wasn’t there. Being an Avenger is all I know, and I hate that.”

“Hey, come on, you’re so much more than an Avenger,” Bucky coos sweetly while using his thumb to wipe away some of the tears that had fallen. “You’re strong, you’re brave, not to mention you have the patience of a Saint, and I would know considering how much Sam and I have tested it in the past.”

That gets a quiet laugh out of you, and Bucky’s heart swells with pride at being able to get you to smile. He’s missed sharing moments like this with you, tender moments where you keep each other from falling apart. He doesn’t want to lose that.

“What do we do? I want a life that doesn’t revolve around being a world saving hero, and you want to continue to help make the world a better place, so where do we go from here?”

Bucky falters for a moment as he contemplates his answer. You don’t think there is a right answer, and you fear that he might come to that realization. Instead, carefully grasps your chin between his thumb and forefinger to tilt your head upward.

“We compromise,” he answers with furrowed brows, as if surprised at himself for not coming up with it sooner. “That’s what a good relationship is built on, isn’t it? We can have both.”

“How do we do that?” You prompt him, obvious uncertainty present on your features.

“It’s not going to be easy, but it isn’t impossible,” he assures you with a firm nod. “We can have the house and the family, and when the world needs us to suit up we will. We just have to find a balance.”

He makes it sound much simpler than it will be in practice, and though there’s a part of you that fears it’ll never work, there’s also a part of you that will regret it forever if you don’t at least try. Bucky has become a permanent fixture in your life, and you never want to face a point in your life where he isn’t by your side. You’ve been through more hardships than most married couples have, endured awful traumas and challenges, but each time you’ve managed to persevere together.

“Okay,” you breathe with finality, “let’s compromise.”

It feels like a weight has been lifted off of his shoulders when you express your want to continue fighting for your marriage. This entire time Bucky has been dreading going home and facing the divorce papers that sit waiting on your coffee table back at the apartment, but he can now rest assured knowing those files will never be fulfilled.

He wraps his arms around you once more and pulls you in for a searing kiss. Your hands find purchase on his shoulders immediately, mouth moving in tandem with his own as you pour all of your love and heartache into your shared embrace. You’ve missed this more than anything, and now that you’re back in his arms again everything feels like it’s finally starting to fall back into place. You know you still have a job to do, but you’re more determined now than ever to save Yelena and get the hell out of the Void.

And you’re determined to do it together.

~~~

You fall back onto the hard asphalt with a groan, your limbs entangled with Bucky and Ava who lay beside you.

Despite all odds, you’d managed to help Bob overcome the Void and return yourselves and everyone else back to the real world. You were free from the nightmares of your past and safe on normal ground. You only wish he could remember everything you’d all just endured together as a team.

You look across the way to spot an apprehensive Valentina waiting for your group. Your shoulders tense in aggravation as the woman immediately begins to spew excuses for her wrongdoings, and you join the others in approaching her with a vengance. You can’t wait to bring her in and get her thrown into jail like you’d originally planned, and when all is said and done you’ll finally be able to go home with your husband.

“Now guys, let’s just talk,” she pleads anxiously before disappearing behind a green tarp. You quickly step through before you can lose her, but you soon regret it as you’re immediately bombarded by roaring applause and the flashing bulbs of cameras. You raise a hand to shield your face from the commotion and grab onto Bucky’s arm to steady yourself.

“What the hell is going on?” You groan in annoyance at being ambushed by an entire swarm of journalists. You don’t exactly look or feel camera ready right now, and the stunt only serves to agitate you further.

“How about another round of applause for our heroes!” Valentina boasts into her makeshift podium. “It is because of their selfless bravery that we are all standing here.”

Despite your disdain for the woman, you have to give her credit- she certainly knows how to put on a show. Your group mates exchange looks of uncertainty as she spews her bullshit speech to the eager reporters, unsure of what her angle is and what she’s about to rope you into.

“Today, the citizens of the United States needed protection, and thanks to my hard work, they got it. Ladies and gentlemen, meet the New Avengers.”

The crowd of spectators break out into joyous cheers of excitement and deafening applause, but none of it registers in your mind as you focus on the words that have just left the woman’s mouth. You’re stunned and unnerved at her declaration, but your stomach quickly grows heavy with anger. You feel like the name of your original team has been tarnished, and you’re fuming at the fact that she’d roped you into this without a second thought. This was not how you ever pictured your return, and you’re at a complete loss of words.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you snarl through gritted teeth, knowing that if looks could kill Valentina would be dead right now. “New Avengers? I am an Avenger.”

“I thought you were retired,” John murmurs under his breath, only fueling your anger further.

“Hold on,” Bucky assuages you, hand coming to gently rest upon your back. “I have an idea that could make this all work in our favor. Do you trust me?”

While your mind is still reeling at being thrusted into the spotlight again with a new team, your nerves begin to dwindle as you meet Bucky’s eyes. His features are sincere and understanding, and though there isn’t a single part of you that trusts Valentina, you trust Bucky with your life.

You give him a single nod before returning your gaze to the crowd. A swarm of journalists stand eagerly waiting to hear your input, dying to know what your plans for the team are as the only original Avenger. Bucky’s hand on your back keeps you calm, and you know that whatever happens next you’ll be able to handle it together.

Just like you always have.

~~~

12 Months Later

While you’d initially been resistant to joining the New Avengers under Valentina’s guidance, you have to admit that things have definitely seemed to turn out in your favor.

Yelena had made it clear to the woman that it was her who worked for you guys and not the other way around. You owned her, and if she wanted to stay out of prison then she had to meet your every demand. She especially needed you onboard considering your status as an original Avenger was the only thing that gave the team credibility, and that made it easier for you and Bucky to implement specific stipulations in your contracts.

You bought a house on the outskirts of the city where you could enjoy paid leave whenever you both saw fit, and under no circumstances was anyone to bother you during your time off. This was the compromise you and Bucky had made to ensure your marriage stayed strong. You could retreat to your quiet slice of normalcy and strengthen your relationship while still taking part in missions and saving lives. You’d finally found a balance for your individual needs, and divorce was now far from ever being on your mind.

Along with the house and paid leave, you and Bucky had also finally been able to achieve a milestone you’d wanted for years in your marriage.

“Watch your step,” he cautions, his metal arm resting on the small of your back while the other clasps your hand in his own as he helps you down the stairs.

“Relax, James,” you wave him off, “just because I gained a little weight doesn’t mean I can’t walk on my own.”

“I’m sorry, I just want to make sure nothing happens to you or the baby,” he confesses remorsefully while delicately resting his hand upon your growing stomach.

While the tower was being renovated for your team’s arrival, you and Bucky retreated to your new home to enjoy some well deserved rest. You settled in and made the place your own, and once your move in was complete Bucky took advantage of the fact that he had you all to himself free of disruptions. Thus, it was a surprise to neither of you that you eventually became pregnant. Though you were nervous about what this would mean for you both now that you were Avengers again, Bucky assured you he would do everything in his power to take care of you and your little one.

In the meantime, you did your best to stay out of the action and work behind the scenes to avoid any injuries that could threaten the health of you or the baby. You gathered intel, conducted surveillance, created strategies for missions, and piloted the jets for assignments requiring travel. You were still an active member of the team, and you took on your role as leader well. It made sense to everyone that you take the title considering your veteran status, and you had no trouble getting everyone to fall in line when needed. Your new little family was growing, and you found yourself at peace falling back into old routines.

“It’s about time you show up, we’re starving,” John calls to you both as you finally make it down the stairs and head towards the dining room where everyone is gathered.

“I’m the one eating for two here,” you remind him with a pointed look before taking your seat at the table. “What’s for dinner?”

“Special stew made by Alexei!” The Red Guardian boasts proudly while setting a bowl down in front of you. “Very good for you and little baby Avenger.”

“Thank you, Alexei,” you smile, waiting for him to turn his back before pushing the bowl towards Bucky for him to inspect. Alexei has a habit of making food that doesn’t exactly sit well with your stomach, so your husband has taken the liberty of taste testing all of his dishes for you.

“Have you thought any more about the names we’ve suggested?” Yelena prompts from her seat beside you.

“Yes, I have, and no, I’m not naming them little Yelena or Alexis.”

“What?” She exclaims with a pout, clearly taking offense to your answer. “What are you talking about? Those are great names.”

“Don’t listen to her, they are awful,” Ava agrees before digging into her stew.

“Do you have a name yet?” John prompts with intrigue. Ever since you’d announced your pregnancy he’d made it a habit to live vicariously through you and Bucky considering he hadn’t been present for his own wife and child.

You exchange a knowing look with Bucky and urge him to answer for you, smiling faintly at the proud look on your husband’s face as he thinks about the arrival of your future daughter.

“Brooklyn,” he states fondly to the surprise of your teammates. The name is an homage to the city he and Steve called home, and you couldn’t think of anything more perfect when he’d suggested it to you. Brooklyn Barnes would be arriving in four months, and you eagerly counted down the days until you could hold her in your arms.

“It’s not as good as Yelena but… not bad,” the blonde admits with a purse of her lips.

Dinner is a loud affair as always, but you enjoy spending time with the people you’ve come to call friends. Once your meal is finished, the group follows Bucky to the training room for drills while you stay behind with Bob and wash the leftover dishes. He’s still a bit reserved, but your inaction in the field has allowed you to spend more time with the man and help him open up to you. You enjoy the contrast his quiet nature brings to your chaotic surroundings.

You retire early for the night and choose to wait in your quarters for Bucky to return from training. Strangely enough, you’d been assigned the exact same room you once called your own during your time in Avengers Tower. At that point in your life you’d been alone and depressed, stranded with a group of what was essentially strangers while you waited for some sign of Bucky’s return. Now, you found yourself happily waiting for your husband to finish his workout with your hands lovingly rested on your stomach.

The doors to the room slide open to reveal a freshly showered Bucky, and he’s quick to immediately pull you into his arms as he joins you in bed.

“How’d it go?” You ask him while pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

“Better than usual. I think they’ll be ready for this week’s mission.”

“I have full faith in your leadership abilities,” you confidently assure him.

“Well, that would make you the only one,” he jests dryly before pressing his lips to your forehead. “Sam’s still ignoring my calls.”

Your features morph into a frown at the mention of your friend. He’d been rightfully upset when he found out what you both were up to, and despite Bucky’s attempts to explain your actions Sam wanted none of it. He iced you both out, and though the news of the baby had gotten him to soften up the slightest bit towards you, he still made it a point to cut contact with Bucky.

“He just needs some time,” you assure him empathetically. “This isn’t your first fight and it probably won’t be your last, but you guys will be okay. I’m sure of it.”

“I just want us to have a better life. I want you to be happy, and I want to make sure Brooklyn will be safe even if that means having to work under Valentina and the government.”

“She will be,” you promise him with a fond look in your eyes, “because she has us, and she has an entire team of people that care about her even if they try to say otherwise.”

Bucky can’t help the careful smile that plays upon his lips at your reassurances. You always have a way of alleviating his worries and calming his nerves. Your marriage was stronger now because of the decisions he’d made to get you here, and he just had to hope Sam would be able to understand that. The safety of his wife and new baby was all that mattered to him now, and he’d do whatever it took to protect you both.

“I’m the luckiest man in the world, you know that?” Bucky coos before pulling you in for a tender kiss that you eagerly accept.

Come what may, you have complete faith that you’ll be okay. No matter the challenge, no matter the danger, you and Bucky have always managed to overcome any obstacle you’ve faced together. The future is never promised, but you know you’ll make it to the other side as long as you have each other.

For better or for worse, you’re Avengers now, but nothing will ever come between you as husband and wife.

~~~

“But we are the Avengers. The government said so,” Yelena protests fruitlessly as you make your way to the debrief room. “How does Sam Wilson not understand that?”

“Well, he does have the shield,” Bucky points out.

“Well, I’ve got a shield too.”

“Yeah, a shield that’s still bent like a taco,” you scoff in annoyance.

“It’s a great shield!” John insists defensively.

“It’s a shitty shield.”

“A great shield, Bucky.”

“Okay, well, if he puts together a team and calls them the Avengers, then who are the real Avengers?” Yelena insists.

“Probably the ones with Captain America on their team,” you sigh despondently, grateful to have finally reached the couch. You slowly sink down onto the cushions with Bucky’s help and lean back in an attempt to alleviate the weight on your spine. The Watchtower certainly wasn’t designed with pregnant women in mind, especially not women who were eight months pregnant, but you were managing. You technically should be home with Bucky enjoying the start of your maternity leave, but an atmospheric disturbance had halted all of your plans and forced you to call an emergency meeting.

“Well, that’s the question the internet has been asking, and judging by the very nasty memes that I’ve read they don’t think that it’s us,” John says while kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

“That’s not fair, we have an original Avenger on our side,” the blonde woman attests. “That means we are just as good as any team led by Captain America. Weren’t you going to talk to him, Bucky?”

“I already did,” your husband professes solemnly, guilt present in his features. “It went poorly.”

His relationship with Sam hadn’t gotten any better. If anything, the conversation had only seemed to make things worse. You felt for Bucky, but no matter what you said or did Sam was adamant in standing firm against the choices you’d made. He’d wished you well on your upcoming baby, but he made it clear that he wanted no part of the New Avengers or Valentina.

“You know he’s filed for copyright of the name,” Yelena informs your group incredulously as she finally ceases her pacing and joins you on the couch. “We’re losing credibility.”

“In which we had very little to begin with,” Ava notes with a wave of her hand. “All we have is an ‘Old Avenger’ to keep us afloat, and now she’s about to leave.”

“I can only carry you guys on my back for so long,” you retort in annoyance while defensively resting your hands on your stomach. “And for your information, just because I’ve been around longer than you all does not mean I’m an ‘Old Avenger.’”

“Yeah, you’re ‘Pregnant Avenger’ now,” John quips, earning himself a warning glare from Bucky.

“And now there’s a huge space crisis and no one’s telling us about it.”

You feel your nerves worsen at the mention of the incoming threat. The world has been off balance in a recent change of events, and though you don’t know what exactly it is, you know a threat is coming. You only have one month left until Brooklyn is born, but it seems you won’t be able to spend your last month of pregnancy at home like you’d initially hoped. Bucky tries to refrain from overwhelming you to keep your mind at ease, but he can only hide so much from you.

As Yelena speaks into her control pad to request a full threat analysis, Alexei proudly walks into the room with a new ensemble that has everyone’s heads turning in bewilderment.

“Hello, team,” he greets while boasting his new suit. “I heard about Sam Wilson. He’s dumb litigious man, but I am smart. I’m smart man, and I have smart solve.”

You watch in bemusement as he gestures to the logo on his new jumpsuit and sounds out the new spelling change of ‘Avengerz.’

“Avengers with a ‘Z.’ There is no copyright.”

“No,” Yelena immediately protests, clearly not up to entertaining her father’s antics.

“Nonsense. This suit, it is soft like baby seal. I have one for you, and you,” he says while looking from Yelena to Bucky. “Avengerz suits for everyone! I even got one for little Alexis.”

“Alexei, we’ve been over this,” you remind him gently, “her name isn’t Alexis.”

“There is still time to change mind,” he reminds you with a dismissive wave of his hand.

You let out a quiet laugh of disbelief and sneak a glance at your husband who very clearly seems fed up with this entire debacle. You should have already been on your way to the cottage by now, and instead you were here mindlessly bickering over issues that seemed trivial when compared to your upcoming due date.

“Satellite image populating,” your computer generated assistant announces while producing a visual on the screen. “Extra dimensional ship entering atmosphere.”

“Extra dimensional? What does that mean?” Alexei murmurs as your group moves closer to the screen.

“It means it’s not from here,” you answer absently, nervously grasping onto Bucky’s bicep as you get a closer look at the ship. A blue number four is etched into the side of the strange looking ship, and you watch as it grows closer to landing on earth.

“It’s a cool ship,” John notes with a meager shrug, trying to alleviate some of the tension in the room.

“So much for maternity leave,” you sigh in a weak attempt to make a joke. Bucky shifts his tense gaze towards you before slowly lowering it to your protruding stomach, his mind reeling with all of the potential dangers you could soon be facing.

Sensing his panic, you carefully take hold of his hand in your own and tightly intertwine your fingers together to bring him back to the present. Your touch grounds him, reminds him that as of now you and Brooklyn are safe beside him, and he thanks you by wordlessly giving your hand a squeeze.

You have no idea what is to come or how your team will fare in the face of this new adversity, but you know that you’ll overcome whatever you need to in order to protect your new family.

“No matter what happens, we stay together,” you tell him firmly with no room for argument. You expect him to fight you on it, to insist you go home and keep yourself far away from the danger, but instead, he raises your hand to his lips and presses a kiss to your knuckles before offering you a single nod that melts away all of your trepidations.

“Together.”

[aleese1111]

homework and heart | yeon sieun x neighbour!reader

summary: yeon sieun is just trying to get through a study session without losing his sanity, but his lifelong neighbor makes that impossible—armed with sarcasm, zero personal space boundaries, and a habit of falling asleep on his arm mid-math problem. they argue like enemies, act like friends, and care like something they won’t admit.

warnings: [fluff fluff fluff] , mutual but unspoken romantic feelings .

author's note: i just know sieun would treat his girl like a delicate flower. everything about him (apart his psycho tendencies) screams gentleman. the reader is sort of a tsundere or something. wrote this while listening to [ My Love Mine All mine - Mitski] . requests

“your handwriting looks like a drunk spider fell in love with a pen,” she said, peering over si-eun’s shoulder.

si-eun didn’t glance up. “you’ve said that before.”

“yeah, and it hasn’t improved.”

“you’re here for math help, not calligraphy critique.”

“i’m here for the free heating,” she declared, collapsing onto his bed like it owed her rent. “your floor heating is elite. i feel like a warm croissant.”

si-eun exhaled through his nose. “you’re supposed to finish the worksheet i gave you.”

“you’re supposed to stop being a fun vacuum,” she shot back, flipping onto her stomach and burying her face in his pillow. “why do you smell like laundry detergent and sad?”

he ignored that. “that’s page two. the functions review.”

she groaned into the pillow, her voice muffled. “why are you like this?”

“efficient?”

“emotionally unbothered.”

“that’s not a flaw.”

“it is when your only reaction to my suffering is to hand me a pencil.”

she sat up and tossed said pencil at him. he caught it midair without even turning his head.

“show-off,” she muttered.

“you threw it with the force of a butterfly.”

“rude. accurate, but rude.”

they sat in silence for a moment—her pretending to work, him actually working—until she groaned again and fell dramatically across the table, narrowly missing his open notebook.

“i give up. i’m becoming a flower shop cashier. i’ll name the succulents and everything.”

“you hate plants.”

“they hate me first. it’s mutual.”

“finish number five.”

“no.”

sieun said her name.

“make me.”

he leaned back in his chair, expression flat. “do your homework.”

she leaned forward, matching his energy. “make me.”

their faces were inches apart now, eyes locked in a silent, petty standoff.

“childish,” he murmured.

“lifeless.”

“stubborn.”

“robotic.”

“you still haven’t moved.”

“you blinked first.”

“that’s not how this works.”

“says who?”

“says logic.”

she rolled her eyes and dramatically scribbled on the worksheet. “there. number five. happy?”

he checked it. “that’s number six.”

“i hate you.”

“good. now do five.”

she cursed under her breath, then muttered, “you better carry my backpack at my funeral.”

“you won’t need a backpack if you fail this class.”

“then you better carry my coffin. same energy.”

si-eun glanced at her, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

she caught it and pointed. “there. you smiled. admit you like me.”

“i smiled because you said something dumb.”

“same thing.”

they didn’t look at each other after that. not directly, anyway. but she was quietly doing question five, and si-eun casually slid a bag of her favorite snacks across the table like it didn’t mean anything.

like always.

she got up without warning and dropped beside his chair, her chin resting on his arm, body invading his space like it was natural law.

“you need a break,” she muttered.

“you’re distracting.”

“good.”

he didn’t pull away. just let her stay there, still scribbling notes while her cheek pressed against the sleeve of his hoodie.

“you’re going to smudge the ink,” he murmured.

she shrugged. “you’ll rewrite it for me anyway.”

“that’s not how this works.”

she smirked. “isn’t it?”

they stayed like that, the sound of pen on paper and her breathing settling into rhythm.

she, of course, fell asleep fifteen minutes later. head still leaning against his arm, mouth slightly open, clumsy as ever.

si-eun didn’t move.

he just kept writing with one hand, while the other lightly tugged the blanket from the bed to drape over her shoulders.

outside, the sky finally decided to rain.

inside, there was peace—chaotic, uneven, stubborn peace. the kind only the two of them could create. the kind that made sense even when nothing else did.

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ ,

[elf-trash]

this is actually why i really chafe at the whole "minors DNI" thing. i remember being a teen on the internet on forums and in adult online spaces and there was something about the way the internet flattens age that gave me such a valuable window into the lives of these adults. seeing them talk to each other about Adult Life Stuff in the way that adults don't usually talk to teenagers. and i don't mean "adult content" in the sexual sense i mean like... jobs and taxes and money and relationships and car problems and kids and family and friends. it gave me so much insight into adulthood that i probably couldn't have gotten any other way, because our society is structured now so that as a teen, the only adults you generally have access to are adults who are in positions of direct authority over you (e.g. teachers, parents, parents' friends, etc.). we used to have apprenticeships, mentorships, etc. but now all that has been lost with everything getting so institutionalized and young people being largely kept separate from adult society as a whole.

and now that i'm in my 30s, it's been really neat to find myself on the opposite end of that dynamic in certain online spaces. i find myself interacting with teens and young adults in ways where i'm like... wow.... now i am the internet Elder!!!! and now i'm also getting a neat window into the way that young people interact with each other in ways that i might not have access to in other contexts.

i think intergenerational friendships are so so important for a TON of reasons. the assumption that these types of friendships are inherently exploitative or predatory is so fucking weird to me, like there are so many things people of different ages have to offer each other and we risk losing that by creating this fear-based segregation of online spaces.

saw a tiktok that was making good points except it was like "if you're over 23 you shouldn't even know anyone under 20 unless they're family and it's weird if you do" and I just. have you guys ever had coworkers. students. family friends. clubs. is no one going back to school for their BA/MA/PhD. what kind of isolated world are you living in where as a 23+ year old you never interact w anyone under the age of 20. this idea that even Talking to anyone younger than you is somehow predatory is absolutely insane god I hate western individualism so bad. no your best friend ever probably shouldn't be a teenager when you're a grown ass adult but we do in fact need to be in community w people younger than us

[nondelphic]

Where I’ve Been and the Future of nondelphic

TLDR; I’m coming back to this blog.

I’m so nervous to post this I literally had to take a nervous shit after drafting this post just THINKING about posting it but uhhh…

Long time no see!

It’s been well over 3 months since I posted regularly on this account. I never intended to take a break, but I got overwhelmed.

I started this account in the middle of August of 2024 with a very specific niche that, if you have seen my posts before, will recognise. 

Honestly, it started mostly as a distraction from my real-life problems. I’d began writing again last spring after a long time of writing block due to anxiety, depression, and getting used to my anti-depressants. Suddenly, I went from not being able to get out of bed to being able to get out of bed just to write. It became an escape. Just like writing fanfiction used to be when I was a pre-teen.

Through that, I rediscovered how much I actually love writing and creating. And when that happened, I also started craving community. I’ve never really had writing friends (the few I had were short-lived), and I found myself missing that connection.

That’s kind of where this blog came in. It was an experiment, not something I intended to take seriously. Just a low-effort, continuous space online that wasn’t too personal but could resonate with a wide diaspora of writers. Somewhere people could see themselves in my posts.

I’ve always been in fandom or hobby spaces online in some form—grew up in a developing tech society with zero internet safety guidance, so my relationship with social media is honestly decent, all things considered. But in recent years I’d mostly been a consumer rather than a creator. And I missed that. The active partaking. The sense of community. The external validation from like-minded strangers (very Gen Z of me, I know).

And also, it gave me something to do over summer, which is the worst time of year for me. I’ve struggled with seasonal depression for years, and writing got me through the worst days of my summer uni break. But it also stirred up so many thoughts and ideas I wanted to share.

So I committed to not only starting a blog about writing, but updating it continuously, with a fixed set of posts to be posted everyday. 

Part of the experiment was personal, but another part was professional. As someone studying and working in media and social media (amongst other things), I know how algorithms work. I understand how consistency, timing, and frequency affect reach and engagement. So I also wanted to test a theory—that’s not really a theory—that if you just post a lot, at the same time, every day, you’ll see growth.

And it worked. I gained over 4,000 followers in just six months.

Numbers aren’t everything, but I won’t pretend it wasn’t validating. Especially when I’d never had a following before. People were engaging, reblogging, sending kind messages. I felt seen, and I felt like what I was making had value.

It was also fascinating to experience it from both sides, both as the creator and as the media nerd in the background mentally noting what worked, what flopped, and why.

Everything was going great.

So why did I disappear?

Well, first of all, my seasonal depression carried on to constant depression and major social anxiety during autumn and into winter. I slept all day. Didn’t go to school. Could barely leave my apartment to go grocery shopping. All I did was write and update this blog. Make sure I had enough posts queued for the coming week. 

I had some visible breaks on this blog which I always announced. “sorry can’t post rn i’m stressed need time to update my queue”. Which was true, and I felt proud of myself for being transparent about it.

But the more my following grew and the more people interacted with me, the more I started doubting myself. I don’t know if it was my anxiety, depression or probable ADHD being the culprit of this, or just plain old imposter syndrome, but I started dreading opening tumblr.

I love coming up with post ideas for people to go “omg are you inside my brain rn?” or “I love your blog, your posts make me feel seen,” and I’ve had nothing but positive experiences with everyone visiting this blog. Yet, with the growing eyes on this page, I just felt this impending fear that someday it will all be gone.

So I do what I’ve always had a habit of doing! I self-destructed. And left this blog with the excuse (to myself) to work on myself and come back stronger.

And I guess that sorry excuse has kinda come true, although at the time, I was lying to myself. This post is literally me announcing I’m coming back. But back when I abandoned this blog, I, with a heavy heart, was really planning on not coming back. The more the weeks, and then months stretched on without opening tumblr, a growing guilty conscience brewed inside of me.

I’d open the app, stare at the little icon, and immediately close it again. I didn’t know how to explain myself without it sounding dramatic or like I was attention-seeking. And the longer I waited, the harder it got to come back.

Because what do you even say after months of radio silence on a blog that wasn’t supposed to mean this much to you in the first place?

But the thing is it does mean something. And even when I tried to let it go, I kept thinking about it. I’d see something funny and think, “that would make a good nondelphic post.” I’d draft ideas in my nondelphic ideas google docs, fully knowing I wasn’t posting them, but unable to turn off that part of my brain that wanted to connect with other writers, other people who got it.

I ghosted my own blog. And I won’t pretend I had a huge dramatic epiphany or breakthrough that led me back here. Just the quiet realization that I missed it. And I have better routines now. And expectations. That make it impossible for me to turn into the same all-or-nothing approach to this blog I had during my darkest days. Don’t worry, I’m still deeply insecure, anxious and depressed, so my self-deprecating posts will continue as scheduled! But I’ve found other coping mechanisms that don’t rely on…….. Tumblr’s algorithms.

I don’t need to be 100% healed or consistent or perfect to post. And everyone who has sent me a message during the time I’ve been away that I’ve been too scared to reply to has assured me of exactly that. Maybe I can just… come back. A little softer. A little slower. A little more human.

I’m not sure what the future of this blog looks like exactly. I don’t have a new “post 10 times a day” strategy lined up. But I do know I want to write again. I want to talk to you again. I want to rebuild what I tore down with my silence. Not out of pressure or expectation, but because I want to.

So this is me, stepping back into it. One foot in the door. No grand promises, just a little wave from the threshold.

Hi again.

I’m coming back soon. How soon? I think it’s best to not make any promises, but I’ve committed to coming back now, so I’m still gonna promise “soon.”

Also, genuinely thank you. To everyone who reached out in my DMs or sent something to my ask box while I was gone: I read every single message. Even if I didn’t respond, I saw you. My heart felt so big reading your well wishes and worries. Like genuinely, I didn’t know this little corner of the internet could hold so much kindness. So thank you, from the bottom of my stupid overwhelmed heart.

See you soon ♡

xoxo nondelphic

Ps. I’m gonna write another post over on @rebellenotes in the near future for anyone curious about what I’ve been up to in the last few months.

[holyblonded]

number 5 | paige bueckers

pairings: paige bueckers x reader, arsenal wfc x reader

summary: arsenal’s star girl and the new point guard for the dallas wings cross paths

notes: this was requested! i actually struggle writing romance so much also i did fabricate the scores a little…

You were born to be a star. Or at least that’s what everyone told you from the moment you could walk. You excelled at every sport you tried, basketball, tennis, track, but football stuck. Something about the ball at your feet, the way it seemed like an extension of your body, just made sense. Running up and down the field, the burn in your legs, the weight of a perfect pass, the sweet crack of a shot hitting the back of the net, it grounded you in a way nothing else ever did.

So when you were ten and got an invitation to try out for Arsenal’s Centre of Excellence, it was no surprise. Your mom scraped together every penny she had, bought two plane tickets, and told you to make it count. You balled out. There was no other way to put it. From that day on, you wore red and white like it was stitched into your skin. Arsenal was your home, your heartbeat.

You rose through the ranks quickly, and by fourteen, you were making your senior debut. With it came fame, the kind you never asked for and never wanted.

Kim Little used to tease that if you could physically dissolve into the shadows after a game, you would. But fame was a package deal. No matter how much you hated it, it stuck around. And with fame came obligations: appearances, interviews, photoshoots. Events you wouldn’t even watch in your free time, let alone attend.

Which is how you found yourself sitting stiffly in a chair, allowing a makeup artist to brush powder across your face, while your manager, Maggie, flipped through an email on her phone.

You kicked your legs back and forth, the chair squeaking slightly. “Maggieeee,” you groaned, tilting your head back dramatically. “I don’t want to gooo.”

“You think I want to be here babysitting you?” Maggie deadpanned, not even looking up from her phone.

You gasped, clutching your chest theatrically. “Wow. After everything we’ve been through? The trauma we’ve survived together?”

“The trauma of you refusing to attend anything remotely social?” Maggie snorted. “Get over yourself.”

You pouted into the mirror. “I am over myself. I’m so over myself I’m begging not to go.”

The makeup artist, bless her, tried to stifle a laugh. Maggie just rolled her eyes. “You’re going. You’re sitting in your assigned seat. You’re smiling when the cameras swing by. You’re congratulating whoever walks by. And you’re not escaping to the bathroom for half the event this time, understand?”

You groaned louder, tossing your head back against the chair. “I cannot believe this is my life.”

“You’re literally getting glammed up to sit at the WNBA draft and interview the next upcoming basketball stars. Cry me a river,” Maggie said, arching an eyebrow at you through the mirror.

The makeup artist finished your base and started on your eyes. You blinked up at her. “Wait, are you doing eyeliner? The swoopy kind? The dramatic cat one?”

“It’s called a wing, sweetie,” the artist said kindly.

You looked at Maggie. “Why do I need wings? Am I supposed to fly out of the event halfway through?”

Maggie laughed. “I wish.”

You sulked. “This is a violation of my human rights.”

“Uh-huh. Tell that to the Nike execs paying your endorsement deal,” Maggie said, standing up to go check the rack of dresses hanging nearby.

You glanced over your shoulder at the clothes. “Wait, wait, wait. I thought I was wearing a suit. Didn’t we agree on a suit? I can’t walk in heels. I’m going to fall and go viral for the wrong reasons.”

Maggie hummed thoughtfully. “You’re wearing the suit. Relax. But there are options. Versace sent three.”

“Three?” You practically yelped. “Maggie! Choices make me anxious!”

“That’s literally the least of your problems,” Maggie said, yanking one of the hangers free.

The makeup artist finished and handed you a mirror. You stared at your reflection, a little stunned. You looked…grown. Too grown. The soft glam, the liner, the perfect glow, someone who looked like they knew what they were doing. Someone who belonged at fancy events. Not the awkward, slightly fidgety player who still preferred a Sunday league game over a black-tie gala.

“I look like I know things,” you said faintly.

Maggie snorted. “You do. You know how to kick a ball better than ninety-nine percent of the planet. Now come on. Pick a dress so I can get you dressed before you start hyperventilating.”

You stood up and padded over to the garment rack, eyeing the options with suspicion. One was navy, one was black, and one was a daring white. You pointed at the black one. “That one. Safe. Stealth mode.”

Maggie gave you a look. “You’re not a ninja.”

“Could be.”

“Pick shoes.”

You rifled through the shoe boxes. “Do they make cleats that look like dress shoes?”

“Pick real shoes, you menace.”

You grumbled under your breath but chose a pair of sleek black heels. A couple of stylists helped you into the dress, fixing your straps and adjusting the dress like a mom getting her kid ready for picture day.

As you smoothed your hands down your dress, you caught your reflection again. You looked…good. Still felt like a fraud, but looked good.

Maggie handed you your small clutch. “Smile at least once tonight. You can manage that much, can’t you?”

“I’ll smile once if you let me skip the afterparty.”

“We’ll negotiate.”

You side-eyed her. “You’re the worst.”

“You’re lucky I like you.”

You bumped your shoulder into hers lightly. “You’re lucky I like you.”

Maggie smirked. “Go on, superstar. Time to suffer.”

You sighed, exaggerating every step as you followed her toward the waiting car, already counting down the minutes until you could escape back into your quiet, normal world.

But hey, at least you looked good while suffering.

The draft was buzzing, flashing cameras, laughter, the occasional high-pitched squeal of celebration, and you were sitting center stage, right in the chaos of it all.

You shifted in your seat, adjusting the long, black custom Versace dress hugging your frame. The gold designs swirling around the fabric caught the light with every move, glinting like fire. Your black and gold heels clicked lightly against the floor as you crossed one leg over the other, holding the mic lightly in your hand, playing your role for the night, interviewing players for Nike’s coverage of the draft.

This wasn’t really your scene, you didn’t love the noise, the chaos, but tonight, you were good at faking it. You were charming, quick-witted, and, surprisingly, actually having fun.

Right now, you were interviewing A’ja Wilson, who had the entire place wrapped around her finger with her energy.

“So, A’ja,” you said into the mic, grinning. “Be honest. How many group chats do you think have exploded the night you were drafted with people pretending they’ve been your best friend since elementary school?”

A’ja cackled, throwing her head back. “Girl, my phone look like it got hacked, that’s how many messages I got!”

You fake gasped, putting a hand to your chest. “And here I thought I was special.”

She laughed again and bumped your shoulder with hers. “You’re special. You different.”

You played it up, winking at the camera. “You heard it here first. I’m different.”

The two of you bantered back and forth for a few more minutes, keeping the energy light and fast. A’ja was a dream to interview, lively, hilarious, easygoing. But eventually, her PR person tapped her on the shoulder and pulled her away for more press.

You were just adjusting your mic when someone from Nike leaned down and murmured, “Paige Bueckers is next. She’s on her way over.”

Your stomach did a weird little flip.

Paige Bueckers.

You weren’t exactly the type to get starstruck anymore. You were too used to being the star yourself. A trailblazer that’s what everyone said about you. You had carved your own path through Arsenal, through women’s football, smashing records before you were even out of your teens.

But still…Paige was different. And when you looked up and saw her walking toward you, blonde hair shining under the lights, that easygoing smile on her face, yeah, okay, maybe you were a little starstruck.

Paige’s eyes caught yours and she didn’t look away. There was a jolt of electricity between you, instant and undeniable.

“Hey,” she said, voice low, almost amused, as she sat down next to you, a little closer than strictly necessary.

“Hey,” you echoed, giving her a slow smile as you passed her a mic.

You introduced her to the camera with your usual polished energy, but under the surface, there was a heat building, a charged current in the air between you that you knew the cameras couldn’t quite capture.

“First of all, huge congrats,” you said, grinning. “Drafted number one to the Dallas Wings, casual, no big deal.”

Paige laughed softly, eyes crinkling. “‘preciate you.”

“And second of all,” you added, digging into the bag at your side with a mischievous glint in your eye, “since it’s a big night, I thought we should toast.”

You pulled out two juice boxes.

The entire area around you cracked up, staff, Nike reps, even a few players passing by.

Paige raised her eyebrows, grinning wide. “You’re unreal.”

“I get that a lot,” you deadpanned, offering her one.

She reached out to take it, and your fingers brushed. Lingering. Way longer than necessary. Heat exploded up your arm.

Paige didn’t break eye contact for a second as she gently tapped her juice box against yours. “To new beginnings,” she murmured.

“To causing chaos,” you said back, voice dropping just a fraction.

She smiled, slow, lazy, devastating and for a second you genuinely forgot what your next question was.

It didn’t help that every time you handed her the mic, or gestured toward her, her fingers would find yours, light, feather-soft touches that made your brain foggy. It was all flirting, lowkey, under the radar, enough to make you giddy while still keeping the professional face for the cameras.

Eventually, after what felt like the fastest and slowest ten minutes of your life, Paige’s team had to pull her for other media obligations. She stood, squeezing your shoulder lightly as she handed the mic back, the contact lingering just a second too long, and then she was gone.

You blinked after her, shaking your head a little as you straightened in your seat.

“Get it together,” you muttered under your breath, adjusting your dress.

The rest of the night went by in a blur. A few more interviews, lots of smiles, polite laughter but your mind kept replaying her.

Finally, hours later, you sat at a small lounge area off to the side, checking the time on your phone. Five more minutes, and you could officially leave. You sighed, letting your head rest back against the chair.

“Long night?”

You turned and there she was. Paige.

Standing there, still looking stupidly good, her hands tucked casually into her pants pockets.

You smirked. “You stalking me now?”

“Maybe,” she said, grinning, sliding into the seat next to you.

This close, you could smell her perfume, clean and a little sweet. She turned slightly toward you, her knee brushing yours lightly.

The air between you felt electric again like something important was about to happen.

“You were great earlier,” she said, voice a little softer, a little rougher. “Had me laughing the whole time.”

You grinned, tilting your head. “I aim to please.”

She leaned in just slightly, eyes locked onto yours. “You do a good job of it.”

You were fully engaged now, giving back every ounce of energy she was throwing at you. Your posture, your smirk, the teasing glint in your eyes, it was all deliberate. It was fun. Dangerous.

Just when you opened your mouth to throw a cheeky comment back, Maggie appeared behind you, tapping your shoulder.

“Car’s ready,” she said.

You groaned dramatically. “Five more minutes, Maggie.”

Maggie just rolled her eyes and walked off, clearly used to your antics.

You gathered your clutch and started standing up when Paige said quickly, “Wait—can I get your number?”

You paused, pretending to think it over, tapping your finger against your chin. “Hmm. I don’t know…do you deserve it?”

Paige raised an eyebrow, challenging. “I’d like to think so.”

You glanced around, spotted a Sharpie on the table, and grabbed it. Without another word, you gently took Paige’s arm, rolled up the sleeve of her jacket just enough, and scribbled your Instagram handle in bold, black ink across the inside of her forearm.

You capped the pen and handed it back, smirking. “You have to work for the number. Start there. I’m here until the 19th.”

Paige looked down at her arm, then back up at you, pure amusement and interest written all over her face.

“Challenge accepted,” she murmured.

You shot her a wink, then turned and walked off toward the exit, feeling her eyes burning into your back the whole way.

Behind you, Paige just sat there, arm resting on the back of the chair, staring at the Instagram handle scrawled on her skin, a smug, satisfied smirk tugging at her lips.

The past few days had felt like something out of a dream, one you didn’t quite want to wake up from.

Since the draft night, you and Paige had been nearly inseparable. Breakfasts that turned into lunches. Exploring Dallas, discovering hidden coffee shops, cozy bookstores, late-night drives with the windows down and music blasting.

There was something about Paige, something easy and magnetic, that made you drop your guard quicker than you ever thought you could. You weren’t usually the type to let people in so fast, but with her? It felt natural.

She made you laugh until your sides hurt, challenged you in every little way, and had this habit of looking at you like you were the most fascinating thing she had ever seen.

Now, it was your last night before you had to catch your flight back to London, back to Arsenal, back to the chaos of your life.

Neither of you had said it out loud, but the weight of it hung in the air.

You were sprawled out on her couch, the two of you a tangle of limbs, comfortable and lazy. The TV was playing something neither of you were watching, the golden glow of the setting sun pouring in through the windows.

Paige nudged you with her foot. “Twenty questions.”

You turned your head to look at her, grinning. “Childish.”

“Scared?” she teased, one eyebrow raised.

“Never.”

You shifted to face her fully, folding your legs underneath you. “Fine. You start.”

“Okay.” Paige bit her lip, thinking. “Favorite color?”

You snorted. “Weak start. Black. Obviously.”

“You’re so emo,” she teased.

“Yeah? What’s yours, Bueckers?”

“Purple,” she answered easily.

You nodded. “You look like you like purple.”

You volleyed back and forth, favorite foods, hidden talents, weirdest fears (hers: snakes; yours: accidentally locking yourself in a bathroom at a party).

The questions grew slower, deeper. What’s your happiest memory? What scares you most about getting older? How do you actually cope with the fame?

That one hit differently. You stared at the ceiling for a second before answering.

“I don’t know if I do,” you said finally. “I think I just… compartmentalize. Like, there’s me, the person, and then there’s the version of me people want. And I just…try not to let them touch too much.”

Paige watched you quietly, eyes impossibly soft.

“You’re good at pretending,” she said, almost like it wasn’t a question.

You chuckled under your breath. “Yeah. You too.”

There was a beat of silence. The kind that was heavy and thick but not uncomfortable. Just… charged.

You didn’t know who moved first, maybe it was both of you at once, but suddenly Paige was shifting closer, and you were mirroring her without even thinking.

“Your turn,” she said, voice low.

You wet your lips, heart hammering. “What are you thinking right now?”

Paige’s eyes darkened, a slow, smoldering look that made your whole body tighten with anticipation.

“I’m thinking about how long I’ve wanted to kiss you,” she said, voice almost a whisper now.

Your breath caught, not from shock, but from pure, overwhelming want. You didn’t speak. You just leaned in, your hand finding her cheek, thumb brushing lightly across her skin. And then her lips were on yours. It started slow, gentle, almost cautious.

You tilted your head, deepening the kiss, feeling Paige’s fingers slide up to bury themselves in your hair. Her other hand found your waist, pulling you closer, pressing you flush against her.

You kissed like you were starving for it, mouths parting, breathing each other in, that sweet sting of desperation hanging between you.

You shifted your body, swinging a leg over her lap without even thinking, straddling her. Her hands found your hips instantly, gripping tight, anchoring you to her.

She pulled back for half a second, just enough to look up at you—lips swollen, cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide.

“Can I have your number now?” she asked, slightly breathless, but that same teasing glint still dancing in her eyes.

You grinned, slow and wicked, pretending to think about it.

And then, instead of answering, you leaned down and kissed her again, harder this time, teeth grazing her bottom lip in a way that made her groan low in her throat.

She pulled you closer, her hands roaming your sides, fingertips dragging against the thin fabric of your shorts, touch after touch setting your nerves on fire.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing heavily, foreheads resting against each other.

“You’re a tease,” Paige murmured, her voice wrecked and fond all at once.

“You like it,” you whispered back.

She laughed, that gorgeous, laugh that made your chest ache, and tightened her hold on you like she wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon.

The locker room buzzed with the usual pregame energy, music blasting, boots being laced, jerseys being pulled over heads. You were tucked into your little corner, half-dressed in your kit, phone perched secretly in your hands as your thumbs moved fast over the screen.

p buckets 🩷

Good luck today superstar. Wish I could sneak down there and see you before the game starts.

You bit your lip to hide the stupid smile tugging at your mouth, your cheeks burning. You quickly fired back a reply.

you

behave, bueckers. you’ll distract me.

Almost immediately, another text pinged.

p buckets 🩷

No promises. You’re too fine in that jersey.

You couldn’t stop the laugh that slipped out, low, giddy, and you bowed your head, trying to be subtle about it.

Too late. Katie McCabe, the nosiest, loudest teammate you had, caught sight of you immediately.

She strutted over, towel thrown around her neck, and leaned down into your space.

“Alright, who’s got you smiling like a little idiot, huh?” she teased, smirking.

You jumped slightly, snapping your phone against your thigh and shoving it behind you.

“No one!” you blurted out way too fast.

Katie laughed, throwing her arm around your shoulders. “Yeah, sure, tell me another one.”

Before you could even come up with a terrible excuse, another figure appeared, Leah Williamson herself, captain, protector, honorary big sister. She had her arms crossed and an eyebrow raised, clearly sensing blood in the water.

Chloe Kelly, recently back from on loan from Man City and another big-sister figure in your life, wasn’t far behind. The two of them exchanged one look, a deadly one, before closing in on you like sharks smelling blood.

“Who is it?” Leah demanded, half-joking, half-serious.

“No one!” you insisted again, your voice climbing an octave.

“Why you lying for?” Chloe chimed in, laughing. “We’ve known you since you were running around the training ground in your big cleats.”

Leah nodded solemnly. “Exactly. We know your tells.”

“I don’t have tells!” you whined.

They both raised their eyebrows.

“Yeah? Then why are you blushing like a tomato, little one?” Katie added, winking.

You were about to come up with some desperate, terrible lie when Renee, your head coach, clapped her hands loudly from across the room.

“Alright, enough!” Renee barked, her voice cutting through the chatter. “Eyes up here, team meeting!”

You exhaled a huge breath of relief as everyone shuffled toward the center of the room.

Katie shot you a wink. Leah narrowed her eyes in mock suspicion. Chloe mouthed we’re not done before turning away.

You shook your head, cheeks still hot, and tucked your phone away safely in your locker.

The game against Lyon was electric — exactly what you expected from a Champions League semi-final first leg.

It ended tied 2–2, a hard-fought, emotional battle with moments of brilliance from both sides. You had picked up an assist and drawn the foul that led to your team’s penalty. Not bad, but you were already replaying every moment in your head, thinking about how you could have done even more.

After the final whistle, you did your usual rounds, clapping the fans, signing shirts, tossing your training jacket into the crowd.

It was the best part of nights like this, connecting with the people who supported you through it all.

You made your way along the barricades, signing shirts, hats, even a football boot at one point. And then you saw her.

Paige.

Leaning casually against the barrier, her blonde hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, wearing a simple black Nike hoodie and jeans, somehow still managing to look unfairly good.

The second your eyes locked, you felt yourself light up like a firework.

You tried—tried—to keep it cool, but your grin cracked through instantly.

“Hey, superstar,” Paige teased as you got closer.

“Hey yourself, rookie,” you fired back, feeling breathless for absolutely no reason.

You signed a few more things for kids near her, pretending not to be in a rush to get to her. Finally, you stopped right in front of her.

“You want something signed, Bueckers?” you teased, tapping the Sharpie against her hoodie.

She smirked, mischief in her eyes. “Depends. You gonna make it special for me?”

You chuckled lowly, took a dramatic, exaggerated breath and then, grinning wide, you grabbed the hem of her hoodie and scribbled your signature across it. A big, messy, ridiculous signature.

“Collectible now,” you said, handing the pen back and winking.

She laughed, brushing her fingers lightly against yours as she took it, a little lingering, a little too casual. You felt the shiver go down your spine.

You two kept flirting, kept leaning a little closer than necessary, exchanging little touches that burned hotter every second. Then you felt it. That disruptive energy.

You peeked over Paige’s shoulder and sure enough across the pitch, perched near the tunnel, Leah and Chloe were squinting hard in your direction. Hands on hips. Mouths slightly open like they couldn’t quite believe what they were seeing.

You rolled your eyes and groaned dramatically.

“Problem?” Paige teased, noticing your sudden change in vibe.

“Just my bodyguards,” you said dryly.

She laughed, low and knowing.

“I’ll see you after I finish up,” you said, stepping back slightly but still reluctant to leave.

“You better,” she said, eyes twinkling.

You shot her one last grin, before jogging back toward the tunnel but not before blowing her a playful kiss that made her shake her head and laugh under her breath.

The whistle blew and the Emirates erupted.

5–1.

Five to one.

You could barely hear yourself think over the roar of the crowd, your teammates piling onto you, hugging, shouting, screaming their lungs out.

You had scored a banger, a left-footed rocket into the top corner, and you could still feel the buzz in your veins.

Arsenal Women were going to the Champions League final. The first time in eighteen years.

You stumbled around the pitch with the others, grinning so hard your face hurt, high-fiving everyone you could reach.

Confetti was already starting to drift down like snow. Flags waving, chants booming from the stands. It was a dream.

You turned, soaking it all in and then your eyes swept the crowd. And there she was.

Standing just beyond the barriers, hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket, a soft smile on her lips as she watched you.

The second your eyes locked, you lit up like the fourth of July.

You grinned wide, practically bouncing on the spot, and jerked your head toward her, mouthing wait for me.

You tore through your usual post-game routine, signing shirts, tossing your training top into the stands, posing for a few pictures, rushing but trying not to make it obvious.

The second you got close enough, you didn’t even think. You launched yourself over the barrier, right into Paige’s arms.

She caught you instantly, strong and sure, wrapping you up and lifting you slightly off the ground. You laughed into her neck as she swung you side to side, holding you tight like she wasn’t planning on letting go.

“I am so proud of you,” she murmured into your ear, voice warm and full of something that made your heart squeeze painfully.

You pulled back just enough to see her, your faces inches apart, still smiling, still dizzy with adrenaline and joy. And then, without a second thought, Paige leaned in and crashed her lips onto yours.

It was messy and breathless and perfect, the taste of victory and salt and something sweeter you didn’t have a name for yet. Her hands cupped your jaw, yours grabbed fistfuls of her shirt, both of you entirely forgetting the rest of the world existed.

Unfortunately, the rest of the world had not forgotten about you.

A chorus of screams shattered the moment. You cracked one eye open to see Leah and Chloe a few meters away, standing on the edge of the pitch, pointing at you dramatically.

“OI!! WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!” Leah shouted, voice high with betrayal.

“YOU’RE DEAD! DEAD DEAD DEAD!” Chloe screeched, looking two seconds away from vaulting the barrier herself.

You snorted into Paige’s shoulder, half laughing, half dying of second-hand embarrassment.

Thankfully, Lia Wälti appeared behind them like an angel. She threw an arm across both Leah’s and Chloe’s chests, physically restraining them like they were wild animals about to bolt.

She caught your eye over their heads, gave you a slow, exaggerated wink, and mouthed go!

You grinned wickedly, stuck your tongue out at Leah and Chloe, and watched as their shrieks of protest somehow got even louder.

You turned back to Paige, still tucked safely against her. “Let’s go,” you whispered urgently, laughing under your breath. “Before they break free and I have to explain to the board why Leah Williamson murdered me in public.”

Paige grinned, grabbed your hand tightly in hers, and tugged you away into the bowels of the stadium—running, laughing, hearts pounding, hand in hand, your futures cracking wide open right behind you.

[oldermenfucker]

Hi! I'm not sure if your taking writing requests/ideas.. but I love your writing so I thought I'd ask!

My idea is that reader gets an occular migraine while working in the er and Abbot or Robby have to take care of her (either as reader × robby/ abbot, or as them being father figures for her).

If not no worries!

Omg bestie thank you so much!! It fills me with so much happiness to know you like my writing style🥹

I don’t have much knowledge about migraines by experience so I deeply apologize if something is incorrect! I did my research throughout the day and these are all based on what I’ve gathered from the internet<3

I’d love to take one shot requests but unfortunately I have too many ideas to write nowadays! Maybe one day I’ll open my requests but for now I’d like to go a headcanon/drabble type of thing with your idea!! I hope you like it🥹🩷

Also, headcanons & drabbles(at most 1k words) requests are open!

You’ve never had an episode in the ER before, you always took to your beta blockers, made sure you were hydrated, and slept enough between your shifts.

It was yet another chaotic day in The Pitt as usual, there were patients you coded for an hour, patients you prescribed a simple Tylenol for and sent some up into the OR.

So when a new patient comes through the doors with Princess, you start taking care of them in a second with Robby in toe, following you inside the trauma room.

You do everything you must do effortlessly, falling into a rhythm with Robby as he asks his questions and you answer them

So when you start to intubate the patient, he believes you’ve got it, and you think so too

But thinking is one thing and reality is another

Your vision starts to blur in one eye, but you ignore it, your mind not being able to comprehend what is actually happening while you are trying to focus on the patient

You believe it must be the lack of sleep, so you shake your head, blinking hard a few times before you look back down at your hands.

But it doesn’t stop there as much as you wish it did.

Not only your vision is getting blurry, but the light in the room turns burning bright, and your vision whitens in a second.

“Dr. King, intubate, now—“

The equipment in your hands is gone, and you feel how a strong pair of arms hands you by the waist, guiding you out of the trauma room in a hurry.

“I got you, sweetheart,” you hear Robby whisper, but you can’t see him with how tightly you are squeezing your eyelids, trying to get rid of the blinding spots in your vision.

He opens the door to another empty room, locking it before he pulls the curtains, turning off the lights quickly and leading you to the bed.

You grab his arm as he helps you up, your heart racing in panic but Robby’s protective touch calms you down at least a little.

“I’ll be right back, alright?”

You can only nod, sitting up on the bed as you blink a few times, groaning when you can’t do anything to prevent the coming pain in a few minutes.

“Are you nauseous?” He shuts the door and locks it again, sitting on the bed next to you as he hands you a glass of water and acetaminophen to help, “Dizzy? Perhaps a headache—“

“I’m fine,” you say, but the words come out in a harsh snap, and you cringe at your own tone, “It’s nothing, thank you, Robby.”

“You could be having a TIA—“ he tries to explain, his chocolate brown eyes filling with nothing but pure worry, “Let me help you, sweetheart.”

“It’s nothing like that,” you sigh, closing your eyes, knuckles turning white as an awful throbbing starts on the same side of you were having visionary problems, “It’s a retinal migraine—“

“Did you take your meds? Fuck, why didn’t you tell me— lay down, put this on your forehead,” he scolds you gently, lowering you on your back with a hand behind your neck, kissing your forehead before he replaces the cold compress with his warm lips.

“I didn’t wanna worry you,” you explain softly, squeezing his trembling hand as you try to relax, hissing at the coldness of the pack on your head, “Besides, it shouldn’t have happened anyway. I took my beta blocker this morning before I got here. I’m just unlucky it seems.”

“I’m gonna tell Dana to keep an eye on you for the rest of the shift—“ he tells you, pulling out a blanket to cover your body, “You won’t leave this room until I’m done for the day, alright, sweetheart?”

“I can work, I swear—“You try to sit up but his large palm pushes you back down with a softness you didn’t know he had in him, “Robby…”

“Absolutely not,” he shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest, “You’ll rest. I don’t need you to hurt yourself, okay? You’re my patient now, and I’d hate to cuff you to the bed just to keep you from running after another incoming trauma.”

“I’m not Myrna—“

“No, you’re worse, sweetheart,” you chuckle and he cracks a smile, reaching to caress your cheek, “I need you to take care of yourself now, I’m gonna tell Dana to to put you on IV fluids since I’m pretty sure you’re dehydrated and running on three hours of sleep.”

“I don’t ever wanna be your patient again,” you try to joke while the pounding is still there but luckily the medicine is kicking in slowly, “I’ll be fine, go save some lives.”

“Fine, but I’ll probably be worried sick for the rest of the shift,” he leans down, pushing the cold compress aside for a second to peck your forehead then your lips, pulling back just a little to look into your eyes as you open them slowly, “Better?”

“The headache is manageable but my vision has been better than this,” you sigh lovingly when you see his worried frown, “Doctor Robby, I am going to be just fine. Now get out and let me rest in peace.”

“Holler if you need anything, or tell Dana. She’s gonna babysit you for the next few hours,” he kisses you quickly before he walks out and closes the door behind him.

[cleoselene]

I think the problem is that there's absolute poverty and there's relative poverty. Absolute poverty is not terribly common in the United States, at all. Relative poverty is a very real thing and it makes people feel really real things. People who have struggled to pay rent all their lives will look at someone making six figures or owning a home as well off relatively.

It doesn't mean they're enemies, but if you've never lived in poverty it's hard to understand the number it does on your brain. When you have nothing and people around you have everything, it's a rough feeling.

People who are poor don't understand the concept of 7k in the bank being a bad thing. yeah, that's one hospital visit. You know what poor people do? They either don't go to the hospital or they live health care via ER bills they know they will never pay. They let their credit scores tank at the cost of health care. Hell, I'm doing better than I have at many points in my life, but if I had 7k in the bank, I wouldn't have had to e-beg for a cheap banger car and been carless the last three months.

You can say "middle class is not the enemy" while tossing out numbers that make actual poor people feel nothing but resentment. Like, take it from the other perspective for a second. No, the middle class is not my enemy, but as a poor person, it DOES get exhausting that politicians seem to focus solely on them as Democrats, while Republicans focus on the rich. No one's out here talking for the poor. (and no, Bernie doesn't count, because he's incapable of DOING anything, we've proven that over his lackluster Senate career).

Inequality is a global problem that has only gotten worse and just telling poor people to feel okay about their situations relative to the middle class isn't a solution. We were on track to tackle inequality in 2008 when Occupy started, but the news media quickly pivoted to giving attention to Tea Party rallies with like 12 people instead and racism took over the Obama presidency.

(there's also a rather large discourse in sociology about how everyone has different opinions of what "middle class" actually means, but that's another post)

also, saying "you should probably open a retirement account" is really fucking presumptuous to assume poor people have a fucking penny to spare.

like, I don't hate the middle class, but a lot of the comments in this post are tone deaf as hell and pretty much explain why people do. Speaking as Real Life Poor.

like literally I make 1100 dollars a month on my Social Security Disability. That's maybe 14k a year. You can see how I wanna say FUCK YOU to anyone complaining about six figures.

trying to explain to tumblr that the Middle Class in not their enemy

[echo-exco]

Wait wait wait . I LOVE healer!reader!! But like what about Duke? He’s a meta and becomes part of the batfam.

Does that bother healer!reader? Since they were hiding their powers out of fear and then comes duke strolling in and easily finding a place where reader hasn’t?

What if that inspires reader to mention their power but no one believes them and that’s why reader finally leaves which is whh they think reader is having a tantrum because reader was called out for “lying”?

Thank you for the question! I’m really glad you like healer!reader, it truly means a lot.

And don’t worry, I completely understand your concern regarding Duke.

I’ll try not to go into too much detail since I want to explore healer!reader’s mindset regarding both her powers and her relationship with Duke more thoroughly later on. That’s actually why I hadn’t mentioned him before, among other reasons :)

So yes, the absence of Duke was completely intentional! I purposely didn’t bring him up because I plan to develop his appearance in the next chapter. His presence is meant to highlight a key contrast with healer!reader.

In general terms, and avoiding spoilers, no, healer!reader doesn’t dislike Duke. She doesn’t see him as a threat or feel jealous of how easily he was accepted. In fact, she sees him as everything she’ll never be: a good person, with a power that’s valuable on the battlefield, useful, visible… reliable.

Healer!reader has never seen herself as a “good” person, just someone who can help… when she’s allowed to.

And that’s exactly the problem: in Gotham, she doesn’t feel allowed.

Masashi, in a very twisted way, taught her that her powers only have value in the “right” hands, meaning hospitals, clinics, or under his guidance. Using her ability around people who don’t understand its medical nature feels wrong to her. Even dangerous. So even though Duke is a meta, healer!reader doesn’t feel any freer to show herself. She’s still afraid. Revealing her power means so many things: trust, exposure, usefulness… and vulnerability.

So no, healer!reader doesn’t reveal her power out of inspiration or courage thanks to Duke. In fact, she doesn’t do it willingly at all.

BUT eventually, the batfam will find out about her powers. It’s a critical moment (which I won’t spoil!) that brings everything to light, and Duke plays a big part in it… but not because healer!reader wanted him to.

It was a desperate reaction, a moment where there was no other choice.

So no, she won’t say anything. Not even with Duke around. Because even if Duke was accepted, that doesn’t change how she sees herself: she’s not in Gotham to be a hero. She’s not there by choice. She’s there because she was sent. Because someone else decided her fate, and she hasn’t found a way to take it back yet.

That tension is only going to grow, of course. Because the longer she stays unseen for who she really is, the more she’ll start to break.

Overall, healer!reader’s situation is Masashi’s fault. Unlike the Batfam’s neglect, which was more unconscious, he deliberately instilled every one of her issues.

Because Masashi knew they wouldn’t be able to help her, and he made sure she knew it too. I mean, what do you do with a kid who only knows how to save… even if it means destroying herself in the process?

And again, thank you so much for such a great question! The relationship between Duke and healer!reader is central to her development, and I seriously can’t wait to bring the next chapter! ❤️❤️❤️

[bitchyglitterkoala]

‘𝐄𝐌 𝐅𝐈𝐀𝐓 𝟓𝟎𝟎 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐒 🚗

plot! ⋆𐙚₊ : you really wanted to get your neighbor’s attention. you’ve tried everything as far as ruining your own car so riki could help a damsel in distress. after all, boys love helping pretty girls in trouble. ♡

genre! ⋆𐙚₊: fluff

warnings! ⋆𐙚₊: swearing ; smoking ; argument : suggestive themes ; skin ship; kissing ; probably more

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE!

───୨ৎ─── ───୨ৎ─── ───୨ৎ───

It was a bad night. Really bad night.

The whole time you were supposed to be sleeping you couldn’t help but squirm like a child in your bed, with sweat dripping from your forehead to your stomach.

Your eyes were blurry and mind hazy, it was so hot, too hot. Your red cheeks were burning so much it felt you had a fever. It might be an exaggeration, but closest thing you could link your situation to was a cat in heat.

How can you blame yourself? You’ve been working so hard, switching between school, work and money struggles.. Life was so difficult on you, and your body was begging, pleading and screaming for a pause, a relief.

At least that’s what you tried to tell yourself. If you were actually frank with yourself, the truth would be that your neighbor has been making you crazy for months.

He’s new to the apartment, and only moved in four months ago. The man is tall, slightly tan.. He wears comfortable clothes like sweatpants and hoodies like a loser who doesn’t have a job. His gaze is sharp and lips plump, and the best of all, he had biceps. Biceps you’ve been dreaming about getting buried in ever since you’ve seen them. You see him practically everyday, yet you can not do the first move. It’s like your brain is stopping you from any kind of embarrassing situations, ever since Caleb has dumped you on message.

Does life really have to be like this? Why can’t you be a free confident and independent woman who faces challenges in no fear.

You needed a plan, a clever plan.

For a week, your mind has been planning the perfect “unfailable” and smart trap to get that man in your pants. There was no room for any romance, you were too busy to get your heart broken again, so hooking up with your wet dream is the best solution.

Not long ago you’ve seen him working on a car, like he was fixing it. Eventually you’ve thought about accidentally on purpose break some things here and there with your car.

During the night, you cut some wires, played with the motor and poured out the oil to throw it in the bin, something you absolutely regret by now. But today is the day, and you’ve been getting ready since 5 AM to put on the best show.

You know your neighbor comes out of his apartment everyday to smoke a cigarette in the parking at exactly 7:12, which made his ‘unemployed junkie’ allegations even worse.

You’ve been waiting in your car for at least thirty minutes for him to come out of his cave and have his smoke break. Once you finally see him, you feel your heart skipping a beat, your cheeks reddening and your hands sweating.

“Okay Y/N, you got this.”

Before beginning your plan, you grab your makeup bag to powder you face and perfume your skin with some cheap Britney Spears perfume you bought at the dollar store, hoping to smell heavenly.

“Oh no! Not today please! I’m at my last warning!” you whine as you put on your best performance, thanks to these drama classes your mom forced you to take back in high school.

“I can’t be late again!” you sigh as you hit on your steering wheel.

A smirk can’t help but appear on your face when you see him approaching from the corner of your eye.

“A problem miss?” the giant man asks, his cigarette still in his hand.

“My stupid car.. I have a very important meeting today and I’m on my last warning. If I’m late again my boss is going to kill me!” you cry, with your exaggerated feminine voice.

The man raises his eyebrows and tilts his head to check the label of your car. “A fiat 500 huh?”You look up at him acting confused.

“Yeah.. why..?” you mumble in a shaky voice, like you’re about to cry. “These cars are known to be trash. No wonder it’s not working.” he replies, getting comfortable and resting his arm on the edge of your window.

“I didn’t know, now I have to call the garage and use my savings for the holidays to drive again..” you sigh, looking down at your bare thighs, thanks to this pink short ass skirt.

“I mean.. I can still check what’s wrong and do some things here and there.” the man shrugs, looking so unbothered with his hood on.

“Really? Thank goodness. Your name?”

“Uh.. I’m Riki. Do you mind getting out of the car? You can go home and call your boss while I take care of your ‘car’.” How rude! What does he mean ‘going home’! He’s completely ruining her plans.

“Y-yeah..” you stutter in embarrassment. It’s like no matter what you do, shame is not something you can escape. You get out of the car, hand him the keys and walk off to your apartment. The sound of your heels clicking resonating in your mind, fading in with the loud insults your own mind is making.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

It’s been approximately 2 hours since Riki has been toying on your car. You didn’t think you would cause so much damage and you’re actually starting to regret destroying your car yesterday night. But you can’t be left in defeat, no, not this time. Luckily, you baked some cookies during the time he was fixing your car, and now decided to try approaching him again.

Once you come down to the parking you see your neighbor still fixing your car. To your surprise, the man is shirtless, with his skin is glistening, wiping off his sweat with his hand . You couldn’t tell if you were getting horny from how amazing his body looked, or icky from how cliché this scene looked. You wanted to thank global warming for absolutely destroying our climate, and making a day in the middle of April, in London, as hot as a summer day in Morocco.

“Water?” you say as you walk to him with the plate of cookies in your hand, a fresh bottle of water in the other, and a soft smile on your face.

“I’d love to, dear.” Riki breathes through his open mouth because of the heat. He grabs the water bottle and mutters a little “thanks”, before chugging the water down, until the bottle is left with a small amount. Gently, he pours down the cold water on his shoulders while speaking. “Your car was an absolute mess. Are you sure you don’t have a stalker or an enemy who tried to sabotage you? Because this, is clearly made by a human.”

“Uhuh..” you nod stupidly, not focusing on any words coming out of his mouth. The sight you were given was God sent. You focused on every single detail of his upper body. His jawline is sharp, his shoulders broad, his arms big and his abs lean. God you wish you could just-

“Miss? You listening?” he stops your thoughts right away.

“Uh.. no. Is it fixed now?” you respond honestly after recollecting your thoughts.

“Should be.” Riki opens the door and sits on the driver’s seat. He turns on the engine and your car starts roaring like a lion again. (Its fiat, of course it does not..)

You clap your hands and jump on your feet. “Yay! Finally!”

As you jump in excitement, you can’t miss the way Riki smirks seeing you happy over his work.

He turns off the engine and gets out of the car. “Here, I baked you cookies while you were fixing it.” you say, extending your arms so he can grab a cookie. The man smiles and grabs the plate, he looks so proud, like a kid who got rewarded after doing homework.

“Oh please don’t stay there.. You’re probably tired. I’ll cook you some roasted chicken.”

Before he can say anything, you grab his arm and drag him into your appartement.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

“Careful it’s hot.” you warn him before putting your chicken on the table. You take off your gloves and apron, before taking a seat. “Bon appétit.”

“Thank you, you really didn’t have to do all that…” he hesitates.

“Y/N, it’s Y/N. Don’t be silly, if it wasn’t you who helped me I’d probably lose 500 bucks.”

Riki looks at you with a confused look on his face, while he devours the chicken. “What?” you giggle, thinking he’s checking you out.

“I don’t want to be mean but, that won’t be free Y/N.”

Your body freezes and so does your mind, taking a few seconds before processing what he just said.

Son of a bitch! So your hot neighbor’s not only a jobless loser, he’s a scammer! No wonder he’s always fixing all the cars in the parking. “Motherfucker..” you accidentally let out. “Why didn’t you just tell you’d charge me?! If I knew, I would’ve not let you fix my car!”

His eyes widen, with his mouth and cheeks still full of chicken. “Woah there.. No need to get in this state miss. I don’t know what you were expecting.”

As your temper rises you get up and put your fists on your hips. “Expecting what? I don’t know.. fucking.. gentleman behavior? A real man would do this for free! I baked you cookies, and even made you chicken, and now you want me to pay you?!”

“I’m just charging 150! How do you want me to live out there if I don’t get paid!” the man raises his voice as well, creating a symphony of excuses and blames.

“150?” you laugh, “If I knew you’d charge me even a dollar I wouldn’t have sabotaged my car.”

Riki frowns, flabbergasted. “You did what?”

As your own words echoed in your mind, you slowly realize the big mistake you just did. You clear your throat and regain your composure. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t have any money to give you.” you respond calmly.

“Then how the hell are you supposed to pay me?”

Jackpot. This stupid man doesn’t even what he got himself into. You tilt your head and walk closer to him. “Maybe not money, but I could give you something else..” you mutter, trailing your pink nails on his skin, giving him goosebumps.

He slowly looks down at your hand then back at you, and the mischievous smile you have on your face. You can see his cheeks slightly blushing and his breath rising, but your anticipation reveals to be wrong when the man opens his mouth to speak.

“Sorry but I’m not into this miss, you need to pay me.”

“Won’t you just shut up already?”

You suddenly grab his face and smash your lips against him, making his eyes widen again before he kisses your lips back. You jump onto him, and instinctively he grabs your hips to carry your small body, all while trying to not break the kiss. He walks you through the apartment, searching for your room while trying very hard not to break the kiss and ruin the moment.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

You have him laid down on your bed, groaning and breathing heavily as his hands grope your cheeks, trying to press you onto his crotch.

“Arms up..” he whispers with a dominant tone, hiding his desperation.

You oblige and once your arms are up, he grabs the hem of your top and takes it off for you. Your top didn’t really leave anything to imagination, but seeing your bare breasts has his blood boiling and pumping. He leans your torso down into his face with his cold hands on the small of your back, and begins to nibble on your chest. You can’t help but let out little whimpers and giggles, knowing what’s about to happen.

“Why you laughing?” he asks, in a deep voice, you can practically hear him growl.

“Because you think you’re in control.”

With no explanation, you turn around so your back faces him and get in all fours. You gently pull the hem of your skirt down until it’s completely off.

Riki, despite his want to be the dominant one here, can’t help but blush seeing you strip.

You gently tug the elastic of your underwear and slowly slide it down, until you’re completely bare. His breath hitches, and his chest keeps heaving, he’s hot, needy and about to burst if he doesn’t get to touch you in the next seconds. Eventually he grabs your cheeks again, trying to pull you in, but you stop him, slapping his hands off.

“What.. what are you-“

“Lay all the way down.” you say in a serious tone, facing him again.

He doesn’t want to obey, but does so anyway, too excited to discover what you’re about to do to fight back.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Needless to say what happened next. Your hook-up session ended up with cuddles and kisses on your bed. You both are naked, holding onto each other, despite the sweat sticking on your bodies.

He smokes a cigarette while staring at the rain violently hitting the window and the trees shaking. The weather went from a burning sun to a tempest, which reminds Riki how much time he spent in here already.

“Seems like you’re stuck with me now.” you say, looking at his detailed features with your doe eyes.

“Couldn’t spend my day in a better way.” he smiles before gently pressing a kiss on your forehead. “..A-are you going to pay me though?”

You roll your eyes and wrap your arms tighter around him. “Silly boy..” you whisper, inhaling the smell of his body to seek comfort.

You too, couldn’t spend your day in a better way.

I definitely wrote a smut part for this but got shy and scrapped it lol.

[b1eedthefreak]

Hey! Love you writing!

It's actually my first time requesting lol, sorry if there's typos English isn't my first language

I was wondering if you could do something with reader being insecure about her boobs being "too small" and that making her struggle with intimacy with her new boyfriend daryl. Maybe some light angst with a *very* poor communication skills daryl not even understanding what stops her, thinking it's his fault or something. Like he can't even fathom that could be a problem since he is in love and hence, actually thinks she is the prettiest girl ever. But then fluff and soft smut where he understands and reassures her by focusing on her chest during it? And throwing a size kink would be chef's kiss

Hope that you're comfortable with everything !

Thank you, and keep writing cause you're talented!!

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. Little Thing

⌇daryl dixon x reader

⌇summary: you’ve stopped being intimate with daryl because you’re insecure, he finds out why and fixes that

⌇warnings: : smut, body image insecurity (reader has small chest), praise kink, oral (f receiving), emotional vulnerability,

⌇word count: 5.2k

a/n small chest community this is for us (anon thank you for this beautiful request and thank you for your kind words i love you)

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It had never been about Daryl. That was the cruelest part.

He hadn’t pushed. Not once. Daryl had only ever touched you like he thought you might vanish. Careful, patient, reverent. Like he was memorizing something sacred with every brush of his fingers. You knew how much he wanted you, you felt it in the way he held you, the way his hands soften when he grabbed you around your waist. In the way he lingered too long at the curve of your neck, the dip of your spine, fingers splayed and reverent like he was touching the edge of something holy.

And you heard it, too at night, in the quiet, when the world was asleep and his cell was dark except for the moonlight through the bars. His voice, low and rough, whispering your name like a confession when he thought you couldn’t hear. Those shallow breaths, the soft rasp of skin against cloth as he worked through the ache of loving you from a distance you kept widening.

Because every time he tried when his hands slipped beneath your shirt, when his mouth brushed the hollow of your throat,

you shut down.

Pulled away.

Turned over.

And the guilt was suffocating. Not because you didn’t want him because you did want him, badly. But because you couldn’t bear the idea of him seeing you. Really seeing you.

Because once he did,

Once his eyes landed on your bare chest, on skin that had never been enough, on breasts that never filled bras properly, that always looked small no matter how you stood, he’d know.

He’d see what you saw.

And that would be the end of it.

Daryl never asked about you denying him.

The first time, you whispered “Can we just sleep?” into his neck, and he didn’t even hesitate, just nodded, tucked you against his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world, and held you. His lips brushed the crown of your head like a promise: I’m not going anywhere.

But by the third time, he flinched when you pulled away.

The fifth time, he didn’t reach for you at all. Didn’t kiss your cheek, didn’t say goodnight. Just laid beside you, rigid and silent, eyes fixed on the ceiling like maybe if he stared hard enough, he’d find the answer to what he’d done wrong written in the concrete.

And the worst part was… he hadn’t done anything.

That was you.

It snapped one night when the air in his cell felt too still, too close. Everyone else was asleep or on watch. Just you and him in the quiet, beneath the worn threadbare sleeping bag that still somehow smelled like pine and gunpowder and home.

He was kissing you like he always did slow and coaxing. One hand braced by your head, the other hovering at your hip, not touching—never touching until you pulled him closer.

But when his fingers brushed the edge of your shirt, hesitating there like they were asking for permission… you tensed.

Not much. Just enough.

But Daryl noticed everything.

He pulled back instantly, like you’d burned him. Sat back on his knees, hands fisting in the sleeping bag as he stared at you, jaw clenched.

“Daryl—”

“What’s goin’ on?” His voice was quiet, but frayed around the edges. “You keep… pullin’ back. Won’t let me touch you no more.”

You swallowed hard. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then what is it?” His voice raised, not in anger, in sadness—frustration. “You say you want me, but you act like I’m—fuck! I don’t know. Like I’m gonna hurt you or somethin’.”

Your breath caught.

He saw that.

“Is it me?” he asked, so soft it broke something in you. “You changin’ your mind or somethin’?”

“No,” you said too fast. “God, no! It’s not you.”

“Then what?”

You bit your lip so hard it hurt.

“I just…” Your voice cracked. “I don’t want you to see me. Not all of me.”

Daryl’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

“Because I have small boobs, okay?” you burst out, arms crossed tight over your chest, heart hammering. “I know that sounds stupid but I hate them. I’ve hated them my whole life. They’re uneven and soft and weird and they don’t look like the kind of body someone gets excited over. And I just—” You blinked hard, voice wavering. “I didn’t want you to see me and think you made a mistake.”

Daryl stared at you. Just stared, like his brain was still catching up.

“You think…” he said slowly, “I care about how big your tits are?”

You flushed, humiliated. “You don’t have to say anything. Just forget it.”

“No,” he said, reaching forward, cupping your jaw gently so you’d meet his eyes. “Ain’t lettin’ that go. You think I’m layin’ here every night wantin’ you ‘cause of some damn cup size?”

“I think I’ve seen the kind of girls guys like,” you whispered. “And I’m not one of them.”

His eyes softened.

“Baby,” he said quietly. “You ever hear me say a damn word about wantin’ anybody else?”

“No.”

“Exactly.” He leaned in, brushing his lips over your forehead. “You’re all I think about. Every damn night. You walk into a room, my whole body lights up like it’s the first time I ever saw color. You smile and I feel like my chest’s gonna crack open.”

You blinked back tears.

“I want you,” he said. “Exactly as you are. And if you let me—just once, I’ll show you what I see every time I look at you.”

You swallowed. Nodded. “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He touched you like you were the first woman he’d ever seen.

Like the way your chest rose and fell beneath him was a marvel. Like the little hitch in your breath when he mouthed at your breast was a secret he’d been aching to uncover.

“Goddamn,” he muttered against your skin, voice thick and reverent, “you’re just… so fuckin’ small, baby.”

His hand covered the whole side of your torso, fingers curling around your ribs like he could hold your whole damn frame in one hand. It made you shiver, how big he was was, how small you felt beneath him. But instead of shame, it ignited something else. Something warm and heavy and electric in your belly.

“You like that?” he rasped, nose brushing over your sternum as he kissed a trail down the center of your chest. “Feelin’ little under me?”

Your thighs squeezed together. He noticed. Of course he did.

“Oh, I see how it is,” he chuckled, dark and low. “Get all shy when I say you’re tiny, but your pretty pussy’s clenching just from my voice.”

“Daryl—” It came out as a gasp when his fingers slipped under the waistband of your underwear, slow and deliberate.

“Shh, baby,” he cooed, kissing your stomach.

He tugged your panties down your legs, groaning under his breath like the sight of you bare had knocked the wind out of him. And when he dipped his head between your thighs, big hands gripping your hips to spread you open, the moan he let out was almost obscene.

“Fuck,” he breathed, voice muffled by your skin. “Look at this. Sweetest fuckin’ thing I ever tasted.”

His tongue flicked over your clit once, just enough to make you jolt, then again, slower. Deeper. He didn’t rush. Just licked into you, mouth warm and unrelenting, like he had nowhere else to be and nothing else to do but drown in you.

“Don’t hold back,” he muttered, pausing to look up at you with those wild eyes. “Wanna hear how good I’m makin’ you feel. Wanna know I’m doin’ it right.”

You couldn’t help it. The cry that left your lips was half his name, half a prayer.

He groaned in response, tongue swirling deeper, one big hand spreading over your lower belly to hold you in place. You reached for something to anchor yourself, his hair, his shoulder, the blanket beneath you, but nothing grounded you quite like the way his mouth claimed you.

And when you came, it was with your thighs trembling around his head, his name falling from your lips like scripture. He didn’t stop. Just licked you through it, soft and slow, like he was savoring every drop.

When he finally pulled back, his chin was wet, eyes glassy with awe and hunger. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then leaned over you, kissing your knee, your hip, and your ribs like you were sacred.

Then he knelt back, pushing off his shirt with one rough sweep. You sat up slightly, eyes tracing over his scarred chest

He tugged you close, pressing soft kisses along your jaw, down your neck, until his lips hovered at your collarbone. He could barely tear his eyes away from your chest.

“Wanna see you,” he muttered, voice thick with heat. “Wanna see you ridin’ me.”

Your body tensed slightly.

“I wanna feel you,” he whispered, nudging his nose along your throat. “Wanna watch those pretty tits bounce while you fuckin’ take me. Need it sweetheart.”

You blinked up at him. His voice was so low, needy, reverent. His hands guided you up, gently pulling you over him as he lay back against the pillow.

When you straddled his hips, your knees braced on either side of him, Daryl looked up at you like he was looking at the sky. Like he could spend the rest of his life just staring.

“Fuck,” he breathed. His hands came to your thighs, then slid up slowly, over your hips, your waist, until they settled just beneath your chest. “You look so fuckin’ good like this.”

Your hands trembled as you reached between your bodies to line him up. He was thick and heavy in your grasp, twitching against your fingers as you positioned him at your entrance.

“Go slow, baby,” he murmured. “Let me feel every inch.”

You sank down onto him inch by inch, and Daryl’s jaw clenched as he moaned your name. His hands flew to your hips, gripping tight, not to rush you, but to anchor himself.

“Shit—fuck—” he hissed, head tipping back. “You’re so fuckin’ tight, baby. Can’t believe you fit me.”

Your hands braced on his chest as you bottomed out, the stretch full and sweet and deep. You rocked your hips slowly, letting your body adjust, letting him feel everything.

Then you started to move.

Daryl’s eyes snapped open, locked on your chest as your hips rolled over him. His hands came up again, reverent, almost shaking as they cupped your breasts.

He groaned like he’d died and gone to heaven.

“You’re so perfect,” he rasped, thumbs brushing over your nipples. “Little thing bouncin’ on my cock… Fuck—look at you.”

Your cheeks burned, but the way he worshipped you, made you feel special.

“Can’t believe you’re mine,” he kept whispering. “So soft. So fuckin’ pretty. Wanna touch you everywhere.”

He sat up suddenly, chest pressed to yours, arms wrapping around your back as you rode him. The shift made him hit deeper, and your breath hitched as you clung to his shoulders.

“I need to feel your heart beatin’ against me,” he said, voice ragged. “Need to feel you, right here.”

He kissed your chest, your sternum, your breasts, your throat, between moans, between muttered filth. His cock throbbed inside you with every roll of your hips, and his praise only got filthier.

“Look at these pretty tits bouncin’ while you take me,” he growled softly. “God, baby, look so fuckin’ good. S’like you were made to ride me.”

You whimpered, nails digging into his back, body trembling from the pleasure winding tight inside you.

“I’m gonna—” you gasped.

“That’s it, baby,” he encouraged. “Let go for me. C’mon, wanna feel you cum on my cock.”

And you did, body locking, then shattering around him with a loud cry. Daryl held you through it, rocking up into you with little thrusts as he chased his own release.

Then he cursed, low and guttural. “Gonna cum fuck, you’re squeezin’ me so tight—”

He groaned your name and buried himself deep as he came, spilling inside you with a broken, trembling moan.

After, you slumped against his chest, still straddling him, both of you slick with sweat and panting hard.

“You okay?” he asked after a long moment, voice rough but soft.

You nodded, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

His hands slid up your back. “I ain’t never seen anything so beautiful. The way you ride me… your chest bouncin’ like that…” He groaned again just thinking about it. “Damn near lost my mind.”

You giggled into his skin. “You really like my boobs, huh?”

He gave a sleepy, possessive grunt. “They’re mine now. S’official.”

You smiled against his chest, happy, full, and wrecked in the best way.

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[luesmainblog]

it's not just AI and tiktok, either. everything from tech companies to politicians to commercial entities to religious organizations are adding to this problem; they don't want you to think, because then you might Question, and you might demand Change, and you won't be as easy to control. I think this is the thing we need to emphasize with people. when you're talking to someone who hasn't been using their critical thinking skills for a long time, you can't expect them to know from context why that's a bad thing. you need to spell it out that they are actively putting themselves in danger. that taking the time to think things through and put that effort in will genuinely make their life more enjoyable and fulfilling, and it's a skill they need to develop, not something they just 'can't do because it's hard'. you gotta emphasize that it won't be hard forever, not if they do it every day. i sincerely forsee a lot of the people my age and younger having extremely bad midlife crisies when we hit 40 or so. because we've seen this before, in a different form. people who grew up following the rules and not really thinking about their future - just Assuming that they should get a stable job and a spouse and kids and a sensible car because That's What You Do - and then woke up one day realizing they had no sense of self and they've wasted their youth and a lot of things suck, actually. if you've never watched a middle-aged person have the dawning horror strike them that the kids going out to protest probably have the right idea and aren't just causing a fuss over nothing, it's a pretty humbling sight.

for any teachers - college or otherwise - who want to fight against this issue, there actually is one simple solution you can start with. it's gonna sound ridiculous, but remember that we used to do this all the time: have them do their papers On Paper, by pen or pencil, in the classroom. if it's going to be a multiple day project, have them keep their project there in the classroom. in the school's wifi, block every generative Ai you can think of - and when you find another, block that one, too. strongly encourage the use of a library - physical paperback sources and interviews they've done themselves. adjust how you do things and how you run your classroom to make it as difficult to use GenAI as possible. cut them off as much as is within your power so that it's not even an option.

Generative AI has destroyed academia.

In the next few decades we’re going to have thousands of people who don’t really know anything, and can’t do any critical thinking.

[dorkydegeneracy]

Let's get some things very straight (LOL) about that ICONIC Buddie argument last night.

Eddie WAS NOT the aggressor in this altercation. In fact, Buck was in a mood before Eddie even entered the kitchen. Eddie asked why Buck had gone grocery shopping when he had previously promised to do so himself. He was asking a question. Buck's whole demeanor suggested he was clearly bothered: "I was out. It's fine." Obviously a chippy response to which Eddie replied "It doesn't feel like it's fine." Because he knows Buck. And he obviously wasn't fine. Granted, Buck had reason to be upset: he was the last person to find out that Eddie had been offered the job in El Paso. Under normal circumstances, Buck would have been the first person to know.

However, these are obviously not normal circumstances. Bobby is dead. Eddie explains why he didn't tell Buck. His reasoning isn't because he believes Buck is selfish. Yes, Eddie is being petty here. It was kinda a shitty thing to say (although that might have been THE LINE of the year, so I am so glad that he said it), to which he later admits. However, his reasoning is a little deeper than that, and easy to discern if you listen to what he says: "You've been spiralling. Since the funeral. And no one knows how to talk to you about it."

This harkens back to Eddie's conversation with Hen and Karen earlier in the episode. Buck is presenting a façade that he is okay by trying to take care of everybody else, as Bobby requested of him. Asking weird ass grief questions. But the people who love him. The person who loves him, wants him to drop the act and actually process his own grief.

Add all of that, to the fact that Eddie is trying to process his own grief and one would understand Eddie's reaction to Buck stating (in an equally petty manner, I might add) "Sorry I'm sad that Bobby is dead." NO SHIT SHERLOCK! Note that in this instance, by saying that, Buck is explicitly thinking about his own feelings and not considering the feelings of his family who are also grieving. That is definitionally selfish. Eddie, rightly responds "You're not the only one that lost him! We all lost him." Because he is trying to let Buck know that the way to help is not through stupid psych evaluations; it is by talking about how each other is feeling.

Buck: "Yeah, I know."

Eddie: "Really? Because you never asked what it was like."

Eddie then proceeds to explain his emotions about Bobby's death.

And let's make it even more clear: Eddie WAS NEVER going to hit Buck. He would never hit Buck. He grabs his shoulder and points his little finger in his face. It's a call back to their grocery store altercation.

Unlike Buck, who puts up a façade as a way to avoid processing grief, Eddie's grief manifests as anger. That was the whole point of his street fighting plot line. He used fighting as a way to blow off steam. The problem with the street fighting wasn't that he was fighting: it was that he was doing so in an illegal underground ring. That story was never meant to characterize Eddie as a violent person. Because Eddie is not a violent person. He uses his passion for MMA as an outlet. Not everybody who knows MMA is a violent person. The opposite is actually true. Very few MMA fighters are violent people. It's an art. Just like dancing or figure skating.

Buck then apologizes to Eddie, acknowledging his TEMPORARY moment of selfishness. Eddie then expresses that he has yet to forgive himself for not being there.

"If I was there, could I have made a difference."

Buck misinterprets this statement as Eddie believing that Buck didn't do everything he could to save Bobby's life.

That's not what Eddie is saying at all. What he does say in response is

"I don't know Buck. I wasn't there."

Eddie hates that he wasn't there to save Bobby's life. Which is a large, and understandable, part of his grief.

The whole theme of this conversation is that these two are not communicating. Had they done so, they would not be upset at each other. Obviously, it is hard to effectively communicate during times of grief. So in reality, both Buck and Eddie are at fault here. Both have valid motivations behind their words and actions here. This is what grief does. It makes you act irrationally or out of character.

Yet, their miscommunication pre-existed Bobby's death: It started when Eddie decided to leave for El Paso. And the reason they were not communicating then is because neither of them understand or want to admit their feelings regarding the move. These feelings are that of love, which neither party is willing to admit yet. Yet.

Next week might be the first opportunity for either of them to voice those feelings.

[cancel-me-daddy]

The older sibling trope is shitty and lazy, and there is no excuse for it to be this prevalent in 2025, point blank period.

This has been coming for some time, it was really just a matter of when the next time this stereotype shows up and ruins/turns me off from something before I put up this rant.

The Elbaph arc of One Piece has just become my least favorite arc in the series, and has ruined Shanks for me.

As if it wasn't bad enough how obvious it is that Loki is gonna turn out to be the good guy (writing this on May 5th 2025, I am on chapter 1140. Loki being the youngest gave it away.) and it's gonna be like Bruno from Encanto or something, but now Shanks has an evil older twin out of nowhere and this cool character is ruined.

Constantly making the older sibling in media evil and making the younger sibling the underdog/odd one out is such a dull overdone trope.

I have had a huge problem with it for years because it completely alienates me and invalidates me and the fact that I'm the only one who even notices or cares about this just adds to it. Like, I am actually mad when I see this.

In media, the older sibling can either be evil or a prissy overachiever who follows the rules (or both) and that is it. This is not fair and when it's the only thing you're shown throughout art and media it has an effect on real life.

And yeah, there are definitely more important/pressing issues than this but I can still be mad about this while also caring about more important stuff.

This is very personal to me because growing up, I was a complete inverse of this stereotype. I am the oldest of my siblings, and when we were kids I was the one getting mistreated. I was an undiagnosed neurodivergent child and grew up with a neurotypical and perfect younger sister.

My issues with this trope falls on deaf ears CONSTANTLY and I'm sick of it so l'm sorry but I have to bring up old family stuff. We’re good now and as long as that’s over I have nothing against them. But okay; I'm the oldest. I'M the one who was bullied. I'M the one who was "weird." I was the black sheep. I'M the one who did poorly in school. I'M the one who got the "why can't you be more like your sister?" talk. IT IS NOT FAIR.

It's like writers don't think older siblings are going to be watching or reading anything. We were all kids at one point. We were the same age our younger siblings are now and it's not okay to teach us that we're some horrible monster or a lame NPC for being conceived first.

Of course there are going to be situations where this stereotype really does happen. People exist. There are mean older sisters and brothers. But the fact that I can conjure up this giant ass list (80 examples as now) while I can count the number of good older sibling characters on one hand is fucking appalling. At this point they are really just demonizing older siblings and ass kissing younger siblings because we fetishize the shit out of youth.

Movies and books are supposed to be my escape from real life. It's really harmful that even my escapes tell me l'm not valid and there's no room for me in stories because I'm supposed to be the big bad evil one or the "obey your parents" prissy wet blanket while the younger sibling is always the good, rebellious cool one.

And I get why; younger = less life experience = underdog = root for the underdog. That mixed in with everyone’s subconscious younger = better. I know the reason but like?? It’s not a good reason? It should be defied and challenged once in a while.

This trope is lazy. Like flat out. There are better ways to write an underdog than this. We all know deep down that younger means better. It doesn't work. 

Being younger means you have less experience so of course an older sibling will be better than you at some stuff. It doesn't make for a good "oooo poor lil underdog" story. Imagine being the oldest AND having your younger siblings be better than you at everything and finding success faster than you. It would get the underdog message across even moreso, and that would be a way worse position to be in. Almost no piece of media has ever explored this.

Also if an older sibling is jealous of a younger sibling, they must be wicked and cruel. But if a younger sibling is jealous of an older sibling, we're supposed to feel sorry for them.

I have actually refused to watch shows or movies because of this. It makes me genuinely mad. Especially when I’m so far along in a series or if I have a strong love for a franchise just for it to pull this.

And it wouldn’t be making me this mad if people at least knew it as a trope. Like if it became as much of a thing as the middle child being invisible and people just recognized it as a trope it wouldn't piss me off this much. If it became an eye roll ‘oop here we go again’ that the audience groans about it wouldn't have driven me to this.

But the fact that I have EIGHTY AND COUNTING examples so clearly authors are doing it with intent and are consciously aware and it still falls on deaf ears where everyone I mention it to is all ‘huh what are you talking about?’ or change the subject or try their absolute hardest NOT to understand is what makes me want to scream. Like, FUCKING 80+!!! There has got to be some real intent behind this and when I call it out no one understands or wants to.

Fiction does have an impact on reality. Constantly putting firtborns under this light affects the way firsborns are treated in real life.

Their struggles aren't taken as seriously, people are quick to side with the younger sibling when there is conflict no matter what, and they'll be considered a failure or a loser if they can't live up to the 'perfection responsible leader' role they never signed up for.

Of all the media I've consumed, I could only find 5 positive examples of good older sibling characters that defy the stereotype in some way (13 if I'm being extremely generous)

To have just 5 - 13 well written good older siblings and over 80 bad ones, that's not okay.

If everything in my life was exactly the same but I was the youngest instead, if I was still the lonely fuckup black sheep who was bullied but I was younger, I would have been able to feel heard and have dozens of characters to relate to. But instead I'm isolated and invalidated even more and can neither have the cake or eat it.

No one ever talks about this, and when I try to everyone will cover their ears and change the subject or misunderstand it.

I’m probably going to blaze this because I will be heard. This current One Piece arc has deeply upset me and I already dedicated so much time and money to the series. Even if I have to keep shouting and posting about this over and over, I will be heard. 

I will delete comments that trivialize, invalidate, miss the point, say something like “technically (insert character) isn’t evil,” or otherwise miss the forest for the trees. I will be heard no matter how many times it takes.

[teruthecreator]

gimme 1 and 17 dialtown ☎️

hiiiii griffin i hope you're having a good time at graduation. probably not since u sent this ask but hey man i get i too was on my phone during graduation. anyway

1. the character everyone gets wrong

oh boy where do i start with this. i mean like. tee bee aych i feel like most people have a fundamental misunderstanding of randy. like he's not pathetic for pathetics sake he kind of intentionally puts himself in the worst situations imaginable to feed his worldview of everything being bad for Him specifically and no one else. the fandom kind of babygirls him? like treats him softer and generally makes him more of a shy uwu guy rather than a person stuck deeply in his own fractured worldview that is intentionally letting himself get worse. like randy's whole route is about making him realize his happiness is His Choice, His Decision and not a work of fate/luck/unseen outside force that he has to relinquish control to, and everyone just goes "yeah but what if we make him sopping wet uwu yaoibait guy with oliver".

speaking of oliver i feel like EEEEEEEEEVERYBODY makes him way too wacky and not actually grounded. like, despite his many odd mannerisms and such, he is still one of the few characters who has a job and is able to Maintain That throughout his route (though, of course, in the good route it changes). oliver is a pretty stable guy, all things considered. sure he talks funny and has a general inclination for the ridiculous, but a lot of people kinda coke him up and let him run loose like he's a wild animal. and i think it's more fun if you ground him in a place of reality and then let him play. instead of being the guy to drag people into stuff, let him be a part of a scenario and see what his reactions are. much more fun. also i feel like a lot of people forget how, like, awkward he is? like he tends to apologize when he says really outlandish/forward shit and seems to view Himself as a "freak" in a way that would suggest he's aware of how he stands in comparison to most people. like dude knows he's weird, and that's not Always a good thing.

and yknow what while im talking about the main dateables i would be remiss to bring up karen because like. WOW. i mean this is a problem with most fandom spaces unfortunately but the way people straightman her is so fucking sad. like people forget she literally quit her job on a Whim because someone vaguely suggested leaving and she went full throttle. karen is impulsive and karen makes bad decisions based on rash judgments and she is generally not that hard to goad into doing something stupid. i mean, she agreed to a date with gingi. twice! that takes some real loose grips on impulse control to just go along with that. like sure she is a bit more deadpan than, say, oliver, but she does have a sense of humor. she likes to use sarcasm! she has wit she has sass. also she is like. INSANELY jealous and i feel like a lot of people dont hone in on that aspect of her being the reason why she is sometimes so rash. she is fiercely protective of those she considers "hers". she wanted to Kill A Giraffe because gingi liked it. she is jealous she is rash she is impulsive PLAY IN THE SPACE STOP MAKING HER THE DEADPAN STRAIGHTMAN ITS SO BORINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG

okay that's enough of that but just know i could've done it for every character

17. there should be more of this type of fic/art

maybe i am insanely ridiculously biased but there should more content of mingus and norm. or just mingus. or norm. those two are SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO fascinating and i feel like people kinda gloss over that. like they're similar beasts in their rampant paranoia and flawed perspective on callum/the world and they butt heads about it like crazy. generally their dynamic is one of the most interesting parts of chapter 3 to me and i feel like there really isn't enough chapter 3-focused content out there. we should talk about these guys more. and if i have to stand on a podium and take a stand there should be more content of MINGUS. girl is the driving antagonist of AN ENTIRE ARC. BASICALLY THE WHOLE GAME IF YOU THINK ABOUT IT. AND NOOOOOO I DON'T SEE HER ANYWHERE. IS IT BECAUSE SHE DOESN'T FIT IN YOUR FOUND FAMILY DYNAMIC? IS IT BECAUSE SHE'S A WOMAN? I DON'T KNOW I DON'T KNOW HOW TO DIRECT YOU PEOPLE TOWARDS HER BUT I WANT TO. if my brain was functioning at the capacity it was last july i would've written ten million fics about her i have so many days. alas, i don't know if they'll ever happen... (but if people were curious i would gladly share)

but in a slightly more biased take, i think there needs to be more normingus in the world. how we were the chosen few to proclaim the good word of normingus is beyond me. like don't get me wrong i'm happy tryt had its impact but JESUS CHRIST I SHOULD NOT BE THE MOST POPULAR. SOMEONE ELSE COME TRY AND PLAY IN THE SPACE WITH ME. I CAN GIVE YOU IDEAS. I CAN GIVE YOU SO MANY IDEAS.

[ofbreathandflame-archive]

Sometimes, I think about the absurdity of the UTM situation — but then, sometimes I think of it and it makes Rhys a much more sinister, albeit, more interesting character.

Like - the situation is this, initially:

Feyre is in her cell. She frazzled,dirty, but hasn’t quite had to experience any of the horrors of UTM, save for her bargained first trial. After her initial riff raff with Rhys, the guards are hypnotized to never touch Feyre, and she receives hot meals to her cell everyday. Rhys was also able to clean Feyre up multiple times as well. So far - excluding his other actions up to this point - we can characterize Rhys as opportunistic, cruel, but well-intentioned in these moments. I am not asking for him to be a purity princess, only that I can vaguely understand the motives to his actions, whether good or bad.

But then…

He then *willingly* chooses to take her out said cell, allowing Amarantha to remember Feyre. His only tangible reason for doing this was to…anger Tamlin. He already had explains that Amarantha has a shield that wards against physical attacks, so that explaination makes no sense. The only one that actually sticks is that Rhys is…jealous. There is no tactical explanation as to why Rhys would establish this safe-space for Feyre, only to immediately co-opt it. Think about it, at this point, Amarantha has forgotten Feyre even exists. If she was tangibly written, she could have played against Feyre’s time, allowing each trial to take place once every thirty or a fifty years. But I digress.

Anywho, Rhysand removed Feyre’s clothes, painted her, and gave her a linen scarf as a dress. The hot food be gives becomes inconsequential because the wine makes Feyre wretch up any all of the food she receives. She then has to sleep on the dirty ragged floor naked because those were all of the clothes she was given. And as Rhysand is breaking Feyre down, he also has the antidote. Now, Feyre isn’t surrounded by the quiet of her cell, or looking forward to the anticipation of a hot meal. She is anticipating (and more than not dreading) her eventual drugging SA.

The sinister part of this is that — Rhys becomes the author of all of Feyre’s sorrows, but then he also swoops in and provides solutions to the issues…he caused.

And it’s why the music scene is one of the most unromantic moments in this series if you stop and consider EVERYTHING. Feyre is sitting there, alone and naked. Exhausted after being paraded around by the Wraiths and having to bear info she has no power to stop. Rhys reads her mind, and then sends the music into her cell. But HE IS THE ONE who caused it in the first place. All of it. It’s so scary when you consider that Feyre was a human, with no mental shields. She was a legit open book and the book acknowledges that he read it alll. Like - even in Twilight - Edward could read everyone’s mind BUT Bella. She was a closed book for and that made her interesting to him. It built a sort-of boundary between them, which considering everything, was a good literary choice.

Rhys has all of this access, and knowledge of Feyre that she doesn’t even get the pleasure of telling him (or just letting him experience it). Like that moment where Feyre tells Rhys she was scared, and he retorts back “no you weren’t” is like…quite scary. Idk. It’s just so weirddd. And I’m not asking for these tidbits not to exist. I’m saying that the story never considers any nuance in these issues. Feyre is expressing that she felt these amalgamation of emotions upon seeing Rhys, but he just smiles and tells her how beautiful she thought her was. At one point, Rhys mad feyre so scared she pissed herself (or almost did - I can’t remember) and threw up. She was terrified, violated, and afraid. And Rhys knows this - and he never apologizes. I am not against the idea of Feysand, as many may assume, not inherently. My problem is, the sinister parts do not add nuance. There’s no discussion into Rhysand’s control issue, which is wrapped in a self-sacrificing package. His need to do everything is the exact same as Tamlin’s control issue - they are both very controlling. Rhysand cannot trust his inner-circle. He does nefarious things because he doesn’t trust them to do so even though they’re so supposed to be Prythan’s version of the Avengers. He makes Mor the queen of the CoN…but doesn’t actually trust her to do the job. What I’m saying is - instead of it leveraging Rhysand’s faults into a well rounded character, the book would rather just assume they don’t exist.

[notashadowbutawave]

I felt like this all could have been arcing TOWARDS something for Eddie in terms of the long view of the show (from his introduction until roughly the time of 7.04 let's say).

until the Kim arc happened and ever since then the vibes have been very off, like there's a dead body in the room and no one knows what to do with it but they definitely can't speak of its existence ...

im actually willing to give a lot of leeway to 911 and other shows for that matter regarding stuff happening offscreen, like sometimes I think showing everything that happens in a character's life is unnecessary and it gives actors the opportunity to really inform their performance with nuance and implication, it gives writers an opportunity to make really beautiful choices about what we see and what we don't see, whatever. But with Eddie it feels like that's become a crutch for his story, or what little story we have for him.

I often see people in the fandom say that 911 is the "no consequences" show but I think the way that consequences and disasters were framed in the earlier seasons (pre season 7/ the move to ABC) was quite different from a writing perspective. It's BAD in season 8 but Eddie might have been the canary in the coal mine for this problem.

The implication was always that "things will be okay if you talk it out" -- not that there were no consequences, but 911 is not a realistic show, and it's propagandistic for the audience. It's doing relationship modeling and social norms modeling. People often resolve conflicts in the show by talking it out or the contours of a bigger conversation that happened or would happen offscreen was defined. This used to happen SO MUCH. Michael and Bobby. Hen and Karen. Bobby and Athena. Hell, Buck and Eddie. Chimney and Maddie. Tommy and Chimney! Buck and Bobby. It worked because it always seemed like the route out was kindness.

I feel like Eddie has always missed the mark on that and for whatever reason it has become kind of part of the ethos of the whole show. It's bizarre. I'm willing to play the long game with characters (I really am) and I have definitely been an Eddie apologist because I felt like I was given time to get to know him as a character with a lot of different aspects and it's like yeah - he's repressed. He's been through A LOT and it's been hard for him to let himself get help and accept that he's worthy of love. Much like Buck in earlier seasons. But why doesn't he EVER start reaching out ? Why doesn't he ever open up ?

As much as we are all desperate to see Buck find happiness in a relationship I think we are also desperate to see SOME kind of character progression for Eddie. and I feel like the Eddie problem is like a piece of baggage the writers can't figure out how to get unpacked and I don't know WHY THAT IS because there are soooo many directions you could take him in. Why this one ?

genuinely, the way Eddie treated Buck in this episode kinda scared me and made me uncomfortable in a bad way and I'm .... fascinated to see what this leads to for him in the finale

Here’s the thing of it all: despite what certain fans will have you believe every time an episode doesn’t center him, I do believe Eddie is Tim’s favorite character. No one else really gets away with what he gets away with no one else gets the coddling and the lack of real consequences that Eddie gets when Tim is at the helm. His kid finds him cheating and the kid forgives him without ever talking about the incident, he buys a new house and it’s fine and any worry about the financials of it is handwaved as being passive aggressive by putting it in the mouth of his overbearing mother. He lands easily in El Paso despite there being some bumps and there’s a possibility he gets to just jump back and make his “best friend” homeless and if his best friend has a problem with that well he’s being unreasonable. His best friend goes above and beyond to teach him how to father his own kid and he comes back just to tell off said best friend for being sad and then shoves his son in his face to keep him from being mad about it. He’s canonically been a shitty boyfriend three out of three times and hasn’t really learned from it at all. If he’s violent it’s because he’s hurt and so it’s okay, if he’s a cheater it’s because he’s grieving and it’s okay, in fact the other woman wants to help him grieve! His parents try their best to take care of his son and he gets to waltz in and take him back and tell of his mom without ever addressing why Chris wanted to live with his grandparents. He’s never ever wrong even when he fucks up and it’s a detriment to the story telling.