#Really gave this child some trauma like this

[crimeronan]

im a teenager with seasonal depression and a shitty fatigue causing disability and adhd currently still in highschool and: the way you talk abt minors right to autonomy, and How School Sucks, and everything related to that is. The Most Soothing Shit i hear all day. like. reading some of your posts abt how Good graduating early and being a Problem Child was for you was So Damn Calming.

most ppl immediately go to sooth me with the "but you Are smart, and you just need to try harder!! your life isnt entirely ruined today :) just go to school tomorrow and be Good and Learn and you'll be fineee. you aren't one of the bad ones, Dont Worry :))" and that makes me. invent new types of panic attacks and neuroses on the spot.

but having an Actual Adult whos like "no. school can infact be the fucking Torture pit for some people and it is So Utterly Fucked Up how Anyone can make you do Anything, actually. you arent a bad or damaged person this is Normal and your value isnt dependant on Schooliness. do whatever makes you least likely to kill yourself. you dont owe them shit, especially not being Good. be a problem, take up space."

is. genuinely the nicest thing Ever. to me. like. Makes me Kinda Want To Cry nicest thing ever. anyway yea. thanks for that.

ahh, this is lovely to hear. but i'm so sorry you're going through this.

i remember being in high school in 2011 when the gay teen suicides were national headlines, and everyone had Opinions on it, and the "it gets better" trend was everywhere, and -- while those videos did do a lot of good!! -- they just kind of made me more furious?? because i was so mad at all these adults basically saying, "yeah, high school is an institutional pit of death and horror, but eventually you'll be 18!!" i was like hey. Help Us Now.

it was actually the song "make it stop" by rise against that gave me any peace or sense of belonging, because. here was a band i loved full of straight dudes (as far as i know, anyway) who were just fucking MAD. they were righteously angry!! they gave a fuck what was happening!! and lyrics like "the gatherings hold candles but not their tongues" rang SO true to me, as someone who was dealing with endless "oh, so sad he died, but there was something wrong with his brain" discourse.

the memory of that has made it REALLY easy to hold onto my anger in adulthood. because sometimes kids don't need "it'll be fine, just hang on :)" they need "you're gonna be okay, but FUCK ALL THIS."

it's truly fucking Unconscionable to do what we do even to neurotypical, able-bodied teens with good home lives. i want to say i can't imagine being a teen with chronic fatigue and ADHD going to classes eight hours a day.... but i can!! i did that!! and almost died!!

i honestly think the lack of autonomy in the US school system is traumatic For Everybody. different levels of trauma, for sure! but i think that's part of why adults seem so disconnected from our teen years and can't remember the realities of being an adolescent. we overwrite the horrors.

the good news is: it Does get better after school. astonishingly so.

in the meantime: you don't owe anyone Anything. literally your only job right now is to survive. do whatever you need to do to not kill yourself or end up in jail. don't worry about anything else. i promise it Does Not Matter As Much As People Say It Does.

[millersfinest]

untethered | e.w

00s!ellie williams & 00s!miller!reader

wc: 7.4k

series: chapter one (you’re here!), chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five

blurb: it’s been awhile since you’ve been back home; in upstate new york where you’ve spent most of your life waking up early and tending to the animals that moo’d and meh’d. after graduation high school, and then college, the city life has stolen most of your attention. enabling you to visit only a handful of times through the years. when your lovely adoptive parents (tommy and maria miller) invite you back for a thanksgiving dinner—a troubled old flame from your childhood manages to get your attention, despite its explosive ending.

cw: lmao flip phones, some vulgar language, ellie cheating on her gf (kind of), the millers, r is a writer, elements of longing, ellie is #1 lesbian yearner in the world, some early 2000s references, thanksgiving, some physical violence, adopted kid trauma (shoutout to all the adopted kids!!), hella angst, repressed emotions, a little bit of mature content, eventual smut.

note: i have too much confidence writing for ellie. but here’s another series im starting because i realized the plot is too much for a single work on here, hence the 7 thousand words ijbol. hope you guys enjoyyy.

It was quieter upstate. Breathable and airy—you missed it more than anything. As much as you loved living in Manhattan, there was nothing like the countryside. Waking up to the sound of birds chirping and roosters crowing. Hearing the excited neighing from the horses you birthed and took care of. It was refreshing to be home again.

And, of course, you missed your parents.

They adopted you as a troubled child, and you’ve considered yourself lucky ever since. Babies and younger children were often the ones to be pulled from inconsistent foster homes, but they chose you. A pierced, attitude-ridden, thirteen-year-old who liked smoking cigarettes because they made you look cooler than you felt. And it helped you cope with the lasting effects of neglectful parents.

That trauma didn’t just disappear once Tommy and Maria entered your life. It was something that grew from nothing, and they were adamant in making your transition as comfortable as possible. You never experienced anything like it before them. Their strictness and structure did the opposite of what most would think. You went from sneaking out and smoking cigarettes to staying up late studying and finishing your favorite novels—still smoking cigarettes, though, but out your window. It was hard habit to break.

Once you realized that they could be trusted and had your best interest at heart, you gave them the right to parent you. Sure, it wasn’t easy. The three of you argued many, many times—but you respected them more than you have anyone else. Really, just for tolerating you.

The Miller’s were always very family oriented and social. Sunday nights always managed to be a grand event—Tommy grilling in the acred backyard, Maria handling the food items that could be cooked inside, and you diligently decorating and setting the table. Football Sundays were always the worst, but they were great memories to think about. That was the first time you met, basically, the love of your life at the time. Ellie Williams.

It was 1995 when you had completely fallen in love with her—only knowing her for around three years. Joel Miller wasn’t really her father, or adoptive father, he was just somebody who took care of her. He owned a guitar shop that sold, obviously, guitars and other instruments alike; as well as holding lessons for those wanted to learn how to play.

The story goes: Joel was working the register on a very slow day when Ellie showed up. There was a shiner on her eye, but she insisted that she was fine—asking for lessons with crumbled cash and dirty coins. She couldn’t afford the lessons on her own, so he gave her a job and proceeded with teaching her how to play.

She grew up similar to you; hidden under the confines of foster care. The only difference was, she was never adopted. At least not until the age of seventeen, when she’d spent so much time with Joel that she had a decorated bedroom in his house. They both had commitment issues, but after Tommy convinced him to do the paperwork… He did. Surprising her on her seventeenth birthday. However, the outcome didn’t really go to plan. Not how anyone would have expected it.

It was 1997 when she completely broke your heart… Not to be cheesy or anything.

Her seventeenth birthday was hosted at your house, on the farm. You knew her the most out of everyone, so you made it your mission to make this the best birthday ever. Decorating had become a hobby of yours after so many Sunday dinners—you spent all day stringing up lights and colorful streamers. Maria helping you out with a homemade cake that said: Happy Birthday Els! You were too anxious to write the words yourself, so you let her do it instead. You were even sure to invite the friends you shared; demanding they each brought presents to show how much they cared about her.

Joel had showed up before she did; just in time so they could all hide and jump out with big smiles on your faces when Ellie arrived. You would always remember the feeling of hearing the rumbling of her truck coming to a stop. And the shy smile on her face when everyone jumped out from behind furniture—blowing birthday kazoo’s. It was picturesque!

Dina had trotted over to her, snapping a blue paper cone birthday hat over her head. While you walked over with her birthday cake in your hands, brightened with seventeen candles. “Happy seventeenth, Ellie.” You had spoken, warmly. A bashful grin spreading onto your lips. She looked at you with such awe in that moment. Blowing out her candles and kissing your cheek, muttering a blushing ‘I fuckin’ love you’.

You knew about her surprise adoption papers before the party had started, excitement running through your veins when Joel meandered toward her—handing her an envelope of hope. Ellie took it, eyeing him, skeptically. “Open it!” You urged—that was your mistake.

Chortling, she broke open the envelope, not caring if it tore. When she pulled out the certificate, reading the words on the page, her entire face dropped. “Adoption papers?” Her eyes squinted in disgust, glaring at Joel. The smile fell from your face, lips parting in slight shock. Her olive eyes glanced around the room, seeing the fallen expressions clouding everyone’s features. Landing on your fallen face, briefly—a look exclaiming, ‘how could you’. Freckled cheeks heating up in embarrassment and… Anger. “Joel, what the fuck?” She blinked at him, shoving the papers into his chest, then storming out of the house. Hands ripping the hat from the top of head, throwing it to the ground. The screen door creaking obnoxiously as she exited. It all happened so fast.

He quickly followed her out, calling for her, desperately.

Awkwardly, you turned to the frozen people around you. “Anybody want cake? It’s german c— chocolate.” You stammered, trying to keep your composure. Looking to Maria and Tommy for some sort of consolation, you frowned, placing the cake on the counter before fleeing to the bathroom.

You clenched at the roots of your hair, pacing around the bathroom. You could hear remnants of a solo screaming match from outside the bathroom window, causing you to grit your teeth. The papers were supposed to be a good thing! Ellie had always been a hothead—easily agitated like a stray kitten is distress. There were even moments where the two of you went at it. Until one of you caved, begging for affection as an apology. Your nerves burned at the idea of her not liking the surprise—was that selfish?

Instead of remaining in the bathroom, you swung open the door with your eyes fixed on the front door. Hands clenched at your sides, you walked through the kitchen, where Tommy tried to liven up the mood by handing out pieces of cake.

He tried calling your name, but you brushed him off, pushing open the screen door with an attitude that could be felt with every step you took. The brisk autumn air hit your exposed skin, the long-sleeve striped shirt not doing much to keep you warm.

Striding around the side of the house, you seen Joel and Ellie having a stern conversation. But by the time your eyes landed on them, they were in a beat of silence. Joel shaking his head with his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. Ellie had her arms stubbornly crossed, frowning. When her eyes found yours, he turned around to leave. “She’s all yours…” He solemnly sighed, walking back into the house. The adoption papers crumbled up in his hands.

Biting your bottom lip, you approached her with your arms crossed for warmth. “What happened, Ellie?” Your voice dragged, tiredly. There was something always wrong with her. “We just wanted to do something nice for you… Why’d you have to go and ruin it—?”

“Oh, I’m the one who ruined it?” She scoffed, a sneer resting on her lips. “I’m not the one who brought the fucking adoption papers!” Ellie exclaimed, gesturing broadly with her hands. When she was up in arms, she always gesticulated more. “Did you have anything to do with this? Because if you did—“

You interrupted her with scrutinizing glare. “So, what if I did? I thought this would make you happy, Ellie… Don’t you understand?”

“You had me open that in front of everyone knowing what was inside— and you thought that’d make me happy?” Her lips arched in disgust. “Clearly, you don’t know me at all.” Her words were venomous, lips twitching in anger.

There was nobody who understood you more than Ellie, and vice versa. You just got each other because you came from similar backgrounds—that was your glue. You don’t know me at all. That was new.

With your eyes growing warm with tears, your tongue rolled in your mouth. “I spent all day setting this up… For you. Because I love you, Ellie. I don’t know you— that’s bullshit if I ever heard it.” Your voice cracked, but you refused to let a tear run down your cheek. This was no time for tears—if she could get angry, so could you.

“I’ve known you long enough to have some semblance of understanding on why you’re upset, right now— that’s for damn sure.” You paused, averting your eyes to concentrate on keeping your rising emotions at bay. She watched you, cheeks still red with anger. “I’m gonna give you ten minutes— ten, Ellie! If you don’t get your ass back in there in next ten fucking minutes…” You lick your lips, shaking your head. “We’re over. Done!”

Giving a final glare, you turned to head back inside. “I can’t keep dealing with this shit.” You mutter, under your breath.

“So that’s what it is… Dealing with me?” Ellie voiced, a sliver of disappointment slipping in her moment of anger.

Wiping your cheeks, you peered over your shoulder. “What?”

“You got this perfect little life… Huh?” She began, approaching you intimidatingly. “The loving parents, the farmhouse— you became the perfect daughter for them… Gets the grades, does everything she can to appease them. This fuckin’ fantasy world that you chose to live in all because you wanted someone to love you… Fuckin’ pathetic.”

“Ellie…” You warned.

“Well, newsflash, little-miss-perfect— not everybody wants that! Not everybody wants to play pretend for the rest of their fucking life just to be—“

It happened before you could stop it, fists clenching at your sides as she bad mouthed you till oblivion. Your soft spot—and she knew all about that. Both of you grew up as kids who got into fights and disputes more times than anyone could count; you just decided to clean up your act. However, that troubled twelve to thirteen-year-old still resided inside of you. And, in that moment, she wasn’t your doting girlfriend—she was someone punching down on you.

Your knuckles collided with the side of her face, knocking into her cheek bone. Features scowling as if she were a stranger. Ellie stumbled, holding onto her face with surprised eyes. For a second the version of her you loved came through, but she quickly recovered. Her lips curling at the ends, taunting you. “I knew you still had it in you… You’re no better than me.”

There it was.

Not only was it the straw that broke the camels back—it was the truth. The ultimate truth. Behind all of your petty little arguments. Behind all her wild bursts of anger. She was jealous of you. Grunting behind your teeth, you charged at her. Taking the collar of her jacket as her back hit the gravelly ground. Straddling her, you didn’t hear the rushing feet hitting the porch. You could feel her hands settling loosely on your calves, only angering you more. “I did the fucking work— nobody else but me!” Tears poured down your cheeks. “I am better than you. Because I fucking try—“

Arms pulled you off her body, wrapping around your abdomen. It was Tommy, questioning you in your ear, but you weren’t listening. “Everything went to shit because of you! Remember that!” Dina and Jesse rushed to her side, but she only sat up watching you get pulled back inside. They glared at your forced retreat—they were always more friends with her than they were with you.

Tommy released you, with a disappointed sigh. Maria walking inside, shutting the door behind her, frowning. You heaved, looking at all the decorations that mocked you. Sparkling and shining against the dim lights in the room. The barely eaten cake sat on the counter in the kitchen making fun of you—it was all too much.

“What the hell has gotten into you, y/n?!” Maria pointedly, asked. Not really wanting a response.

“What’s gotten into me?! What’s gotten into her—!” You pointed to the door as if she replaced it.

The blond man leaned his elbows on the kitchen counter, bending at his hips. “Well, I don’t think it matters what’s gotten into her if you put your hands on her, Bug.” Tommy spoke, evenly. He was always the calmer of the two. “Did you… Did you put your hands on her?”

Maria stood with her hands on her hips. “What did we say about fighting—? And you don’t hit your girlfriend— you don’t hit the people that you care about!” She scolded, pointing her finger. “We raised you better than that…”

Your lips quivered, guilt setting in. “I didn’t mean to hit her! She wanted— she wanted me to… I swear!”

He glanced at his wife. “She wanted you to hit her?” Tommy deadpanned, pressing his lips into a line.

They both looked at you with separate expressions. Maria clearly overwhelmed with disappointment and utter disbelief. The same look she gave you when she caught you smoking cigarettes at the barn when you were fourteen—when you told her you quit. Tommy had an expression of pity, like he often did. That same look he gave when you had a meltdown at school when you first moved in with them.

More tears began to roll down your cheeks. “Maria… Tommy… She pushed me. Why would she do that? Why would she—“ You began to ramble, knees growing weak. Your strict mother-figure rushed to your side, catching you before you fell. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t want to— she was just being so mean.”

Sinking to the floor with you, her hands caressed your hair. Maria looked to Tommy, mouthing for him to go check on Ellie.

Outside, Ellie was dismissing the weary questions from her friends. She’d never seen you act in such an unruly way. Every time she came over, there wasn’t a hair that was out of place on your head. She was always the one acting out, swearing like a sailor. Sure, she knew about your smoking habit, but that was nothing.

Your girlfriend was envious of how everything was panning out for you—college was around the corner. You had an acceptance letter from your dream school, and without a doubt, you were leaving for the city. Leaving her behind to rot in the country. It wasn’t fair!

That adoption letter felt like pity. She wasn’t a fan of that feeling either.

As a bruise formed on her cheek, guilt settled into the pit of her stomach. Ellie had every intention on seeing the side of you that everyone talked about with a past tense that indicated warning. She needed to prove to herself that you weren’t the perfect person she saw you to be—but all that was left behind was remorse and a sore cheek.

She watched as Joel and Tommy stepped aside to talk. Their eyes glancing back and forth between the door and Ellie, as she leaned against her rusted red truck.

“I can’t believe she would do something like that… On your birthday?” Dina shook her head, with her arms crossed.

“It’s not like her…” Jesse narrowed his eyes at the auburn-haired girl. “What’d you do?”

Dina smacked his chest. “Jessie! She’s literally the victim here— domestic abuse!”

He sucked his teeth, rolling his eyes. “I’m not saying what she did was right.” Jessie began. “I’m saying that I know Ellie Williams, and I know how she is— she’s a pusher.”

The bruised seventeen-year-old scoffed.

“Yeah, I said it.” He stood tall, a small smirk playing on his lips. “You’re a pusher. Hell, you’re a professional pusher— you push people for a fucking living.” Dina glared at him, threatening to hit him again. “I mean, there was that one time… When we went into the city for that comic convention, and you completely obliterated Joel for worrying about you—“

The dark-haired, freckled teenager pushed her boyfriend out of the way taking his place. “We don’t have to relive that…”

Ellie rolled her tongue in her mouth. “Look, I know this is my fault…”

“Ellie… You’re the one with the bruise forming on your face.” She reached up, rubbing her cheek. Her wincing under her touch.

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, squeezing her red eyes. “Yeah, and if it weren’t for me— for what I said… I wouldn’t have this fuckin’ bruise.” Ellie peered at where Joel and Tommy were speaking. They were wrapping up, giving brotherly hugs. “I am a pusher… And now my girlfriend hates me.” She pouted, tears welling up in her eyes. The blond Miller waved a hand at her, giving a tight-lipped smile that screamed I’m sorry. “I gotta go…” She pulled her keys from her pocket, getting into her truck.

That was the last full conversation the two of you had. Horrible, but the last. Everything in between then and the present was short and empty. Light conversations that only strangers and acquaintances shared. Letters here and there. It was a dispute that was so nuanced, for the first year after that, Joel barely said a word to you. Which bled into his relationship with Tommy. Maria tried to play middleman, but it didn’t work.

Perhaps, that was the reason you kept your distance. You didn’t want to continue to be the wedge that formed between two brothers. While you loved your parents, they were only a phone-call away. And, in the meantime, you could focus on growing in your career. Focusing on your book writing, instead.

You just wanted to forget about what happened when you were an emotionally undeveloped seventeen-year-old, but every time you seen her face—you remembered. So, avoiding Ellie Williams was a mission within itself.

A mission you were hoping you weren’t going to have to endure this year.

“You know,” Tommy began, sipping his fresh coffee. “Joel’s coming down from Jersey for the week.”

As you looked through the fridge, you snapped your head in his direction. “Is he now…?” You slowly question. Letting the fridge door shut on its own. The blonde woman to his right, sitting at the island counter, chuckled. Flipping through the interior design magazine you brought for her.

“And he’s picking up Ellie from the city.”

“What!” You exclaim, rushing to the opposite side of the counter. Pulling the mug from his lips, a surprised squeak left your throat. “Uh, dad… You forgot to mention on the several phone calls that we had in that last month that Ellie moved to the city.”

Maria perked up, pushing a piece of her hair behind her ear. “Yeah, she’s been there for about a year now… Brooklyn, is it?” She looked to her husband for clarification. He nodded, peering up at you with a plain expression.

“A year?! And none of you told me?”

“Bug, you did say that you didn’t want us to bring her up anymore unless you asked.” Maria stood to her feet, meandering to the stove and oven. “But that does remind me… They should be here in a few hours. Wanna help with the brownies?” She preheated the oven, walking around you casually.

Your mouth fell open, glancing between the two of them. “Okay, so they get brownies, and I get the worst news of my life…” An apron with your nickname embroidered on the front, Bug, hung in your mother's hand as an offering. “Yes, I’ll help with the brownies— this is very cruel to your very successful daughter.”

Tommy waved his hand, dismissively. “C’mon, that incident happened years ago now. You’re twenty-five, I’m sure she’s gotten over it.”

Tying the string around your neck and back, you pressed your lips into a line. It wasn’t really about her—you weren’t over it. You still harbored the same guilt you felt when you settled in your room that night. A crazy mixture of resentment and remorse all rolled up into one feeling; as you settled in your reading nook, with your hand out the window holding a burning cigarette with your index and middle finger. “I’m sure she has…”

Eventually, you switched the conversation around while baking. Falling into fits of laughter from mentioning past stories of your teenagehood. Teaming up with Maria to make fun of Tommy and his aging—all of a sudden, he was beginning to have a knack for playing a checkers. Only old people enjoyed playing checkers. Then, the waiting began.

To busy yourself, you pulled out your computer and brought it to the porch. Even though, you were taking some time off at your publishing job; when it came to your book writing, you had an agent to keep flooding your inbox with emails. Telling you to do this and do that—it was obnoxious. But you did as she asked anyway.

Typing away, a puff of nicotine fled from your lips. Murmuring under your breath, the words that were populating on the screen. On your hip, your phone rang, causing you to throw your head back in slight agony. Something always interrupted you when you were flowing. Flipping open your phone, the decorative chain swinging around as you placed it against your ear. “Hello,” You spoke, stubbing out your cigarette.

It was your roommate and closest friend, Sierra, complaining about the neighbors. Her strong long island accent echoing through the phone. “Oh, my God— they’re so loud! You’d think gettin’ an apartment in a nicer building would thicken the walls.” She groaned on the other end. “Please, come back. At least to tell them to shut up, and then you could go back upstate.”

“Why don’t you… I don’t know…” You shut your laptop, replacing your butt with the boxy electronic. Strolling to the far end of the porch, leaning your arms against the bannister. “Tell them yourself?” An amused smile spread on your lips.

Sierra paused. “Because that’s your job. I’m the nice one, remember?”

“Okay, well I can’t leave. I just got here, and I’m not spending another grand on taxi fare.”

“I’ll spot you.” You could hear her smile on the end.

“Sierra, I’m not coming back until Saturday. So, your only options are to either bang on their door— telling them to shut the hell up— or you suffer listening to their relentless daytime sex.” As you spoke, a truck began rolling up the driveway. Identities unclear due to the intense window tint, but you knew exactly who it was. However, there were three heads in that truck.

She groaned on the other end of the line. “Ugh! I hate you—“

“You love me!” You grinned, but it dropped right off your face when the people exited the vehicle. From the driver's seat, it was Ellie; then, it was Joel who exited, seemingly in conversation. And, finally, a girl stepped out of the vehicle. Joel noticed you leaning against the bannister on the porch, waving his hand with a smile.

Your muscles reacted, waving a fleeting hand. “Maria, Tommy! They’re here!” You yell loud enough to be heard through the screen door. You were always insecure about calling them by their parental titles in front of people—let alone new people.

“You’re yelling in my ear, hon. If you gotta go just tell me.” Sierra complained.

“I gotta go.”

Before she could say her goodbyes, you shut your phone, sliding it into your back pocket. Your parents came out of the house in high spirits; Maria clapping her hands, excitedly, embracing Ellie. Tommy giving a firm bear hug to Joel, laughing heartily—at what? You were unsure.

Awkwardly, you stood there. Smiling with your hands held in front of your body as if you were presenting a project.

Joel looked to you, approaching you with open arms. “Look at you,” He began, wrapping his arms around you, warmly. “All grown up.” He pulled back to get a better look at you, nodding proudly.

“Yeah…” You tapped his shoulder. “You, too.” A chuckle fell from your lips.

Then, you looked to your right at the freckled girl with her arm around a feminine stranger. However, you couldn’t indentify her before you did Ellie. Her auburn hair was pulled into a low bun, with pieces framing her gentle features. Her round evergreen, tinted with slivers of brown, eyes. Freckles decorating her cheeks, bridge of her nose; the beauty mark under left eye—

“Hey,” Ellie drawled out the greeting, awkwardly. Leaning in for a hug that teetered back and forth until you reciprocated.

You kept that same plastered smile on your lips, wrapping your arm under hers. “Hey, Ellie.” Pulling back, you finally looked at the girl beside her. She had tattoos and piercings and looked so much cooler than you. “Who’s this?”

Her earthy eyes widened. “Oh, this is, uhm, my girlfriend, Cat.”

The only response you could give was a nod and a half-hearted wave. It was like a dramatic record scratch in your head. But your parents took over with the rest. Guiding everyone inside to the warmth. Tommy remained outside, giving you skeptical eyes. “Help me with the bags…”

“Honey, don’t be weird about this.” He spoke, as you followed him to the truck.

“I’m not being weird.” You whined, gravel crunching under your feet. “Seriously, what’s to be weird about?” Reaching into the open trunk, you pulled out luggage’s and duffle bags. This was a lot of stuff for a week stay—they brought more than you did.

He gruffly breathed, pulling up the handle of one of the suitcases. “You’re my daughter, I know you— just sayin’…”

“Oh, my God— please!” You complained, hooking the duffle over your shoulder, pulling one of the luggage’s. Leaving him to follow you toward the porch.

Dinner had come quicker than you had hoped. If anything, if you could magically skip over the thing, and still eat, that would’ve been perfect.

All six of you sat at the dining table, forks and knives scratching at ceramic plates. Tommy and Joel had gathered in the back, last minute to cook up some steaks. And, to busy yourself, you helped Maria with the sides while Ellie and Cat got situated in the guest house.

“So, y/n, how’s the book comin’ along?” Joel wondered, putting a cut piece of steak into his mouth.

You made a surprised sound as you chewed your food, rushing to swallow. “Shit, you’re writing a book?” Ellie questioned, leaning her elbows on the table.

Taking a sip of water, you decided to respond. “Yeah, I’ve been working on it for a while.” Your eyes glanced at her, then moved on, quickly, to Joel’s. “It’s… Coming along.” A bashful laugh fell from your lips, as your hand reached for the glass of wine. It was barely touched, red hue swishing in the bulb of the glass as you took a sip. It’s fruity bitterness relishing over your tongue.

“What is it— like fiction or…?” Ellie pressed, genuinely.

“Non-fiction. A book of essay’s, really— written in different forms.” You nodded. “It sounds boring…”

Ellie shrugged, forking a piece of meat into her mouth. “Doesn’t sound boring to me.” She responded, with her mouth full.

“It’s the farthest from boring, honey.” Maria massaged your shoulder, sharing a small smile. You mirrored her in return, forking at the vegetables on your plate—perfectly steamed broccoli.

“How’s Brooklyn treating you?” You spoke up, raising your eyebrows.

Ellie lightly glared at Joel before answering, placing her utensils down. “It’s certainly treating me…” She muttered, rubbing her hands together, glancing at her girlfriend.

“It’s a great place for art, but just not Ellie’s art.” Cat chuckled, sipping from her wine glass.

“Oh, that’s what you’re doing.” You nod.

“I recall her using the words: too crowded.” Joel used air quotes to briefly describe the past conversation.

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “It makes me feel crowded— the city. When you say it like that, it makes me sound fucking stupid, Joel.”

“You did say crowded.”

“Well, I meant overwhelmed.”

You snickered at their bickering, leaning back in your chair. “Back to your art, I guess you’re experiencing the artistic equivalent to writers block?” Tommy inquired, still chewing on his steak, raising an eyebrow. The auburn-haired young woman nodded, chuckling to herself. “That’s why you’re stayin’ with us for a little while, huh?”

Another record scratch.

You blinked at you father, deepening your eyebrows. “Wait, what?”

Joel had set his beer on the table, leaning forward. “Yeah, Ellie’s stayin’ with your parents for a little while to get her juices flowing, again.” He explained, pressing his lips into a soft smile. Ellie cringed at his use of the words juices, taking a sip of her beer.

Tommy and Maria told you nothing unless you asked for it for almost everything now—you at least deserved to know that Ellie was staying on the farm indefinitely. After all, when they’re dead and gone, it’ll be yours; so, they could’ve at least told you without you having to ask—that’s big!

“And, I’ll help out so I won’t be sleeping the day away— because I know that I will without a proper schedule.”

“I thought you guys didn’t need a farmhand.” You glanced at your parents, with your eyebrows still deepened with confusion.

Maria chuckled, standing to her feet. “We don’t need anything, but who could say no to a helping hand?” She grabs the empty basket of biscuits from the center of the table. “Anybody want more biscuits?”

“I would love some!” Cat spoke up, holding up a tattooed finger.

“Me too, honey.” Tommy also spoke.

A dry chortle left your lips, leaning against the back of the chair. “Are you staying on the farm, too?” You peered over at the stranger—the girlfriend, with a slight accusatory tone.

Her lips parted a few times before she responded. “Oh, no, I’m going back to Brooklyn. Not much of a country girl.”

Pursing your lips, you nodded, downing the rest of your wine. This week was going to be a doozy. When Maria came back to the table, you snatched a biscuit from the basket, biting into it. There was a perfect crispy layer on the outside, mixed with the perfect gooey, soft innards of the biscuit. “These are so good.” You muttered with your mouth full with its buttery goodness.

On your hip, your phone buzzed. Cursing under your breath, you plucked the cellphone from your belt, flicking it open. It was your agent calling you at eight o’clock at night. “Excuse me, I gotta take this.” You scooted the chair back, pressing the green button. “It’s late, Isa.” You started the call, stalking out of the room like the corporate woman you are. Taking the route up the stairs to your old bedroom.

“I need that new chapter by tomorrow morning— as in, 8am.” She scolded on the other line. “I’m personally reminding you. Since you couldn’t respond to my emails.”

You sighed, shutting your bedroom door behind you. “Isa, I’ve been traveling all day on public transport, and I’ve been trying to have family time— is that not what Thanksgiving is about?”

“You’re writer, hon. You have little bit of family time, then you hermit to finish your work— now, stop giving me grief. Time is of the essence.” Her smooth voice told, chuckling after her words. “I’ll be anticipating you’re new chapter tomorrow at eight! Have a great night.”

“Have a great night…”

Slapping your phone shut, you sighed, running your other hand over your face. Being a writer was relentless—just as relentless as you and your roommate’s neighbors. But, instead of lingering in frustration, you grabbed your heavy laptop and propped yourself on the cushion beside your window—your reading nook. Not forgetting to put a Sade tape inside of your stereo for some background music, before you began to diligently work.

You typed at your computer, rapid clicking sounds filling your ears. Although, it was no surprise that you worked your hardest after the sun set—it was like you had one too many espresso shots.

Every word was coming from the heart, and coincidentally enough, the guests at your home made it easier. This chapter was definitely reflecting the feelings you felt the day of Ellie’s seventeenth birthday. You used imagery and metaphors to describe that feeling of attack—being backed into a corner, having the worst part of yourself brought into the light. And, like most of your pieces, it was dredging it all back up again; the emotions.

That feeling of losing the only person that truly understood you.

Of course, you had a few relationships since then—a few, trying to chase that same feeling you felt when your hands touched. But there wasn’t anyone who could compare to her. How pathetic was it to still be harping on a highschool sweetheart?

Hours passed under the radar. Your parents being the mile marker in your work, knocking on the door to let you know everyone was heading to bed. Too busy with outlining new ideas, you barely spared them a glance, muttering a smooth goodnight.

It was about one in the morning by the time you finished the chapter. Still, it needed some tweaking, but it was good enough to send to your agent for the editor to look at.

Shutting your laptop, you finally took in your old bedroom. Various music artists slapped against your soft pink walls, attached with tape—some corners hanging off. Catwoman figurines lining the back of your large, white, wooden dresser; with comics stacked alongside them. Stacks of old books in the corner of your room, stacked from the floor to the middle of her wall. If you were to stumble into them, they’d experience one hell of a fall.

Suddenly, curiosity struck.

Hopping from the cushioned seat under your paneled window, you looked under your bed. Reaching for an old shoebox that was filled with many, many interesting things. You slid it from under the dusty bed frame, taking it back to that plushy seat you appreciated so dearly. Plucking the top off, you released a sigh. Immediately being hit with polaroids of yourself as a teenager—mostly standing beside, laughing with, and cuddling Ellie.

They were the photos you snatched from your wall after that fight. Oh, she looked the same. Still had that uncertainty in her earthy, olive eyes. You didn’t understand it then, and you most definitely didn’t understand it now. Ellie didn’t have to feel the uncertainty she was used to in foster care. She had people who believed in her—who will always believe in her.

Sifting through, your hands hovered over a letter she wrote. It was an apology letter sent around the time of her eighteenth birthday—almost a full year since the situation. The envelope was ripped open from the day you received it; stained with salty, heartbroken tears.

If only that day never happened…

A startling knock sounded at your window. It was no more than a pebble, which was confirmed when another launched within your sights. Scrunching up your eyebrows, you unlocked it, pulling it upwards. Once you peaked your head outside into the brisk, cool weather, a small smile spread onto your lips.

“Workin’ hard or hardly workin’ up there?” Ellie called from below. “I brought a little somethin’… Thought you could use a break from writing.” She waved a tightly rolled joint in her hands—which could only be seen if you squinted.

The corners of your lips spread wider, feeling horribly nostalgic. “You’re actually a little too late on that front. I finished a few minutes ago,” You pressed your lips into a line, continuing. “But I could never turn down smoke break. I’ll be down in a second.”

Dropping the letter, you scooted off the seat to grab your jacket. Stuffing your feet into the semi-stained Uggs you wore into the ground, before fleeing your bedroom. You didn’t feel the need to sneak down the stairs, but a part of you wanted to—to relieve that feeling of adrenaline you felt in your youth.

Ellie met you at the back door, holding open the creaking screen door as you exited. “I honestly wasn’t sure you still did this.” She chuckled, looking at the ground as you both began to walk away from the house. Putting some distance so the smell wouldn’t upset the elders in the home.

“What? Smoke weed?” You perked an eyebrow. “You think because I went all corporate, I stopped being down?”

“Actually… Yeah.” She responded, nervously snickering.

The two ofyou settled in front of this white-lined shed that was illuminated by the two warm, orange-toned lights on either side of the door. “Well, you’re kind of right…” You admitted, squinting your eyes, embarrassed. It’s hard being known for your adaptability. “I try to keep the pot smoking to a minimum. In the corporate world they test you for it.”

Ellie pulled the joint from behind her ear, placing it between her lips. She shook her head in response to your words. “Says the cigarette smoker…” She joked, eyeing you, teasingly. While she flicked her lighter to burn the tip.

“Hey, they don’t give a rats ass about nicotine— I need to make up for that loss somehow. I’m a writer for christ’s sake.”

When she finally gets it to catch the fire, she took two puffs before passing it to you between her index and thumb. “Where’s Cat?” You innocently questioned, taking a hit of the joint, then looking at it, before taking another hit.

Ellie became rigid, releasing an exasperated sigh from her lips. “The guesthouse, watchin’ some movie.”

You handed her the joint. “What, is she not down?” Mocking your previous words, with amused eyes. However, her demeanor had quickly shifted.

“She gets easily frustrated after traveling all day…” She shook her head in a dismissive way, like she didn’t want any further questions to asked.

“Hm… That’s relatable.”

Silence engulfed the both of you as you passed the blunt back and forth until it was nothing more than a roach. Hearing nothing but the distant wind chimes sounding off on the porch.

Before speaking, Ellie took a deep breath, glancing over at you as if she were nervous to make eye contact. “I hope me stayin’ here for a little bit doesn’t bother you too much.”

Her words were double-take worthy, you looked over at her with expressive eyes—widening, in surprise. “Bother me? Why would it bother me?” You leaned your shoulder on the shed, kicking one leg over the other.

“You didn’t seem like the biggest fan—“

“Ellie, I was surprised. That’s all.” You waved your hand, shaking your head. “I feel like they don’t tell me shit anymore…” Shoulders shrugging, you glance toward the house standing tall in all its glory. “They didn’t tell me about you moving to Brooklyn, either. What does it look like when someone you’ve known your whole life moves to a city you’re actually familiar with and they’re not, and you don’t reach out to help them? I’m only a forty minute train ride away.” You rambled, deepening your eyebrows. “They basically made me look like an asshole.”

You weren’t entirely sure how you’d react if you knew about Ellie’s moving to the big city. Knowing your habits, you’d probably sit by the phone for hours before making the move to give her a call. But, it’s not like you were given the opportunity to figure it out for yourself. Now, it just appeared that you forgot about her—or could care less about her endeavors; which is farthest from the truth.

Her full lips cracked into a smile, chuckling. The auburn-haired woman, mirrored your position, leaning her shoulder against the wooden shed. “Always worried about what you look like…” She muttered, sucking her teeth. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think you’re an asshole— you just didn’t know.” Ellie shrugged. “It’s not like we talk as much as we used to…”

As much as we used to. That kind of stung.

Your eyes averted to the gravel under your boots. “Yeah…” There was an awkward beat that took its place between you. Swallowing, you shooed it away with speaking up. “What about your art? You’re living in one of the most creative cities in the world, and you can’t create?”

She puffed air from her lips, glancing in the direction of the guesthouse, priming her lips. “Okay… Confession— but only if what’s said here stays here.”

“What’s said at the shed, stays at the shed.” You affirm, holding a hand and crossing to fingers. The high from what you smoked clouding your mind, squinting your eyes and loosening your inhibitions.

“Cat and I moved in together pretty early— too early… I needed a roommate and she was the perfect option.” Ellie began, carefully. Olive eyes shifting under the dim light in thought. “I swear ever since I moved in with her… The inspiration to make anything new is fucking gone.” She ran her hand over her hair, which was actually loose without a hair tie. Dusting over her shoulders, pieces pushed behind her ears. “She, you know, hovers a lot— in a sweet way, it’s just irritating because not even her pushing me can be inspiring.”

Your heart skipped a beat; it was hopeful—you really are an asshole! “Damn… So, it’s not the city that makes you feel crowded. It’s Cat.” You hum, nodding your head, taking in your assumption. “And… You think staying here will help? Doing boring farm work?” A chuckle falls from your lips, borderline nervous, borderline humored.

She pursed her lips, raising her eyebrows. “I mean, I spent a lot of time here growin’ up…” Ellie looked at you, knowingly. “It was never boring when we did it together.”

“That’s because we were doing it together. I’m not gonna be here while you’re shoveling horse shit.” You chortled, peering at her through hazy eyes. She giggled and it sounded like music to your ears. It’s been awhile since you heard her laugh from something you said. Weed always did have a way of bringing people together.

“Well, maybe before you go, you could help me out. Jog my memory.” Ellie offered, raising her eyebrows. “It’s either you or suffering through Tommy’s jokes for hours—“

“I don’t mind, but we might have to jog each others memory.”

“Hey, you can take the girl out the country, but not the country out the girl.” She shrugged. “I have faith in you.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, a smile spread on your lips. “You’re still so corny.” Shaking your head, a laugh slips. Wrapping your arms around your body, you acknowledge the cool weather. It pricked at your exposed skin, and even through your jacket. “It’s getting late…”

She scratched the back of her neck. “Yeah, sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I appreciate the joint— I needed it.” You pushed off the shed wall, licking your lips. In preparation to meander back toward the house, you rocked on your feet. “There’s some left over biscuits on the counter…” You drawled, but it was all right because Ellie had filled in for you.

“I’m fucking starving.”

Then, the two of you walked shoulder to shoulder back inside. Giggling at stupid jokes, surfing over any of the past debacles you had. Turns out reconvening with your childhood lover wasn’t so bad after all. For now, anyway.

[alexanderwales]

The high-level prophecy interpreters all worked for the government or major corporations. They were the ones with the money, and the ones most likely to be the subject of a prophecy. Sometimes you'd have a multi-billionaire hire on a prophecy interpreter, but usually they just had one on retainer. The same went for celebrities who were famous enough to attract significant prophecies.

But at the lower level, there were prophecy interpreters who opened up their own firms, usually just one or two if they weren't in a major city. That was me: I had gotten in prophecy interpretation in college and ended up majoring in it after the Kepler Incident. I had my name on bus stops and billboards, and a single secretary in my employ who thankfully handled most of the phone calls.

In the field we sometimes divide the business up into three sectors based on timing. There's "prophecy impact", which is when we do a consultation right after the prophecy has been made, or at least sometime before it rears its head. Some prophecies are decades in the making, but people want to be told what to do about them. I hate that part of the job, personally, because there's not a whole lot to do, depending on the language. Plus the conversations are pretty repetitive: a guy hears a pretty clear-cut prophecy that he's going to die falling out of a plane, and he's begging for some way out, as though there's something I can do about it, as though I can tell him that prophecies are lairs sometimes. Prophecies are liars, but they're clever liars, hiding meanings inside words, only clear after they've passed. You can't escape prophecy, and at least half of "prophecy impact" clients explaining that fact to them.

The second sector is "prophetic immanence", when the client has a prophecy that they think is coming true. Sometimes this can be because there's a trigger phrase in the prophecy, a conditional that appears to have been met. One of the dirty secrets of the industry is that nine times out of the ten, people are mistaken: the nature of prophecy is such that you can't often pinpoint when the prophecy is nigh. In my opinion, you can judge a prophecy interpreter by how upfront they are about this. The weasels will milk their clients dry by pretending that every moment is a crisis moment.

It's the last sector that I find the most satisfaction from, which is why it's a disappointment that it's the least in demand. This is post facto prophecy interpretation. You're not trying to prevent anything, you're not formulating a reaction, you're just trying to figure out what happened and how it all fit together. These are clients that are in the aftermath of prophecy, or what they're pretty sure is the aftermath, and a lot of the time, they just want someone to talk to more than they want my specific expertise.

My client that day was an artist, a rising star who had a few very successful gallery showings. It had been prophesied that her older brother would accidentally kill her father, but it had been her instead. This wasn't a recent trauma, but the wound was clearly still there, so I tried to navigate it as carefully as I could.

"One of the things that makes prophecy tricky is ambiguity," I said gently. "There are some, outliers, that depend on pretty tortured readings. But in this case, I think it's just an alternate meaning. From what you gave me, the prophecy was specifically 'the child who first draws breath', and that's in reference to your career as an artist."

"That's stupid," she said. "He's two years older than me, would he really never have doodled a person drawing? Just a few lines indicating that something is coming out of their mouth?" Her hands were folded in her lap. They were curiously still, for someone who used her hands for a living, but maybe artists were like that, preserving the tools of their trade.

"It's stupid," I agreed. "But I do think it's entirely possible that his drawings didn't include anyone breathing, and that yours did."

"How can we know for sure?" she asked.

"We can't," I replied. "Though if we take for granted that the prophecy was fulfilled, and that you were the one to fulfill it, then we have to search for answers within the realm of what we know. And if you're not satisfied with that answer, then I need to spend some time searching for alternate meanings, to find some interpretation that lands better."

"I could understand it if I had some obsession with drawing breath," she said. "If I had done a series of paintings of visible breath escaping from a person's body, then that would make sense. But it's not that, it's the first to draw breath, and that's just ... I mean, doodles we did when we were children. It means nothing. We have no way to mark that. It wasn't pivotal."

I shrugged. "It is what it is." I use that phrase a lot. "There's a selection effect with prophecies. The ones we hear about are hugely ironic, they show the hand of fate, they warp and twist people. But many of them are just," I shrugged again. "Things that happened."

"My brother moved away," she said. "My father had kind of accepted it, probably from the moment we were born, or before that. He'd made peace with it, hadn't tried to fight it. But it was a hard thing to learn for my brother, and he'd just left to go to school a thousand miles away, and coming home was always stressful for him, because maybe this was when it was going to happen."

I nodded. "I can see where that would be difficult. How did he handle it?"

"Poorly," she sighed. "Dad was a good guy. My brother lost all that time, and it had always been a source of tension between them, not the death, but their perspective, you know? Dad preached acceptance, my brother wanted to avoid it, and so when my brother went out west, dad was disappointed. He said it was like losing his son, and that he'd have rather died than have that happen. So not only did my brother not have a close relationship with my dad because of the prophecy, it turns out that dad was right all along. It would have been better for everyone not to fight it."

"Maybe," I said. "In the business we don't counsel people not to fight prophecies. Sometimes it's the right thing to do."

"Well, sorry for wasting your time," she said. "Though I guess I'm paying by the hour, and I'm not going to apologize for something I paid for. So I'd like my apology back, please."

I smiled at her. "Certainly."

She stood up to go, and I marked the time so I could bill her later, but she paused for a moment. I put in the time all the same; so far as I was concerned, we were off the clock.

"Do you have any unresolved prophecies that you know of?" she asked.

"That's sort of a personal question," I said. "But I get it a lot, and if it might help you, I can share: I'm going to be eaten by an alligator."

"You're ... what?" she asked.

"An alligator?" I asked. "They live in swamps."

"And how are you going to be eaten by one?" she asked.

"Well, I don't know," I replied. "There's a chance I've dodged it already, or ... dodged it in the way that you can sometimes dodge an obvious reading." I held up my hand and showed her my pinky, or rather, my lack of pinky. "I went down to Florida, had my finger amputated, then fed it to three baby alligators under the supervision of a zoo keeper."

She stared at me. "And that works?" she finally asked.

"We'll see," I replied. "In general, yes, it's an approach with relatively good outcomes. A self-fulfilling prophecy. It's a peace of mind thing."

"But ... your finger?" she asked. She was looking at it. I sometimes thought that going with a toe would be better, or a chunk of flesh from somewhere else, but I had heard that losing a toe could interfere with balance. I had never regretted that it was a pinky finger.

"If I didn't avert the prophecy, I want to be the kind of guy who says 'oh, well that's funny'," I replied. "I think ... whatever helps you, you know? And now I don't need to stay up at night wondering how the hell it's going to happen. See, your father had it right, I think. You have to find a way to make peace with it. And this was what it took for me to make peace with mine. Though I have to admit that I'm not a fan of zoos, and I don't take vacations south of the Mason Dixon, so maybe I'm not as much at peace as I would like myself to believe."

"Huh," she said. She looked away from the missing finger and to my eyes. "Thank you for sharing that."

"It's okay if you think it's kooky," I replied.

"No," she said. "I was just ... thinking that if my brother had something like that, he might have had more time with dad before he passed."

I nodded. "You can share that story, if you think it will help. Sometimes it does."

When she left I went back to my computer, cruising the local news sites to see whether there had been any updates. I hadn't given her the best advice. My mind had been elsewhere.

A local guy had been busted for breeding reptiles without a license. I was sure it was nothing, but they hadn't said what specific reptiles it had been. It was probably nothing. I mean, a full-grown alligator escaping from custody, finding me, and managing to eat me was a little too much for me to believe.

But fate is a funny thing sometimes, and I was going to keep my eyes open.

[retrosabers]

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐒 𝐄𝐕𝐄.

logan howlett x fem!reader

summary: when you wake up sick on your favorite day of the year, logan tries his hand at a romantic gesture

OR the time logan howlett gave you the best at home halloween you could ask for

contains: so!! much!! fluff!! soft logan, friends to lovers, some angst, mentions of past trauma, reader has telekinetic powers, kissing, swearing

!! there’s a scene in here inspired by “room for rent” by @hauntedhowlett-writes ! go check out their amazing work !!

word count: 5.5k (i got insanely carried away)

a/n: sorry for this little period of inactivity!! i’ve been feeling under the weather and lacking some inspiration and motivation, but luckily i think i’ve got my groove back! i hope you all have a happy halloween & enjoy this sweet story of everyone’s favorite wolvie <3

mutant feelings on halloween were fairly divided.

it was a love or hate kind of thing. many viewed the holiday as a hypocritical mockery; how could humans be so outward in their distaste for mutants while dedicating an entire day to parading around as the very creatures they despised? others, like yourself, saw it as a joyful occasion. a day where everyone could be as authentically themselves as they wanted to be, and not get judged for it.

safe to say, it was your favorite holiday. something you looked forward to every year, especially since you never really got the opportunity to properly celebrate it growing up.

you had the whole day planned out for weeks. your costume decided far before that. much like how a child felt on christmas eve, you felt a similar excitement and anticipation building within you on the night of october 30th.

but it would appear the powers at large weren’t feeling too generous. because at a little bit past 8, your throat started feeling scratchy.

it was easy to blame it on the changing weather, maybe some seasonal allergies if you were feeling particularly delusional. you knew exactly how your body behaved when you were feeling sick, and it always started with a sore throat. still, you snuggled under the blanket in hopes that it would pass by morning.

by the time the sun rose, your nose was blocked and it felt like you were swallowing glass.

so much for a happy halloween.

you stumble out of your room in sweatpants and a cardigan, significantly less presentable than your normal attire. all you wanted was to stay in bed, but there was a group of young students that weren’t going to teach themselves. so you dragged yourself from the comfort of your cocoon, splashed some cold water on your face, and hoped you looked presentable enough.

the glimpse you catch of yourself in the mirror on the way out didn’t appear very promising. it seems your suspicions are confirmed when a familiar face spots you.

“you look like hell,” logan calls from the other end of the hallway. he makes his way over to you in long swift strides, the heavy sound of his boots echoing in the rather quiet space.

“sure feel like it too,” you utter back weakly, your voice hoarse and tired. unexpectedly, the back of his palm presses gently against your forehead, a crease forming between his brows when he feels how warm you are.

“jesus, you’re burning up.”

“funny, because i’m absolutely freezing,” you croak, wrapping your sweater tightly around your body to prove your point. when you suddenly sneeze, everything in the hallway shakes. from the paintings on the walls, to the vases on tables scattered about. you flush in embarrassment and logan frowns.

he places his hand on the small of your back, nudging you in the direction of your bedroom door.

“logan, i have a class to teach,” you argue weakly, followed by a nasty sounding cough.

“you can’t teach them anything if you’re like this the whole time bub.”

silence on your end, because you know he’s right. you just hate caving when you’re feeling under the weather, always trying your hardest to persevere. especially, on today of all days.

“but it’s halloween,” you counter with a whine, on the verge of pouting because you were so annoyed and fed up. “i had a fun lesson about edgar allan poe planned.”

“had the whole damn day planned,” you huff to yourself, though you should’ve known logan’s enhanced hearing would catch it.

he shoots you a sympathetic glance, unlocking the door and motioning you inside.

“i know,” he soothes you with the rubbing of his thumb against the base of your spine. “maybe if you get some rest now, you’ll feel better later, yeah?”

you sigh, flopping onto your mattress dramatically.

“i suppose you’re right.”

logan chuckles at your grumbling against the bedsheets. he makes his way over to you again, brushing away the hair that was stuck to your forehead. crouching down, he presses the sweetest kiss against your temple, and his heart swells at the tired little smile you give him.

“i’ll come back to check on you in a bit,” he promises. “in the meantime, you try and get some shut eye.”

you nod from your position against the pillows, eyes already fluttering shut in hopes that maybe logan was right. you’d feel better in a few hours, and today could be saved after all. in your mind, you were optimistic.

your body, however, had other plans.

before it was even noon, you went through a whole box of tissues, and sneezed so hard and violently that it damn near shook the whole entire floor. any glimmer of hope for getting better was snuffed out quickly, meaning you’d be a prisoner to this bed until you got better in a few days.

when logan came back to check on you, he was surprised to see the state of your bedroom. the usually clean, tidy space was ridden with tissues, your comforter was on the floor, and everything hanging on the wall had been turned every which way. and to top it all off, you were curled on the side of your bed, sniffling with washed out cheeks and a bright red nose.

“do not, say i look like shit,” you warn him, though you lack any sort of intimidation. logan shoots his hands up in defense from his place in the doorway.

“wasn’t planning on it.”

you open one eye and raise an eyebrow.

the corner of his lip turns up in a smirk. “i was going to say your room looks like shit.”

one of your throw pillows feebly comes into contact with his head. not nearly as hard as you intended, but your powers were always a little out of wack whenever your immune system was.

“s’ not funny logan,” you squeak, fully peaking your head out from it’s place in your blanket burrito.

logan picks the pillow up from the floor, mindlessly tossing it between his hands as he walks towards your bed.

“you know i can’t help teasing you when you’re grumpy,” he jokes, coming to sit on the corner of your mattress.

“i’m grumpy because this is my favorite day of the year and i’m stuck in a purgatory of snot and mucus,” you groan. the pout on your face is unmistakable, and logan would think it was the cutest thing he’s ever seen if there wasn’t genuine sadness in your tone.

“why do you even like this stupid holiday so much anyways?” logan questions. it comes out a bit meaner than he wants it to, like he’s making fun of you. it only adds to your upset state, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“because it’s fun,” you bite. “especially when you’re a kid that never got to experience it until you became an adult. i do the same thing every year because it brings me comfort. people like us don't get a lot of that.”

logan knows how true that is better than anyone.

“plus it’s a day mutants don’t have to worry as much,” you continue. “we can be ourselves and it looks like we’re just blending in with everyone else.”

you mumble this last part with a glumness he’s never heard from you before.

“it’s like we’re normal.”

logan doesn’t say anything in rebuttal. he just nods his head in agreeance, letting your words sink in. he never thought about it that way, and a wave of guilt suddenly washes over him for not considering that your feelings about today ran deeper than he initially thought.

the sound of a pill bottle shaking snaps you from your wallowing. your eyes flick back to logan, who’s holding medicine in his free hand.

“stole these from the infirmary,” he gets up to place the bottle on your bedside table, picking up a few stray tissues and tossing them into the small trash can next to your bed. “figured you could use something to help you feel a little better.”

you croak out a “thanks” before that dreaded tickling in your nose starts again.

“oh no,” you whisper, bracing for impact. logan looks at you with a puzzled expression at the exact moment when you sneeze. the entire room shakes, sending the wolverine stumbling back a few paces. there’s a couple seconds of vibration afterwards before everything returns to normal.

after regaining his footing, logan makes a beeline for the bathroom. you hear the faucet running and he returns to you with a glass of water.

he nods at you wordlessly, head motioning back and forth between you and the cup. you sniffle as you shuffle yourself upright. you take the medicine without a word, letting the cold water soothe your irritated throat. logan’s eyes don’t leave your face the entire time. he stares at you with something unfamiliar, to both you, and to him. it makes a new kind of warmth coat your body, one that has little to do with your current state.

your relationship with logan was hard to explain. you weren’t quite lovers, and labeling what transpired between you as friendship didn’t feel adequate. friends surely didn’t kiss each other on the cheek, or occasionally doze on each other’s shoulder during long sleepless nights. it was so painfully obvious to everyone else that there was something between you two.

but knowing logan and his track record of emotional unavailability, you always doubted whether or not he really shared those feelings.

clearing his throat, he dissolves any buzz you were feeling. logan offers you a tight lipped smile before slowly backing away. there’s a part of you that misses the closeness already, but you shove it down.

“if you need anything else, you know where to find me,” he says quietly, his body halfway out the door.

you nod with tired eyes. “thanks again logan.”

he simply nods his head once more before shutting the door completely.

you slink back under the comfort of your blanket, allowing the weight of your own words to take their effect. today wasn’t just special because it was a way to heal your inner child. today was important to you because you could feel safe in a world that normally didn’t accept people like your family. people like you. as cliche as it sounded, it was the truth.

as you try to fall back to sleep, you can’t help but dramatically wonder if being sick today was the universe’s way of punishing you for your optimism. for believing there could ever come a time where people accepted mutants.

it was a silly notion that would have to be pried from your cold dead hands. because though you didn’t have much comfort, you always had hope.

when you succumb to the drowsiness, you dream of being a child that didn’t have to be locked away in a lab on all hallows eve.

the smell of cookie dough rouses you from slumber.

slowly, you come to, stretching out your tired limbs as you shrug off the blanket that was wrapped around your figure since this morning. you’re still tired, but the fatigue that burdened your body was much less than it was a few hours ago. the medicine that logan brought you had worked. you smile to yourself, remembering to thank him the next time you saw him.

orange light bathes your room in a sunkissed glow, signaling that the day is coming to an end. the disappointment from before creeps its way back in, a reminder that all your plans for today were a wash. you squint your eyes in the direction of your alarm clock, trying to make out the time.

6:37 pm.

it was still early enough that you could try and put on a movie at least. scott, jean, and ororo, were set to take all of the kids trick or treating around 6. you were supposed to be joining them, but from the stark silence that seeped in from under the door, it was clear they were already well on their way without you.

you know it's because you weren’t feeling well, but that didn’t make it sting any less. you stare at the costume hung over your desk chair, and suddenly it feels like you’re a little girl again, sad and disappointed because you couldn’t go out with all the other kids.

maybe next year, you tell yourself.

after a moment of self pity, it hits you just how gross you’re feeling. staying in bed all day always sounded good in theory, but in practice, it just made you feel like a slob. in a flash, you kick all the covers to the foot of the bed, making your way to the bathroom and stripping off your clothes as you went. you were in desperate need of a hot shower, a leg shave, the whole nine yards.

steam cakes the mirror with condensation, the soft sound of water trickling down the drain relaxing you almost immediately. you take your time washing the day away, letting the scalding hot droplets soothe your tired muscles. you stand beneath the stream until the water goes cold, shutting the shower off and reaching for a plush towel.

the cold air of your room erupts goosebumps on your skin. whether it was from the change in temperature, or the fact that your room was now completely back to normal, you’re not sure.

strange. you don’t recall hearing anyone enter. surely this much reorganizing would’ve created some noise, something audible over the sound of running water, but you can’t remember hearing the slightest peep.

you cling to the towel around your body like a lifeline, afraid someone was going to jump out from a corner and startle you. after a quick once over of the room, you accept the fact that it’s empty. your eyes settle on a set of clothes folded neatly on the corner of your bed.

your comfiest pajamas. an old baggy t-shirt with yellow and orange plaid pants.

too tired to question it, you slip them on without a second thought, relishing in the feeling of the soft fabric against your skin. you felt more like yourself than you have all day.

the sweet aroma from before catches your attention again. no one was supposed to be here still, not anyone you’d expect to be baking anyways. curiosity gets the best of you, and you make your way out of your bedroom and down the main staircase to the kitchen.

the last thing you expect to see is logan howlett fussing over a tray of cookies.

he grumbles something incoherent under his breath. probably a swear word or two, given he looked frustrated and out of his element.

“what are you doing?” your voice manages to startle him, a first you have yet to see since logan arrived at the mansion.

the man scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, gesturing to the tray before him on the counter.

“i was uh,” he stumbles over his words. another logan first. “just pulling these out of the oven.”

you eye him mischievously. “since when do you bake?”

there’s a beat of awkward silence that passes while logan struggles to conjure up a logical answer. because no, he didn’t bake, not now, not ever in his life. but what’s the alternative? the much scarier conversation about his feelings?

from the knowing glint in your eye, it might just have to be the latter.

logan sighs. a sound of defeat, coupled with a flash of teeth. he leans back against the edge of the counter, thick arms folded across a broad chest.

“marie helped me put ‘em in,” he admits a bit sheepishly. “was afraid i’d burn the place down if i tried to do it myself.”

you laugh at the memory of scott storming into the kitchen with a fire extinguisher last month after logan tried to cook eggs. it sparks a fondness in your chest, connecting the dots as to why logan would go through all this trouble.

“i’m glad she stepped in before you could manage to start a fire,” you joke, stepping further into the kitchen. it grants you a better look at just how messy it was, from the flour sprinkled across countertops, to bowls thrown askew. your brows pull together in confusion, a question on the tip of your tongue before you turn in the direction of the common area.

your eyes nearly water at the sight.

the living room had been turned into a heaven of pillows and blankets, little tealights placed around the edge of the table in the center. there was a stack of movies nearly as tall as you sitting in the middle, and when you squint, you could make out a few of the titles.

a nightmare on elm street, hocus pocus, friday the 13th.

they were all your favorite halloween movies.

logan comes into your peripheral vision, carefully gauging your reaction with nervous eyes.

“what’s all this?” you breathe out, a surprised smile forming on your face. it brightens even more when you see how shy logan looks from his place against the wall.

“i know you were bummed that things didn’t go how you wanted today,” he speaks lowly, somewhat unsure of himself. it was almost heartwarming to see such a rugged, brooding man be so timid. clearly this was something way outside of his comfort zone.

and yet, he did all this for you.

he looks around the room, stalling on meeting your gaze out of nerves. when he finally does, there’s so much adoration, so much tenderness in your eyes that he’s overwhelmed by it.

it’s something so foreign to logan, but it feels so right. something that he’s unknowingly longed for, and now that he has it, he’s determined not to let it slip from his grasp.

he’s got a little bit of his regular confidence back now. it's evident in the way he straightens himself out, his natural smirk returning.

“figured this might cheer you up a bit.”

the warmth in your cheeks is inevitable. it always was whenever logan was around, but this felt different than your normal exchanges. you thought maybe you had been imagining the lingering touches and stolen glances, that you were a fool for thinking logan could reciprocate the feelings you harbored for him.

but as he stands before you, with a small bashful smile and hazel eyes filled with warmth, you know that it’s not one sided. never was, and never could be.

logan nearly falls over when you jump into his arms, his hands coming to wrap around your waist on instinct. the embrace is unexpected, but not unwelcome. once logan takes a second to get his bearings, his body relaxes and molds into yours, lifting you an inch or two off the ground as he envelops you fully. your own arms wrap around his neck, face buried in his shoulder as you take in the feeling that you’ve wondered about for so long.

“thank you,” you whisper against the fabric of his shirt, smiling into the worn material.

with his enhanced senses, logan can feel the rapid thrum of your heartbeat against his own. months and months of dancing around each other finally coming to a head. he gives you one final, tight squeeze before pulling away, though he makes no move to let go of your body.

when he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear and caresses your cheekbone with his thumb, your knees feel like they might buckle.

“s’nothing much,” which was essentially logan speak for “i’d do everything in my power to keep you happy.”

you’re well aware that he’s not the best with expressing how he felt. but this simple, sweet gesture was worth more than any lengthy monologue in your book.

you catch him eyeing your mouth briefly, and you do the same, letting your mind travel to that familiar place of wondering. thinking about how his lips would feel against your own. how they would feel in other places. just as you find yourself leaning in, a kitchen timer buzzes, startling you both.

logan can’t hide his annoyance at the interruption, reluctantly removing himself from you to stop the incessant chiming.

“this damn thing,” he grumbles, shaking his head.

you stifle a laugh when he throws the timer back onto the counter a bit too harshly, sending it bouncing into a stray bowl.

deciding to take the reigns, you walk over and reach for his hand. logan’s eyes widen a bit at your outstretched palm, even more so at the confident grin you wear. he doesn’t hesitate to lock his hand in yours, trying his damndest to ignore the electricity he feels from such a small thing.

“come on,” you nod your head in the direction of the couch, playful sarcasm in your tone.

“we’ve only got all night.”

“i don’t see it.”

you whip your head in logan’s direction, shrieking out a “what?” as you look back at the tv screen.

“you look just like him,” you argue, leaning forward to grab a cookie from the plate he brought into the room. “it’s uncanny.”

logan laughs to himself, shaking his head at your antics. “you keep telling yourself that bub.”

as the credits of van helsing start to roll, you decide to try your hand at a bit of flirting.

“y’know, you should take that as a huge compliment,” you state, sinking further into the couch cushions.

logan raises a brow, taking a sip of his beer and experimentally scooting closer to you.

“and why’s that?”

you try to maintain your confidence, but logan doesn’t make it very easy. not when he’s a human furnace that’s inching into your space. not when he already makes you warm in the face in nearly every situation.

clearing your throat, you shrug a shoulder, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible.

“i had a huge crush on him growing up. thought he was super hot.”

oh. if this is the game you’re playing, logan knows for sure he’ll win.

“really?” he exaggerates, placing his arm on the back of the couch. the tips of his fingers brush against your shoulder, and he relishes in the goosebumps they create.

“mhm,” you hum, eyes not wavering from the screen. “you should be super flattered right now.”

logan chuckles again, reaching for a cookie of his own. he decides he’ll space out his teasing, be a bit generous. you were in a poor position right now, still being a little sick and all.

he’d much prefer to see you really keep up with him anyways. still, he can’t help himself.

“whatever you say darlin’,” he murmurs.

your breath hitches ever so slightly.

jesus christ it feels like this couch is on fire.

you can see his smirk out of the corner of your eye, and you feel like a schoolgirl over the way that one simple word was making you feel so giddy. tucking your legs underneath your body, you shift more to your side so you were now fully facing logan.

as you take in your surroundings, from the coziness of the living room, to the beauty of the man beside you, the inquiry that’s been floating around your head for the past couple hours falls from your lips.

“how did you even know all of this?” you question him while biting the head off of one of the bat cookies.

“know all of what?” he repeats, half of his mouth filled with cookie dough.

“that this is what i do,” you gesture to the television screen and the plate that was sitting on the table. “movies and cookies, specifically these, every single year?”

logan feigns realization, despite knowing what you meant the first time you asked. he was just too self conscious to explain the reason why. his coyness from earlier returns, the apples of his cheeks showing a tinge of pink.

“overheard you talking with ororo a couple days ago,” he begins, sliding his palms over the expanse of his denim clad thighs. “about the movie thing and stuff.”

you think back to that conversation with vague memory. you recall discussing your halloween plans, but never diving into such specifics.

logan answers your next question before you can utter it.

“i asked her this morning what all your favorite things were.” he clears his throat a bit awkwardly. “i wanted to do something once i realized you were sick.”

he trails off, not sure if he should venture into this territory again after his remark from earlier. he moves around so his position mirrors yours, making you both unable to avoid each other’s faces.

“i didn’t mean to be a dick before,” he starts to apologize. you know it’s taking a lot for him to admit his faults, and it makes all the effort he put into this even more meaningful.

“this,” he motions around the room, “was my way of trying to say i’m sorry.”

you tilt your head to the side, eyeing him empathetically.

“you don’t need to apologize for that,” you reassure him, placing a hand on his arm. “though i’m enjoying it. these cookies are really good.”

he smiles a little at your joke, soft crinkles forming in the corner of his eyes.

“i can’t take credit for that,” he admits, cocking his head in the direction of the staircase. “it was all marie.”

the thought of logan recruiting the teenager for assistance was sickly sweet. knowing marie, it was probably her idea to help. you can picture the pair of them in the kitchen, her seeming more like the adult and him like the child.

“still,” you assert. “just the fact that you thought of all this means a lot.”

his thumb rubs featherlight circle on your exposed skin. “it’s nothing, really.”

there he goes again with the undermining.

sighing, you drag your fingers up and down the expanse of his arm, eyes drawn to the motion rather than the man. you feel like your heart might burst if you go a second longer without being a bit more direct. but god was it nerve wracking. especially when logan looked at you like you were the only thing in the whole entire universe.

“this is probably the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me,” you admit lowly, toying with the hem of his sleeve, too nervous and overwhelmed to meet the wolverine’s intense gaze.

your hand moves towards his again, lightly tracing the outlines of his veins. you muster up the courage to look back up at logan, who somehow moved even closer to you in the 15 seconds you’ve spent fixated on his flannel. the soft glow of the tea lights illuminated the amber flecks of his irises, highlighted the structure of his nose, the curve of his muscles. made him look like something out of a dream. it sure felt like you were in one.

when his hand clasps around yours, you realize that this isn’t a dream. it’s your reality, and you better take advantage of it.

you let ten words convey everything.

“i’m really glad the person who did it was you.”

that’s all logan needs to hear before he decides he can’t hold back any longer. his lips find yours with a tender urgency, like he wanted to savor the moment and devour you whole all at once. the hand that was once on the couch moved to cradle your jaw, just about entirely encompassing the side of your head.

that place of wondering was correct in its predictions. despite all of his rough edges and gruffness, logan’s lips were softer than you ever could’ve imagined. your hands find purchase in the strands of hair at the nape of his neck, your bodies smushed together on the couch. logan wants nothing more than to pull you onto his lap, but he knows that’s more than likely to lead to some rather ungentlemanly activities. no, he wants to do this properly, take things nice and slow. so he settles for keeping his hands above the collar, and from the soft sighs he can hear you let out, it seems to be doing the trick.

it feels like you’re on cloud 9 as your lips move together, your disappointment of today’s plans long forgotten. all you could focus on was how perfect this moment was, how perfect logan felt. his thumb teases the corner of your mouth, a silent command that he wants to explore you further and you open yourself up with ease. his tongue prods between your lips gently, a contrast to the feeling of his calloused palm against your skin.

you move slow and syrupy, not wanting time to pass. if your mutation was time manipulation, you surely would’ve halted it, letting yourself stay in this little bubble of bliss for as long as you wanted.

but of course, all good things must come to an end. because as much as your brain had turned to jelly for the time being, the tiny functioning part that was left blossomed a new worry.

logan fears he’s done something wrong when you pull back quick and unexpectedly, your eyes wide with something he can’t quite place.

“everything okay?” he asks cautiously, frozen in position. the answer you provide is far from what he had in mind.

“i don’t want you to get sick,” you mutter, clasping a hand over your mouth. the fact that that’s what you’re worried about right now, makes logan’s heart flutter a little, as silly as it was.

all of his anxieties fade in an instant, amusement taking its place instead. logan barks out a laugh, probably one of the most sincere sounding ones you’ve ever heard from him.

“what’s so funny?” you ask, confused as to why he’d be laughing when you were dead serious. the saliva swap that just transpired was sure to pass along whatever germs your body was still harboring. the last thing you wanted was for logan to feel as shitty as you felt this morning.

“honey,” he cuts through his laughter, clutching at his sides. “i don’t get sick.”

“what do you mean, ‘you don’t get sick’?”

“regeneration,” he states matter of factly, calming down a bit. “anything that could harm my body, my mutation takes care of.”

right.

for what feels like the millionth time today, you blush. not in flattery, but in embarrassment. you hide your face behind your hands, cursing yourself for halting a damn good makeout.

“i’m such an idiot,” you mumble into your palms. “i cannot believe i just ruined the moment like that.”

“hey, hey,” logan coos, gingerly pulling your hands away from your face. your eyes are still screwed shut, not wanting to face any more ridicule than necessary, even if it was only playful. the feeling of logan’s thumb and forefinger lightly grasping at your chin causes your eyelids to flutter.

“look at me.”

slowly, you open your eyes. logan’s grip on your chin is firm but gentle. it’s to keep you from running from him, forcing you to be on the same level.

“you didn’t ruin anything,” he tells you in the most caring tone of of voice.

“promise?”

logan leans in and gives you a long, lingering kiss. it’s somehow even more maddening than the first one, and your stomach feels like it’s on a rollercoaster you’re not sure you ever want to get off of.

when he pulls away, he shoots you a wink, and you fight the urge to melt on the spot.

“promise.”

he presses airy little kisses to both of your cheeks before settling back against the couch.

“now, where were we?”

you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, watching closely as logan’s eyes lingered on your mouth again. in a flirty move, you tease him by moving in impossibly close, your lips barely a centimeter apart. just as he’s about to close the gap, your press your pointer finger to his mouth, catching him by surprise.

“i think it’s time for another movie,” you sing song, prancing off the couch and in the direction of the dvd player.

you tease.

logan simply shakes his head, beaming at you as you scan over your movie selection. he’s come to know and notice a lot of things about you. the way your nose wrinkles when you get excited. how you take your coffee. the thing you do with your hands when you get nervous. your pet peeves. he finds something new to admire about you every day. right now he’s soaking in the joy that radiates off you in bright yellow waves, unavoidable to those in your orbit.

in that moment, logan decides he always wants to be in the path of their warmth.

when you pad back over to the couch as the opening credits start, you tuck yourself into his side. logan’s arm pulls you close, anchoring you to him in more ways than one. you fit together like puzzle pieces, soon to be inseparable now that you knew just how well you connected.

in the glow of the television and the tea lights, snug by his side, he thinks you’ve never looked more beautiful.

maybe halloween wasn’t so bad after all.

thanks for reading! <3

bat divider by @saradika-graphics

[sundrop-writes]

Mister Mxyzptlk

Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader Blurb

Word Count: 800

Sundrop's Main Masterlist

Warnings: mentions of bullying (Stiles being bullied for having a 'weird' name); mentions of Stiles's trauma surrounding his mother's death; obscure comic book references; this is mostly just fluff - very light implications toward sexual themes, flirting and romantic attraction between Stiles and the reader.

A/N: So, the last time I was actively watching Teen Wolf (when S3 and S4 were airing) I thought it was a running gag that Stiles's real name was never revealed and it was just always a mystery to the audience (like how it's a gag in Degrassi that Heather St. Claire's face is never seen). But when I saw a tiktok showing his real name, I was shocked, and then entirely amused by it. And I was also really offended because I'm watching S1 for the first time and the coach calls Stiles's name 'child abuse' and his father doesn't even dispute that, knowing that it's a family name to honour his dead mother's side of the family. And the fact that he is a character whose real name is very hard to pronounce and very few people actually know what it is got me thinking about the comic book character - Mister Mxyzptlk - and I realized that Stiles, being a comic book nerd who is always referencing things like The Incredible Hulk and Batman and Robin, would fucking love that comparison. Thus, this mini fic. Usually, this is an idea I would save and put it as a moment in a longer fic, but I'm not currently working a fic where I feel like this fits in, so it has become its own mini fic. Random idea, but enjoy this random fluff.

...

"Is Stiles your real name?"

You inquired lightly, walking out of school with Scott and Stiles.

"It's something I've been wondering since we met."

Stiles felt a unique anxiety clutch in his chest at this question. He hated telling people his real name, especially when those people were pretty girls. Especially when they were pretty girls he had only met a week ago who were new in town who otherwise didn't know what a reputation he had for being a loser and could form their own opinions of him.

He could see any chance he had with you being flushed down the drain at top speed. But it wasn't much different from any other girl he previously had a crush on.

"Cause, I thought maybe it was your last name. Guys who play sports usually do that - always call each other by their last names." You went on, not sensing the awkwardness as Scott and Stiles eyed each other heavily, waiting for the other person to speak. "But I heard the coach calling you Balinski?"

"Stilinski." Stiles corrected you. "I think he gets my name wrong on purpose to belittle me." He gave a fake laugh to play it off, but you frowned.

"Stiles is a nickname." Scott added on, trying to usher Stiles away from the awkwardness of having to tell you himself. "His real first name is... really hard to pronounce, and not a lot of people at our school even know it. So - everyone just knows him as Stiles."

This brought Stiles back to a painful memory - in fourth grade, someone had seen the attendance sheet with his real name on it, and showed it to everyone else. And this had started a barrage of bullying and rumours about how he had gotten the name.

Some said that his mother hated him as soon as he was born and wanted to name him something really ugly to match him. Some said that his mother had a brain tumour and she named him in such an odd manner because her brain was 'mush' when he was born. And whenever people in the halls mockingly called him 'tumour baby' or 'brain tumour' - then he had to painfully be reminded of his mother's absence from his life.

"So you're like Mister Mxyzptlk?" You posed, a smile coming across your face from the joy of making such an apt reference.

Stiles looked at you then, unsure if he had heard you correctly - but his heart started to beat faster and he was sure that his crush developed into full, heart-stopping love in that moment.

A gorgeous, cute, sweet girl like you making such an obscure dorky reference - there was nobody else. Nobody else would ever make him feel the way you had in that moment.

Scott was entirely confused, looking between the two of you with utter dumbness across his face, wondering why Stiles' heart rate had increased so much.

"Ugh - yeah." Stiles stuttered out awkwardly. "Yeah, I guess I am."

"So, is learning your real name the power to defeating you?" You posed, smoothing your voice into a sultry tone, stepping closer to Stiles, running a hand up his bare forearm - clearly flirting now. "Do I get three chances to moan it in your ear without making a mistake before you're allowed to do whatever you want to me?"

Scott regretted his super-hearing, being able to catch exactly what you said in a low whisper against Stiles's ear.

Stiles's brain was short-circuiting.

You were making nerdy references and coming onto him now. His blood was rioting between rushing to his pants and giving him a heart attack, and soon, before he could stop it, he practically shouted:

"Marry me!"

And while this would have been a colossally awkward fumble with any other girl, you simply giggled and smiled.

"You're so cute." You complimented in return, reaching out to gently 'boop' a finger against his nose.

Stiles continued to gape at you, feeling like he needed to say more, needed to communicate just how epicly wonderful you were in his eyes.

"Chocolate? Or vanilla? Our wedding cake could have 4 tiers, or we could get one of those cupcake tower things, I heard those are really trendy."

You let out another laugh, thinking that he was joking - not realising that he was already picking out an engagement ring in his head, and wondering which comic book characters you would name your children after.

"We can start with a date." You told him. "Friday. After the game."

He nodded.

"Yes, date." He agreed eagerly. "A date would be amazing."

"I have to get going now." You added on - and he felt like he was floating when you leaned in and kissed him on the cheek before you departed. "See you later?"

"Everyday for the rest of our lives." Stiles mumbled quietly, entirely love-struck.

"What the hell was that?" Scott asked, still entirely baffled.

"We shall have a spring wedding." Stiles replied, his eyes still locked on your back as you walked away - clearly, he was still caught up in the euphoria of the interaction.

Scott had to drag him away.

[mj-iza-writer]

"Whumpee can I see your teddy", Caretaker reached out for it, "it needs to be cleaned, I'll give it right back when it's done."

"No, no please", Whumpee squeezed it tighter, and shook their head.

"I'm sorry Whumpee, but you were very sick last week. I'm pretty sure you have puked on it", Caretaker knelt down beside Whumpee, "I know it's your comfort item, but how about we find something else for a few hours while I take care of Teddy."

"Nuh-uh", Whumpee squirmed away.

"Whumpee, do you want to help me clean it, or we could make cookies while Teddy gets washed", Caretaker rubbed Whumpee's back comfortingly, "I promise Teddy will come right back to you."

A friend of Caretaker's was listening in.

"If I were you I'd take it from them, they're to old to be acting like that. Honestly to old to have a stuffed toy", the friend frowned.

Caretaker watched Whumpee's eyes squeeze shut as tears streamed down their face.

"I think you need to stop freaken talking", Caretaker growled at their friend, "you have no idea what is going on here. Just mind your business, and let me do my job."

Finally, after a few more tears and bartering Caretaker was given Teddy.

Caretaker had promised to make Teddy smell really good, and Whumpee now walked around the house wrapped in giant soft blanket.

Lastly, Caretaker handed Whumpee a bowl of ice cream.

"I still think it would have been easier to take it away, and let them get over it", the friend frowned as Whumpee walked past with the ice cream.

Whumpee stopped and looked at Caretaker.

"Don't worry about them, go eat your ice cream. I started a movie for you", Caretaker slapped their friend in the back of the head.

"Oww", the friend complained.

"Are you dumb?", Caretaker gritted their teeth.

"No, I just...", the friend started.

"Whumpee came here with that toy. The person who hurt them gave it to them to signify that they were done hurting Whumpee", Caretaker sighed, "if they had the teddy bear, they wouldn't be hurt. They were safe. If it was pulled out of their hands, torture was starting. It wouldn't end until the toy was given back to them."

"Do you see what kind of issues could have happened if I just pulled that away from them. What kind of trauma response I would have to deal with for the next several hours", Caretaker looked at the friend, "it does take more time, I'm aware of that. I had to have some losses to get the win of getting that from them."

"You told them it needed to be cleaned and it had puke on it", the friend pointed out, "you knew what was best, and they didn't listen to you."

"You should have seen how bad it was when it first came here", Caretaker sighed, "covered in blood, and probably several other body fluids. It was dirty and absolutely disgusting. They still clung to it. To them, it means safety. It's familiar to them."

The friend still frowned.

"You smoke right? Do you have your box and lighter?", Caretaker stood.

"Feeling like a smoke Caretaker?", the friend chuckled as they pulled out the box and lighter.

Caretaker quickly grabbed the box and lighter and walked away.

The friend followed, "where are you going? You don't smoke."

"I know, just proving a point", Caretaker went into his office and closed the door behind him.

The door was locked before the friend could grab the door knob.

The friend gulped when he heard the heavy safe door slam shut. Caretaker came out soon after.

"Where's my smokes", the friend went into the office and pulled on the safe door, "Caretaker?"

"I figured I knew what was best, so I took them away. You won't like it for a little while, but I'm sure you'll get over it", Caretaker grinned as their friend tried to guess the combination, "you're acting like a child you know, aren't you to old to have a crutch like cigarettes."

"Okay, okay, you've made your point. I'm sorry", the friend frowned, "can I have my smokes back now?"

Caretaker grinned as he pulled the cigarettes and lighter from his back pocket.

"That's cold", the friend frowned as they grabbed their things back."

"What's cold is telling a trauma survivor, one who has been through so much more than what we will ever know about, that they need to grow up", Caretaker frowned, "have some sympathy."

Caretaker heard the timer for the teddy's wash go off.

"You could have easily went out and bought another pack and lighter. You would have soon forgotten I had those", Caretaker sighed, "Whumpee doesn't get that luxury."

Whumpee rounded the corner, "is Teddy done?"

"Not quite Whumpee, I just need to dry him", Caretaker held up a few scent capsules, "which smell do you like?"

Whumpee smelt every capsule twice until they picked one.

"Good choice Whumpee", Caretaker smiled, "I promise thirty minutes you will have Teddy back."

Whumpee nodded and sat beside the dryer.

"Can I wait here?", Whumpee's lip quivered.

"Yes, you can. I'll be in the kitchen if you need me", the friend followed Caretaker.

"So what did we learn here?", Caretaker looked at his friend.

"That I shouldn't judge. And, that you have a harder job than what I realized", the friend sighed.

"I think you owe Whumpee am apology", Caretaker frowned, "that was quite mean of you to act like that when you didn't know the whole story."

"Caretaker?", the friend frowned.

"No, no", Caretaker waved in disgust, "you know I am protective of my patients that stay with me, if you can not make yourself safe to be around, you will not be welcomed in my house when I have patients here."

"Okay, okay", the friend sighed, then turned to walk back to Whumpee.

They rounded the corner in time to see Whumpee wiping away a tear.

Whumpee looked at them nervously.

"I'm sorry for being mean earlier, Caretaker explained the importance of that bear. I'm sorry if I caused you any flashbacks", the friend tried to make a comforting smile.

Whumpee nodded, "thankyou", they whispered.

The dryer dinged, causing Caretaker to quickly walk in.

"Alright let's see", Caretaker opened the dryer.

They carefully pulled Teddy out and handed it to Whumpee, "I made sure to use the gentlest wash and dry cycles."

"Careful Whumpee, we have another hole to patch", Caretaker frowned as they looked into the dryer to see clumps of cotton.

"Another hole?", Caretaker's friend eyed Whumpee.

"Yes Teddy is well loved, they need some patching every once in a while", Caretaker sighed, "Whumpee do you want to fix it now or later."

Whumpee gently cuddled their face into the toy, they took in the warmth and scent.

Whumpee's body shook, "what if... what if there is a time Teddy can't be fixed? What do I do then?"

"We will have to figure something else out then", Caretaker frowned, "I'll try my best to make sure that doesn't happen. Here come help me, you can hold Teddy's hand while I sew."

The next day Caretaker's friend called.

"Hey I have an idea, do you think Whumpee could go to the mall", the friend asked.

"They can, though they are having a hard day, so they will need their wheelchair", Caretaker smiled, "what are you thinking?"

"It's a surprise, can you meet me their with Whumpee", the friend asked.

"Yeah, I can do that. Whumpee probably wouldn't mind getting out, they've been distraught because of Teddy", Caretaker stood, "see you soon."

Caretaker pushed Whumpee through the mall until they found their friend.

"Hey Whumpee", the friend knelt down to eye level with Whumpee and smiled, "Caretaker", they then looked up.

"Hello", Whumpee whispered.

"Whumpee is being extra brave right now. They decided to let Teddy stay at home to rest", Caretaker gently rubbed Whumpee's shoulder.

"That is very brave.... I know that now", the friend smiled and patted Whumpee's leg.

"So we are both curious. What brings us to the mall?", Caretaker smiled.

"I had this thought last night while I was looking at online pictures of my niece and nephew celebrating their birthdays", the friend stood.

"There is a store here where you pick a stuffed toy and they stuff it for you", the friend smiled, "I was hoping you would allow me to buy one for you. You could pick whatever you like. There are even some cute outfits to dress the stuffie in."

"But what about Teddy?", Whumpee whispered.

"This will not replace Teddy at all, but maybe give them a little break", the friend smiled, "you're also trauma bonded to Teddy, maybe you are holding onto a lot of bad memories. Maybe a new stuffie will help you move forward in your healing, and you can make new memories."

"B-but Teddy deserves to heal with me also. They went through everything I went through, then helped me", Whumpee let out a small sob, "I don't want Teddy to be forgotten."

"We will never forget Teddy" Caretaker quickly came around, "I promise Teddy will never be forgotten. Can you take a deep breath for me."

Whumpee nodded and took a shaky breath.

"How about this", Caretaker smiled, "we can set up a place for Teddy. A place of honor. Teddy will be able to watch over you, and you will be able to get them at all times."

"We can even pick out a stuffie for Teddy to cuddle, and they can start healing as well", the friend smiled.

Whumpee thought for a second before nodding, "I-I think Teddy might like that."

"Yeah?", the friend smiled.

Whumpee nodded with a weak smile.

The friend looked up at Caretaker and smiled.

Caretaker smiled back and nodded, "you might have it in you to be a caregiver yourself."

"I don't know about that", the friend started to wall and Caretaker followed pushing the wheelchair with Whumpee, "I don't think I would be able to do what you do. I'm sorry I just now figured that out."

"That's alright", Caretaker winked.

Whumpee shook as they walked toward the different stuffie options the store had.

Caretaker helped hold them up as they looked.

"You said they were having a hard day today... I didn't realize", their friend followed with the wheelchair.

"Yes, Whumpee has good days when they can get around just fine. Days like today, their body just doesn't have enough strength", Caretaker continued supporting Whumpee, "their captors did a lot of bad things to them. Their body had to hold up to a lot of abuse, and it's broken."

Caretaker watched Whumpee, "are you doing alright? Do you want to sit down?"

"I-I think I should", Whumpee wobbled forward, but Caretaker held them up.

"Do you see any you like?", the friend held the chair still while Whumpee sat down.

Whumpee nodded, "uhm, I keep looking at that tan bear. It kind of looks like Teddy."

"It does?" the friend went back to look. They thought about the old bear.

"Well I guess what Teddy used to look like", Whumpee was pushed closer.

"This one?", the friend held it up.

"Yes, but are you sure about this?", Whumpee whispered, "you don't have to."

"No, I would absolutely love to get this for you", the friend smiled as they handed the bear to Whumpee, "I was very mean to you yesterday, and I feel bad that Teddy is falling apart on you. Are you sure this is the one you like though?"

Whumpee looked it over, then nodded, "yes... please."

Whumpee helped push the peddle to stuff the bear, and followed the instructions on the heart.

"Give it a big squeeze to see if you like it", Caretaker smiled.

Whumpee squeezed it tightly.

"How does it feel?", the friend watched.

They both watched as Whumpee began to cry.

"Good", Whumpee whispered, "really good, thankyou so much."

Whumpee didn't pick out any clothes until the friend pulled down a shirt that said °Emotional Support Bear°

Whumpee giggled lightly and then nodded.

Caretaker had just covered Whumpee with a blanket when they heard their phone vibrate.

"How are they doing?", their friend had texted, "did the bear work out?"

Caretaker grinned as they sat down across from Whumpee.

They looked up and watched Whumpee's chest rise and fall. They were deep asleep now. The new bear cuddled tightly in their arms.

They snapped a picture and sent it to their friend.

"I can't tell how much this meant to them", Caretaker wiped a tear away from their eye, "you helped them take a big step forward in their recovery. As their caregiver and your friend, thankyou so much for helping heal them."

"You're welcome, I'm glad I was able to do that for them and for you", the friend replied, "have a good night."

"You too", Caretaker stood and retrieved Teddy.

"Alright my dear friend", Caretaker gently carried Teddy to a shelf Whumpee had agreed on.

This shelf overlooked Whumpee's bed, and they would have easy access if they ever needed extra comfort from Teddy.

Caretaker sat Teddy in a weaved basket chair. They rested Teddy's head on a pillow. Lastly, they pulled out the stuffed toy Whumpee had picked for Teddy, and cuddled the arms around the toy.

"Rest well Teddy, you did a good job protecting them. It's my turn now", Caretaker poked the bears faded nose, "I promise they will heal."

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

@villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath @porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst

@generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13 @notpeppermint @cyborg0109

@idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots @whumpbump @everythingsscary @skittles-the-whumpee

@expressionless-fr @theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee @candleshopmenace @whumpanthems

@lavndvrr @ivymyers @starfields08000 @a-living-canvas @lumpofsand

@watermeezer @indigoviolet311 @whumpy-mountains @3-2-whump @risk606

@electrons2006 @paperprinxe @whumprince @kaz-of-crows

[vunblr]

Toy Soldier (part 4)

Bit by bit, torn apart. We never win, but the battle wages on for toy soldiers.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Fluff. Smut. Dark Content: Sexual Assault Wounds (Bucky). Depictions of Physical Wounds. Psychological Trauma. Canon-Typical Violence. Mentions and depictions of Non-Con (both characters as victims)

Word Count: 6k.

Previous Chapter

Bucky’s arms tightened just slightly around her as she shifted, sensing her weight tilting as though preparing to pull away.

“Don’t,” he murmured, stopping her movement. His forehead still rested against her shoulder, and his words sounded almost muffled. “Just... stay like this a little longer. Please.”

For a moment, she didn’t know what to do or say, but then she felt it, the subtle way he leaned into her like he was holding onto something he needed, like a child with his blanket.

“Okay,” she murmured, softly.

Her hands, which had started to pull back, returned to their place on his shoulders. She let them rest there, feeling the warmth of his body beneath her touch, and stayed still, giving him whatever comfort he was seeking.

He exhaled slowly, a sound that felt almost like a sigh of relief, and his body seemed to relax further.

“It’s been a long time,” he admitted after a moment, so quiet she almost missed it. “Since anything... felt this way.”

She swallowed hard, curling her fingers slightly against his shoulder in a gesture she hoped was reassuring. “What way?”

“Safe,” he murmured. “Less… alone.”

Her chest tightened at his words. “You’re not,” she said softly, with a trembling voice. “Not anymore.”

He shifted slightly, settling his vibranium arm more securely around her waist. The movement was almost instinctive, but it was enough to make her cheeks heat.

For a while, neither of them moved or spoke.

When she finally found her voice, it was soft, almost hesitant. “You know... if you ever need this -anytime- I don’t mind. If it helps, I’m here.”

He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, and his expression was so unguarded, so raw, that it took her breath away. There was an innocence to it, a vulnerability she had never seen before. To be fair, a lot of his expressions were new to her, she had only ever known the Soldat. For a moment, it seemed like he wanted to say something, but instead, he gave a small nod, his voice barely above a whisper. “Thanks, doll.”

Her heart gave an involuntary flutter, but she quickly pushed it aside, managing a tentative smile. “Anytime.”

They stayed like that for a moment longer. He hadn’t fully let her go yet, and his hands still rested lightly against her back. She hesitated, feeling the warm rhythm of his breathing against her neck, before slightly loosening her arms around his shoulders, pulling back a little.

“Would you… maybe want to hang out sometime? There is no pressure or anything. I just thought... maybe-” she started, hesitating when his blue eyes fixed on her, unreadable. “I mean, if you don’t want to, that’s fine too,” she quickly added, dropping her arms completely and stepping back, putting some space between them. “Maybe this thing was... just this moment, and now that we’ve talked, you want to move on with your life. And I’d get it if that’s the case. I don’t want to make this uncomfortable for you.”

Her rambling trailed off, and she winced inwardly, wishing she’d been smoother, braver, or both.

“You’re not making it weird,” he said gently, “You did probably better than me if I’d had the balls to ask.”

Her heart stuttered, “Oh.”

He shook his head, pressing his lips together as though weighing his next words. “Maybe I don’t know what hanging out looks like,” he added, a faint hint of self-consciousness creeping into his voice. “But... I’d like to try. If you’re okay with that.”

She blinked, and a cozy warmth bloomed in her chest. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, his mouth twitching slightly in almost a smile.

She smiled then. “Okay. Again, no pressure, though. Just... whatever feels right. Whenever.”

“Whenever,” he echoed softly.

-----

That “whenever” turned into something of a routine. Two or three days a week, they’d meet up, or, phone calls filled the space between them. Bucky hated texting -said it was impersonal and frustrating- and she didn’t mind. In fact, she preferred hearing his voice.

Sometimes, they ventured out. Small, simple outings, a walk through the park, a coffee shop tucked into a corner of the city, or just wandering without a plan.

Like today.

The planetarium was her suggestion. She’d been talking about stargazing lately, and when she casually mentioned she’d never been, he found himself agreeing before he even thought it through. He arrived first, scanning the crowd near the entrance, his with his gloved hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.

She was standing a few feet away, and the blue summer dress with tiny white polka dots caught his eye. She was distracted by something on her phone, with a small smile tugging at her lips.

He exhaled through his nose, giving himself a moment to collect his thoughts before walking toward her. His boots scuffed the pavement as he approached, but she must have sensed him because her head lifted, and her face brightened as she spotted him.

“Hey,” she said, slipping her phone into her bag, smiling. “You’re early.”

“Could say the same about you,” he replied, flickering his gaze briefly to her dress again. Before he could stop himself, the words slipped out: “Nice dress.”

She blinked, caught off guard for a moment, before glancing down and brushing her hands over the fabric. “Oh. Thanks. I bought it in a second-hand store, I used to have one before, and…” better not go there. “You look pretty good too.”

The reply caught him off guard. He blinked, and then, almost unconsciously, his lips quirked into a small smile. It wasn’t much, just a fleeting expression, but it lit up his tired blue eyes in a way she hadn’t seen before.

She decided then and there that she wanted to see that brightness in his eyes again.

The hum of chatter and footsteps around them broke his train of thought. The crowd milling around the planetarium was bigger than he anticipated, and the press of people already made him shift uncomfortably. Without thinking, he offered her his arm.

“Come on,” he said quietly.

She glanced at him, a bit surprised by the gesture, but her lips curved into a soft smile as she slipped her hand through his arm. “Almost forgot what a gentlemanly gesture looked like,” she teased lightly.

He glanced at her, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Guess I haven’t forgotten all the old ways,” he replied, with a faint smile. “Some things just stick, I guess.”

She chuckled softly, resting her fingers lightly on his arm as they walked. “I like that,” she admitted, glancing up at him. “Maybe because I’m basically an old lady too.”

He raised a brow, his lips curving slightly. He hesitated, unsure if he should ask, but again, the words came out of his mouth before his brain could stop them. “You are right. I’ve never thought about it... how old are you, grandma?”

Her steps faltered ever so slightly, and her gaze drifted somewhere far away for a fleeting moment before she recovered, forcing a playful smirk. “Oh my, you can’t just ask a lady that.” She let the teasing linger for a second before sighing as if deciding to humor him. “But since you’re being such a gentleman... eighty-eight this year. I think I’ve preserved myself pretty well,” she added, throwing in a wink that felt almost rehearsed. "Mentally, I really lost count... thirty, maybe?"

Bucky blinked, a flicker of guilt tugging at his chest as he noticed the cracks in her playful demeanor. Her lighthearted tone didn’t quite match the faint shadow in her eyes, the way she seemed to deflect rather than engage.

“Sorry, I... shouldn’t have brought it up,” he said softly, his voice tinged with regret.

She shook her head quickly. “Don’t worry about it. We can’t always walk on eggshells around each other; it would be so tiring...” Her words trailed off for a moment, but then she grinned, and a spark of genuine mischief flickered in her eyes. “I’ll forgive you if you agree to take a picture with me in one of those silly-themed space photo booths.”

He grimaced instinctively at the suggestion, pressing his lips into a reluctant line. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” she replied, “They are adorable, and I always wanted to do something like that with a friend.”

He sighed in resignation. “Fine.”

Her brows shot up. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he said, averting his gaze as they continued walking. “If it makes you happy, sure.”

----

They walked in a comfortable silence, taking in the various themed sections of the planetarium. The displays were illuminated by soft, bluish lights, with models of planets and spacecraft towering over them. She marveled at the detail, occasionally pointing something out, and he would nod or hum in acknowledgment, his gaze always subtly flicking back to her as she admired the exhibits.

As they approached a rocket replica, he stopped, fixing his gaze on it with an unreadable expression.

“I saw a flying car once,” he said suddenly, his voice tinged with nostalgia.

Her head snapped toward him, and her eyes lightened up with excitement. “Wait, what? A flying car? Where?”

He glanced at her, and the faintest hint of amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth. “At an expo... Stark’s expo. It was supposed to be a big deal.”

“Stark? As in Tony Stark’s dad? Howard Stark?” she asked, her excitement spilling into her voice.

“Yeah,” he said with a small nod. “We went with Steve and a couple of girls-”

“So... you took your dates to nerdy conventions?” she teased, playfully nudging his ribs with her elbow, still lightly holding onto his arm.

His ears turned pink at her words, and the faintest hint of embarrassment crossed his features. “Something like that,” he muttered.

“Oh?” she teased further, a grin tugging at her lips. “Charming and smart, surely-oh, look!” she interrupted herself, looking to one of the themed photo booths they passed. Without a second thought, she tugged his arm gently.

He followed her, though his expression betrayed his lack of enthusiasm. “Don’t look so miserable,” she quipped, throwing him a playful glance. “I’ll pay for it. You just put your handsome face in that hole and try to pretend you’re into it.”

Bucky sighed, shaking his head, but when they reached the machine, he pulled out some coins and fed them into the slot himself.

“I got it,” he said gruffly.

As they took their places, he turned to her, slightly furrowing his brow. “When does this thing-”

Before he could finish his question, the first flash went off, leaving him momentarily stunned. He squinted and wrinkled his nose at the brightness, instinctively turning forward just as the second flash fired.

By the time the third picture was taken, he managed to focus, smoothing his expression into something neutral. No scowl, no forced effort, just... Bucky.

The booth chimed, signaling the end of the session, and she reached for the printed copies with a grin.

“Oh, these are perfect,” she said, holding them up to inspect.

He leaned over her shoulder to look. The first photo caught them mid-conversation, his face slightly turned toward her as he talked, while she was gazing at him with a soft smile. In the second, her smile was directed at the camera, wide and bright, while he squinted with his nose wrinkled at the flash. The third one that made her pause, a simple shot of them both looking straight at the camera. She was still smiling, and though his expression wasn’t quite a smile, it wasn’t a scowl either. His features were relaxed, and his tired blue eyes were calm. A win.

“Well,” she said, tucking the photos into her bag, “you survived.”

He huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Barely.”

“Don’t worry, you did great,” she teased. “I mean, you’re not exactly a natural, but there’s potential.”

He gave her a dry look but didn’t argue, as the corner of his mouth twitched slightly.

-----

They continued to walk through the exhibits, and her voice filled the gaps between the growing noise of the crowd. But the further they went, the more people seemed to gather. Conversations overlapped, children darted past, and the sound of footsteps seemed to echo from every direction.

Bucky’s shoulders stiffened, and his gaze started to dart toward every sudden movement. The press of bodies felt too close, the noise too sharp, and a familiar suffocating pressure began to rise in his chest.

“Bucky? Are you-” she began to ask, catching the way his vibranium hand twitched at his side, clenching and unclenching in a rhythm she recognized all too well.

“I’m fine,” he said quickly.

But she didn’t miss the tension in his jaw or the way his breathing had started to quicken. “Okay,” she said softly, “but maybe we should head outside for a bit? It’s getting pretty crowded in here.”

He nodded jerkyly, and she gently guided him toward the exit. She kept her pace steady, making sure to stay just slightly ahead of him, carving a path through the throng of people.

By the time they reached the doors, his breathing was ragged, and he couldn’t stop his hands from trembling. The open-air hit them, cooler than inside, but it wasn’t enough. The people lingering outside -the families, the couples, the chatter- felt like too much.

“This way,” she said softly, steering him down a side path. When they passed an alley, he stopped abruptly, leaning against the brick wall as if his legs could no longer hold him. His head dropped, and his hands braced against his thighs, as his breaths came in short, uneven gasps.

Suddenly, his hands clenched into fists as his shoulders began to shake. She promptly crouched down beside him. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re safe, Buck. I’ve got you.”

He shook his head, and his voice broke. “I can’t- I can’t breathe-” His vibranium hand clenched into a tighter fist, and the metal groaned softly under the pressure. His other hand pressed against his chest as if trying to physically force the panic away.

“You’re safe,” she said gently, lightly resting her hand on his knee. “You’re not there anymore. Just breathe with me, okay? In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

His gaze flicked to her, wild and unfocused, but he tried to mimic her slow and deliberate breaths. It wasn’t immediate, but little by little, the erratic rise and fall of his chest began to even out.

Her hand moved to his, covering his flesh hand first before hesitating and resting against the vibranium one instead. “Feel this,” she murmured, her fingers brushing the cool metal. “This is real. You’re here. With me.”

His jaw tightened, and his eyes squeezed shut as his legs gave out beneath him. Slowly, he slid down the wall until he was sitting on the pavement.

Without hesitation, she knelt beside him, and the rough ground dug into her knees, but she didn’t care. She kept her hands on his with a firm grip, whispering soft reassurances. “It’s okay. Just breathe with me.”

His chest heaved as he tried to match her calm, deliberate breaths. The panic still gripped him, sharp and relentless, but her voice and presence cut through the worst of it like a lifeline.

When he finally lifted his head to look at her, his glassy blue eyes were full of guilt and pain. His voice trembled, barely audible. “I’m sorry. I… your polka-”

A whimper broke through his words, his gaze dropping to her dress, now soaked from the puddle she was kneeling in.

“Shhh,” she interrupted, shaking her head firmly. “You don’t need to apologize for this.” Her voice was low, and so achingly gentle that it made his chest tighten. “Everything’s fine, Bucky. It’s just water. It doesn’t matter.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, trying to force down the lump that refused to go away. “I hate this,” he admitted hoarsely. “Feeling like this... making you-”

“Don’t,” she cut him off, squeezing his hand. “You didn’t make me do anything. I’m here because I want to be. Because I care.”

He looked at her again, taking in the way her dress clung to her knees, the way her hair was slightly disheveled from their hurried escape, the way her eyes held nothing but understanding.

She sighed, and her gaze dropped briefly to where her hands still rested on his, before meeting his eyes again. “Over decades, I had to fix you,” she said softly. “Not as a person. Not as... you. But as a tool. A deadly, efficient weapon. A puppet of carnage under their thumb.”

Her hands squeezed his gently again. “And every time I healed you, every time I put you back together, it felt like I was just handing you over to them all over again. But now...” she briefly paused to steady her slightly trembling voice. “Now, I don’t have to do it because they’re forcing me to. I don’t have to patch you up so they can send you back out to kill or to suffer.”

Her lips quirked into a small, bittersweet smile. “Now, I get to help you as a friend. Because I want to. Because I see you.”

His head turned back toward her; his blue eyes were wide and glassy with unshed tears that he refused to let fall. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words caught in his throat.

She reached up, brushing a lock of hair away from his face. “I know it’s hard to accept that, Bucky. I know. But I’m here. And I’ll keep being here, as long as you’ll let me.”

Finally, he exhaled shakily, slightly bowing his head. “I don’t deserve that,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

“You deserve more than you think,” she replied gently, leaning forward just enough to catch his gaze again. “You just don’t see it yet. But I do. And I’ll keep reminding you until you believe it.”

Slowly, she leaned back, giving him space while still keeping her hands resting lightly on his.

He swallowed hard, his voice hoarse as he finally said, “Thank you.”

She smiled softly. “Anytime, Buck.”

----

When the emotional storm had eased, he stood, brushing off his pants with a muted sigh. He still looked shaken, though he seemed to carry himself with that familiar, quiet resolve.

“I’m taking you home,” he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument.

She blinked, caught off guard. “I’m fine. I can-”

“Please,” he interrupted. The weight of his gaze silenced any protest she might have had. “Just... let me do this.”

She hesitated but nodded. “Alright.”

As they walked toward the street, she noticed his furtive glances at her dress. His eyes darted to the wet fabric clinging to her knees, then quickly away, as though looking at it too long would somehow make things worse.

When they reached the curb, he raised his hand to hail a cab. She could see the tension still lingering in his shoulders and the way his gaze flickered around their surroundings as though scanning for threats.

.

When they reached her building, he stepped out first, scanning the area before offering her his hand to help her out of the cab. She took it, lingering her touch just slightly longer than necessary.

“Thank you,” she said softly as they stood in front of her door.

He nodded, stepping back as though preparing to leave. But before he could retreat further, she spoke again.

“Do you want to come in?” she asked.

He hesitated, flexing his hand at his side. “I don’t think it’s a good idea...”

She crossed her arms loosely and leaned against the doorframe, watching him carefully. “Why not?”

He glanced down, as if the words were written somewhere on the pavement. “I just... I don’t want to make things... weird. Or... harder.”

Her lips curved into a soft smile, though her eyes betrayed her concern. “Bucky, you’re not going to make anything harder. We’ve been through harder. You’re allowed to have a cup of coffee with a friend.”

His jaw tightened. “It’s late,” he added weakly, like he was searching for excuses, probably mortified by what happened earlier.

“It’s not that late,” she countered. “And you’re still ensuring I’m okay, so... maybe let me do the same for you?”

“Okay,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “Just for a little while.”

She smiled, unlocking the door and stepping inside. “Make yourself at home, you already know where everything is. I’ll go change”

Bucky stepped hesitantly inside, as though he were intruding, even with her invitation. He stood awkwardly in the entryway for a moment, looking at the familiar details: books stacked on the coffee table, a knit throw draped over the couch, a faintly lavender scent lingering in the air. It was warm, welcoming, and unmistakably hers.

There were a few more plants than the last time he’d been there, their leaves were lush and healthy, catching the soft light of a nearby lamp. His eyes drifted to a basket by the couch, filled with yarn and a half-finished crochet project. She must’ve started something new, though he wasn’t sure what.

A few minutes later, she reappeared in a sweatshirt and leggings. Draped over her arm was another piece of clothing, a pair of grey sweatpants. She held them out toward him without much ceremony.

“Here,” she said casually. “Your jeans got wet too. These aren’t fancy, but they’ll do until yours dry.”

Bucky frowned slightly as he took the pants. They were plain, unassuming, but distinctly... male. A faint crease appeared on his brow as his thoughts began to spiral. Whose sweatpants...?

“Don’t like grey?” she teased, breaking through his train of thought.

He blinked, looking up to meet her eyes. She was watching him with a faint smirk, completely unaware of the questions ricocheting in his head.

“Uh, no, grey’s fine,” he muttered, gripping the sweatpants tighter. He mumbled a quiet “Thanks” before heading toward the bathroom to change.

As he shut the door behind him, his reflection stared back at him in the small mirror above the sink. He could feel the weight of his own thoughts pressing down. Why does she have these? Who left them here? Was it someone she’s seeing?

The idea settled uncomfortably in his chest. It wasn’t as if he had any right to ask, and yet... the questions wouldn’t leave him. He pulled off his damp jeans and slid into the sweatpants. When he returned to the living room, she’d set up a drying rack by the window, and extended her hand toward him to take his jeans and put them there.

“Thanks,” he said again.

She looked over her shoulder and smiled, brushing her hands off as she turned back to him. “No problem. You look good in grey, by the way,” she said with a wink, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

Bucky’s lips twitched in the faintest ghost of a smile, but his thoughts remained tangled. He sat down on the edge of the couch again, briefly flicking his gaze to the sweatpants before settling on her.

“Do you want tea, or are you sticking to coffee tonight?” she asked, already heading toward the kitchen.

“Coffee’s fine,” he replied, almost distant.

As she busied herself in the kitchen, he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling creeping through his body. It’s none of my business, he reminded himself firmly. She can have whoever she wants here. It doesn’t mean anything.

He rested his elbows on his knees, and his thoughts spiraled as his eyes fixed on the coffee table. The faint sounds of her moving around the kitchen didn’t help, they left him feeling more isolated, as though he were drifting further from solid ground.

With a frustrated sigh, he stood up and made his way to the kitchen. He told himself it was to keep her company, but deep down, he felt like a lost puppy, tailing after her for no reason other than to stave off the weight pressing on his chest.

She didn’t seem to mind. When he appeared in the doorway, she glanced back and offered him a warm smile before turning her attention back to the coffee mugs she was setting out.

He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, trying to look casual despite the storm brewing inside him. She hummed softly as she worked, relaxed and unhurried.

As she waited for the coffee to finish brewing, she rummaged through her purse and pulled out a small paper envelope with the photos they’d taken at the planetarium’s booth.

A soft laugh escaped her as she flipped through the images, and her gaze lingered on the one where he was squinting and scrunching his nose from the flash. Without hesitation, she walked over to the fridge and stuck it there with a sunflower-shaped magnet.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed slightly as he watched her, unconsciously tightening his fingers around the fabric of the sweatpants. “What are you doing with that?” he asked, his tone edged with tension.

She glanced at him unbothered. “I love this one,” she answered simply, gesturing to the photo. “So it goes on the fridge. Right where I can see it.”

His jaw worked silently for a moment, a flicker of something he couldn’t name tightening in his chest.

She seemed to pick up on his hesitance, and her smile softened as she walked back toward him, holding out the other two pictures. “Do you want any of these?” she asked.

Bucky hesitated, glancing down at the photos in her hand. One showed her smiling brightly at the camera while he’d been caught mid-sentence, looking confused but oddly endearing. The other was the final shot, where they were both looking straight ahead, her grin wide and radiant, while his expression was almost neutral, but not unpleasant.

He pointed at the last one. “Maybe… that one.”

She handed it to him, brushing his fingers briefly. “Good choice,” she said with a smile, watching as he stared at the photo in his hand.

His thumb brushed absently over the glossy surface of the picture, and the edges crinkled slightly under the pressure of his fingers. He glanced up again, and his gaze fell on the photo she’d stuck on the fridge. He bit his lower lip.

There was a rhythm, a game to moments like this. Small, personal exchanges that could shape the tone of a connection. But he was out of practice. And tired. So tired. Instead of letting the thought fade, he spoke bluntly.

“Whose pants are these?”

She didn’t turn to look at him, focused on filtering the coffee. “Sam’s,” she said lightly, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

A pang hit him square in the chest. Well, yes, they were friends. Actually, he’d met her again thanks to him. Neither of them had said anything about seeing each other, and he hadn’t considered the possibility that... maybe they had their dynamic. Their own history.

“Oh,” he said quietly.

She finally turned around, holding two mugs in her hands. “They’re his old workout pants,” she explained. “He left them here ages ago when he helped me move some heavy furniture. I tried to give them back, but he told me to keep them. Said they didn’t fit him right anymore.”

Bucky’s lips twitched faintly, and his grip eased on the photo. “Oh,” he repeated, softer this time, nodding slightly as if to himself.

She studied him for a moment, with a hint of curiosity flickering in her gaze, before offering him one of the mugs. “Why do you ask?”

He hesitated, gripping the photo a little tighter again. “I don’t know,” he muttered after a pause, the faintest trace of vulnerability slipping through his tone. “I guess I just... wondered.” He glanced back down at the photo, the corners of his mouth pulling downward faintly. The laughter in her face, so easy and genuine in the picture, contrasted sharply with the heavier thoughts swirling in his chest.

“You okay?” she asked softly.

He blinked, startled by the question, and quickly nodded. “Yeah,” he said quietly.

“Hmm,” she murmured, unconvinced but not pressing further. Instead, she offered him a small smile and gestured toward the living room. “Let’s sit. Coffee’s better when you’re not standing around awkwardly, you know?”

He followed her lead, moving slowly and setting the photo down carefully beside his mug on the coffee table. As he joined her on the couch, he caught himself glancing at her again.

Before he could avert his gaze, she met his eyes, and her brow furrowed. “Buck,” she started, gentle but firm, “you should have told me about the crowds. We could’ve gone somewhere else, like our other outings.”

His jaw tightened slightly, and he stared down at his hands, flexing his fingers as though searching for something to say. “I didn’t think it’d be that bad,” he admitted quietly. “Didn’t want to ruin it for you.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” she replied quickly, leaning forward slightly. “You know that, right? I had fun. It’s just... I hate that you felt like you had to tough it out when you didn’t have to.”

He nodded slowly, still avoiding her gaze. “I’m used to... pushing through,” he muttered. “It’s what I do.”

She tilted her head, studying him carefully. “Maybe with me, you don’t have to,” she said softly, almost hesitantly, like she wasn’t sure how he’d take it. “Crowds were a thing for me for a long time after I escaped. Sometimes they still are. I mean, I never left the Hydra bases when they woke me up from cryo. All I knew for years was my cell, yours, the med bay, the cryo room, and the... party accommodations.” Her voice faltered slightly at the last phrase, but she pressed on. “It was just those walls every day since they abducted me one day returning from the bakery. So I get it. We don't have to do it again if you know you'll maybe feel bad.

“You were... just going home from the bakery?” he asked, softly.

She nodded, and her gaze went distant for a moment, like she was sifting through memories she didn’t want to relive but couldn’t ignore. “It was a normal day. I had flour dust on my dress, and a loaf of rye in my bag, thinking about what to make for dinner. And then...” She shrugged, her fingers gripping her mug tightly, knuckles whitening. “Then it wasn’t normal anymore.”

“You didn’t deserve that.” He muttered.

Her lips quirked into a sad, fleeting smile. “Neither did you. So, as I was saying, you don’t always have to keep it together, Bucky. Not with me. You’ve already seen me at my worst, and I know more about that part of your past than anyone else ever could. There’s no point pretending.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but the words didn’t come out. Instead, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, drumming his fingers once against his knee before stilling.

“It’s not that simple,” he said finally, his tone was laced with frustration, not directed at her, but at himself. “I’ve been... I always had to handle things on my own. Even now, it’s just-” He broke off, shaking his head.

“Instinct,” she finished for him. “It’s hard to break.”

He nodded, looking down at his hands. “Yeah.”

She leaned forward slightly, touching softly his forearm. “I’m not saying it’s going to be easy. But... I want you to know you don’t have to do it alone.”

His gaze drifted to where her hand rested lightly on his forearm. The warmth of her touch seeped through the fabric of his henley. He swallowed hard, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he worked through the knot tightened in his chest.

His eyes then flicked over to the coffee table, landing on the photo they’d taken at the planetarium. There it was, sitting beside his untouched mug, her bright smile and his calm expression. The corners of his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. Then his gaze fell to the grey sweatpants he was wearing. Sam’s sweatpants. His fingers instinctively flexed around the fabric, tightening briefly before releasing as he tried to kick out the intrusive thoughts. He clenched his jaw. His breathing hitched.

And then… fuck it all.

Slowly, tentatively, he shifted forward hesitantly. He hovered his vibranium hand in the space between them before lightly gripping her shoulder. Her gaze snapped up to his, her eyes widening in surprise but softening immediately when she saw the conflict etched into his expression.

She didn’t move or speak, giving him the space to figure it out. And when he finally leaned in, wrapping his arms around her with careful deliberation, she melted into the embrace without hesitation.

His chin rested lightly against her temple, his flesh hand pressing against the small of her back while his vibranium one lingered just above it, as though unsure of its place. His chest rose and fell unevenly against her, his breathing was still a little erratic but slowing, steadied by the warmth of her body.

Her arms slid around his waist, holding him tightly, and she murmured, “It’s okay, Buck.”

He didn’t reply, couldn’t find the words even if he wanted to. His grip tightened slightly. The scent of her shampoo, the faint hum of her heartbeat, it was overwhelming, yet calming all at once.

He closed his eyes, his cheek brushing lightly against the crown of her head as he let himself sink into the moment. For once, he allowed himself to take the comfort instead of pushing it away. And for the first time in what felt like forever, the knot in his chest loosened just enough for him to breathe deeply.

Her fingers moved gently against his back, tracing soothing circles through the fabric of his shirt. “You’re okay,” she whispered again. “We’re okay.”

He swallowed thickly and his lips parted as if to say something, but he stopped himself, settling instead for the faintest squeeze of her waist.

They stood like that for a while, their breaths mingling in the quiet, until the sharp buzz of her phone shattered the bubble. She sighed, reluctantly pulling away. He also pulled back, slow and hesitant, dropping his arms to his sides.

She turned to grab her phone, furrowing her brows as she glanced at the screen. “It’s Sam,” she muttered, answering it quickly.

Bucky stayed rooted in place, his enhanced hearing picking up snippets of the conversation despite himself. The words “mission” and “Patagonia” stood out, along with a timeline: five days. When she hung up, she turned to him.

“Everything alright?” he asked, feigning casual curiosity, though his posture stiffened ever so slightly.

She hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, Sam just said we’ve got a mission. Argentina. Something about a big crew going along. He’ll fill me in the details tomorrow.”

The words hit him almost physically. Argentina’s Patagonia region. The location echoed in his mind, igniting memories he’d rather not revisit. Post-war asylum. Hydra remnants. The country’s role after WW2 wasn’t a secret.

His entire body language shifted. The soft, vulnerable demeanor from moments before hardened into something colder and sharper. A mask of resolution and rage settled over his features, and she noticed the change immediately.

“Bucky?” she prompted.

His thoughts spiraled. A Hydra facility? What if something went wrong? What if she ended up in their hands again? The images flooded his mind. The dark cells, the abuse, the cruelty. His hands curled into fists at his sides, and the tension radiated from him like a storm about to break.

“I’m going,” he said abruptly.

“What do you mean, you are-? Bucky, you can’t just decide-”

He stood abruptly, raking a hand through his hair as he began pacing. “Speak to Sam. Tell him.” he said, in a low but commanding tone.

“Tell him what?” she asked, confused.

“Whatever you consider necessary,” he replied, in a tone loaded with implication. Their past.

“Wait-”

“I forgot I have somewhere to go,” He grabbed the photo from the coffee table, tucking it into his back pocket without a second glance.

“Bucky-.”

But he was already halfway to the door. He paused for the briefest moment, with his back to her, before stepping out and letting the door click shut behind him.

Next Chapter

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Dividers by @/strangergraphics

[ambivalence-is-me]

Your Power (3)

Pairing: Azriel x reader

Summary: You made it out of the meeting with Azriel and the Inner Circle. They wanted to work with you, but how was it going to work? It seemed impossible with the crush you seem to be developing on the Shadowsinger.

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: none

A/N: This is 3 months late, I know I know. Forgive me but I haven't forgotten about this story! I'm hoping this month I can get more parts out so don't give up on me pls. Dont forget to comment and let me know what you think! Thank you for the feedback!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A Remembrance Day... 

A day meant for remembering all of the lives that were lost to the war. Remember, honor and grieve for them. Five years too late but it was better than to continue like it never happened. 

Right?  

That was better than any idea you had. You just wanted it to be acknowledged, that a major event happened to a whole freaking city and left them, left you traumatized. And trauma needed to be acknowledged and healed, not shoved away.  

It was going to be a big day, major really. The idea is for every citizen of Velaris to attend and pay their respects. The logistics and details?  

‘’Gather people who will be willing to work for this. Create a team, have a meeting and lead them.’’  

Rhysand had said back at that cozy-not-formal-at-all room in the Library. Wait, did they expect you to do everything? It was their idea! They can’t just throw everything at you! Well, they can but... 

‘’We will be right there with you, every step of the way.’’ Feyre said, noticing the look on your face. She smiled ‘’Anything you need, you tell us, and we’ll get it done.’’ 

It made sense for you to be the one to gather the people. They didn’t know them, didn't know your neighbors, your co-workers, the old fae who owned a bakery down the street from you who also lost someone to the war, the people who made the city.. Velaris. But they knew you.  

‘’How am I supposed to convince them?  I’m so...awkward and I talk to much sometimes.’’ You expressed your worry to your sister-in-law the next morning after your encounter with the Inner Circle.  

She gave you a look in return that said ‘’only sometimes?’’ But she knew what you meant, it was a valid worry to have.  

‘’I doubt you would need to convince them, Y/N. We’re all on the same page here, if they see how much this means to you, they will join.’’ She gave you her best reassuring smile, her body language seemingly relaxed. She had no doubt that you were the perfect person for the job. And the Inner Circle knew it too.  

And they were right.  

On your way to work, you made some stops at some shops, talked to the owners and asked them to meet with you in two days' time at the Library. Some had looked skeptical but after telling them what it was about, they instantly agreed. The majority though, had agreed right away. It made you feel all warm and happy inside, to know they respected you enough to take you seriously for this. You only hoped it would continue to go smoothly.  

You opted not to mention that the high lord and high lady would be there. If some of them were anything like you, they would decline out of fear. Or maybe they wouldn't have, and it would have motivated them, who knows but you didn't mention their assistance and hope it didn't come and bite you in the ass.  

You did that for the rest of the day and when the sun started to go down, you closed the shop and made your way home. A sigh of relief leaving your lips that the day was almost over. You needed to seriously organize if you were going to juggle this event plus work plus your family all at the same time. Thinking about how you were going to do that, you failed to notice someone had joined your walk and was walking beside you.  

‘’You should really pay more attention to your surroundings’.  

The scream that left your mouth would’ve put a scared child to shame. You moved your hands frantically as if looking for something to hit or push, preferably the someone who had scared you. But it wasn't just anyone, no.. 

It was a 6’2ft tan, Illyrian warrior whose wings could easily hide someone, with the most beautiful hazel eyes that made you feel all sorts of things... like distress at the moment.  

Your heart was beating so fast you were sure he could hear it. You spoke before you could analyze what had just occurred. 

‘’What the heck is wrong with you?!’’  

He couldn't hide his amusement, a small smile on the corner of his mouth. His shadows flew circles around you as if they were too laughing at you. His response to your outburst was to raise an eyebrow.  

Which quickly made you stop your walking and realize that you had just screamed at the freaking Shadowsinger and Spymaster of the Night Court.  

Great. 

If he thought you had a death wish well, there was no way to prove him wrong.  

You shook your head and managed to get out a ‘’I-I’m sorry. I’m not actually implying there's something wrong with you! You just scared me, you appeared out of freaking nowhere, I didn't even hear you!’’.  

‘’I’m a spy, it's part of my job’’. 

Right yes, that made sense. What didn't make sense is why he was walking you home when you’ve seen him just the day before. Your thoughts went..there. 

Did they regret your alliance (if you could call it that) and now wanted to kill you? Perhaps the High Lord thought you would squeak to everyone how he had apologized and now wanted your head.  

‘’I’m not going to murder you, Y/N’’. If Azriel wouldn't have found the situation amusing, he would actually feel disappointed that you still managed to think they- he was going to hurt you.  

He said your name. Out loud. You couldn't remember him saying it out loud and Mother did you love the way it sounded coming from him. Gods, you felt pathetic.  

You exhaled. ‘’ I know that.’’ Clearing your throat and looking away from his pretty eyes, you asked him, trying to understand what was happening . ‘’What are you doing here?’’.  

He found that he didn't like when you weren't looking at him. He enjoyed observing your expressions and figuring out what you were thinking. Not that there was much to figure out since you were an open book. He slowly resumed the walk, waiting for you to catch up before replying.  

‘’Feyre sent me to check how it went with gathering the troops.’’  

A lie. Nor Feyre or Rhys had sent him but you didn't know that. You didn't need to know that he enjoyed your company, it was refreshing. He enjoyed that you didn't know anything about him except his title, enjoyed that you didn't even try to know his business and every step he took.  It was also great to be away from so many happy couples when he didn’t have that. And you didn’t either.  

Troops. He made it sound like you were going into battle, jeez.  

You were glad you weren't looking at him so he couldn't see the small quirk in your face that revealed you were hurt. It hurt you a little to know that he was only there with you because he was ordered to.  

Well, what other reason did he have? None, to you at least. Besides this ‘’job’’, there was nothing else you could offer him, nothing else that tied you together.  

‘’Right.’’ You cleared your throat once again and resumed walking with him next to you.  

‘’It went well. I think’’ You fidgeted with your fingers. ‘’The majority said they would go to the meeting. Not sure if all of them will help with anything but I’m hopeful they’ll at least attend.’’  

He nodded. ‘’Anyone we should be worried about?’’ 

The thought made you chuckle, and you looked at him. ‘’If you think an old baker with an affinity to touch everything is a threat, then yes. You should be worried.’’ You motioned to his siphons that seemed to glow exceptionally pretty against the light of the sunset. ‘’I would put those away just in case.’’  

The smile you gave him made him feel..things. Things he hadn’t felt since he lost his chance with a certain Archeron sister. Things that made him want to get you to smile like that again.  

‘’Noted.’’  

You nodded and looked away from him to pay attention to the street. Knowing your luck, you would trip over air and fall on your face in front of him. Thankfully that didn’t happen.  

You didn’t have a clue what was supposed to happen next to be frank. The conversation seemed to be over since you told him what he was there for.  

So, why did he continue to walk you home? You didn't know if he knew that was were you were headed but he still accompanied you for the rest of the walk.  

You wondered how it must've looked. A 5’5ft nervous, average looking female walking next to a 6’2ft handsome male with wings on the streets of Velaris. With the sun going down behind them. Did it look as silly as you felt?  

Nonetheless, you decided to stop questioning it because it only made your head hurt and spent the rest of the walk enjoying his quiet company and listening to the buzz of the streets around you. His silence wasn't uncomfortable, which surprised you. You often felt uncomfortable around people you didn't know and especially if they weren’t yapping your ear out like you would often do.  

No, you quite enjoyed the peace his silence provided. It was also different from the silence that often accompanied you in your office, if Sabrina wasn’t conversing with you about anything.  

This was...nice. You hoped he wasn’t feeling awkward.  

He wasn’t. Azriel was also enjoying it. Although secretly, he liked it more when you were talking to him. Which is why, once you’d made it to your house, he noticed the different house materials thrown around and asked.  

‘’Renovating?’’  

You cursed under your breath and sighed. Of course, he noticed the state of your messy house. Like you promised to yourself, you started working on the backyard finally and noticed you were missing stuff so you bought them and instead of placing it where it belongs in the backyard, you had thrown it in front of your front door (quite literally) because you were late to work.  

You had forgotten about it until now.  

‘’Umm, something like that?’’ You rushed to open your front door so you could push the materials inside. Something you should've done that morning in the first place.  

‘’I’m actually making this..thing. Like a patio? On my backyard. These are just some things I left here by accident.’’ You said while pushing some of it inside with your foot.  

Noticing how heavy a particular item was, Azriel picked it up and asked: ‘’Where to?’’.  

You only looked at him, flabbergasted, all words seem to fly over your head. ‘’Um--’’ 

He smiled internally, feeling glad he was able to make you feel whatever it was you felt. He raised an eyebrow, an amusing look in his eyes appearing once again.  

Right. ‘’Just-you can put it here in the living room, its fine.’’ You motioned inside and stepped away so he could walk in. Praying to the Mother that the inside of your house was decent. You couldn't remember if you had put away the clean clothes.. 

But he knew that’s not where the item was supposed to go so he suggested ‘’I can put it outside if it’s gonna be easier for you’’.  

And indeed, it would be easier for you but that would also entail having him walk all the way to your backyard which was an even bigger mess. Plus, it would mean a couple more minutes with him. Did you want that? 

Obviously. But you tried not to show it.  

‘’Um- sure. Yeah, thanks that would be great.’’  

And you would never forget the scene of him trying to walk through your house with his wings, not wanting to collide with anything.  

Trying to contain your amusement, you quickly stepped up and showed him the way to your backyard. Thankful he couldnt see your face.  

‘’Here it's fine.’’ 

You said once you made it outside to your yard. Motioning to the other supplies on the floor.  

He nodded and placed it next to them. He took a look around your backyard and gave you a single nod. ‘’Looks like a big project.’’  

‘’It is.’’ You nodded and also looked around. Your brother’s face and enthusiasm to be a part of it popped in your brain, dampening your mood for a second. 

Azriel saw it and he wanted to ask, really wanted to ask about the reason of your expression but held back. He didn't know you and you didn't know him. And he clearly made you nervous, so he wasn’t going to push it.  

At this point, you didn't know what else to do or say so you looked at him and said ‘’Well, thank you. Um- you can tell the High Lady that everyone will be there.’’ 

Accepting this as a goodbye, for now, he nodded and said ‘’Goodnight’’.  

And that was all you got before he disappeared. Literally.  

Eyebrows raised, widened eyes, you spinned and looked everywhere for him. He just...disappeared?  

Well, then.  

At least you made it. You actually managed a normal conversation with Azriel. Right? That was considered normal.  

If this interaction was a preview of what was to come, you needed to be prepared of anything and everything. Including your surroundings, clearly.  

[allpiesforourown]

Hello..If you don't mind, can I ask your top 5 (or top 3) favorite characters from SVSSS? And why you loved them? And your top 5 favorite moments from the series?

Also, if you don't mind me asking (again), what do you think are Shen Yuan and Luo Binghe's greatest personality strengths and weaknesses? Why? What do you love about their dynamic? Sorry if you've answered these questions before.....

Okay that would take FOREVER so I'll just do my top 5 fav characters and my fav scenes with them

5. Ning Yingying - she's sooo silly... it was so wonderful being introduced to her and seeing her as a dumb airhead who unknowingly gets people in trouble (the pendant incident) and watching her overtime become someone responsible.

OKAYYYY QUEEN i just know she would run Qing Jing peak like it's the navy.. Also very important to me that although she gets serious when the time calls for it, her personality still has remnants of that silly girl we were first introduced to (for example during the return to childhood extra where she assumes a grown ass child is Shen Yuan's baby)

4. Original Luo Binghe

i could spend HOURS talking about how tragic his life was but honestly my reason for liking him as a character is really simple. He gets horny for people who are nice

The fact that he knew the original goods for YEARS and then Shen Yuan gave him cuddles and Bingge went "wait actually Shen Qingqiu is kind of hot??" Real as fuck . I just know after he returned to his world it was like

Bingge: you would be sexier if you were sweet and kind

Sha Hualing: im sorry do you KNOW who you're asking this of

3. Shang Qinghua is... way too real. I feel like everyone can relate to him, especially with how terrible the world is right now. He can't do anything to go against the plot he himself wrote. He's the painful mixure of "if only I had done that differently" and "I can't do anything at all" that everyone experiences.

Moments like this, such as Shang Qinghua interrupting Bingqiu's honeymoon really make his character even more tragic. Without Mobei-Jun, he doesn't really have a place to go... he didn't take the offer to return to his homeworld because there was no one waiting for him there. Even when he's having dinner with his friend, he knows he can't ask for more because sticking around would annoy Binghe. Just kind of wandering around alone and seeing other people be happy together and have a place to go sucks ://

2. My second favourite scene and my second favourite character: Luo Binghe

This scene really made me love SVSSS because it's so rare to find media where characters are actually allowed to be human and insecure. Like I know we call Binghe manipulative and toxic (and he is!) but EVERYONE has at some point in their life felt like they hate them self and no one loves them.

The fact that Luo Binghe has these emotions and they're relevant to the plot is so special to me. It's so disillusioning when a character goes through trauma after trauma and it's never talked about. Binghe going "shizun I hate myself and I want to end the world about it" was just.. *chef's kiss*

My favourite scene byfar: Shen Yuan hugging Binghe in Shen Jiu's memories

I think this was the final nail in the coffin for making me love Shen Yuan.

For all that he insists, "I'm just farming points so the protagonist won't kill me!" when he's put in a situation like this, he's more loving than ever. He can't touch Binghe, but all he wants to do is wipe his tears. It pains him so much to see his dear disciple hurt and vulnerable that he can't do anything but kneel down and try to hug an image of the past. He knows Binghe can't hear him but still tries to comfort him.

"Shizun will never hit you again." is a line that absolutely makes me go crazy, because Shen Yuan was never the one who hit Binghe, that was the original goods. He doesn't care if Binghe knows that it wasn't him who hurt him. All he cares about is making sure Binghe knows it will never happen again, and that Shen Yuan will love and protect him.

Shen Yuan tries so sooo hard to come across as a "reasonable" character but he can't hide how sentimental and emotional he is. He'll complain about how the characters in PIDW don't use their brain, but then you show him a memory of a crying child and say "this happened in the past and there's nothing you can do about it" and he'll still try to hug that child and tell them to stop crying and that they'll be okay. God I love Shen Yuan

[arttrashking]

I kind want wukong to move on in your au. It is clear that macaque wasn't that good for him,sometimes...making himself improve himself over and over again,just to get macaque approval....when he gets nothing in return,he deserves to be happy,it best he shouldn't be dependent on macaque to be happy,he needs let go in his own way.

I really want Wukong to be happy (I am wukong bias)

“To fill those months he spent…without me caring what he felt…”

The king feels the painful ache in his heart and head just recalling how he never asked Macaque about those months even now…to afraid to hear to misery and to recall the news adding into their already crumbling lives after that fire…

If he could, he’d redo everything but if he had to choose one thing to fix…it would be the first time he felt his Ma ache didn’t hiccup and weep through his apology that Wukong should e spoken to him. To stay in that room and hold him tight, promise him they’d make their family a different way and assuring the beautiful demon that his love wasn’t dependent on his string he was or what he offered and serviced the king with.

That his love was never going to fade for him if he didn’t put Wukong above everyone.

“…if anyone should move on…it should be him…he should’ve moved on centuries ago… it he didn’t…how do I repay a loyalty so….so cruel to one’s self?”

Yeeeeaaaah I fancy myself of having their selfishness towards each other appearing at different times- Wukong when he was young loved Macaque he truly did- he just also assumed that it didn’t change that he does what he wants without compromise on his own end…and Macaque was like how Wukong is now- dependent on him and his love and attention. Wukong was freedom for him, Wukong was his first everything and the man he left behind his home and family for. If he didn’t have Wukong’s love, what was the point of leaving his home? To be outed as the naive fool who gave a selfish demon his all only to be tossed once he wasn’t valuable.

Wukong switched places now- now he’s desperate to covet Macaque- to keep him at his side and never let go as it was once he became emperor that the distance between them started to become obvious and he even slept in different rooms until he cried to Macaque who gave in on being in the same room- trying to be normal again. And they hit some normalcy despite Macaque wishing to go home still, MK came in eventually, and it was stable- and Wukong managed to even give Macaque something they thought they’d never have- a child in the form of MK.

With the divorce arc tho- it’s because things fell apart again because a child didn’t fix it all and the fact nobody apologized yet, and Macaque wants to do something he wants with or without Wukong now- so he’d rather separate and go home than just nodding to whatever Wukong wants

(Can you tell I like the angsty drama despite my crying eyes rn? 🥲)

But yeah I love Wukong very much as a character which is why [holding trauma gun] he needs all this for the JUICE of my meal that is this plot/j

[mirrology]

Can I ask a boothill with an adopted child/teen reader that's hps (hyper sensitive) and also has parental trauma

(You don't have to do this if you feel uncomfortable 🐧)

ノstar .ᐟ ʚɞ

୨୧ No matter that love's gone, We just see it shining. We've traveled very far, I'll keep a leftover light burning. So you can keep looking up, Isn't that worth holding on? — star, mitski.

boothill & gender neutral reader. platonic | wc: 1.6k

tags/warnings: decided to go with hc's for this one since I didn't know how to write it in fic format T_T. teen reader, reader is a galaxy ranger and really well versed in technology. they can fight pretty well, reader also hates the ipc. boothill is a bad influence. mentioned child abuse, child neglect, reader has a "mom" and acts a little like blade when near her, erm character death (not reader or boothill)

notes: aaaa sorry that this is so late! Hopefully, this is what you meant by "hypersensitive." If not, then just let me know, and I'll change it, ALSO HAPPY PRIDE MONTH

— The two of you met when you were beating up some IPC goons on a planet that they had recently wanted to take over. You had been there gathering materials to set sail to your next destination, you were on the hunt for a certain IPC employee. One who you once knew.

— You couldn't just stand back and watch those IPC scum send that planet into spiraling chaos. So, of course, you beat them up without breaking a sweat. That's where Boothill had found you, he was impressed that someone so young had such skill in combat.

↳ You huffed as the remaining IPC personnel ran away with their tails between their legs. A slow sound of applause came from behind you, causing you to turn around, a deadpan evident on your face. You were met with a man with dual colored hair and what seemed to be a metal body, “I'm not gonna lie, you've got skills, kid.” He had said, a smirk on his face.

— Once the both of you got to talking, he found out you were also a galaxy ranger and that you also absolutely hated the IPC, you both really had many things in common. You had asked him for help in getting to your destination and he agreed pretty easily, claiming that he had “some time to spare”

— Although you had spent little time together, you felt comfortable around him, he never pushed your boundaries or forced you to do things you didn't want to. Boothill’s vocabulary surprised you, instead of cursing normally his words were censored. You would have offered to try to fix his synesthesia beacon, but just the thought of touching someone made your skin crawl. The ghostly touches of people who you once considered family etched onto your skin.

— Once it came to part ways, you didn't want to do so. You shyly admitted to Boothill that the thought of not seeing him scared you a tad bit. He looked surprised but then gave you a bright smile and told you that you could join him on his adventures, and so a strong bond between the both of you was born.

— When Boothill infiltrated the IPC headquarters you're the one who hacked into their system. With your experience, it was relatively easy, although Boothill would not let you go inside with him. He couldn't risk putting you in danger, even though he knows you can put up a fight.

— When the both of you escaped the headquarters after causing absolute chaos, Boothill brought his hand up to your head as he tried to ruffle your hair. He was surprised and slightly hurt when you tensed up and quickly moved out of the way.

— Boothill thought he had made you scared of him somehow, even though you had no reason to be afraid. You noticed his downcast expression and you quickly told him that he did nothing wrong, it was just…

↳ Your heart pounded in your chest, your hands were sweating. You reached up and gripped a strand of your hair in your hand as a sheepish expression painted your face. “I'm not the best with physical touch,” You blurted out, albeit bluntly. “Whenever someone touches me — even if it's just a brush of their fingers, it feels like needles are being stuck into my skin” You huffed, clenching your fist and your eyes downcast. Boothill's expression softened, his once frown lifting into an understanding smile. “Thanks for telling me, bud.” He nodded, his fingers twitching at his side, as if wanting to reach out to you. Yet he respected your space and refrained from doing so.

— Now that Boothill knew about your hypersensitivity he made no attempts to touch you, preferring to give you gifts instead. Whenever you do something that makes him proud as a father would a child; he takes you out to get your favorite food as a treat. Of course verbal encouragement is also a thing he does, giving you a “I'm proud of ya’ kid!” and a pointy grin.

— It's canon Boothill is pretty wealthy from all of those bounties that he hunts and he doesn't exactly know what to do with it. So he definitely spoils you at every chance he gets. Want a nice Keychain you saw in a shop? He's handing it to you right now. How about a nice piece of clothing or a cultural food from the planet that you're visiting? He's got the clothing in a bag and is urging you to try the food.

— Even though you both have your moments of happiness, the both of you still have purposes you stick to. You had gotten a lead on where that person was and you were going to do everything to catch up to them and make them get what they deserved.

↳ “You.” You hissed walking towards the woman in an IPC uniform, kicking another unconscious employee away. You gripped your weapon tightly in your hand, the woman widened her eyes in terror at your sudden appearance, she fell on her bottom, scooting away from you as you approached her. As she backed away she didn't go far, her back hitting a wall not too long after. Your unhurried footsteps resonated through her ears, making her breath pick up as she clutched the dirt underneath her in an attempt to ground herself.

You stopped in front of her, eyes full of unbridled anger. “(N-name)?!” She squeaked, putting a hand out infront of her to reach out to you. “What are.. how are you-” She was cut off as the back of your weapon slapped her intruding hand away. “You don't get to say my name.” You glared at her, your tone icy cold and unforgiving. She tried to speak once more but was once again cut off, “You left me to die! If it wasn't for my quick thinking, I would have been dead by now!” You said in a firm tone and pointed your weapon straight at her, leaving her no room to move or else you would attack.

The woman tensed up and a bead of sweat ran down the side of her cheek, “Honey… I had no choice! You would only weigh me down, you have to understand!” She had the gall to call you “honey” this woman no longer had the honor of doing so. The words stung, even though you no longer felt any affection for her… they brought back memories that you would rather forget. You clenched your teeth and watched as she rambled on and on about how “it was for your own good” and that “you should try to understand her situation” before she would get another word out, you sound your weapon, officially slicing her throat.

The blood splattered onto your stoic face, you watch as she choked on her own blood, eyes wide and filled with panic as if her life was flashing before her eyes… you hope it hurts.

A set of footsteps came from behind you, judging by the jingling of metal and their heavy footsteps you could tell who it was. You reluctantly turned around to meet Boothill's concerned gaze, “Er.. ya’ okay kiddo?” He scratched the side of his face as he pointed out the tears that prickled at the corner of your eyes. You stared at the ground and slowly nodded “I don't entirely hate her, but she didn't deserve to know that… even in her last moment” You muttered as more salty tears filled your vision.

— You and Boothill headed back to your ship, all while you were still occasionally shedding tears. Boothill, seeing the state you were in, offered you a warm, fluffy blanket and a warm drink; hot chocolate.

↳ You sniffled and held the blanket that was over your shoulders to your chest. You were sat on a cushion on the floor of yours and Boothill’s ship, knees tucked towards your chest in an attempt to stop yourself from crying. “Heya kiddo, I got ya’ some hot chocolate…” Boohill plopped down next to you on a matching cushion and held out the mug that was in his robotic hand. His hand was placed below the mug so when you reached to get it, you both wouldn't accidentally brush fingers.

The both of you sat in a pregnant silence and you occasionally sipping on the warm drink provided to you. Boothill stared at you from the corner of his eye, your gaze was focused on the window, giving you the view of the vast space. “She was my mother, you know” You suddenly broke the silence with your blunt words, Boothill’s eyes widened a significant amount, yet you continued.

“Even though she claimed to love me, her actions hurt and her words even more.” You put your mug down beside you and snuggled further into the blanket. The cyborg's face softened into something different, almost sad, distraught. His teeth clenched in anger at the thought of you being hurt by that woman, something ugly bloomed in his mechanical chest.

“But now she's gone,” Boothill started, making you turn your head to look at him with a surprised expression. “She can't hurt you anymore nor anyone, not when I'm around” He grinned, his shark-like teeth out on display. Something in your chest felt warm, it was different but not unpleasant. You offered Boothill a small smile then took a deep breath and raised your pinky up, “Pinky promise?” your voice a bit shaky, but your eyes were filled with determination.

Boothill slowly brought his pinky up, gently intertwining it with yours. They were barely touching but it was progress, “Promise.” The cyborg nodded firmly.

Tears pricked at you eyes, not in sadness nor anger, but relief.

“Thank you.”

[nightcolorz]

I would love to hear your thoughts on autistic Armand, if you haven’t already spoke about this! Imo he’s very autsitic coded, and it’s very precious to me as an autistic iwtv fan :]

OMG!!! RUNS AROUND. Yes lmao I talk about this a lot actually it is one of my favorite Armand things to meta about bcus I’m also autistic and he is my special interest🙏I was trying to find some of the stuff I’ve written about autistic Armand but tumblrs search engine makes it near impossible to find anything so I gave up 😭, but believe me they r out there. Even tho I talk about this a lot I would love love love to talk about it some more for u anon because I can never get enough of armandtism.

I first figured Armand was autistic when I was reading the vampire Lestat because when he is first introduced he is completely non verbal and only communicates through the mind gift. through further explanation it’s very much implied that he does this because he finds putting his thoughts into words hard and he considers just projecting them into peoples brains much easier. Armand speaks out loud for the first time like more than halfway through the book, and lestat is surprised to hear him lol. This is super autistic I feel like that’s obvious 🙏 it’s basically the vampire power equivalent of using a non verbal communication device. Armand having trouble with connecting with people, understanding how to “fit in”, and talking r prevailing parts of his character throughout the whole series (not just tvl) which solidified my headcanon into basically a canon fact in my mind lol.

When Armand is first introduced in iwtv his strangeness is chalked up to his vampirism, but it’s soon revealed throughout tvl and qotd that Armand is considered a strange outcast by other vampires. The things he struggles with r unique to him and r not representative of vampires in general. His otherness/strangeness can also not be chalked up to his trauma or his age turned because Armand was also an outcast as a young child. It’s described in the vampire Armand that Armand was not understood by his parents or his community because he was obsessed with and freakishly good at painting. His community interprets his unusualness as a sign of some divine intervention, the priests believe he is a saint or a prophet sent to earth, even at times saying things implying that he is “not human”. Unusually high quickly developing skill in childhood is an autistic trait, as is hyper fixation on an activity/topic that becomes a core identity factor and prevailing obsession. The affects of Armand’s trauma only worsen the severity of his autistic traits. C-ptsd and autism often overlap and coexist in autistic people who were traumatized in childhood, which seems to be Armand’s case.

in queen of the damned Armand is at his peak autistic lol, I feel like this is when most book readers gain that head canon. The Devils minion chapter revolves around Armand using Daniel as a guide to help him learn how to be “normal” and to blend in to the modern age. Armand can’t seem to figure out how to blend in on his own because he is unable to understand social norms of any time period enough to integrate himself into society. Armand is in love with technology and what most would consider monotonous sensory experiences. He stares at his own reflection for hours, he loves kitchen appliances and watching ingredients whir in blenders, cameras, he watches the same movie over and over again and never gets bored of it. The way Armand fixates on technology really reminds me of how a lot of autistic people played as children. He enjoys repetitive, sensory behaviors over “fun”. For Armand this means watching the same things repeatedly, which is a form of visual stimming. There r moments where Armand is trying to understand his world, but is so blind to what he is trying to understand that he goes about his discoveries wrong. Such as in qotd when he tries to interrogate strangers to gain information on societal norms but he only gets uncomfortable glances. Armand is desperate to understand and to connect but he is consistently inherently alienated, whether it be from humanity or from other vampires or from himself.

Armand also can not process his memories comprehendingly. This is part trauma part autism, but autism is def a factor. Because of his repressed trauma induced memory loss Armand finds it difficult to talk about himself to people. This is worsened by Armand being unable to comprehend the aspects of story telling that he needs to be able to tell people about his life. Armand explains to Daniel that he vividly remembers small details, such as dates and weather, but he could not tell Daniel what “things were like” because he “doesn’t know what that means”. Literal thinking, the inability to grasp vague, fiction based concepts like narratives and metaphor, and strict fixation on minor details like numbers, are all autistic traits!

Armand also struggles heavily with emotional regulation. He is described as often having intense and extreme meltdowns where he cries and screams and breaks things. Armand is easily bothered, in tva he mentions that he covers his ears when he is overwhelmed. The vampire Armand begins actually with Armand becoming overwhelmed in public and trying to escape to an attic so that he can be alone in silence. Armand copes with his intense emotions by putting on a mask of neutrality. He is often described as expressionless and blank, uncanny. But this is a mask, and when Armand can no longer mask and his disguise lapses his facial expressions r described by lestat as being so over the top and emotional that they are disturbing and weird. Over the top unnatural facial expressions as well as blank unreadable ones are both autistic traits. For Armand he is naturally overly emotive to the point of being considered horrifying, and he hides this by taking the opposite extreme. Either way, either expression Armand puts on causes him to be socially outcast.

Armand often describes feeling like there is something wrong with him that causes him to be isolated from others and he’s not sure what it is. In prince lestat he tells Gregory that he doesn’t know why it’s so hard for him to have relationships when other vampires are fully capable of doing that. In the vampire Armand he explains to David that he’s crazy because his mind isn’t built right and his senses are tripled so he shouldn’t bother trying to understand him. I rlly relate to this as someone who felt like I was from another dimension as a child bcus i didn’t know the unspoken life rules everyone else did.

Armand is often treated like a child by the other vampires and assumed to be emotionally immature and too fragile and insane to be helpful. Armand says in the vampire Armand that he doesn’t consider himself an adult because he can’t function like one. This could be due to the age he was turned, but it’s shown to us that characters like Benji and even to an extent Claudia r able to self regulate and function appropriately despite being turned even younger then Armand was.

in conclusion, book Armand is an autistic person who was never given proper support or understanding because the environment and the time period he was born in decided to alienate him further rather then work to help him socialize and learn appropriate skills, and because of the necessities he has been deprived of and the horrible trauma he endured Armand is never able to learn to function in the way he was likely capable of. this recessive quality in pair with his autism caused Armand it be unable to cope or self regulate or learn ways to understand himself since he wasn’t given a chance to in his formative years. He’s a great representative of what many autistic people who experienced intense child abuse experience.

Im rlly happy with the shows portrayal with Armand so far partly because he is omg, so autistic. Show Armand shares so many of book Armand’s autistic traits. inability to understand himself or others, fixation on small details but inability to understand the big picture, etc. even his iPad is autistic asf! My ipad is my comfort item that I carry around with me to self sooth, and this is def the vibe Armand’s iPad gives me in the show. Even assads performance is autistic! He is able to play Armand masking and Armand unmasking, the stilted expressions he gives and the blank stares, the uncomprehending earnestness. AGHHHH!! Assad stims with his fingers when Armand is nervous too which is just an amazing touch. I hope the show explores Armand’s autism, because that would literally be a dream come true. Even still, for now I’m satisfied.

thank u so so much anon for the ask this made me so happy 🙏❤️ autistic Armand means so much to me and has gotten me though some tough times. Understanding and analyzing Armand helps me understand myself better and feel more comfortable with how I am. Earlier this year I gave myself a concussion because I was harmfully stimming during a meltdown, and while I was in the emergency room I was holding the vampire Armand and imaging that he would relate to what I was going through. So yeah he is very special to me too! And once again it makes me so so happy that u got me to talk some about it. I hope this was coherent or interesting lol I felt like I was all over the place

[heartfullofleeches]

Just say your Carnis and puppy!reader post, and my head immediately went to cattle dog!reader or emotional support puppy!reader would be an amazing pair for Carnis. Allow me to ramble a bit about emotional support puppy!reader for a bit-

disclaimer! I do not have an emotional support dog...I've got emotional support guinea pigs -kinda- so take my thoughts with a tablespoon of salt. ^^;

Anyways-!

- Emotional support puppy!reader who was the one who started the dynamic between the two without really realizing that was what they were doing. They'd catch Carnis in the middle of a panic attack or a trauma episode, and their first thought is to sit down beside him. Slowly inching closer and closer until they're sitting shoulder to shoulder with them. Turning their (reader's) head slightly towards him so they can keep an eye on his heart rate and anxiety levels.

- Emotional support puppy!reader who starts following Carnis around where they go, always within a quick few steps away from them. So that any time Carnis starts to seem like they're slipping into a nasty unfun headspace, Emotional support puppy!Reader can be there to gently guide them down to a sitting position. (Maybe if Carnis would be comfortable with it, Emotional support puppy!Reader can do some compression therapy by laying on top of the big softie. Especially if Emotional support puppy!Read is also Himbo/beefy puppy!Reader. So it's like a weighted blanket -and Carnis gets a face full of puppy!Reader's chest. It's warm.)

- Carnis who becomes a bit dependent on Emotional support puppy!Reader. Gaining separation anxiety, freaking out and pushing themselves into a panic attack if Reader isn't an arms length away. Which only makes Reader feel all that more like they've gotta be there for their friend :(.

- Carnis who treats Emotional support puppy!Reader more like an emotional support stuffy a child might carry around with them 24/7

- (Emotional support puppy!Reader who -as a joke- gets a collar or like vest that says 'Emotional Support Animal' with Carnis' name under the words. Both writing out in big letters)

Just emotional support puppy!Reader and Carnis brain rot.

I saw beefy and himbo used to describe Reader, and my soul ascended to the heavens- You were already cooking with this, but a sweet, himbo puppy who makes it their duty to keep Carnis in a stable mind is gold. Carnis had dealt with orderlies pinning them down whenever they lashed out in the lab- Those rough, cruel hands replaced by the passive weight and fluff of a kind puppy would do wonders for Carnis, and put them out like a light.

Besides their embrace, nothing soothes Carnis quicker than Puppy yapping about whatever topic their brain comes up with- It gives them something else to focus on than what's dragging them down, and Puppy has never painted Carnis repeating words and phrases they say in a negative light, which the cow values more than anything.

Carnis dependency gets so bad somedays they'll have a full blown melt down if Puppy makes the harmless mistake of switch over to another isle in the grocery store. If Carnis doesn't have them in his immediate line of sight, who knows what might happen? Puppy gifting Carnis an article of clothing ripe with their scent like a shirt or jacket helps him work up the courage to distance themselves from Puppy for a while... If they didn't get too caught sniffing it all the time.

-

Carnis: Y/n a-asked me to pick up some tomatoes for dinner. They gave.. me their sweater because they trusted me.... Y/n's sweater.... Puppy's sweater... Smells nice. Soft too.. L-like them... Sleepy..

Puppy Reader: Haha- We'll work on this later, let's just go together, like always!

-

Puppy Reader: So, there's this donut shop that has huuuge donut display on their roof, and everytime I pass it I wonder how much of it I could eat before I got sick if it were real... Sorry- This probably isn't helping much, wanna switch over to counting?

Carnis: N...no... This...is better.

[buck-star]

Already Mine | Bucky Barnes; Part Two

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 -> Boyfriend!Bucky Barnes x Girlfriend!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 -> After the first time together and the confessing of your feelings the two are in a relationship. When the morning sickness starts and your period isn’t there in time you do a pregnancy test.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 -> 4.665

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 -> (E) 18+, Minors DNI, pregnancy test, slight angst, Bucky’s past trauma, Smut, fingering (fem!receiving), unprotected p in v, breeding kink, dirty talk, using the word slut, praises, a lot of fluff

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 -> Idea for already mine pt 2. Reader and Bucky and together now, but after that night, unless its Bucky groaning about how he is going to impregnate the reader as he fills her up, they have never spoken about it outside the bedroom. so when the test comesout positive, the reader is worried if thats what Bucky wants with the whole 'im still getting used to the new world and repaying my sins' thing going on. so she feels really scared and breaks down when Bucky asks her about it. and when she does tell him, he's so elated atthe same time a tad bit upset and himself that you feel like he wouldnt want the child? so basically smut, like smut with a lot lot lot of feral talk at the same time love filled breeding kink, claiming, him telling her how he is gonna marry her. just a lot of lust and love and dirty talking. yeah. @almosttoopizza

𝐀/𝐍 -> Thank you so much for the idea for the second part of Already Mine. And I hope you like what I made with it.

𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 -> Already Mine | Part One

Fandom-Free Bingo: Frosty Edition | B2 | Stripped | @fandom-free-bingo

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist

Since the two of you had your first time together, you haven’t really talked about details. You two are together, but none of you is mentioning anything about getting kids. Bucky has a huge breeding kink, and you really don’t mind; you like it, and whenever you have sex, he has such a filthy mouth, and hearing his sexy thoughts turns you on beyond belief. His hands are all over your body, and his cock is buried inside of you, while he tells you how good you feel and that he will give you a lot of little kids who are all like him and are at the same time hot and cute.

Right now, you’re lying with Bucky behind you in your shared bed. His arm is wrapped around your stomach, holding you tightly against him. Bucky snores softly into your neck, his warm breath giving you goosebumps all over your body. You smile softly, his warmth running through your body, and you lean more into him.

You wear a shirt and boxers, and his hand is placed underneath the shirt on your bare skin. After a long night and a lot of orgasms, he cleaned the two of you and gave you some clothes to wear - your favorite ones, because they are his.

When you slowly turn around to look at your boyfriend, you feel an uncomfortable and hurting feeling growing in your stomach. It slowly crawls higher until it reaches your throat, and you feel like you just want to throw up to get rid of everything you ate yesterday. You hold one of your hands on your stomach, and while you wiggle out of Bucky’s arm, you place his arm next to you and get out of bed. Then you almost run into the bathroom, and just in time, you manage to sit in front of it before you lean over it and let go of everything that comes out of you. Tears are burning in your eyes. When you lean back, a quiet sob escapes your mouth, and you hold your hand under your chin, looking at the wall while your stomach feels like it’s spinning around.

Bucky feels your shifting, and when you remove his hand, he growls softly. He listens to your footsteps, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion when he hears you walking really fast. And when he hears you throwing up, he almost jumps out of bed. On his way into the bathroom, he grabs a blanket and a bottle of water. You’re still sitting in front of the toilet, crying while you throw up a second time. Bucky walks closer, getting on his knees next to you and wrapping the blanket around your trembling body. He holds you close and makes you a bun, then he strokes your back softly.

“Is oke, are you feeling better?” he asks, softly wiping a few tears out of your face.

You shake your head, holding your stomach, while you press yourself more against him. His warm embrace relaxes you a bit. Bucky moves slowly forward and backward, and then he offers you the bottle of water.

After a few more minutes, you feel better, and Bucky helps you get up and carries you into bed. His hand strokes your forehead, but it’s not hot, so he relaxes softly. Maybe you just ate something you shouldn’t have eaten? Without a word, you know that he is worried about you, but he tries his best to hide it. His ocean-blue eyes aren’t as bright as usual when he shifts softly.

“I’m fine, Buck. Maybe just a gastrointestinal infection,” you say and sit up, with your back against the headboard. You smirk. “But I’m hungry now.”

Bucky chuckles, pressing you softly back when you try to get up. His eyebrow is raised when you look at him, pouting, but he just kisses away and turns around to make his way to the kitchen.

“Don’t even think of getting up; I will bring you your food, doll,” he shouts from the floor, his voice demanding, and you know better than to disobey him.

With a groan, you look for the remote on the television, turn it on, and look through the channel until you find something good to watch. When Bucky comes back with two places in your hands, you inhale deeply, and your smile grows when you smell your favorite food.

“You’re the best, Bucky,” you say, taking the plate he hands you.

“I know; that’s why I’m your boyfriend.”

Bucky walks around the bed and sits down next to you. The two of you enjoy your breakfast, your stomach feels slightly better, and after getting a lot of kisses from your boyfriend, you’re happy and don’t even think about your stomachache.

— —

After a few more days and the morning sickness still being there, you call your best friend, Natasha. She usually has an explanation for everything about women’s issues and always knows how to cheer you up. Bucky is currently in a meeting and won’t be home before dinner, so you pick up your phone from the bed and unlock it before you call Nat.

“Hey, girly,” she greets you happily, and you smirk. “What’s up? Bucky said you’re not feeling well in the mornings?”

You hum softly. Bucky asked you to talk with Steve and Natasha, and of course, you allowed him. Especially since he gets used to things in modern times. For you and the others, those things are normal, but for him, it’s sometimes like the biggest science thing. So is his relationship with you, and he wants to be the best boyfriend he can be for you. When he needs help, he turns to either you or Steve, and because he lives with Natasha, she is always aware of it. But you don’t mind; she is your best friend, like Steve.

“Yeah. And my period, I- Nat, I didn't have it for a while now.”

You hear the gasp on the other side of the phone, and then she almost screams in excitement.

“You know what that means, right? You’re pregnant!”

“But- Do you think Bucky can get children? I mean, because of the things Hydra did with him, don’t you think they took care that he wouldn’t be able to get kids? In case he would have had sex with someone?”

Nat is quiet for a moment, then she clears her throat.

“You can find it out really easily. Just make a test, and when it’s positive, you know that he can get kids,” she says, amused.

“What when it’s positive and he doesn’t want any?”

“Damn, he is in love with you more than that. He can’t even look at you without smiling; when he wants something, it’s a family with you,” she says softly, but you just hum.

When you both hang up, you walk into the bathroom. You got a test from Natasha and Steve a while ago. It was a party - hosted by Tony - and you played a game where you gave your best friends a present they could or could not need at some point. When you’re in the bathroom, you look for the test and read the instructions, then you do what they tell you to do. After placing it on the counter, you look at your phone, and in fifteen minutes, you know if you’re pregnant or not.

Those fifteen minutes feel like forever; the pregnancy test doesn’t show you a result before, even when you look at it every minute. Your heart races, and your head spins slightly because of the nervousness. You hear your blood rushing through your veins, your phone still in your hand while you look up and down from it. You shift from one foot to the other, sweat covering your forehead, when the result is almost there.

Your mind is filled with so many thoughts about Bucky; how would he react when you’re pregnant? Would he leave you, or does he really want a child with you? Is he already ready to have a child at all? Are you ready for a child? Does your relationship break when you’re pregnant, or would he still love you? During sex, the thoughts of being pregnant are definitely different; they are hot. But with the test in front of you, it’s another feeling between happiness and nervousness - your feelings are a complete mess.

You haven’t recognized that you stare at the wall until your phone vibrates and you look down, looking at the teat that tells you if you’re pregnant or not. A part of you hopes to see a yes; the other part is unsure how you feel when it shows you that you would carry Bucky’s baby inside your belly.

When you finally look down and read what the pregnancy test tells you, you feel the tears streaming down your cheeks. Every emotion overcomes you, and you let yourself fall to the ground, your legs pressing against your chest while you hold your legs tightly. You sob loudly, a bit because of happiness and a bit because you don’t know how to handle the emotions you have at the moment. You’re pregnant. With Bucky, you are going to become parents, and it feels so fantastic that you just can’t help but cry.

Your phone vibrates a few times next to you, but you’re just staring at the pregnancy test in your hands; you can’t believe it. The smile across your face grows whenever you read the word “pregnant” written on the little display of the test.

When you slowly calm down and look at your phone, you see a message Bucky sent just a few minutes ago. He asked what you wanted to eat and if he should bring some or if you wanted to cook. You smile when you scroll the message down and see the bunch of emojis he used. There are a lot of hearts and other cute emojis, and between them is written “I love you, my precious doll” and your smile grows when you see that. As much as he looks like a complete jerk when he uses emojis, you absolutely love and adore it. You tell him to bring some food, then you stand up and pick up the pregnancy test, bringing it into the bedroom to place it in your wardrobe.

You’re still unsure how to feel, especially how to tell Bucky and how he reacts when you tell him that the two of you have become parents. You love him, and you know he loves you, but that doesn’t mean that he wants or is ready for the next step in your relationship.

When Bucky comes home, you’re sitting in bed, watching television. He walks into your shared bedroom, smiling widely when he holds the food in his hands. You smile back, but not the way he is used to seeing you when he comes home. Usually you would hug him and ask him quietly for a lot of kisses, but now you’re sitting in bed and waiting until he comes closer and kisses you softly.

“Hey, doll. Everything alright?”

You nod, and he places the food on your lap. Then he takes off his shoes and jacket and sits down next to you. You hand him his food, not really looking at him or talking to him. Bucky clenches his jaw. Did he do something wrong? Are you mad at him because of something? Or don’t you love him anymore?

“Baby?”

“Mhm?”

You look at him, smiling softly, but it’s not the real smile that is formed on your lips. It’s a forced one, and Bucky feels uncomfortable when he sees you not being as happy as he is used to seeing you and you trying to hide it.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asks, looking at you with his beautiful blue eyes.

Your lips start to tremble, and your body shakes slightly, but Bucky sees it; he sees the way you try to hide the upcoming tears in your eyes. Even when you turn your head away and let the tears stream down your cheeks to hide them, Bucky grips your chin and tilts it towards him, making you look at him.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks, and his voice shakes slightly.

You shake your head, not able to say something without crying. He rubs his big hand over the small of your back. The way Bucky touches you and his warm hand feels against your body helps you calm down. The feelings are overwhelming, but you also want to tell him that you’re pregnant and let him feel the happiness you feel.

“I-I’m- Bucky; don’t be mad, but we- we’re pregnant,” you mumble, looking at everything but him, in case he isn’t as happy as you about it.

He gasps; a smile forms on his lips, but it fades away as fast as it came. Bucky is happy to become the father of a child that he will have with you, but the way you don’t look at him and have cried before makes him unsure. He definitely misread your expression, and he feels guilty for impregnating you. Maybe you don’t want to have a child; maybe you do, but not with him. When you turn your head, you see his cold expression. He doesn’t smile; he just stares at you. Then he gets up and walks out of the bedroom, not even saying a word.

When he leaves the room, you start to cry again, your hands holding your belly and stroking it softly. You don’t understand why he acts like that. Isn’t he happy to become a dad? Isn’t he ready to have a child, or does he want to have a family with someone else and feels like he is responsible for you now?

Bucky rushes out of the room, his hands sliding through his hair, and he tugs at them harshly. He should have used a condom, and you should have used protection. Now you carry a baby inside of you, and he already loves the little one, but you don’t, do you? How can you love a child who is from a person like him, a cold assassin? Someone who doesn’t know how modern technology works until someone explains it to him: How can you love him now when you have a baby inside your wonderful belly, his baby inside it. You didn’t even look at him; you cried because of him because he breeds you. Because he was so needy and needed to fuck a baby inside of you. A thought he loves, but a thought you seem to hate. He blames himself, and now he just ran out of the room to get some air. How can you love him when he can’t be there for you? How can he care for someone so small and innocent?

You get out of bed, tears blurring your view, but you just want to know what Bucky thinks about your child. So you make your way to the door, and when you look through the floor, you see him at the end of it, sitting on the ground and crying silently that he messed up so badly and that you probably don’t want him to be the dad of the child. His hands tug at his hair, while his knees are pressed against his body.

The picture in front of you reminds you of the first time you met Bucky, when he suffered because of his nightmare and his past. When he wasn’t able to get sleep, he just wanted to get some comfort and love. And it hurts you to see him like that again; you don’t want anything else but to see him happy. You have happy news, but he looks like he isn’t happy about them?

With a few slow steps, you walk closer to him. He recognizes you, but he doesn’t look up. Bucky doesn’t want you to see the trails of tears on his cheeks, and he doesn’t want you to see his red eyes. You kneel in front of him, then you capture his cheeks with your hands and make him look up at you. Your eyes are as red as his, but the blue shinning when he sees you can push the darkest clouds away.

“Bucky, we- we don’t have to become a child when you’re not ready yet. Even when you never want a child with me, it’s oke. I love you, and that is all that matters,” you say, your thumbs slowly wiping his tears away.

“I-I want it? But it seemed like you didn't want it. "I thought it was because you don't want a child with me," Bucky murmurs, his gaze drawn to your lips.

“I want. You can give me as many babies as you want, as long as they are like you.”

When he smiles, you lean closer and kiss him softly. His soft, plumb lips brush against yours, and you sigh. The warmth is rushing through your body until it reaches your cunt, and you press your legs together.

“Time for lunch?” Bucky asks with a smirk, mischievous and needy, and you nod.

You both stand up, and before you can take a step backwards, he lifts you up. You squeal, then you wrap your legs and arms around him. Bucky’s hands slide to your ass, squeezing it while he hums. He walks along the floor until he reaches your bedroom and walks into it, letting you fall onto the bed. Bucky towers over you, his lips chasing yours, and you melt into his touch. The food that is still on the bed finds its way onto the floor, and when you want to complain about the mess, Bucky shushes you with a lovely and passionate kiss. His hand slides down your sides, and he kisses your jaw and neck before he kneels down between your legs. He lifts your t-shirt, his metal hand slowly stroking your belly.

“Hey, little one. Make some space, yeah? I want to give your mommy some pleasure.” Bucky mumbles and kisses your stomach, making you laugh.

Bucky looks at you, smiling, before he trails kisses down your body until he reaches the waistband of your pants. With one movement, he takes your pants together, with your panties off, and groans when he sees your glistening folds. His fingers trail along your thighs before he slides two of his metal fingers through your folds, making you whine. He plays softly with your clit before he lets go to you and takes off his t-shirt, knowing that you get turned on even more when you see his bare skin and especially his muscles flexing while he makes you cum in his fingers.

“Take off your shirt and bra; I want to see my precious doll without the covering fabric,” he groans, and wait until you do, like he told you.

You sit up and take off the shirt, then you open the bra to let it slide down your arms and place it next to you. Bucky smiles, leaning closer to kiss your thighs while his hands are stoking over your sides and lower belly, before he uses his metal hand to glide his fingers through your folds, making you squirm. Bucky’s eyes are focused on your wet pussy, and with his broad shoulder, he holds your legs spread apart. He slowly guides his fingers further down until he reaches your entrance and dips his fingertip into it. You’re clenching around nothing, and Bucky chuckles while he slowly works his finger into your wet, tight hole. You moan, pushing yourself more against him. Bucky pushes his finger completely inside of you, slowly stroking your walls before he pulls it out of you and pushes his finger back inside of you. The cold of his metal finger lets you shiver, but you like the cold compared to your hot skin.

“You’re feeling so well around my finger already,” he mumbles, kissing your thigh.

Then he adds another finger, massaging your sweet spot softly while your moans are getting louder and you arch your back. Your fingers are digging into the bed sheets, grounding yourself.

“That’s it; come for me,” he says in a demanding tone.

He knows your body so well that he can tell how often he needs to stroke your sweet spot to make you come, how much your walls are clenching when you’re close, and how your moans sound when you’re at the edge of letting go and letting the pleasure flow through you.

“Bucky-“ you moan, lips parted slightly.

You come all over his fingers; your juice is flowing over his fingers; and the sound when he pushes his fingers in and out of you makes it all so much hotter. With another stroke of his fingers against your sweet spot, you squirt all over his fingers, and he smirks while he slows the pace of his fingers.

“Mhm, you did so well for me, doll. Made just a mess all over me. Now I’m gonna breed you. I pump you so full with my babies. You won’t be able to walk for at least a day when I have my seeds all in you, when you’re sweating but still begging for more. You will be such a little slut for my dick, won’t you?”

You moan; the way he talks to you makes you needier, and you press yourself against him. You’re so desperate for him and his cock. Bucky gets up, opening his belt and zipper before he takes his pants off, throwing them somewhere in the room. His rock-hard member is visible through his boxers, pre-cum soaking the fabric, and you bite your bottom lip. Bucky slips his underwear down as well, revealing his hard cock. Then he walks closer, leaning over you. Bucky kisses a trail from your throat down to your breasts, biting your skin softly.

“Mhm, I love you, every inch of you, baby,” he groans and kisses along your breasts, leaving hickeys all over your collarbone. “All mine; see, you’re all mine.”

His hands slide your sides up and down, causing goosebumps all over your body. Bucky chuckles softly, capturing your cheeks and pressing his lips against yours. Bucky helps you to move further into the bed, kneeling between your legs while his thick cock slides over your pussy, making you gasp softly.

“Bucky-“

“Shh, you get my cock.”

Your fingers are grabbing his hair, tugging at it while you pull him closer. His blue eyes pierce into yours, his hands slide down between your bodies, and he grips the base of his member, guiding his tip through your wet folds. Bucky smears his pre-cum and your juices all over his tip, groaning softly. Then he lines himself up with your entrance and pushes slowly inside of you. He stretches you perfectly, making you moan into his mouth while he enters you inch by inch. Your nails are digging into Bucky’s shoulder, holding him close. Your walls clench deliciously around his thick cock.

“You feel so good; I want to come immediately inside you. I will fill you and give you all. And then you will carry our pretty little babies, my precious doll,” Bucky says, kissing your cheek while he doesn’t move his dick inside of you.

“Please, move,” you whine, arching your back and pressing yourself more against him.

“So desperate, aren’t you? You look so innocent, but you’re such a little desperate slut for my dick, aren’t you?”

“Fuck, Bucky.”

“Tell me, are you my little cock-hungry slut?”

“I’m. I’m your little cock-hungry slut, but please move.”

Bucky grins, pulling slowly out of you before he pushes his dick back inside of you. You’re clenching around him, your walls holding him tightly, and you moan when he hits your sweet spot immediately. A rough chuckle leaves his lips while he rolls his hips against yours, his dick fitting perfectly into your wet, warm hole, and the sounds that leave your mouth - so desperate and needy - making Bucky go crazy. His cock hits all the right spots, and you grip his shoulders harsher, pressing your hips more against him. Bucky slowly starts to thrust into you, and at a steady pace, he hits your sweet spot whenever he is inside of you. You’re just a moaning mess underneath him, nails digging into his soft skin, while he looks with so much adoration in his eyes at you that you want to melt.

“My precious doll. I’m gonna breed you. Give you all I have, and you will be filled completely. My cum is going to leak out of you, and I will push it all back so you will get so many little babies with me,” Bucky mumbles, his forehead resting against yours.

You smile; he has such a filthy mouth when you have sex, and the way his body feels against yours and his dick feels inside your walls makes you feel complete. His member is stroking your walls so perfectly. You clench around him, squeeze him, and Bucky wants to bury his dick all the time between your tight wall.

“I love you so much; you will be the best mother. We are going to be parents, baby. You make me so happy, and becoming the daddy of our little pretty baby, having a family with you, doll-“ Bucky interrupts himself and presses his lips on yours.

You giggle softly until his thrusts become faster and harder. He chuckles while he thrusts with a harsh pace inside of you. Bucky’s metal hand slides down between your legs; he rubs small circles on your clit, making you gasp and moan even louder. Your back is arched, Bucky’s hands gripping his shoulder tighter, he slides his hand up your body, and then he lets his body fall on top of yours. His warm chest is pressed against yours, sweat coating both of your bodies.

“Come, doll. All over my dick, squeeze my dick like the good girl you are,” he says, kissing and biting softly the soft skin of your neck.

The trimmed hair is gracing over your clit, and your eyes roll back. The pleasure in your stomach grows while Bucky looks at you, focused on your face while your orgasm rushes through your body. You mumble Bucky’s name over and over while you come. Your toes curl, and you press your thighs together, or at least as much as it’s possible with Bucky between them. Your walls clench around him, squeezing him. Bucky doesn’t need long until he comes inside your pussy. His white, warm seeds are painting your walls. Bucky breathes heavily, thrusting a few more times inside of you before he kisses you. Your hands are running through his sweaty hair, and you tug at them, making him groan.

“Do you need more? Do you need to be filled with more cum? Such a filthy little doll,” he says, smirking. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Buck.”

“You know my dick will be inside of you until I’m sure you’re pregnant with more of my babies.”

“You know that I can’t be more pregnant when I’m already pregnant?”

Bucky nods, but he doesn’t move an inch. He is pushing his seeds with his dick deep into your pussy, and he looks so proud that you laugh softly.

“You’re cute, you know that?” you ask.

“You know that you have to deal with more of me in a bit, right?”

His eyes light up when he asks that question; anticipation flows through his veins, and he kisses every inch of your face. Making you giggle. You haven’t seen Bucky happy like that in a while, but you’re glad he is happy, especially because it’s of you, and that the two of you will become parents to a little one soon.

┏━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┓

𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐑𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨

𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬

┗━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┛

Taglist: @nicoline1998enilocin @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @sergeantbarnessdoll @kandis-mom @identity2212 @km-ffluv @lunaalovesyouu @blackhawkfanatic @armystay89 @randomawesomeperson102 @rogersbarber @bucky-barnes-lover @felicitylemon @cjand10 @bookishtheaterlover7 @casa-boiardi @futurequeen2018-blog @flstrawberry

[twola]

Passerine : Chapter 4

PAIRING: High Honor Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader

Green-scarved attackers leave you and Arthur in a precarious place - forced to address the impasse between you.

Warnings: This fic has graphic descriptions of non-consensual sex, violence against women, the trauma thereafter, and somewhat unhealthy coping mechanisms. If any of that content makes you feel uncomfortable or triggers you, this may not be the fic for you.

Told you it wouldn't be a year between updates :)

But seriously - I love hearing from you guys - that really helped push me to get this out more timely.

➵ AO3 Link ➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ Previous | ➵ Next

You wipe your brow against the heat. If you thought Clemens was hot, Shady Belle was goddamn sweltering. The nape of your neck was never dry, and the ends of your hair curled around your face from the humidity.

“Hey there.” 

You look up from the tub of dishes you were scrubbing behind Pearson’s wagon. Susan has finally given you some leeway, and the tub was dragged to a shady spot to give you at least a little bit of a reprieve from the heat.

But not much.

“Hey.”

Arthur stands in front of you, heaving a heavy sack of corn off his shoulder to the dirt below. He grunts slightly, circling his shoulder, before righting his hat and moving closer into your personal space.

“How’re you feelin’ this morning?” He asks, dipping his hands into the water quickly and shaking the wetness from his fingers. He stuffs his hand into his satchel and grabs his worn leather riding gloves, pulling them on.

“Same as yesterday. Hot and fat.” You respond, sighing as you roll your shoulders with a near-imperceptible wince. Your gaze settles on the tub of dirty dishes in front of you.

That gets a small smile out of him. A silence settles between the two of you as he wriggles his fingers on one hand, the leather sticking and whining with each stretch of his digits.

“How’s your shoulder?” You nod up to him, still not making eye contact.

“Feelin’ fine, you ain’t gotta worry about me.” He nods, intently staring at the soapy water in front of you.

You frown before looking back in the tub as well.

It’s a strange space you’re in right now. Your stomach is swollen up and your back starting to sway. You still had a couple of months before the child’s arrival. You’ve had to shed your layers even further from Clemens, where an old cotton shift is nearly all you can fit in at this point. Tilly and Mary Beth were working on a few dresses for you, but they weren’t done yet.

“You was up early.” He says, searching for words to continue the conversation - unfortunately, it wasn’t going well.

“Ain’t sleeping much these days.”

Arthur simply murmurs in response.

Up in the room of that old plantation house, Arthur’s bedroll remains on the floor, to which you complained, but he would hear none of you sleeping on the ground in your condition.

Sharing a bed was never brought up. It was a canyon between the two of you - the more your belly grew, the more you withdrew from him. You didn’t talk about it. About the baby. About the future. Arthur was unfortunately relegated to watch you grow and not address any of it. He didn’t know what to do - were you going to stay this way until the day you gave birth?

“I’m sure Abigail is grateful to John and you and Dutch for bringing Jack back.” You whisper quietly, looking at the boy running around the old abandoned fountain, an unfortunate breeding pit for mosquitos.

“Maybe John will step up after this.” Arthur eyes the shadow behind Jack.

John sits in the decrepit gazebo, carving what looks like a child’s toy in his hand. It was comical in some ways, fearsome looking, scarred John, working on a toy for his son. Finally, after so long, it seems that he is starting to acknowledge the poor boy - having gone through some kind of terror when he was taken.

He and Abigail hadn’t yelled at each other in a day - there’s a secret wager among the girls about how long it is that is going to last.

Karen bet the high end, having kept the knowledge that Abigail was in John’s room this morning to herself.

You breathe out heavily through your knows and let a low groan out, one hand on your lower back swayed under the weight of the child growing within.

He wants to reach out and touch you. He almost does, for a moment, spread his hand out over your belly, to try and feel for movement. He wants to pull your chemise up and press against your bare skin. He wants to worship your changing body.

But every time he tries to bring up the baby, you shut down. That darkness under your eyes returns. This chasm widens.

He steps one step closer, his hand moving to his gun belt, as was apt to happen in times of discomfort.

“Y’ want to go into town? I’ll take you.”

Your eyes move back to the dishes, and you fish the next dirty one from the tub.

“Not really. I’m fine.”

Arthur frowns but acquiesces. He bids you a good day before heading out to the hitching post, off to head back into town to meet Trelawney to discuss the next job.

-

Your spry gelding has been woefully neglected, you being unable to ride the way you want. He stands bored amongst the other horses, listless while you can’t give him a good run.

“Kieran.”

The poor boy almost drops his coffee, fear alight in his eyes for a moment. “Y-yes ma’am? Does Mr. Morgan need anythin’?”

“What, Arthur? No. I’m asking for a favor.”

“O-oh! Of course! What d’ya need?”

“It’s been a while since my boy’s had a hard ride… obviously I can’t-” you motion to your abdomen.

“Oh, oh! A-absolutely. I can take ‘im out for a ride.”

“Well I was wondering if I could come along… maybe just to get out of camp and watch you run him in the field. I’m so bored here.” You sigh. 

“You sure that Arthur ain’t gonna come after us?” Kieran asks concernedly.

“I’m sure it ain’t any of Arthur’s business. Besides, it won’t be like we’re going far. Maybe on the other side of that old battlefield near the Braithewaite’s land. Plenty of room out there.” You scowl, offended that Kieran insinuated you needed Arthur’s permission to function. God, you were pregnant, not an invalid.

Kieran looks hurriedly to the ground before quickly shuffling over toward your horse, who finally picks up his head and whinnies excitedly as his reins are untied from the hitching post.

You follow, smiling and brushing down your horse’s mane, whispering sweet affections to him as Kieran adjusts the saddle. After a few moments, he steps back to allow you to get yourself up on the horse.

Okay, maybe you were a bit invalid right now.

“Uh, can you… help me a bit?” 

Kieran blazes red for a moment before nodding, awkwardly placing his hands on your waist and helping heave you up on the horse’s rump. He climbs into the saddle and meekly leads the two of you toward the old battlefield and the road toward Braithwaite Manor. 

After a slow, hot walk to the open meadow, the two of you finally reach it. He quietly helps you slide off the horse’s rump and into the long grass of the meadow, where you take a few steps to stand under the shade of a tree.

Kieran then digs his spurs into your gelding’s side and the horse bolts, rearing before galloping off through the meadow. You lean against the tree, idly rubbing your hand over your growing stomach as you watch Kieran ride your horse hard, getting a good run out of him. It’s a good half hour of circling the meadow at various speeds before they slowly plod back to you.

“Ah, there’s my boy!” You pat his mane affectionately as your gelding pants, satisfied. Kieran leans on the pommel with one arm, smiling for once.

“He’s a good boy. I can make sure I take ‘im out every couple days for a run-” The man frowns slightly again, “with your permission, of course, ma’am.”

You nearly roll your eyes at him. 

“First, you’re doin’ me a favor, stop calling me ma’am. Second-”

A gunshot cracks far too close to you and your gelding rears, screeching as Kieran tries to calm him. You’ve stumbled back a few steps, clutching at your belly with one hand.

“Kieran Duffy, you’re a goddamn dead man!” 

Cold steel is pressed between your shoulder blades and your stomach drops to your feet.

One, two, three, four armed men encircle you and Kieran, who hushes your gelding. For a moment, his hand hovers over the gun on his hip, but you groan in pain as the barrel of a repeater digs into your back. A large hand clamps down on your arm roughly.

Two men muscle their way over to your horse and proceed to drag Kieran down from him, his face slamming against the red Lemoyne dirt.  The men start to kick at the adopted Van der Linde, and the unfortunate man tries to curl up in a fetal position but it is of no help. His gasps and moans of pain start to fill the air, overpowering the cicadas in the humid afternoon.

You just stare at the green scarves around their necks and bite your lip hard enough to make yourself bleed.

“C’mon, Colm’s waiting.”

-

The ropes chafe around your wrists as the O’Driscoll pushes you forward. You try your damndest not to stumble, and it is some small mercy that your wrists are bound in front of you as compared to behind you. Your dress, the old short-sleeved shift, is now dirty beyond any salvation and covered in horse hair and mud. Your captors were kind enough to place you on a horse sitting up, as compared to slinging you over the horse’s rump as they did to Kieran.

“This boy you’re associating with here… he’s done some real wrongs against us. Gotta assume that you have too if you’re with him.” The man grabs your chin roughly, forcing you to look at him.

A few hours of riding later, you’re out of the swamps before the men stop, guiding their horses off the northward road and into a small wooded glade as the hills start to rise. You vaguely recognize the area - it's not too far from Clemens, near the state line with New Hanover. The four men that found you had a campsite set up just off the road.

Kieran tries to muscle in between you and the O’Driscoll, his hands bound behind him, bruises blooming bright across his face. 

“She ain’t got nothin to -” 

Kieran’s plea is cut short with the sickening wet sound of blood bursting from his nose as the butt of a revolver whips across his face. He crumbles to the ground as you gasp. You stoop down to try to reach him, and as he rolls into a seated position, the blood from his face drips all over your dress as he coughs. You try to stymie the blood with the hem of your skirt but with your wrists bound, you just end up getting it all over yourself and him.

“Pretty sure I didn’t ask you, y’dumb sack of shit.”

Kieran gets yanked away from you, whimpering, and dragged further from the campfire back toward the woodline by two of the other men, rough and tumble and dirty. You’re pulled up roughly by your arm as your captor sizes you up. He pauses as you recapture your balance.

“You-you're that girl from up in Cumberland that ol’ Donal dragged back in-” The O’Driscoll sneers with recognition, “Said your cunny was one of the tightest one’s he’d plowed-” 

You recoil in revulsion, a physical reaction to the man’s reference to your assault. His coy and callous words about the rape that haunts you each and every day. The man’s eyes dart down to your abdomen, and your hands shoot up to cover it as if to hide your pregnancy from him.

“You got a damn O’Driscoll in your belly!” He howls in laughter, pointing at the child that grows within you.

Something deep and ancient and animalistic within you snaps like a leather whip. Suddenly this child in your belly wasn’t a burden. Suddenly the circumstances of its beginning didn’t matter. Suddenly, this raggedy outlaw in front of you was threatening your child. You scowl, your hands protectively over your stomach, the child agitated within, kicking at you as your blood rises. Righteous anger, for the first time since your ordeal, courses through your veins.

“My baby ain't no O’Driscoll,” You hiss, your bound hands clenching in rage, “This baby is Arthur Morgan’s - ‘nd he’s gonna come and skin you alive.” 

The hot anger sizzling through your blood, you know, would match Arthur’s. You can see, in your mind’s eye, your lover coming in, guns blazing, ready to tear anyone who threatens you and your child limb from limb.

A flash of something crosses the O’Driscoll’s face. Maybe fear, maybe recognition. His haughty smirk falls. Annoyed, he yanks you forward and forces you to your knees as you yell obscenities at him. Your hands are then bound behind you and the ropes threaded through the spokes of the wagon wheel you are forced to sit against.

The soft crackles of the fire ten feet away and the chirp of the crickets are foreboding in your gut - and for good reason. 

Kieran’s screams echo through the night and are a sound you will never forget.

-

“What do you mean you haven’t seen her? How th’ hell do you lose a pregnant woman?” Arthur stomps through the front door of the plantation house with Sadie trailing behind. 

“I ain't babysittin’ her Arthur - I’m just sayin’ I haven't seen her since this mornin’.”

“Arthur-” Dutch calls from the stairs, “Come up here, son - we have to talk. Missus Adler, will you excuse us?”

Arthur lets out a long breath through his nose. “Comin’-” he yells up to Dutch, and turns to Sadie, “Will you go find her? She’s been a goddamn hellcat with how angry gets nowadays.”

Sadie rolls her eyes, “Gosh Arthur, I wonder why.”

Arthur waves his hand at Sadie dismissively as he bounds up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He moves through the room where Dutch has stored his gramophone and the camp funds to find the older man out on the balcony. 

Dutch smokes a cigar, looking out on the decrepit fountain in the front of the manor below. He holds another one in his fingers, offering it to Arthur as he comes closer. Arthur grunts and takes the cigar, pulling a box of matches out of his satchel with the other hand.

Dutch motions toward the skyline of Saint Denis in the distance, barely visible over the cypress trees in the swamp. “Now… the trolley bus station…” The cigar’s end glows red between his fingers, “I went down there… I took a look at it… I think we can hit it.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow as he lights his cigar, puffing it to get it lit before holding it between his fingers, “I ain’t never robbed in a city before,” he replies with uncertainty.

Dutch smirks with that boisterous smile that Arthur has known for years. “Yeah, well you leave the planning to me, You’ll ride with me?”

“Always.”

Dutch grabs Arthur’s shoulder to reassure him. “Gonna get enough to get on a boat. Raise that kid o’yours on a mango farm, with no worries in the world.”

Arthur frowns, at both the mention of the baby and this harebrained idea of going to Tahiti of all places. Dutch senses his trepidation.

Dutch sighs, looking out over the balcony as a plume of smoke drifting upwards. He squints up the road leading toward Scarlett Meadows, placing his hands on the worn railing, “What the–”

Mary Beth’s scream cuts through the quiet.

-

Sadie Adler is quite unperturbed by the blood spattered all over her blouse. Frankly, she seems quite comfortable partly drenched in the lifeblood of O’Dricolls - doling out her divine justice for the wrongs hoisted upon her.

Arthur, however, is mad as a grizzly bear. 

“The last time I saw her she was with ‘im.” Sadie nods at poor Kieran’s headless body, where Javier and Bill hoist him up for burial outside of camp. Orville Swanson seems suddenly quite sober as he holds the decapitated head, slowly trailing the other two.

Arthur grinds his teeth so hard that most of the state could probably hear him. Scowling, he surveys the carnage outside the old house before stalking toward the horses, some of them having broken their hitches and darted further into the woods.

“Charles!” Arthur barks, “Missus Adler.”

Sadie nods, shouldering her rifle. Charles joins in, trotting from where he had just thrown a corpse into the bayou to follow the other two over to the horses from the old plantation house.

John Marston leads Old Boy out of the woods and swings up on him, leading the half-bred to where the other three horses have gathered.

“Marston.” 

“You helped me get my son back. I ain’t… Ain’t gonna stand by watchin’ you try to get yours back.`` John adjusts the strap of his repeater across his chest. 

Arthur simply grunts, too aggravated to show any thanks. He digs his spurs into his horse’s side, and with a high whinny, Arthur urges the mare into a gallop as they leave the plantation. Taima, Bob, and Old Boy fall in line.

He grips his revolver hard, standing in his saddle as the mare runs blisteringly fast up the road, through the old battlefields, and north into Scarlett Meadows.

-

The shouts and yells and gunshots have you huddling against the wagon wheel, your arms scream in pain as you try to tug at your bindings, your knees drawn up close to try and shield your belly from whoever is rolling in on your captors. Was it more O’Driscolls? Was it Lemoyne Raiders? 

A pair of boots sidle up in front of you. You look up in fear, your heart racing, and a gasp escapes your mouth as you stare up at the owner of said boots.

Arthur stands in front of the wagon, his whole body heaving with labored breaths. Blood is spattered up the side of his face, his hands tightly around a shotgun, still cocked and smoking from its obvious use.

“Darlin’-” 

Overwhelmed, you moan and start to collapse forward. He moves with a speed that betrays how wound up he still is from the fight, throwing his shotgun to the ground and catching you, whipping out his knife from its sheath and cutting the ropes that bind your arms.

Immediately, he heaves you up in his arms as if you were nothing as he stands up from his knee. With his arms looped behind your back and under your knees, he crushes you to himself for a moment.

“Are you hurt? What’s all this blood?” Arthur frets, looking over your bloodstained shift, eyes darting over your belly, searching for a possible injury where it was coming from.

Instead of answering you throw your arms around his neck, burying your head into his collarbone. 

“Sweetheart, y’gotta tell me-”

“The blood is Kieran’s,” You croak, “Ain’t mine… I’m alrigh’... we’re alrigh’.” You trail off and then begin to weep into Arthur’s shirt.

You can almost hear his jaw clench. A darkness shrouds his face as he carries you back into the campsite, shot up and full of bodies. You turn to see the carnage.

Sadie continues to loot the bodies of the fallen O’Driscolls, kicking each one as she finishes for good measure. Charles walks Arthur’s mare and Taima from the woodline where they had ditched the horses. 

Arthur’s shotgun is picked up from the ground. Clutching once more at Arthur’s shirt, you make eye contact with John Marston, who stares back at you with an unreadable expression.

-

The door latches behind you - at least as much as it can physically latch, and silence finally falls in this old room, the oil lamp throwing yellow-orange light and casting shadows around the room. The floorboards creak under the heavy footfall of Arthur’s boots as he moves toward the center of the room, one by one taking the weapons off of his person.

A repeater was laid against the table. A rifle balanced on his clothing chest. He shrugs off his bloodstained brown leather jacket and tosses it to the floor before looking back up at you. The simmering vein of anger in his blood seems to have been assuaged on the ride back, where he clutched you in his arm tight enough that the devil himself would have to pry you from his grasp.

“Y’sure you're okay? Y’sure all that blood ain't yours?”

You nod, trying to stave off the tears that threaten to fall from your eyes, failing miserably as your chin quivers and your lips purse. Arthur yanks his hat off and lets it drop on the table as he closes the distance between you. 

“Sweetheart-”

His hands reach toward you, but you immediately grab him by the wrists before he has a chance to pull you into his embrace. Pulling his hands downward, you place them broadly across your belly, his eyes widening as he spreads his fingers out over the swell. You place your own hands over his, pressing against them so he can feel the movement beneath your skin.

His cornflower-blue eyes track up to yours, and with a shuddering sob, the wall you’d been building between yourself and him finally crumbles.

“I-it’s yours-,” your voice cracks as tears freely flow down your face, “It’s yours, Arthur. This baby is yours and mine a-and-”

He removes one hand from your belly and pulls you into his warm embrace, kissing the top of your head gently as he traces soft circles on your skin with the remaining hand.

“Always was, darlin’.” The timbres of his low voice are comforting as you weep into his work shirt. “Like I told ya - that child is mine. I'm gonna be its pa.”

You sob harder into his warmth, your fingers tightening in the fabric as you clutch at him. One of his hands finds your lower back and gently rubs circles in soothing motions. 

“No.. no I mean…He… didn’t, he didn’t-” you stutter, hiccuping.

“Y’ain’t gotta say anything bout him-” Arthur cups the back of your head, trying to prevent you from going down that road.

“I- I don’t know why it was stuck in my head. Like I couldn’t think it was possible that it wasn’t his… but - but he ain’t, it’s not…”

“Sweetheart-”

“He didn’t finish in me. It - it was only once and he didn’t finish in me.” You spit out, as if the words were venom in your mouth. You squeeze your eyes shut against your body's physical reaction: a shudder of revulsion as past scenes invade your mind again. But speaking it aloud, getting it out in the open, there was something freeing about it.

Arthur clutches you to him, tucking his chin against the crown of your head.

“N-None of them O’Driscolls touched me.” You whimper into his chest.

You feel his arms tighten around you, as he breathes in to seemingly center himself again, the rage from before threatening to lash out once again.

“I’m still gonna hunt down every one of them and -” He snarls lowly before you bury your face into his chest, 

“Don’t. Don’t - don’t leave me. I need you here.”

He breathes out slowly, calming himself down before he cups the back of your head. “Ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

After a moment to collect yourself, you look up at him, one of your hands tracing up his broad chest, his neck, your fingers weaving through his short beard.

“Arthur,” you sniffle, rubbing at your wet cheek with the back of your other hand.

“You don’t gotta do anythin’.” He interjects, his thumb catching your jaw before wiping the opposite cheek.

Your brow crinkles and you step up on your toes and press your lips to his forcefully, which he meets your fervor almost immediately.

You open your mouth to him and he groans lowly, drawing you even closer in his embrace, awkward with the swell of your child between you. 

He draws away from your lips slowly, and his hands trace up your body to cup your cheeks gently - far too gently for a gunslinging outlaw. 

“What d’ya want, sweetheart?” His low voice rumbles before he presses his lips to your forehead. You let out a breath and lean into him, reaching up on your toes to press your lips against his again, arms wound around his torso. Your belly presses against his, preventing you from melting fully into his arms.

The words tumble from your lips before you can stop them. 

“Will you touch me?”

So long ago, you had timidly asked him that in front of a campfire in West Elizabeth. You had begged him, pleaded, to have him take away the pain and memory of your ordeal. To have the last person who touched you do it out of love, not power and control.

Arthur smiles, like the morning sunrise, and draws you up for another kiss.

“Ain’t nothin’ I'd like more to do.”

There are several more moments of kissing, the wet sounds of mouths meeting the only sound in the room before Arthur bends to pick you up, hooking his arm beneath your knee and carrying you to the rickety old bed, laying you down gently with a kiss to your forehead.

“I ain’t… I’ve never done this with someone in your… condition.” Arthur stutters sheepishly as he slides one of his suspenders down his arms.

You smile and reach up to grab the other suspender and peel it downward. “I’ll be okay. Just be gentle.”

The cotton straps swing by his side as he leans over to take his boots off, they clunk to the floor heavily as he tosses them away. He leans over you and works your boots off, tossing them to the floor in a pile near his own.

Hands move slowly - gently, with purpose. His shirt falls to the floor. Your bloodstained skirt follows. The ruined blouse. They all pile on the floorboards until your lace-trimmed chemise is all that covers your body. You give a lopsided grin as he reaches toward your neckline. 

“What?” He grins, tracing up to one shoulder and pushing the strap down your bicep.

“Reckon I look a little different since the last time we did this.”

The cotton is peeled downward, exposing your swollen breast and darkened nipple. 

“Reckon you’re even more beautiful now.” He drawls before fully leaning over you and pressing his lips against the top of your breast, and you mewl in response, your sensitivity so heightened as he works his way down, letting his tongue lave over your nipple. You arch your back, chasing the feeling, whimpering as his lips close around your nipple and gently suck upon it for a moment.

Your fingers weave into his hair, and you yelp as he sucks harder, yanking on his hair in overstimulation. His mouth pops off your nipple as he rears up immediately, concern alight in his eyes.

“S’okay - just a little sensitive.” You ruffle his hair affectionately as he whispers an apology, sheepish as he leans up to kiss you quickly, his grip on you not nearly as strong. 

“C’mon now,” you pull your chemise over your head, tossing it over the bed and moving one of his hands to your hip to push down your drawers. Arthur’s breath stutters as his hand traces back up your thigh as you kick the bloomers off, some of his earlier fear and reticence leaving him. 

“Christ,” he breathes against your skin as he buries his face in the curve of your neck, “Yer so beautiful like this.”

His large hand dips between your legs and you whimper as you spread them to grant access. His fingers immediately part your folds and it’s only half a moment before he finds that little nub of your pleasure, circling it with his finger as you begin to mewl softly, your eyes fluttering closed as he leans over you.

You stutter in gasping notes, needy whines filling the room as he touches you. He rumbles his assent, pleased, “It’s been killin’ me not to touch you.”

“Really?” You breathe, and he takes the opportunity to slide his thick trigger finger into your cunt, and your back arches in response.

“Course- you, you’re,” he stops and groans in your ear as he pulls his finger out, near dripping with your essence, “You’re the prettiest damn thing I’ve ever seen, carrying’ my child.”

“Yours.” You croon in response.

He agrees with a smirk, knowing he’s finally helped pull you from the abyss of denial, “Mine. Just like you, yer my girl.”

Arthur slides his finger back in. You gasp, high and flighty, blushing and needy. Your hands clutch at the old sheet laid out on the bed. 

His other hand brushes a few strands of your hair from your forehead, tucking them behind your ear. He smiles, dangerously fond, and leans over to press his lips to yours and smothers the noises of your pleasure.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the wet squelching of his hand, gently, slowly thrusting in and out between your spread legs. When he moves to hold himself above you again, he runs his gaze up and down your body - your bite-swollen lips, your heaving bosom - darkened nipples spit-slicked in the evening light.

The roundness of your belly where his child grows. 

By the time his gaze returns to your face, he finds you waiting. Your eyes open wide and searching for his. 

“Arthur.”

“Mm?” He nods, drawing his finger out from your body. You grab at his wrist to ground yourself.

“I want you.” 

Arthur smiles in response, pressing a kiss to your forehead as you lay on his bed. He stands up to his full height from where he leaned over you and unbuttons his pants, pushing down both them and the short drawers he had taken to wearing in the Lemoyne heat. After the fabric reaches his saddle-hewn thighs, it falls to the ground, pooling at his feet, leaving all six feet of him bare for you to see.

His hefty cock stands at attention, darkened with blood and wet at the tip. A testament to his reciprocated want.

“Here, turn over,” Arthur helps you to roll onto your side, facing the wall, and he slides into the bed next to you, its old wood creaking with the weight and movement. Arthur holds a hand tightly to your hip as you lay on your side away from him, squeezing affectionately as he settles in.

Flushed against your back, even with you large with child, Arthur dominates you, his arm curling up and over your torso. He’s warm and strong and hard against you.

“You tell me if anythin’ doesn’t feed good, alrigh’?” He rumbles into your ear as his hand, having moved down to your thigh, pulls your leg backward and over his own hip.

You nod vigorously, unable to articulate any words as you feel him guide his cock between your legs, tucking it between your folds and giving a few languid, gentle thrusts to coat himself in your slick. You grab at the hand spread out over your thigh and interlace your fingers; he squeezes your hand in response.

Arthur grits his teeth as pulls his hips back, the head of his cock catching on your opening. He presses inward, his hardened flesh pushing through the rim of your cunt. You gasp in return, feeling the first inches of him enter your body. 

He leans up on one elbow and presses his lips to your temple as you whimper.

“Okay?” He whispers, remaining still, only half buried in your warmth.

You whine a little and wiggle your hips, he groans as another inch of him slips in. He presses forward, fully sheathing himself in you, and you whimper again, cunt stuffed full of him.

He allows you time to accommodate him - the dual pressure of him and the child pressing on your hips is nearly painful in a way that you can’t get enough. You tip your head back, breathing out as your whole body presses back against his - even swollen with child, you feel small against him. All muscle and corded arms and his broad chest-

Arthur gives an experimental, shallow thrust of his hips. His cock halfway leaves you before pushing into you again. The whimpering escaping your mouth escalates into a moan, and he curls his body over yours, his stubble against your cheek, and you can feel him smile against you.

“There’s my girl.”

He does it again. And again, and again, until he is throwing his hips against yours, panting wildly in your ear as he fills your cunt over and over.

Arthur’s hand moves from under yours on your thigh to cradle your belly and the life growing within. You feel fit to burst - the fondness overflowing from your heart at his gesture, the rhythmic slapping of his skin against yours, the filling and emptying of your core with all of him - it is only moments before you stutter out a breathy jumble of words.

“M’ gonna-ngh- Arth… Arthur, I’m gonn-”

He holds himself still, a feat in itself, and rubs at your clit with two fingers, leaving you a gasping, shuddering mess as he works an orgasm out of you.

“There we go, there’s my girl.” He whispers again in your ear as you shudder and shake and gasp, his cock still buried to the hilt within you. As you come down from your high, he gently pulls out, laying on his back and grunting as he takes himself in hand, pumping his cock until he breathes out heavily, coming all over his belly as he finds his pleasure.

You lay still for a few moments more, recovering and catching your breath. You feel Arthur unwind himself from you and get up from the rickety bed. With some measure of difficulty, you turn yourself around, facing the room instead of the wall. One of your hands subconsciously begins drawing small circles on your stomach as you watch Arthur wipe his own clean of his spend with an old bandana.

Arthur tosses the soiled bandana to the ground. He goes to reach for a fresh union suit before you make a sound of disapproval.

“Come sleep with me.” You plead, and the smile he gives you in return assuages all fears as he drops the union suit and takes the last few steps between the bed and where he stood.

With a bit of finagling, he slides into bed and pulls the old blanket over the two of you.

He returns to you as you wind your arms around his neck, your naked bodies pressed against each other, the swell of your child between you. One of his hands rests on your belly, and for the first time in months, you fall asleep at peace.

[cressidagrey]

The Ties that Bind - Chapter 5

Summary: 

Shadowsingers were made, not born. Made out of trauma and loneliness and desperation.

So when Cilla and Azriel meet and their shadows entwine, they both meet the only other person that could understand these particular childhood scars.

The last thing Azriel had ever expected from his mate, however, was for her to have a surprising connection to his brother.

Warnings: 

Mentions of Child abuse and neglect, Cassian feels horrible, Azriel gets a broken nose and for once, Rhys is actually not that horrible?!

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

For as long as Cassian could think, his brother had the unfortunate habit of not actually talking about his problems. Cassian liked to complain. Azriel never did, regardless of what went on in his life. 

He stayed silent, seemingly thinking that even the slightest annoyance was something that he deserved for some god-forsaken reason. 

So it shouldn’t actually surprise him that Azriel decided to go completely silent. He should be well used to it by now. 

And still, Cassian worried. 

“Anything new from Az?” he badgered Rhys during dinner, who just sighed. 

“No.”

Mor was already rolling her eyes because he already had annoyed her during this week. He had not gotten a proper answer out of Mor either, because Mor had absolutely no clue where Azriel was or what he was doing. Amren had threatened to behead him if he asked her again if she knew anything and had then decided that not showing up for dinner was probably in her best interests, so Rhys was his next, long-suffering victim. 

(Nesta had threatened to geld him, and he was kinda taking her threat seriously, so he had already exhausted that avenue of enquiry as well…and Feyre knew nothing as well.) 

“And he really didn’t tell you what it was about?” Cassian wheedled, and Rhys just fixed him with a glance. 

“I don’t know any more than what you do,” Rhys gave back. “You know how he gets sometimes. It’s better to give him time, we learned that the hard way,” Rhys said reasonably.

It was true. 

They had learned that the hard way. It was much better to give Azriel the time until he came to them on their own until they were in the mood to badger him until blood was drawn.  

The problem was just, that Cassian didn’t want to be reasonable. 

“Normally we know that something is going on. It’s out of character for him to just…demand time off so suddenly,” he shot back.

“Then I imagine he has a rather good reason for it,” Rhys sniped, rolling his eyes. 

“He’ll come to us when he’s ready,” Mor said with a shrug. 

That’s what Cassian worried about. That Az was going to come to them when he was ready and not when he actually needed help, which promised to be far earlier. 

“It’s not about Rosehall, is it?” Cassian asked suddenly. Was this about Azriel’s mother?

“Cassian, I really don’t know any more than you do,” Rhys said with a sigh.

Fine.

And then, just like somebody had summoned him, Azriel stalked through the door of the Dining Room. 

Looking none the worse for wear, which was good…but also looked like he was getting ready for a war, shadows ominously swirling around his shoulders. 

Before Cassian could even open his mouth, Azriel fixed him with harsh hazel eyes. “We need to have a talk, Cassian. Outside now.”

It was said so coldly, so evenly that Cassian froze. 

“Why outside?” Feyre piped up curiously. 

“Chances are, either Cassian will try to kill me or I’ll kill him. I don’t want to get blood on your rugs, so outside,” Azriel answered, not a spark of humour in these words. 

“What have I done?” Cassian tried for levity but failed horribly, even as he stood. 

Something had happened. And it must have been horribly, otherwise he couldn’t Otherwise he couldn’t…he couldn’t explain what had happened to Azriel. 

“I hope to the cauldron nothing,” Azriel answered, his voice quiet, before turning on his heel, and going outside. 

Cassian and Rhys exchanged a look of foreboding, though they weren’t the only ones. 

Feyre and Mor were jostling for the best viewing position, while Nesta watched the whole thing with crossed arms, clearly thinking that Cassian must have been an idiot or worse…though he really had no idea, what Azriel could be so upset about. 

Rhys demanded that they both handed over all the knives they wore, and to his surprise, Azriel not only handed over Truthteller but every other single knife he kept stashed on his body to Rhys without a word…well, that wasn’t particularly calming either. 

”Hit me with it. What the fuck is going on?” Cassian asked with a sigh.

“I need to ask you a question. And I need you to answer me truthfully,” Azriel told him, his arms held tightly at his side, wings flaring. 

“Yolanda Negrescu.” 

It was a name. 

“Who?” Cassian asked, coming up…completely empty. 

“You don’t remember her?” Azriel asked him, staring at him like he was very much doubting Cassian’s ability to breathe at that moment. 

“Should I?” He asked with a grimace. 

“You slept with her, Cassian,” Azriel said, his face unmoving like marble. 

Oh. He wrecked his brain. What did it say about him that he still kept up completely empty? He had no clue whatsoever who that had been. What Yolanda Negrescu may have looked like…

“Around 20 years ago,” Azriel offered up. So it had been during the Sealing of Velaris. Right. That narrowed it down. If one wanted to call his near-nightly trip to Rita’s or another pleasure hall that…

“You really don’t remember?” Rhys asked from the sidelines and Cassian growled. 

“I have slept with a few dozen people in over 500 years. I highly doubt you still remember every single one of your conquests, Rhysie,” he groused. “So I slept with her, 20 years ago. What does it matter?” Cassian asked Azriel with a sigh. 

“She’s dead,” Azriel said evenly. 

“That’s…sad,” Cassian responded with a sigh. “But I don’t really know what you want from me here, Az?” Why did this result in Azriel coming here and demanding to speak to him? Why had this Yolanda even come up in Azriel’s work? What had happened to Yolanda Negrescu?

Azriel closed his eyes for just a moment, before they opened again, his resolve clearly hardening. 

“She died in childbirth. 19 years ago,” Azriel said carefully. “Her daughter‘s Illyrian wings shredded her from the inside out.”

For just one moment it felt like he couldn’t properly breathe anymore. 

If he had slept with her 20 years ago…and 19 years ago she had died in childbirth…and the child had Illyrian wings…By the cauldron. 

No, this couldn’t be. 

This was impossible. 

“What?” Nesta spat out. 

“Are you sure?” Rhys asked, his voice careful. Azriel just inclined his head. 

This shouldn’t be happening. Cassian had always taken a contraceptive draught, he had never even thought about the possibility…he had never even…What? 

How could…

A child? A daughter?

He hadn’t known about her. He had never…

She had grown up a bastard, just like him, hadn’t she?

The one thing he has always promised himself he wouldn’t do, father a bastard, and he had managed to do just that. 

Not for 500 years, but clearly then his luck or his care had run out and he had saddled the poor girl with…he had killed her and hadn’t even been aware that he had done it. 

And she had died giving birth to his daughter. 

“I…I have a daughter?” he asked, his voice shaking, staring at Azriel who was still watching him. 

“You didn’t know,” Azriel said flatly. 

Cassian just stared at him. “What? No, of course, I didn’t know!” he snapped. 

If he had known, everybody would have known. He would have never tried to keep his daughter a secret from his family! She would have been his, damnit!

Not thrown away like garbage, like he had been, but treasured and protected. 

How could Azriel even think that he ever…

“How did you find her?” he asked Azriel weakly. “Where did you…”

How had Azriel come across her? The first time that evening, something like emotions flittered over Azriel’s face, just that Cassian couldn’t place them. 

“I met my mate.”

He blinked, twice. 

That was the last thing Cassian had expected after the news of that evening. 

But it was good news, wasn’t it? 

“You met your mate, Az?” Rhys asked, clearly surprised and Azriel nodded. “But that’s fantastic news! Where did you…“ 

And then the pieces seemed to come together for Rhys and Cassian at the same time. 

Cassian’s wings flared. Pure protectiveness turned into rage enveloping him. 

“Azriel. Tell me that your mate is not my daughter,” he spat out.  A gasp of surprise, either Nesta or Feyre or Mor…but he didn’t care. 

Azriel, his brother, met his gaze square on. It was all the answer he needed

“I am going to fucking kill you,” Cassian growled, as he attacked. 

It had been a good call from Rhys to insist on them handing over their knives because like this it only ended in a wrestling match, that probably ruined half of Feyre’s landscaping.

Though he did break Azriel’s nose. 

It did not really make him feel better. Especially because he just knew that Azriel had let him get that hit in. 

“Don’t even think about laying a hand on her,” he growled, still throttling Azriel. 

“Too late for that,” Azriel growled right back, every inch the freshly mated male. 

It just fired on that protective fury. “She’s my daughter!” Cassian bellowed. “She’s still half a child!” Azriel had no fucking right to lay one fucking finger on her! She should still be…

“She’s an adult. Otherwise, the mating bond wouldn’t have snapped. Feyre was not much older than her,” Rhys gave back with a sigh. “Cassian. 

“And that makes it right?!” Cassian snapped. “Azriel can’t have known her longer than a few hours!”

“Cassian,” Rhys cut him off once again. “She’s his mate. None of us told you to keep away from Nesta.” 

“Fuck you,” he seethed. “She’s too young! She probably didn’t even have a clue what she was doing!” Azriel flinched, not saying a single thing and Cassian fixed him with a glare. 

“You aren’t even trying to defend yourself,” Cassian realised. “You think the exact same.”

Azriel wiped the blood off his face as Cassian let off him.  “She’s fucking traumatised, Cassian,” Azriel said sharply. “I didn’t even think about how bad it was until after.” 

He nearly went back to throttling Azriel if Rhys didn’t intercept. 

“Is she alright?!” Cassian demanded sharply.

“Physically? Mostly,” Azriel answered, shaking out his wings as he gained his feed. “I fished her out of a mountain lake after she tried to fly. She had a fever but that has disappeared.”

“She can’t fly?” Rhys asked, shocked. 

Azriel shook his head, a muscle in his jaw feathering. 

“Her grandmother raised her after her mother’s death. She spent her childhood locked in her grandmother’s attic. Her wings were bound to her back so tightly that there is scarring.”

All the tension, all the anger at his brother bled out of Cassian like somebody had hit his carotid artery. An attic. 

His daughter had spent her childhood locked in an attic with her wings bound. 

She had never had the childhood everybody should have…something like the childhood Nyx got to have these days…of wonder and happiness…Instead, she had been locked into a small dark space, with her wings, the pride and joy of every Illyrian bound to her back so tightly that it had scarred her. 

Somehow that seemed just as bad clipping her wings. 

“And mentally?” Rhys asked the question he was thinking.

“It could be worse,” Azriel admitted. “She‘s quiet. Halfway Feral. But sweet,” he assured him at Cassian’s startled look.  

“Obviously Cassian‘s daughter,” Mor managed to bring out, a joke that fell flat. 

“It gets pretty obvious once you realise it. She smells like you,” Azriel said quietly. “Just she has a tint of vanilla to her scent you don’t have. 

“And otherwise….?” Cassian asked, shakily. 

“She can’t read or write,” Azriel said quietly. “She expects everybody to be out to hurt her. Which isn’t far from the truth, because she got an employer that ignored the minimum wage and a landlord that offered to let her pay for her apartment on her knees.” He spat out the last few words and Cassian wanted to vomit. 

She was…she was his little girl. 

And she had been…she had been treated so abhorrently.

“What’s her name?” he asked Azriel. “What…”

“Her shadows named her Cilla,” Azriel answered quietly. 

Cilla. 

But only when Rhys pulled in a sharp breath did the rest of Azriel’s statement register. 

“She’s a shadowsinger - just like you,” he realised weakly. Azriel just inclined his head. 

Of course. Of course, Azriel hadn’t thought twice about accepting that Mating Bond. Not when Cilla was the one female in all of Prythian that could probably understand his brother. Not when she was the only one who also had this strange ability…

“You know what that means,” Azriel said quietly. 

He did. 

He swallowed, nausea building in his stomach when he reflected exactly on what it meant. 

“What does it mean?” Nesta demanded, and he swivelled around, staring at his mate, who crossed the space between them…that reached out for his hand and squeezed it. “What does that mean for her?”

“It means that she spent so much time alone in the darkness that the darkness decided to talk back to her,” Azriel said, his voice painfully even. “Shadowsingers are made, not born. Most don’t survive their adolescence, driven mad by the sound of the shadows. Others… others find comfort in it.”

Cassian had never asked, but he knew which of these two possibility were the case of his brother. “Cilla only had her shadows for company for half her life. For that she is…surprisingly sane,” Azriel admitted freely. 

“You said her shadows named her Cilla. What is her real name?” Nesta asked. 

“I couldn’t find a birth certificate,” Azriel admitted quietly. “I only found her mother’s name through house-owning records…Her shadows gave me her former address, I checked who owned the house…I found her grandmother and her mother.”

“What did her grandmother call her?” Cassian asked, but Azriel just shook his head. 

“You don’t want me to repeat that,” he told Cassian near painfully soft. 

“Who does she look like?” he demanded next, trying to come up…trying to come up with what her mother, what Yolanda had looked like and came up empty, once again. 

“Your hair but curlier. The shape of her eyes is you. Nose and mouth must be her mother's but her forehead is all you as well,” Azriel answered. It didn’t help. It didn’t…make it possible for Cassian to imagine…what his daughter, what Cilla must look like. 

“And where is she?” 

“My house,” Azriel answered quietly. “I…told her that I would get answers for her. She doesn’t know that I know you, but I…I asked her if she wanted to meet her father,” he said carefully and Cassian swallowed.  “She wanted to know if her father knew that he signed her mother’s death warrant when he slept with her. And if he knew that she spent the better part of two decades living in that attic.”

“I didn’t,” he pledged. “I didn’t know,” he repeated desperately. Azriel just inclined his head. 

“I know,” he answered with a sigh. “I didn’t think you knew…but I needed to make sure.”

Azriel’s eyes were asking for understanding and Cassian understood it. 

Azriel was still in the throes of these early days of a freshly mated Male. Overly protective, overly territorial…it was a wonder that he hadn’t outright slaughtered Cassian for a perceived slight against his mate. 

“What…What happens now?” Cassian asked shakily. What…

“What do you want to happen now?” Nesta asked him calmly. “She’s your daughter.”

She was. But Nesta was his mate, and Azriel was his brother and…

“She’s your daughter. The only opinion that matters is what the two of you want,” Nesta said carefully, looking at him, with these beautiful grey eyes and he could see the stark honesty in them. 

She reached up to cup his cheek. 

“She’s your daughter, Cassian,” she repeated, her voice soft. “We’ll deal with it…together.”

“I want to meet her.”