#Sunshine (little me before I got my trauma that I will not be explaining)

[easily-distracted-by-fandom]

Random question tho. This is for anyone please. Reblog with your answers

you wake up and you and a minimum of 5 other people are with you. These people are you from past events in your life, you have the most experience. The people can be from any point in your life as long at they are significantly different from you as a person. You cannot leave the room until the others go back to their timelines which will happen once the amount of time equivalent to 24 hours for each person has passed. What do you do and which people are with you.

(No ages I don’t want minors telling people theyre minors or their exact age. That’s dangerous)

[yelenasdiary]

How about the story of Nat realizing she's pregnant and dealing with it all. Then the day to day life of Nat and her babygirl

Wondering

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Daughter! Reader

Summary: With help from her best friend, Clint, Natasha escapes the control of the Red Room and prepares for a whole new life.

Angst, Comfort.

Warnings: Mentions of Red Room, Pregnancy, Pregnancy Talk, Childbirth | 1.7K

Translations: милый (darling), я люблю тебя, солнышко (I love you, sunshine)

AC: I think this is the perfect request for the first fic of the AU! Thank you for sending this x I hope this helps set a little backstory for Nat.

A Widow’s Sunshine Masterlist

Natasha had been nothing but quiet for the last four days since staying with Clint at his farmhouse. It was a big house for a man who lived alone, Clint assumed that his friend was worried that the widows of the Red Room would find her and take her back but the look in Natasha's eyes told him that was far from her worries.

"Alright, tell me what's going on" Clint spoke as he sat down next to Nat on the sofa. His friend looked at him and sighed lightly, "Nat, come on, you can tell me" he added. Natasha knew the time would come and she would have to talk somewhat about her time in the Red Room. She and Clint have been on the run since she met him, although this was not the first time, she was able to escape, this time was the only time they haven't found her and brought her back. 

"Remember how I was telling you about the graduation ceremony?" Natasha replied, Clint nodded. "Well, I didn't tell you all the stages before it. Before the graduation and after you've completed the program, you're to hav-" Natasha paused, the trauma of her life catching up to her, although she was still young, in her early 20s, she felt she had already lived a lifetime of trauma. Clint placed his hand on top of hers for comfort, "whatever it is Nat, we'll get through it" he assured her. 

"I'm pregnant" the words spewed out. Nat could see the questions flying around Clint's mind and deserved to answer them before he asked. "It's Dreykov's way of getting more widows without getting caught, they inseminate you, you give birth, they take the baby, and you go to what they call recovery which is just them brainwashing you until you have completely forgotten the last 9 months. After that, you go through the graduation ceremony and…well the rest is what you already know" she explained. 

Clint took a moment to process the news he was just told, "do you" He paused unsure if his question would offend his best friend, but it was something he needed to know to be able to help, "do you want to keep the baby?" He asked. Natasha nodded as a soft smile tugged at her lips, "I've done enough bad in the world, and I'll be damned if I let them do the same to my baby. I know this isn't what you expected so I don't expect you keep me here, but I do need a little time to work something out" she replied. 

"Don't be stupid Nat. You can stay here as long as you and the baby need, you're safe here, I promise" Clint spoke sternly, assuring his words got through to his best friend. Natasha hugged him tightly, thanking him for his understanding and kindness and for a moment any worries she currently had were no more. 

----

Pregnancy for Natasha was a whole new chapter that she wasn't prepared for, but she loved every single moment of it. It gave her a sense of normality; she spent her days learning new things that would help her for when her baby would enter the world. Clint helped her along the way, he even began building a small homestead for Natasha to have a little more privacy when her baby was born. It was only a few months into her pregnancy that Clint met Laura. 

Each night Natasha would read you stories from a children's book she would buy from the thrift shop, even though you weren't born yet, the little actions she did while pregnant gave her great comfort and made her even more excited to finally hold you in her arms. She would talk to you about anything she was doing, baking cookies for Clint and Laura? She would be talking you through each step and even asking you questions as if you could actually answer her, sometimes you would kick, and she would take that as an answer. 

Even through all the happiness, joy and excitement there was still worries and fears growing with each day. She was suspicious as to why she'd gone almost her entire pregnancy without even a sighting or feeling that Dreykov was after her. Clint assured her that his farm was a safe place and even offered for Natasha to join the Avengers after you were born, and she felt ready. It was an idea that she spent time thinking about but at the end of the day all she wanted to do was make sure you were happy, healthy and safe.

"Woah there милый" Natasha chuckled, rubbing her hand over her bump, "this isn't the world cup" she added. 

"Kicking a lot today?" Clint asked, taking a sip of his afternoon coffee.

"She hasn't stopped" Nat replied. Clint looked up at her with wide eyes, "she? When did you find out" he asked with a hint of excitement in his voice. Natasha couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips while her hand naturally rubbed her seven-month pregnant stomach, "I didn't need to find out" she replied, "She was always going to be a little girl" she added but she didn't let the faint memory of the Red Room bring out the happiness she had been having with each day you grew. 

Clint got up and hugged Natasha and congratulated her, he could see the sparkle in her eyes for the first time ever, he'd never seen her so happy in the few short years that he had known her. "I wanna show you something" he said, taking her by the hand and walking her out to the small homestead that he had just finished and was waiting until the next day to give her the key. 

"I was going to wait until tomorrow but given the news, maybe you want to start planning out the nursery" Clint smiled. Tears built up in Nat's eyes, "what do you think baby girl?" Natasha whispered as she looked around the empty room, "you can paint it, do whatever you like with it, this is all yours" Clint said.

"You've done so much for us, I can't thank you enough" Natasha turned on her heels and hugged him, "thank you" she whispered. 

Over the last couple months of pregnancy, Natasha was preparing for you to enter this world. She and Clint painted the nursery in a soft pastel green color, she hung a photo from her first ultrasound on the wall above your changing table, baby animal décor stickers were also put on the walls. Clint helped up together all the future and placed it wherever Natasha thought would be best and once the nursery was complete, she couldn't wait to rock you to sleep in her arms in the rocking chair or watch you play with your toys on the purple rug when you would get a little older. 

You entered the big wide world at 5:23am on a Thursday morning, healthy and a little smile that made everybody melt. Natasha didn't want to let you go, she could barely take her eyes off you, even when Clint and Laura came to bring the two of you home, she was nervous as anything when Clint held you. 

"Do we have a name yet for the little one?" a nurse asked, "we really need to get the birth certificate done today" she added. 

Natasha nodded, "Y/n Melina Romanoff" she replied with a soft smile. 

"Melina?" Clint questioned, "I'll tell you later, now give me my baby" the red head replied with a soft smile and arms wide open. 

"A beautiful name, I'll finalise the certificate" the nurse smiled, writing your name on a piece of paper. 

----

Natasha was loving every moment of motherhood, even when she felt like she was going to fall asleep while feeding you and when sometimes she thought it was going to be another sleepless night on the cards but being your mother was the only thing she wanted to do every single day. When you slept, she slept and often Clint would find her asleep in the rocking chair by your crib when he came to check on things. Clint and Laura helped as much as they could, but of course, your mother was head strong and said she was fine with looking after you on her own.

"You look exhausted" Clint said as he placed a small bag of groceries on the counter for Nat. "She just didn't want to sleep last night" she replied, pouring herself a mug of hot coffee and sitting down at the small table in her kitchen. "Why don't Laura and I take her for the night so you can get a decent sleep for once" Clint offered but Natasha shook her head, "it's not that I don't want that, I just hate the idea of not being with her" Nat admitted.

"She'll just be up at house, you need some sleep Nat, you can't keep being supermom on coffee and 3 hours of sleep each day" Clint spoke, worried for his best friend. "Besides, how else am I going to show her how great of an uncle I am if you don't let me do that" he added to lighten the mood. Natasha cocked a brow as she took a sip of her coffee, deep down she knew she had to eventually let her guard down just a little and allow others to help. She just wanted the best for you.

"One night" Natasha replied. 

Clint smiled, "you've got it" 

As the weeks turned to months, things got easier for the new mother, each day you had her in awe. Nat eventually did allow for Clint and Laura to spend more time with you while she had a little me time and caught up on sleep. She loved taking you for walks around the property in your pusher, she loved bath time and hearing your little giggles and of course capturing your sweet smile whenever she played peek-a-boo. 

At night when she would pop her head into your room to check on you, she found herself watching you for minutes on end. Her mind wondering about what life was going to bring for the two of you, what tomorrow would bring. She often wondered what your first words would be, when you would take your first steps and what all your favorite things would be but for now, she wanted nothing more than to just enjoy these early years and learn everything she possibly could about you.

"я люблю тебя, солнышко" your mother whispered as she placed the soft kiss on your forehead.

Taglist: @koinsss | @liloandstitchstan | @marcia-maximoff | @skittlebum | @katethewritersblog | @taliiiaasteria | @nova-kyle | 

If you want to be on the taglist for this series, please see the masterlist. It's linked at the top of this post.

[milkywayhou]

You've Got Email (König x OC: Medical Student!Snow) PART III

Summary: When the Colonel from some Private Military Corporation group accidentally send KorTac's secret file via email to a random civilian girl and now they develop some weird relationship.

or

Snow now overthinking about how fucked up her situation can be

TWs: Slow burn (not really), Implies stalking behavior. I just wrote this for fun.

Words Count: 1.9k (The email contain 1.3+ words while the rest was Snow's 4Chan post)

----

From: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

To: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

05/13/23 at 01:38 am

Subject: A late night conspiracy ramble…

Hey!

Once again it’s a late night and these weary med student brain cells are firing off all kinds of…interesting theories and connections, to say the least.

For example, okay hear me out, but what if Big Pharma is actually run by ancient shape-shifting lizard people from the center of the hollow earth who feed on human adrenal gland fluid harvested during rituals conducted at Bohemian Grove, and they started the pharmaceutical industry just to get us all addicted to medication so we’re docile little cash cows?!

I know, I know, it’s utterly ridiculous…buuuuut it would explain a few things haha! Anyways, somehow my winding thought process led me back to pondering your own doubtless intriguing backstory, oh mysterious Colonel.

You’ve given mysterious snippets here and there, but never a straight history lesson, you sly dog. Care to unravel some of those shadows for this thirsty student? Like how’d you get into this line of work anyway?

Maybe share something to take my mind off lizard people conspiracies before this insomnia kills me. You’ve got me curious now!

Conspiracizing but also bedridden,

Snow

----

From: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

To: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

05/13/23 at 02:01 am

Subject: RE: A late night conspiracy ramble…

You’ve a vivid imagination, to be sure. As for my own history…it’s nothing so fanciful, I’m afraid.

I grew up isolated, with only books as company. Social skills proved…challenging. The bullying was constant. All I wanted was to disappear into the quiet of nature, far from the incessant noise inside my head.

By 17 I was desperate to escape, and the military offered just that. I dreamed of being a sniper – controlling chaos from afar through calm precision. But my frame and restlessness didn’t suit remaining still for long. They saw potential elsewhere. They assigned as an insertion specialist instead. It was difficult, but taught discipline. In time I learned to turn noise into focus, chaos into strategy.

Now I protect others as I wished to be protected then. It brings…solace, of a kind. Purpose, where once was only turmoil.

Get some rest, Snow. Sweet dreams.

König

----

From: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

To: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

05/13/23 at 02:14 am

Subject: RE: RE: A late night conspiracy ramble…

I see.

Thank you for sharing that with me. I can’t imagine how difficult those experiences must have been, but I’m grateful you found your calling in spite of them. It takes real strength of character to turn trauma into purpose like that.

Also, I should say the bullying says far more about their weakness of spirit than anything about you. Their loss, as it brought you to where you’re meant to be – helping people in your own way. I can’t help but smile thinking of a tiny bookworm König dreaming of sniping lizards in the woods! Well, you may not be in the trees anymore but it seems your aim is truer than ever.

Thinking on childhoods, mine wasn’t all sunshine either as an awkward kid. Let’s just say blending in was…challenging, to put it lightly. Between moving a lot after my parents split and living with various relatives, school was an escape into study. Seemed the safest route to gain some footing and make the family proud, at least. Kept me busy avoiding the realities outside books for a while too, I suppose. Somehow I suspect lonely bookworm me and you may have gotten along splendidly if our paths crossed back then!

Anyways, not sure where I’m going with this aside from reflecting our younger selves may have found solace in one another, strange as that sounds now in these roles. At least we’ve come into our own in the end, in our own ways. Small favors and all that.

Just a light note before sleep – rest well, König!

Your friend,

Snow

----

From: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

To: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

05/28/23 at 08:27 pm

Subject: Essay Woes and Cadaver Flashbacks

Ugh,

My apologies for this incoherent word vomit you’re about to endure. I’m approximately 5-7 days into an all-nighter essay crunch and my last two brain cells are DANCING.

This final assignment is killing me dead but at least after it’s over I can finally be done with med school! *insert jubilant celebration emoji* Of course that’s if I don’t starve to death first living off instant ramen. I’m positively wasting away without a decent meal. At this rate they’ll be teaching anatomy lectures using my lifeless body.

Whoever invents a magic food delivery service that beams freshly cooked meals directly to overworked students is getting a freaking Nobel Prize. A girl can dream, right? At this point I’d kill a man for a good pizza. *hideshypotheticalmurderweaponbehindback*

Anyways, in my spiral of delirium my thoughts keep wandering back to that fateful day months ago when I randomly received your classified KorTac email out of nowhere. Still bewildered how you even had my address to begin with…were you watching me, Colonel? *pretends to be frightened but is secretlyflattered*

Getting that file was kinda scary at first, not gonna lie. Reminded me of the first time we received our cadavers – that creepy feeling of being watched even after leaving the lab. Is that what it’s like being you, always paranoid someone has intel on you? :)

Anyways, enough gibbering – just wanted to share my pain and also wonder again how our wacky email friendship began! Stay safe out there in whatever shady places your work takes you. And send help – I mean, good luck with all the classified stuff!

Tired and Hangry,

Snow

----

From: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

To: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

05/28/23 at 08:40 pm

Subject: WHAT DID YOU DO

KÖNIG I SWEAR TO GOD

I LITERALLY JUST GOT A DELIVERY AT MY DOOR. IT WAS PIZZA AND IT WAS ALREADY PAID FOR

DUDE TELL ME YOU DIDN’T HACK INTO MY LOCATION OR SOME SHIT. HOW DO YOU KNOW WHERE I LIVE??

I’M FREAKING OUT A LITTLE NOT GONNA LIE. I KNOW YOU HAVE ACCESS TO SHADY TECH BUT PLEASE TELL ME YOU DIDN’T TRACK ME DOWN

I was joking in my last email! Sort of! Please say this was all just a coincidence. I don’t need some extra secret stalker on top of everything else ;____;

Explain yourself soldier man!!! My paranoia can only be quelled with answers.

Sending mildly panicked regards,

Snow

----

From: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

To: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

05/28/23 at 09:12 pm

Subject: RE: WHAT DID YOU DO

Snow,

I assure you, any capabilities related to surveillance are reserved strictly for operations.

As for your delivery, consider it a small kindness from one overworked soul to another. Now eat, regain strength, and get back to that essay. You’ve proven quite resourceful in pulling secrets from shadows. But some mysteries deserve to remain.

Worry not and carry on with your studies.

König

----

From: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

To: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

05/28/23 at 09:25 pm

Subject: Spill. Everything. Now.

I appreciate the pizza bailout, don’t get me wrong. But my paranoia has now reached DEFCON 1 levels and it WILL NOT stand down until I get some answers. So spill. Just how much do you actually know about me? Do you have my address on file somewhere? Photos? Socials? Pet peeves? Middle name??

I understand need-to-know for operations, but this is need-to-know for my own peace of mind. Please assuage these frazzled med student nerves and assure me you’re not some mysterious stalker Colonel (unless that’s just part of your charm). I’ll even send new Luna's pics in return! Consider it a debriefing – you give, you get. Otherwise the wheels will keep spinning in my head…

Sincerely (and only mildly obsessively),

Snow

----------

>>Anonymous

05/29/23(Mon)22:37:10 No:132926391

Colonel Stalker Dude is freaking me out

Image: [Confused pepe scratching head.jpg 230kb, 400x400]

>Be me, a totally tired out and broke student

>Remember getting those shady files months ago

>Thought Colonel dude was cool and weird pen pal

>Even started to like him after long talks

>But NOW he knows my address???

>WTF how long has he been watching me

>On one hand it’s creepy AF but kinda flattering a high rank dude cares

>Other hand I don't want a secret stalker or to get disappeared

>Free food is nice but feeling stalked is not cash money

>Used to have bit of crush but now I'm skeeved TBH

>What do? Can't go to cops cuz questions. No close friends/fam

>Too broke to move or change info

>Maybe he’s just lonely but also maybe he climbs in my window ;____;

>What if he takes my organs in the night like some human harvester?!

>Only protection is my cat Luna and she's useless in a fight ;_;

>Try to be positive and asking him how much he know

>Currently waiting for his replied while I was writing this post

>Anons pls help, should I keep talking to possible stalker man?

Don’t want my organs harvested but also don’t wanna waste a free food connection

Very conflicted and slightly paranoid this girl is in DIRE need of advice

Anonymous 05/29/23(Mon)22:45:19 No:132926405: >>132926391(OP)#

Sounds like a thriller romance novel lol! He probs just cares in his own intense way. Keep talking but be safe, maybe feel him out more? Could be nnothing ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Anonymous 05/29/23(Mon)23:16:08 No:132926439: >>132926405#

IKR it does sound like a book! But what if it’s a prequel to a snuff film?! I’ll try to subtly find out wtf he knows without pissing him off…

Anonymous 05/29/23(Mon)23:37:12 No:132926502: >>132926391(OP)#

LOL girl chill no one climbin in ur windows. He prolly just admires ur spirit. Keep lines of comms open, set boundaries if needed but relax!

Anonymous 05/29/23(Mon)23:45:01 No:13292623: >>132926502#

You’re right, I do overthink! I’ll calm my farm. Thank u stranger, maybe he’s just a bored soldier man and not a psycho (´。＿。｀)

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)00:25:31 No:13292684: >>132926391(OP)#

Change ur info anyway, maybe he won’t go to ur new stuff. And get some locks/alarms jfc. Play it safe.

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)00:42:44 No:13292692: >>13292684#

Can’t change anything, I used my student email! And too broke for moves or upgrades, these loans gotta last :’( but self defense is a must, thanks!

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)01:28:19 No:132922735: >>132926391(OP)#

Send Luna pics. Also tell col u feel weird, set ground rules like no stalking. Maybe he just wants friendship. Be safe!

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)01:46:31 No:132922757: >>132922735#

[sleepy_Luna.jpg 1,3mb 1000x1000] You’re so right, communication is key. I’ll lay it all out clearly and see how it goes. Thx fren <3

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)01:59:36 No:132922805: >>132926391(OP)#

Maybe he liiiiikes you ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) whatever happens keep us posted! We’re invested now lol

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)02:08:55 No:132922822: >>132922805#

omggg don't say that!! Now I'll be paranoid AND flustered X_X But I definitely will update y'all, this is quite the melodrama unfolding

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)02:15:36 No:132922811: >>132926391(OP)#

Girlll tell that stalker if he wants a piece he gonna have to pay your tuition first! Then maybe you’ll reconsider the organ harvesting. Gotta respect your worth sis 💅

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)02:23:12 No:132922834: >>132922811#

Omg you genius!!! If he’s really interested he can sponsor my broke ass med student life lol. Alleviate my debt and he gets unlimited Luna pics, win-win!

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)03:01:46 No:132922839: >>132926391(OP)#

Lmao girl you been reading too many thrillers! Military guys have ways of finding people, changing email won’t do shit. Just ask him wtf is up like a normal person

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)03:39:44 No:132922926: >>132922839#

Ugh you make a good point, confronting is smarter than hiding. But what if he locks me in a dungeon for being nosy?! I have no one to turn to if I disappear ;-;

------

From: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

To: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

05/30/24 at 03:45am

Subject: RE: Spill. Everything. Now.

Snow,

Let’s just say I know more than you think. But rest assured, your privacy and safety remain my priority here.

As for debriefs, some questions are best left unanswered, even between…friends. Maintaining mystique has its place too, no?

Focus on your studies. I’ll focus on ensuring no more interruptions are needed.

Now get some rest. You’ve an early lab tomorrow if I’m not mistaken.

Sweet dreams.

König

----

From: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

To: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

05/30/23 at 03:47am

Subject: DUDE.

HOW.

----

This one was short because I've been busy with other stuff hahah. It sure took some twisted turn hmmM? or maybe poor Snow just over reacted ;)

Also love, comment and reblogged are really appreciate! 💖

[yukidragon]

Sunny Day Jack - Reincarnation Headcanons

It’s been a while since I’ve gone on a proper ramble for Sunny Day Jack, so let’s start getting the ball rolling again with some good old shameless OTP self-indulgence, shall we? I have no idea how long my momentum will last, but I’m going to do my best to have fun and see where things take me.

I just loved the script teaser for the upcoming demo update that got publicly posted over on the SnaccPop Studios Patreon. It really got me thinking, and one line in particular intrigued me.

Jack: I can’t explain it, but I know this feeling. I've felt it before. I just can’t remember where...

This really gives me strong vibes that Joseph did have someone he loved before he died… and it really makes me keen to think that MC is his reincarnated lover. Or at least they remind him of a love he lost when he was murdered. This could also be a narrative parallel with the way MC used to(?) love Ian. It’s hard to say at this point.

Regardless, this did make me immediately think of my own MC Alice’s previous incarnation, Mary, who I first mentioned in a previous ramble. I also wrote about her in this very spicy two-sided first-person story, as well as a little snippet about Mary’s potential sweet reunion with Joseph after they were separated for years.

Content Warnings: this post will have mentions of death, trauma, bullying, SA, and probably touch on other dark themes. Reincarnation stories, especially those involving murder, tend to have a bit of a dark side after all. I’ll make sure to tread lightly on these topics since the focus is on indulging in a reincarnated soulmates storyline after all. I might also indulge in some spicy thoughts as well, but we’ll see.

As I previously mentioned, I’m still on the fence about whether or not I’m going to go with the reincarnation storyline for Sunshine in Hell, or stick with it being an AU thing. There’s plenty of pros and cons for both routes in my mind, and I’m still not quite decided yet. Though playing with it more in these rambles, reading that teaser, and even seeing other MCs with past incarnations have made me start to lean in that direction.

Though… it’s pretty sad to imagine that Joseph had love in his past… only to forget about it and only remember the persona of Jack that he’s wearing now. Then again, he would no doubt be sad that his lover forgot about him too. It’s not either of their fault of course. Death is a cruel thing that takes away so much…

Still, it would make more sense why Alice would feel compelled to save Jack, not just because she was in a vulnerable place and couldn’t turn away when someone was suffering and she could help him. A part of her would feel this strong sense of longing and nostalgia, a feeling that she had been waiting for this person for such a long, long time…

It also is more reason for Jack to instantly fall in love with Alice. Even if he forgot he was Joseph and anything tied to that life… he still remembered Mary, even if only as a feeling of love. Names, faces, and places aside from the lore of Sunny Day Jack were erased, but there was only ever one person who made him feel truly loved, and she found him again, just like she did before. He might not remember it, but a part of him wished for her to find him again for 40 long years.

Naturally, with a reincarnation storyline, that means that memories of the past would inevitably return. How much and how quickly are up for debate, but most likely it would be a gradual process for both of them.

It would be interesting if Alice remembered everything first. After all, Jack is practically traumatized by the idea of being Joseph. He doesn’t want to remember being that person who made so many mistakes and was so flawed. This is especially true if his death involved horrible secrets being revealed about him… secrets he never wanted Mary to know that he feared would ruin things between them forever.

Joseph would never have told Mary about his time as a bully, or why he ran away from Haberdae High. He couldn’t forgive himself for what he did, couldn’t see anyone being able to ever love someone who did something so horrible. He couldn’t let his past mistakes ruin things. He couldn’t lose her, not after he finally found her again. He wanted to be a better person for himself and for her.

Mary hated bullies, and Joseph had become the worst of the worst of them. Even if she hadn’t been his victim personally, he knew how she felt about bullies, how the damage they inflicted on someone never truly disappeared…

Having his ugly past revealed before her and the entire world in the worst way possible was no doubt soul crushing.

If the two of them had more time together, Mary could have helped Joseph open up about the things he was ashamed about and eventually forgive himself for his past mistakes, but he died at the worst possible time. It’s all the more reason why he can’t handle being Joseph anymore.

I’d have to consider all the implications of Alice remembering being Mary and if Jack would remember enough to be terrified of that idea. After all, if she remembers, sure she remembers the good moments, but she would also remember when his mask was ripped off and revealed the ugly person he was underneath. In that case, he would try to stop it from happening, deflect and avoid, terrified to let the past resurface while trying not to remember it himself.

Of course Sunshine in Hell is a story of two broken people healing and opening enough to expose their scars in order to heal. Alice would help Jack trust that he can be flawed, he can make mistakes, and she’ll still love him. It’ll take time, but eventually he’ll learn to stop hating the person he was and accept that he was always worthy of love.

While pondering possibilities, I also thought of the classic reincarnated transmigrator stories that are especially popular in the webcomic scene. The idea of Mary being reborn into her favorite story as the “villainess” Alice gives me a little chuckle. Though that’ll be an AU for another post.

Anyway, I considered how much Alice remembers of being Mary and when it started. Many reincarnation stories have the MC remember all at once when they’re young, sometimes even as a baby. That certainly wouldn’t be the case for Sunshine in Hell, since the more I thought about it, the more I knew that it would change the story, particularly when it comes to Alice and Ian’s relationship.

If Alice remembered her past life before she met Jack, it would be a painful gut punch, to say the least. There would be a strong feeling of dissociation. This life is so different from her past one, and Joseph isn’t there. It would give this feeling of not really being sure of who she was or if she should really be there. Does she deserve this life?

Then of course there’s the problems of remembering life as an adult while being stuck in a child’s body and all the issues that come with that.

Still… Mary always longed for a family who actually loved her, and Alice has that. It would be impossible for her to resist wanting to be Alice with her whole heart, to be surrounded by such love in a way she only experienced with one person. The only thing missing would be Joseph. A part of her would feel guilty about being happy without him.

But… if she was reborn, then Joseph must have been too, right? Would he remember her? How would she find him in this vast world?

Though… she did it before didn’t she? On a lonely road in the middle of nowhere, far from their old homes, somehow she found him. Even though he had changed, she still recognized him immediately. Surely she would find him again in this life too.

Mary didn’t have anyone left at the end of her life, and so she lost hope. Alice, however, has people around her who love her. She has hope and reasons to keep living. She has people who want her to be happy and feel loved, even without Joseph by her side.

So Alice would open her heart to the love all around her and live. She would also hold onto the hope that someday she would find her starlight again, no matter what name he had now.

Ian… is not Joseph. There are parallels in the game’s narrative between him and Jack, but their personalities are way too different. Ian and Alice would become friends, but romance wouldn’t develop between the two. It wouldn’t feel right for many reasons to Alice, especially since he’s just… not her starlight. She would be fond of Ian certainly and want to protect him, but she could only view him as a little brother, especially if she had the memories of an adult while they were still children.

So when poor shy Ian gathered the courage to confess to Alice, she had to gently turn him down. It just wasn’t fair to him, or to her. Maybe someday her heart will move on, but not yet, not until she finds someone who makes her feel love the way Joseph did.

Of course, if Alice remembered later on in her teens after she already had a crush on Ian, that complicates things. Sometimes traumatic incidents make people remember their past life incarnations in these stories. For Alice, her most traumatic incident was when she suffered from SA.

Boy, what an awful time to remember one’s tragic death and lost love, don’t you think?

Alice woke up in the aftermath in pain while remembering even more pain, two overlapping identities warring in her mind even as she has to deal with the fresh trauma inflicted upon her. It took her a while to process what happened to her even without adding the memories of Mary on top of all of that.

One side of Alice feels the pain of losing the love of her life as well as fresh memories of dying slowly all alone, and the other side just lost her innocence after her power and agency were stripped away from her. It would be quite a rough time, and how could she tell anyone about these memories? Who would believe her? They’re too real to feel like just a dream she had due to trauma… but what if she’s wrong? Could trauma be great enough to create memories of an entirely different life in an instant?

Fortunately, Alice has the love of her family to help her through hard times, as well as good friends like Ian to support her. It takes a while for her to really process and accept everything, but she at least knows she is loved.

In this scenario, despite the crush Alice had on Ian, she wouldn’t feel right letting it develop into anything more, especially not when her memories of Joseph and the intense love she had for him would be so much more fresh. She would feel guilty, as though she had cheated on… Ian? Joseph? Both?

Either way, Alice is not in any state to enter into a romantic relationship.

So, hey, Alice might be facing reincarnation trauma and dissociation with her identity in this AU, but she avoids a bad romantic relationship and being cheated on. Poor Ian gets turned down by his childhood friend turned crush, but at least they’re still good friends, even if she’s a bit more distant now after the… incident.

Regardless of the twists and turns remembering her past would take her to the present day, eventually Alice finds the tape. It’s just so compelling. When she sees it’s an episode of the SunnyTime Crew Show, well, there’s no way she could resist it. Just the logo would hit her with painful nostalgia and struggling not to cry in the thrift store. For a moment, she just hugs the tape to herself, remembering all the times she wrote for the show as Mary, watched the filming, and especially the last day they ever filmed… and it leaves her longing for the day she finds her starlight again.

Alice has to watch the tape.

It feels ominous too. The blood red handwritten scrawl of “‘84 Incident” makes Alice think about that incident… but surely that couldn’t be… right? LambsWork Productions destroyed every trace of the show. Surely they would’ve gone scorched earth on any recording of the murder?

Then again, if all the tapes were destroyed… that should have included the one she found in this thrift store…

Alice all but runs back home after buying the tape, not bothering with anything else she was going to purchase that day. Her hands are shaking when setting up the VCR, but fortunately she remembers how to use it. It’s almost muscle memory going through the motions of playing a VHS tape. She can’t peel her eyes away from the screen, holding her breath.

The show starts and… oh the pain from nostalgia is unlike anything else. Jack - her starlight - is there. That familiar dazzling smile shining at her as the episode starts. When he greets her and asks her name, she can’t help but answer him, though she doesn’t notice which name she gives him…

I’ve gone over thoughts of how the deal between Alice and Jack might have gone in previous posts. Seeing Joseph’s death again hurts like hell, but the moment Jack starts to talk directly to her, that’s when her heart really starts to pound.

Needless to say, Alice is just as desperate to save Jack as he is to be saved. The pact is made, and their souls are tied together, making them true soulmates.

Then again they already were even without the deal. ;3

Of course, the trauma of the pact does make Alice forget the agreement they made, but her reaction is very different when she wakes up. There’s a moment where she just has to stare at Jack, smiling gently down at her, greeting her like he used to… and she starts to shake. This isn’t a dream, is it?

Jack innocently replies that of course it’s not a dream. Her pal Sunny Day Jack is here to brighten up her day!

Jack doesn’t expect Alice to practically throw herself into his arms and hug him, but he reacts instantly to embrace her. It’s familiar, warm, wonderful, and everything he could ask for.

“I’m happy to see you too, sunshine,” Jack said with a chuckle.

Unfortunately… Jack is in character. Alice calling him Joseph is like a splash of ice, chilling him to the core and he has to correct her, gently of course.

It’s very apparent to Alice that Jack is shaken up. She tries to explain, talk of their past lives and remembering, and Jack… can’t handle it, burying himself deeply into the character of Sunny Day Jack, insisting he’s not who she thinks he is, trying to skirt away from anything Joseph. He cites off lore of the SunnyTime Crew and Sunny Day Jack that she helped write about the character back when she was on the writing staff.

It’s surreal for both of them, with mixed feelings, but Jack is ever eager to change the topic to something sunnier, to try and be the best and brightest friend known as Sunny Day Jack. Alice learns she can’t push him, at least not right now, but now… she’s left wondering if this is really Joseph… or a memory left in the tape? What if he’s just the character brought to life?

What if she lost her mind?

Still, Alice can’t bring herself to push Jack away, even if it’s a bit painful. Over time she picks up that he is Joseph after all, but he forgot everything.

Is this the result of the tape? The murder? Something else? Alice has to figure out what really happened at the studio that day. At the same time, she has to focus on figuring out where to go with Jack.

Alice wished to see Joseph again, no matter what name he had now, but she never expected something like this.

Still… she’s different now too. She’s not Mary anymore. She might have Mary’s memories, but she also has Alice’s memories, a second lifetime in different circumstances, different choices and experiences. She’s different from who she used to be.

So what does that mean for her and Joseph Jack?

Obviously the shadow of Joseph scares Jack. Alice won’t force him to remember, not when his death and what came after were so horrible. Instead she tries to get to know who he is now and figure out where to go from there.

Alice quickly falls in love with Jack. He’s not Joseph, and yet the important parts of him that she fell in love with are still the same. She sees little things of Joseph in him, but he’s also different at the same time. He’s changed, he’s masking things, but he’s still her silly starlight who never failed to make her smile.

Jack tries to overlook memories Alice stirs up in him, hints of sunshine that looked a bit different, but with the same beautiful blue eyes that always held such warmth. He focuses solidly on the present and enjoying his life now with his sunshine.

Still, Joseph’s habits slowly come back in spite of himself. Alice makes him feel so loved and accepted. He has moments where he slips, and she loves him despite it.

Needless to say, this AU would also have a happy ending. They would also get together much sooner than the main universe. While Alice would be trying to keep a respectable distance to understand who Jack was now as he is without forcing him to be someone he doesn’t want to be anymore or pushing her feelings and memories on him, Jack is a yandere who wants her badly. He’s going to notice her feelings quickly and do everything he can to encourage them.

Since Alice doesn’t have baggage from her toxic relationship with Ian holding her back, and she’s been aching to be with Joseph for so long, it won’t be long before her resolve crumbles. He’s always been so good at seducing her, even while dressed up as a silly clown. He might be wearing a different name and look, but he’s still her starlight, and he always had a knack for making her feel so loved, precious, and irreplaceable.

Jack might have buried his memories, but he’s quick to remember all of the ways he could make his sunshine melt in his arms. There are small hiccups due to her SA trauma as he has to be careful about the triggers she has from that, but he’s patient and gentle with her. He thoroughly focuses on her pleasure and comfort, making sure she feels nothing but safe and loved the entire time.

Needless to say, Alice’s first time in this universe is much more pleasant than it is in the main timeline.

It all feels familiar to both of them, the physical and emotional aspects of making love that they experienced countless times in the past, but the feelings are more intense due to the supernatural connection between them making their feelings bleed into one another. Jack at times is almost overwhelmed by nostalgia, but it doesn’t scare him when they’re making love. The nickname of “starlight” Alice used for him was always familiar, but it didn’t upset him like the name “Joseph” did, not when it’s his sunshine calling him that, saying she loves him, and kissing him so tenderly. She makes sure to call him Jack or starlight even while she’s screaming in pleasure beneath him. She’s careful to avoid old names that bring him pain, focusing on who he is now, taking care not to push him when she senses it’s causing him distress. She cares just as much about his comfort and avoiding his triggers just as he does for her.

That increase in intimacy, both physical and emotional, is the trigger that starts Jack really remembering things as Joseph, but not in a negative way. It’s an addicting feeling, one that’s hard to resist, especially when it feels so, so good and comes with so much pleasure and love.

Still, at some point Jack starts to get those fears of Alice learning… something. He still flees from those bad memories, not even wanting to know what that something was.

But over time… Alice helps Jack accept his past. It takes him a while, but when he’s forced to face it and she reinforces the fact that she accepts him, even the awful things he did back then, that she still loves him… he practically collapses into her arms, crying, just so relieved.

For 40 years he was convinced that the reveal destroyed everything, robbed him of love, and it… didn’t. Alice lets Jack be who he wants to be and accepts the mistakes he made in the past who are a part of the person he is today. She loves him even with all his flaws, and she wants to help him to keep growing to become the person that he wants to be, because he’s always been the person she wants to be with, flaws and all.

It still takes Jack a while to accept his past identity as Joseph, but Alice helps him. She can also relate, as it took her a while to accept her past incarnation as Mary too. It’s something they both can understand intimately. Even if their circumstances for being reborn as new people are different, they both understand each other in a way no one else can, and they help each other navigate what it means to live a new life while being haunted by the memories of a previous one that was less than ideal.

Fortunately, this time, their love story has a happy ending instead of a tragic one.

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur

[angel-inrealtime]

November F1c Prompts Day 25

Day 25 - Tactile (Sharp)

A/N: hefty TWs for this chapter including - parental death (offscreen, discussed), resulting trauma, bad family relationships, mental health issues (think CPTSD/adjacent), mild (??) toxicity in relationships as a result of the above (I am not a good judge lmao).

Let me know if there's anything specific you think I should tag, happy to do so.

A/N 2: Despite all that ^ I feel like this is more comfort than hurt. It's still a nice little sunshine universe - just a passing (or already passed) storm.

-

Sometimes you feel like you’re made of sharp sides and spikes. And that’s fine – great, actually - when that’s what you need. It helped you get through the hard things (even though it was other hard things that made you so...prickly, in the first place).

The problem is…it’s difficult to know how not to be sharp. How to turn it off when you don’t want to be.

(When you don’t need to be)

You look at Daniel and you desperately don’t want to cut him on all of your sharp edges – privately think you’d rather die than hurt him; on purpose, by accident, or otherwise. You can’t say it like that, of course. That would seem insane.

The first time a therapist said to you “you’re very self-aware” you wanted to scream ‘yes, that’s the problem’. You came armed with bulleted lists, traumas laid out neat on journal pages and organised by connection.

(You don’t mention that you have a psychology degree, because that would mean explaining why you turned down a first class honours position when it all got too close to home, as if that somehow hadn’t been the point all along and you’d just avoided thinking about it until you couldn’t anymore, and then…well, turning it into a commodity via organisational psychology and human resources had just been a pivot, or whatever buzzword is most fitting)

You remember the lists though, of all the things that made you sharp, all the spindly lines between cause and effect and outcome but it’s like Daniel set off a pebble sized snowball at the top of a very large hill and it grows and grows until it’s a boulder and it seems unstoppable.

“You really are obsessed with the moon hey?”

He’s delighted by it if anything, but what almost slips out is the clumsiest self-deprecation in the urge to turn it into a bit. What you almost say is ‘yeah, me and Sylvia Plath really grabbed the mummy issues with both hands on that one’. He won’t get it, which means you’ll have to explain, (which means you’ll have to examine it), when all you can muster is disjointed bits of verse;

The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right, White as a knuckle and terribly upset.

The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary.

I have fallen a long way.

The moon sees nothing of this. She is bald and wild.

“You didn’t tell me. About your dad.”

He’s so handsome, sitting across the table at dinner, which is new. If you eat together, it’s usually with friends; your time alone is usually confined to a hotel room (maybe one of your apartments or his place in LA if it’s not a race weekend). But it’s just the two of you in the Montreal dive-bar, a couple of share plates and wine you can feel staining your mouth red on the dark wood between you. It’s all candles in artfully grubby mason jars and dim, filament light-globes which send shadows across his sharp jaw and high cheekbones (bring out the gold flecks in his honey brown eyes and when you’re honest with yourself you could spend an eternity trying to find them all and you’d be content for that to be your life’s work).

It falls out of his mouth softly, like an accident, but also the loudest thing you’ve ever heard.

You pick up your wine and take a huge mouthful to steel yourself before you meet those eyes (he looks sad). “I don’t…really talk about it. Him.”

(‘you’re not special’ the panicked, hysterical part of you wants to scream. ‘I don’t talk about it with anyone’)

“Would you…” He pauses, still looking at you softly. “I mean, you don’t have to, obviously, but…if you want to.” There’s a little aborted movement in his long fingers, but not so stilted that he doesn’t brush the back of your hand with them. “The offer’s there. I know…or…it seems like it was a long time ago? So if you don’t that’s cool. But…”

He’s tying himself in knots trying to give you something that’s so at odds to the rest of your relationship – easy, flirty, no strings – that the smile on your mouth when you muster it feels like it doesn’t quite fit.

“I’m all good, Daniel. Thank you, though. I appreciate it. You’re a good friend.” Reassure, express gratitude, make it genuine, compliment.

So why, when you meet his eyes again, does he look so crestfallen?

“I don’t want to fuck this up.”

It’s that he just stares at you, once you finally force the words out past the barbed-wire lump in your throat that’s been sitting there for…well. You don’t even know. It probably pre-dates him. “What, Daniel, what are you looking at?”

It almost sounds like you’re begging him to tell you. You hate it.

“I don’t wanna fuck it up either, that’s…” He looks at you like you’re fascinating, or something.

It’s grating.

“I’m not a fucking…puzzle, to solve, Daniel. Like, I get it, I’m several circles deep in the ‘fucked up parent issues, don’t stick your dick in crazy’ scale, but I-”

His expression changes immediately, full mouth twisted in a frown that still looks foreign on his face. “I never said that. Don’t put words in my mouth. I wouldn’t say that.”

You can tell from the careful way he sits, how his fingers twist together, that he wants to reach out for you. Touch is how he orients himself in the world, but he’s trying to give you the space you asked for (it takes everything in you not to give in, to stay standing near the picture window, because you could give him what he needs to feel safer and you’re withholding it for what feel like selfish reasons).

The lump isn’t made of barbed wire anymore, it’s acid spilling out of your eyes and onto your cheeks.

“You can think it though, it’s okay to just…get out now.”

His fingers are so twisted around each other that his knuckles are white, and he looks heartbroken when you chance a blurry glance down at where he’s sitting on the coffee table. “Is that what you want?” He asks quietly.

“Danny, I…”

“Is that what you want?” He asks again, with a steadier voice and a crackle of defiance in his eyes that you weren’t expecting. “I’m asking you what you want. Not fucking…” He breathes harshly through his nose, and his voice is quieter when he starts again. “Not what you think you deserve, or what you feel like you haven’t earned or whatever…bullshit the shitty parts of your head are telling you. But what you want.”

“You.” It comes out no louder than a whisper. “I want…”

He can’t seem to bear it any longer, opens his arms from where he’s still sitting and looks at you like he’s cracked wide open and exposed. “C’mere. Please, love, I…” He swallows loud enough that you hear it. “You’ve got me. You’ve already got me.”

Maybe you don’t need the space anymore, maybe it’s enough to wrap your arms around his head and let his arms be like a vice around your waist, and to see him look up at you so raw and so fucking sincere.

“I’m scared.”

“That’s okay. You can be scared. It doesn’t mean it’s a bad idea, just because it’s scary.”

It sounds so fucking simple when he says it but… “What if I can’t…”

“Babe.”

“No, please can you just…listen?” You sniff hugely and try to keep the rise and fall of your chest steady. Wind your fingers into the curls of his hair just in case it’s the last time you get to. “There is a not insignificant part of me that’s fucking…terrified, of ever making a kid feel the way I did. Or do. Or whatever. I need…” You shut your eyes and let the drying tears stick your eyelashes together, so you don’t have to see his face as it happens (‘if it happens’ the traitorous, hopeful part of you contributes). “If you want to…if this is serious then I need you to know that’s my one card on the table. I will do my best, to keep working through it and…communicating, and stuff, even though that’s hard and scary but…I can’t promise that bit. And it’s only fair that like…you know that, at least.”

Daniel is quiet for what feels like an age, and then one of his hands finds the soft skin of your lower back under your jumper. “That’s okay, babe. It’s okay. That’s not a thing to rush, anyway.”

“But you…”

“You’ve got me.” He says again. “I want us. And if what ‘us’ looks like is just…the coolest fucking aunt and uncle in the world then…” He shrugs, you can feel it under your hands. “That’s fine by me.” His fingers press into your skin until you blink open your eyes and look at him. “But we can just…check in, about things. As often as we need to. It’s okay.” He repeats, presses a soft kiss to your chest.

“I’m sorry.”

“Ah! Ah Ah Ah!” His arms go tight like a vice around you and there’s warning in his eyes around the joking tone of voice. “No. No apologising. Unnecessary.”

“But-”

“For fuck sakes babe.” He stands up so suddenly it’s embarrassingly easy for him to tilt you over his shoulder so you’re hanging there, secured with an arm around your legs and a hand very firmly on the denim covering your ass. “Clearly I need to employ alternative methods, here.”

“Fucking put me down, you cunt.” The kick of your legs is half-hearted – he isn’t letting you go until he’s throwing you down on the bed with an exaggerated shrug like he’s a professional wrestler rather than a race car driver. You know how this bit goes.

“The mouth on you!” Somehow he manages to stay deadpan to deliver the sentence, but he devolves into giggles immediately after.

Unscathed, against all odds.

[amberjazmyn]

dr spencer reid one-shot

𝓲𝓶𝓪𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓮 - the world ain't all sunshines and rainbows 

𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 - screaming, low-grade swearing, a little sadness, maybe some crying

𝓭𝓮𝓼𝓬𝓻𝓲𝓹𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 - marianna is explaining to spencer reid, her best friend, that the world isn't all sunshine and rainbows anymore after he told her the same thing two years prior. not like they thought it was when they were younger when they first started working at the bau. 

𝓪𝓾𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓻'𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓮 - this is once again, an old recycled imagine that i wrote like 2020 or 2021 so, i'm so sorry. i'm just out of ideas and i am in desperate need of new ones. 

masterlist

- - - 

marianna's pov | two years ago 

"somewhere along the line, you changed. You stopped being you."

my face softened, my best friend spencer confronting me about the way i had recently stopped being myself. stabbing me in the heart, i slowly started lowering my defences, i always did around spencer considering we've been friends our entire life and both joined the fbi academy when we were both twenty-two. hearing spencer tell me these words hurt, of course, they did because i knew that he was right; that is usually always the case. i will admit that the last two years of being with the bau has changed me because of how much trauma, loss and change we've gone through as a team. however, i knew i had to let spencer continue his ramble so he could let out all of his thoughts so, i decided to stay quiet, refusing my usual itch to assert myself into his ramble, allowing him to continue freely. 

"you let people stick a finger in your face and tell you you're no good. and when things got hard, you started looking for something to blame."

subconsciously, i removed my hand that was resting on my gun holster, not to shoot him or anyone, for we were in the conference room in the fbi headquarters, it was just something i did subconsciously that made me feel safe and less anxious. moving it from my holster, i moved it over to timidly link my fingers into spencer's, who immediately reciprocates, making me relax as he also relaxes alongside me. allowing both of us to open ourselves up to each other and relax. 

"let me tell you something you already know. the world ain't all sunshine and rainbows."

i giggled softly, not because i was making fun of spencer, that was one of the activities i passed on involving myself within the group. i laughed because spencer sounded exactly like rossi, who we call our bau team mom when spencer had said that. however, it wasn't long before i nodded my head in agreement and a serious, composed expression fixed on my face within seconds as i came to realise he was telling the truth, just like he always did. spencer was right because, even before the both of us joined the fbi, the world was still anything but sunshine and rainbows, most especially ours due to how broken our childhood was. 

"thanks for telling me something i already know and have since i was a child, spence," i snigger, squeezing spencer's hand tighter as we then heard the small whispers from the rest of our team, making spencer and i groan to ourselves due to the awaiting teasing we were both gonna get alongside the fact that we've most likely got another case

why can't serial killers just take a fucking holiday? 

"fuck you, serial killer! why can't you just take a goddamn holiday for once? looks like we're taking down another unsub today, spencearoo!" i groan as spencer helps me up from the couch we were sitting on together with little to no space inbetween us as he chuckles at my comment, our hands still connected even though we knew that we were about to get teased 

"spencearoo? where'd you get that nickname from, pretty girl?" derek morgan, spencer and i's main teaser when it came to the two of us being in close proximity to each other as i roll my eyes, still holding spencer's hands

"it's his--" "--it was her childhood nickname for me. i haven't heard that in years..." spencer trailed off, his cheeks a soft pink colour as i smiled at the floor

"...very cute, now, come on lovebirdies, we have a case and it seems as if this serial killer is not messing or waiting around any longer!" morgan spoke up, a small wink and click of the tongue in the middle of it as he then walked away, not before nudging me in the direction of spencer, making me smack him as he laughs his way into the bullpen 

despite the fact that the rest of our team was in the bullpen, spencer and i stayed back. he didn't do anything to separate our hands from each other. whilst i was utterly confused because spencer would never be this late to a case meeting without a valid reason, i cannot lie and say i didn't like this moment of connection we were having. yes, sure, spencer and i have been friends since childhood but, ever since i could remember, i was in love with him but always too scared to admit it. of course, there were several where i nearly did, like when he was abducted by tobias hankel and was drugged but, i never ran with it because i am always scared of the potential outcome. what if this ruins our friendship with each other which then forces me to either resign from the fbi altogether or transfer into a completely different unit? 

"spen...spence, we...we have a case, what are we doing just waiting here? more people are going to die if we don't join the rest of the team!" i stammer out as i tried to pull the both of us closer to the conference room so it didn't seem too suspicious as to why we were taking so long 

"oh...oh yeah...yeah, you're right. we...we should probably join them!" spencer stammered out in a flustered babble of a sentence that i only managed to decipher 

"it's a very mean and nasty place, and i don't care how tough you are; it will beat you to your knees, and keep you there permanently if you let it. you, me, or nobody is gonna hit as hard as life."

one day, five hours and thirty minutes were how long it took for us to catch our murderously schizophrenic unsub and save the three kids that he had tried to murder because he thought they were the girls that bullied him. when really, the three girls were just high school girls that didn't even know the nineteen-year-old boy and didn't even go to the same high school that he graduated from. the only thing that connected the three girls to the unsub was their hair, eye colours and the fact that they were all sisters. just like the three girls that bullied the unsub those few years ago that became the stressor for his crimes. 

the team was on the flight back to quantico where spencer and I were still carrying on with our conversation that we started that day, five hours and thirty minutes ago. of course, it looked and kind of sounded strange that spencer and i could continue a conversation for this long without forgetting anything but, that's just what we did. we've done it since we were young kids and, it sort of became our little language with each other that no one else could replicate. And, of course, with spencer and i's conversations, comes the winks, the suggestive eyebrow wiggles, and the gesticulations to tell spencer that i love him in more of a best friend way. 

"but it ain't about how hard you can hit. it's about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward. how much you can take and keep moving forward."

i smiled as spencer's speech slowed down but didn't falter as he continued talking. every single time, on the flight back from every case we have, i always forget how young spencer and i are. we're both only twenty-four, having only joined together at twenty-two, we're still yet to get to the physical stage as the rest of our agents but, we were still treated (somewhat) with the same respect that the rest of our team did. however, it did sometimes become a bother when we weren't even given the time of day by our own peers because of how young and "inexperienced" we are. the best thing, however, is when we outsmart the elder agents, seeing their reactions always make spencer and i smile and boost both of our egos just a little bit higher as it then forces the elder agent to stop doubting us and actually allows us to show them that anything they can do, we can do it just as better despite how young we are. 

"whatcha thinking about, spencaroo, invite me into your wacky and wonderful brain? i wanna hear more!" i smile, ruffling spencer's hair in an awkward position due to the fact that spencer and i were cuddled up together, facing each other with my arm poking out from where our chests and my boobs met up in the middle 

"is it weird to say you?" spencer whispered back but, apparently, derek's ears were turned on very well because what followed was a wolf whistle, making me flail my head into spencer's chest as he smiles, his hand moving to the back of my head to support it, making me smile into his chest 

"not at all..." i mutter back just as quietly, making sure the rest of the team didn't hear it so they couldn't continue teasing us

"that's how winning is done."

whispering the last part of his speech that he was ever so proud of, spencer smiled as he lifted up my chin from his chest. however, it seemed as if he still wasn't finished and i could tell by the way his mouth twitched like it always did when he was thinking about what he was going to say next. i could only smile at him back, in a loving way, as he could preach or ramble to me all day every single day and i'd still get butterflies in my tummy and fall in love with him even more. because, no one else likes it when he rambles on and, i can tell how hurtful that is for him when no one wants to hear what he has to say. so, i always let him talk before i even think of what to say next because, spencer always has something important to say, whether it's relevance. anything spencer says is something worth hearing. 

"now, if you know what you're worth, then go out and get what you're worth. but, you gotta be willing to take the hits. and not pointing fingers saying you ain't where you wanna be because of him, or her, or anybody. cowards do that, and that ain't you. you're better than that marianna."

we had finally landed back down in quantico and the rest of the team, rossi, prentiss, jj, garcia, morgan and hotch had all decided they were going to go out for drinks. they of course extended the invitation out to spencer and me but, we declined, we were absolutely shattered by the case, for we had been pretty much crying the entire flight home and we just needed to relax and comprehend everything. they agreed but of course, they couldn't forget the little tease, yet it seemed as if morgan noticed that it was the wrong place and he shut it down quickly when he noticed that we were going to be staying together, spencer and i, he knew the reason why and it wasn't for the reason that everyone else thought it was for. morgan knew the pain cases like this one, with schizophrenic unsubs, puts spencer through and that if he was home alone, it wouldn't be the best idea. for he'd have an emotional breakdown and tear down his apartment from top to bottom wondering why he couldn't help the poor boy before the unsub died due to a gunshot wound by his own hand. this is why, after cases that hit too close for spencer, i would stay with him, whether in his own apartment or mine, i'd never leave him alone and it was the same for me when a case hit too close to home for me. and it was something both of us always appreciated and it was something we had done since we first started together. 

this was when, on our drive back home to spencer's apartment, he decided to end his little inspirational spiel of the entire day. and, in all honesty, i loved it, every single word of it. it rang absolutely true to the life we're living now and, if anything, this was something that needed to be told to everyone. 

"that was really inspirational spence, i really mean that! you should tell the rest of the team this tomorrow morning, you'd get a very good reception i think, otherwise i'll make sure to all smack them and make sure hotch grounds them," i smile, a small giggle leaving my mouth from my joke as I moved down to spencer's face, my hand on his cheek as i kissed the opposite, running over to the couch so i could rest my legs

"th...thanks, marianna, tha...that was very sweet of you..." i faintly hear spencer whisper as he then stumbles over to his room to get changed as he hears me giggle to myself, that's when i understand why spencer was being so dramatic and what had happened

flashback over | marianna's pov

"...spence, spencaroo, you okay there buddy?" i whisper, sliding myself over to my best friend, he was cowering over himself and he looked sad, his eyes glassed over as we sat outside the house where our unsub had just killed our missing girl out of fear of morgan and the presence of the swat team 

it wasn't until after i asked him if he was okay that i actually took a proper look at his face and he looked scared, upset, guilty, regretful at the scene that sat behind us as my shoulders fall sadly. holding his hand, in silent comfort, i just hoped that he would open up to me, whether it was soon or later. 

it had been two years since spence, the team and i had faced a case with such intensity. but, even then, we were just walking out of the house, spencer and i, when we heard the gunshot that killed the little five-year-old girl. that scream that followed after the gunshot as the girl then fell to the floor i think was forever going to haunt spencer and me both for days, weeks, months and maybe even years to come because of how loud it was. i could tell it frightened spencer a lot more than it scared me, especially when i seemed to notice the tears which had welled up in his eyes falling down his cheeks. i clenched my jaw and tried to eliminate my emotions so i could let spencer articulate his as i pulled him closer to me whilst we sat down on the steps of the white picket, all-american family house. 

"mar...marianna, is...is it normal that this is the most scared i've ever felt on a case?" spencer sniffles out as his shaky breath tells me that he was still crying, i gulp as i bite my lip, my heart breaking at the same time as i held spencer closer to my side as he cuddled in further 

"oh, spence, of...of course it's normal to be scared, a five-year-old girl wasn't able to be saved from her psychosomatic father because he got frightened by the fbi and swat team. of course, it was going to be scary, this wasn't normal, that wasn't what we planned to happen." i reassured him softly as spencer let out a sob which broke my heart again, grabbing his head i pulled him into my lap so he could continue crying without drawing any attention to himself 

"i...i, anna...still, i...i've never...never been this scared, what...what's going on?" spencer sobbed out quietly as i tried my hardest to comfort my best friend when i suddenly remembered the exact words from two years ago when we were twenty-four

"the world ain't all sunshine and rainbows, spence *spencer smiles as he lifts his head up, you had remembered what he told you* it's a very mean and nasty place and, i don't care how tough you are; it will beat you to your knees and keep you there permanently if you let it. you, me, or nobody is gonna hit as hard as life but, it ain't about hard you can hit. it's about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward. how much you can take and keep moving forward, that's how winning is done *spencer wasn't crying as much for he knew he was safe with you* now if you know what you're worth, then go out and get what you're worth. but, you gotta be willing to take the hits." 

"and not pointing fingers saying you ain't where you wanna be because of him, or her, or anybody. cowards do that, and that ain't you. you're better and smarter than that spence," i spoke with a smile on my face but with a stern voice so he knew that what he said to me when we were twenty-four, also applies to the both of us at twenty-six

"you...you remembered that, anna?" spencer sniffled once more as we held hands tightly as he gave me a small look of confusion and shock which made me giggle as I nodded my head 

"how could I forget, spence? you are seriously an intelligent, inspirational human being, now, come on, we need to interrogate our unsub, we can't keep on crying over that little girl and we need to help the rest of our team, now can we?" i smile softly, standing up before helping pull spencer up from where we sat down on the steps as we moved over to our suv for our drive back to headquarters - an exact coda of two years ago happening again except, the other way around

that's how winning is done..."

- - - 

this was a little crappy but, once again, your girl is running out of ideas and i'm sick and tired of relying on and recycling my old imagines. 

ok ily bye xx

word count: 3125

[vpyre]

i've been wanting to get into ghost, any requests on which song(s) to start with??

Okay, I’ve been trying to write this post for FIFTY FUCKING MINUTES but TUMBLR keeps FUCKING IT UP and DELETING MY ENTIRE POST BEFORE I FINISH. I had gone into detail and everything 😭

Alright. Trying again. I genuinely love every single one of their songs, but the ones I think would be good starters are:

Year Zero

I’m assuming you’ve heard Mary on a Cross but if you haven’t, it’s a good place to start. Especially since a lot of other new fans are finding Ghost that way

Stand by Him

Ritual

Dance Macabre. This was actually the first Ghost song I heard, but I didn’t actually realize it was them until a couple weeks after I got into the band from seeing all the edits on TikTok lmaoooo

Secular Haze

Monstrance Clock

Jigolo Har Megiddo (essentially “manwhore of armageddon” fnsjdjdbsn)

Cirice. This one is very important, both in its message and as it relates to a crucial part of Rituals (concerts). Another extremely important thing to know is that you should watch the music video FIRST. Very integral to the experience. To give you a vague idea of what it’s about, a huge chunk of the Ghost community has some form of religious trauma and we all go nuts for it.

Mummy Dust

Square Hammer

Darkness at the Heart of My Love. Absolutely toe-curling song. Almost makes me cry every time

Rats (important in order to understand a popular fanon interpretation of Cardinal Copia / Papa Emeritus IV’s character)

Spillways. Another big one for the bitches with religious trauma or burnout

One of my personal favorites: Call Me Little Sunshine. It’s a huge comfort song for me, plus it’s a banger.

If you ever want me to explain lore to you, hmu ;P

[bria-doublen-a]

Book Review: Things We Never Got Over

Non Spoiler Section

Alright. I’m just going to dive right in here. I hated—absolutely hated this book...until page 490. I’m new here, so if you don’t know, allow me to explain: I like to jump into books blind. I had no idea what I was getting myself into or really what the story itself was going to be like. I only knew that it was a romance and it was trending and I was like, heard that. Sign me up. I wasn’t expecting to hate my characters for the majority of the book.

But hang on, peeps. Bear with me a moment. If you’re anything like me and you don’t have any patience with cliched and unlikable characters, please listen to me when I tell you this: EVERYTHING HERE HAPPENS FOR A REASON.

These characters are meant to have annoying characteristics because we are supposed to watch them as they develop into a better version of themselves. Don’t give up hope! Hang in there, okay?

Without someone to hold my hand and give out kind and gentle encouragement, Lucy Score had me ready to rip my damn hair out. I was saying stuff like, “I can’t wait to tear this book a new one”, “I hate this book”, “I’m only gonna finish it so I can throw tomatoes at it and boo it off the stage”, “What theme are we even trying to preach here, Lucy???”.

Then I got to the aforementioned page 490. Everything suddenly made sense and I felt like an idiot. Because of course this author knows what she’s doing. Of course these characters were going to change. I’m astounded by how little faith I had in this book. I’m honestly so disappointed in myself.

I’m telling you all this because this book is going to frustrate you. Make you scream. Make you want to punch someone in the face. But believe me when I say I’ve never had so much fun in my entire life.

And more importantly, this story has a message that I believe everyone can benefit from. 100000% recommend.

Don’t think. Just jump. You won’t regret it.

Spoiler Section

OH. MY. GOD.

When, I say I hated Knox Morgan, I am not exaggerating in the slightest. He was rude. Arrogant. The biggest ass I’d ever met in my life.

I never quite understood the whole morally gray, grumpy/sunshine thing, but that’s just my personal preference. What I really hated about him was his refusal to develop. Even as we watched him fall for Naomi, we watched him stay stagnant for more than 75% of the book. That was a ballsy move, Lucy. I mean, truly. I was ready to give up on him.

Don’t get me wrong, Naomi got on my nerves a hell of a lot too. The instant perfect-mother thing she switched on the second she met Waylay (literally the second) was so annoying. Like we found Waylay in the motel room and Naomi’s already giving her shit about her potty mouth. Like girl, if you don’t build some rapport first. Ugh, I’ve never rolled my eyes so hard before. But then I realized that was all part of her development and it made all the weird, awkward scenes with her and Way much more tolerable because I knew Naomi was going to learn something.

By the way, I think it’s worth saying that Waylay is the only reason I pushed through. I loved her instantly and I pushed myself to finish the book because I wanted to see her get a happy ending. Because by this point, I’ve already decided that I hated both Naomi and Knox. Without Waylay, I don’t think I would have finished this book, not gonna lie. Of course in hindsight, I can say the journey was worth it, but my god. I thought about quitting so many times.

Naomi’s and Knox’s relationship (or friends-with-benefits-ship) felt like a trauma response. Knox was so horrible to her, from the very beginning. I can forgive a little snarkiness and sarcasm for the sake of a romance novel, but he really wasn’t cutting her any slack. Personally, I don’t understand how she caught feelings for a man that antagonistic towards her.

Technically, Naomi even said it herself. She felt like she was making a hard turn from the perfect guy she was about to marry to the douche-y guy who claims she’s a pain in the ass, but continues to insert himself in all her business. He might be sexy and have that whole nothing-can-penetrate-this-wall thing going on, but he was constantly degrading Naomi and making her feel bad for second guessing and wanting to dissect things. But when he’s constantly playing hot and cold, saying he wants no attachments and then proceeding to do things that definitely create attachments, how could he blame Naomi for wanting an explanation??

And when he finally admitted his feelings to himself and broke up with her???

Y’all, I was pissed. I threw the book down, folded laundry, took a shower and painted my nails. And my heart was still pounding with rage.

And then for him to still act like such a demanding douchebag and accuse her of being irrational? Bro. Knox had officially put himself on my shit list. I had about a hundred pages left and I knew—I just knew that Lucy was going to somehow put these two back together for the sake of a happy ending knowing DAMN well that Knox is undeserving. He would buy her some stupid giant coffee or get her flowers or perform some other act of idiotic grovelling and Naomi would be just as stupid and take him back.

Then, I turn to page 490. And I realize that Lucy is not stupid. This ain’t her first rodeo. We were meant to hate Knox and Naomi’s relationship. It was meant to be toxic af. Knox opened up, but they were able to admit that they just wouldn’t work and then I finally realized the meaning of the title. There are just some things a person never gets over. And Knox’s fear of intimacy was one of them. At this point, I believed that the book would end without them getting together. That we weren’t going to reward shitty behavior

But then the unexpected happened. I’m actually kind of on the fence with the last fifty or so pages, but I mean it was fast paced and interesting in ways that I truly didn’t expect so I mean...that’s something I guess. Tina finally made her appearance and I was actually kind of glad she wasn’t just a straight up asshole. I mean, don’t get me wrong. She’s an asshole. But she’s not a to-hell-with-my-kid, I-don’t-give-a-crap-what-happens-to-her kind of mother. She still worries for Waylay’s safety it’s just a matter of she doesn’t really know how to keep her safe or how to stay away from settings that would put her in danger. It’s believable which is why I liked it.

Then Knox saves the day (because of course he does) and he finally gets the kick the ass he needed to acknowledge Naomi as more than a fuck-buddy. I don’t know, like as a reader I’m happy that they get the opportunity to try out a real and healthy relationship. But as someone who also knows a thing or two about storytelling and character development, I can’t help but think it was kind of a fast turnaround. Even if there had been more time in between that scene in the office where Knox talks about his dad and saving the girls, I think I would’ve been happier.

But all in all, with all the drama and the scares and the guns waving and evil twins evil twinning, I’m just so relieved that Naomi and Knox finally get a WIN. All that toxic relationship crap was honestly so exhausting and it really is a relief to see a happy ending.

And I have to commend any writer who’s capable of making me do a hard 180 like that. Even if I don’t agree with how the book ended, I still love these characters a hell of a lot more than when I started.

Well done, Lucy. Well done.

[passerine-writes]

Silent Sparks - Volt 91

Warnings: Trauma talk, insomnia, Dadzawa bonding time!! Word count: 3418

Notes: Italics - Tsukare signing Bold italics - Family member/friend signing 'Italics with apostrophes' - Thoughts

Masterlist

Volt 90 | Volt 92

"Holy shit." Hitoshi mumbled after I explained what happened.

"Wait, Aoyama left a warning?" Pops asked and I nodded.

"I can't figure it out and it's eating at me. I know I read about it too!" I exclaimed, dragging my hands down my face. "I read about it in middle school." I said after seeing two of the three confused.

"I already asked him about it. The random facts will never stop." Dad surmised and I nodded.

"I can list so many right now but not that! I can tell you that scientifically speaking, jellyfish shouldn't be alive, that spiders technically don't have brains, sharks don't have bones, some lipsticks contain fish scales, rubber bands last longer when refrigerated, if you sneeze too hard you can fracture a rib, but I can't remember what the proverb originally tied to!" Everyone stared at me with wide eyes and I groaned flopping onto my back. "This is making my head spin around in circles." I said while rubbing my eyes. I slowly sat back up, meeting everyone's wide eyes again.

"That could also be because you've been awake for over forty hours." Pops reasoned and I looked at him in disbelief.

"I didn't even realize it'd been that long." I said under my breath as I counted the hours. "Well shit. Oh yeah, Toshi, why did you react the way you did when Yoru came for dinner a few weeks ago?"

"I didn't like his attitude and cockiness. He gave the vibe of 'I was his brother first' and it rubbed me the wrong way. Doesn't matter when we became brothers, we're brothers and that's what matters to me." He said earnestly.

"Damn."

"Before we get ready for bed, is there anything else any of us need to talk about?" Pops asked.

"I uh," Hitoshi started, hesitating as his voice got caught in his throat, "I think I want to try going on antidepressants." He said it so fast I had almost missed it.

"Okay." Dad said casually, making Hitoshi visibly break mentally.

"Okay?" He asked cautiously.

"You're old enough to weigh the pro's and con's on your own. In all honesty, Sunshine and I have been wondering when you would want to start them." Dad explained, watching as Hitoshi processed his thoughts. "Is there anything in particular that sparked you wanting to start them?" I noticed Hitoshi starting to curl in on himself, hunching over to rest his forearms on his bouncing knees.

"My depressions been getting worse, and I knew I had to say something before it got worse again. I uh, I started getting thoughts. Not serious ones. The passive ones that Hound Dog and Recovery Girl told Onryo and I about. I know I won't act on it, but I want to stop it before they become serious." He explained and I felt my heart sink to my stomach.

"We can talk to Hound Dog at your next therapy session and have you referred to the old lady for med checks and whatnot." Hitoshi nodded a little and wiped a hand down his face. "How long has it been getting worse?"

"I thought about a month ago, but now that I'm in a clearer state of mind, a few months. Probably since Kamino." He said, his body shaking with a sniffle. "I couldn't get to Onryo in time. I was so close and I can't help but think that if I just moved a little faster or I had my capture weapon, I could've stopped it from happening." I scooted forward and pulled him into a hug. "I didn't want to say anything at first cause I thought it was just another depressive episode and it would pass. Then I started getting more and they started lasting a little longer, but I didn't know how to bring it up. I guess it's similar to Onryo's concerns. I know how much you both have on your plates and I didn't want to overwhelm you both even more."

"Little listener, you shouldn't worry about that. We are always going to worry about you and your brother. It's part of being parents." Pops said to him through his teary eyes.

"I'm sorry. I'm really trying to do better." Hitoshi said.

"We know." I said reassuringly. "You're doing the best you can and that's more than enough." He sniffled again and nodded.

"I think medication would be a good idea." He stated.

"Okay." Pops said. "Then we'll try medication and go from there." We all nodded and sat for a moment, still processing the conversation we just had. "Let's get the couch set up and relax. It's been a long day for everyone."

We all agreed and got the couch set up. I sat against some pillows in the corner and grabbed my laptop while a movie played on the television. I clicked on the search engine and started scrolling, hoping to find what I was looking for.

I clicked on link after link, hoping something would lead me to what I had found several years ago. Minutes easily turned into hours until Dad reached over and closed my laptop. My head snapped towards him reflexively, so focused that I didn't even see him reach over until the illumination from the screen immediately cut out.

You need to at least try and sleep. You'll remember when you remember.

I'm not tired.

Okay. Then what do you want to put on?

I don't know. I'm thinking about making something to eat though.

I'm hungry too. We could go to the 24 hour diner in Shimada.

What's the catch?

Catch? Who said anything about a catch?

You're offering for us to go to the 24 hour diner at almost three in the morning. There's a catch.

I want you to try opening up. I don't care what specifically it's about, I don't care how much you tell me. All I care about is that you try.

You're despicable. Using my love of that diner against me. Okay, fine, let me go get dressed and try to figure out how to get rid of my eye bags and dark circles.

He nodded and watched me quietly walk out the door. I made haste getting back to my dorm room, changing into a pair of ripped jeans and a black shirt with a decently thick, classic, red and black flannel. I grabbed my old tube of concealer and patted a little around my eyes, blending it out to the best of my ability. It felt weird seeing myself less exhausted, but I was content with the fact that it somewhat worked and tossed on my black boots along with my hearing aids.

"Ready?" Dad asked as I snuck out of the dorms, not wanting to wake any of my classmates. I patted my pockets quickly.

'Phone, keys, wallet, case, hearing aids.'

"Yep." We got in his car, usually we would take the train there but I think we both realized that taking the train back would be cramped with the morning rush of workers.

The car ride was quiet and relaxing, I stared up at the stars through the window. Looking at as many of the eighty eight constellations as I could.

"Looking at the stars?" Dad asked.

"Yeah. It's harder to see them though with the light pollution from the city. One of these days I wanna go out to Hyogo or the edge of Okayama to look at the stars. There's such little light pollution, I bet they're really bright out there." I said softly, enamored by the burning orbs millions of miles away.

"They probably are. So Sunshine and I were talking, we were wondering if after you turn sixteen if you'd like to get your permit." My head shot towards him with my growing excitement.

"Wait, seriously?" He nodded and I couldn't contain the smile growing on my face. "Yes! Hundred percent! Absolutely!" I said in excitement. "Is Toshi finally going for his too?"

"He hasn't expressed wanting to get his but we were thinking about asking him if he's thought about it." I nodded along to his words. "Do you still want to get your ears pierced?"

"Yeah, I really like how they look and want to get them done. Thankfully the stigma behind them is starting to die down. I don't really believe in it anyways." He hummed and glanced at me.

"I see my disliking for conforming to societal norms rubbed off on you." I chuckled softly.

"Yeah, but also, I'm a ginger. Been surrounded by those since I was born."

"True. I'm just glad you don't feel confined to them. Is there anything else out of the normalities of the country that you want to have in the future?" He asked.

"I definitely want cartilage piercings. Maybe a tongue piercing too. Oh! And I want tattoos!" He hummed and nodded his head as I spoke.

"Maybe that'll be your present for your eighteenth birthday. Just, please, when you do get tattoos, don't get anything abhorrently stupid. Like curse words, or inappropriate body parts." He said, clearly perturbed about me getting them.

"You don't have to worry about it. And I won't be getting any face tattoos either." He let out a sigh of relief and nodded.

"Okay. I'm glad we're on the same page. How would you feel about piercings being part of your birthday present?"

"That works." I told him and he nodded.

"We're here. So let's get a table and get something to eat." I nodded, almost bouncing as my seat as I waited for him to put the car in park. Excitedly, I rushed over to the door and waited impatiently for him to get inside. He sighed and took his time, sluggishly walking over to where I held the outside door open. He reached over my head once he caught up and opened the inside door.

"Aizawa? Tsukare? Haven't seen you two here in quite some time." The hostess, Ikeda, said as we walked in, she was always here for the graveyard shift. "Go sit wherever you'd like and I'll be right over with some menus." Dad and I happily walked over to the booth we normally sat in.

"Here ya both are. Regular drinks to start with?" She asked as she put a menu in front of each of us. Dad and I both nodded and she typed a few words on her tablet. "Black coffee and let me check that I got this right, it's been a little while, a strawberry milkshake with whipped cream and chocolate syrup?" I nodded with a large smile. "Okay, I'll be back with your drinks in a sec." She said happily.

"When was the last time we were here?" I asked Dad, blanking on just how long it'd been.

"I think after you and Hitoshi took your entrance exams. You two were both stressed over the results not being in yet so I took both of you here one night." He told me and I stared at him in disbelief.

"That was in like, February. It's really been that long?" I asked him, shocked that it's been eight months. He nodded and turned his attention to the menu and I did the same, my eyes already set on what I wanted.

"Here ya both are. Are you two ready to order?" She asked as she sat down in a chair from the table beside us. Ikeda was always personable with everyone that walked in here, we'd seen it multiple times.

"Uh can I get an order of the kakuni manju?" I asked while I put a straw in my milkshake.

"Absolutely, and what can I get for you Aizawa?"

"Just some udon please." He said quietly and I happily took a sip of my milkshake. She set the tablet on her lap after punching our orders in and leaned forward a little bit.

"You've grown up quite a bit since the last time I saw ya, Tsukare. How's school goin'? Any more fights?" Ikeda asked teasingly.

"No, no fights. I'm over at U.A. in the hero course." I told her.

"Sonus, right?" I blushed a little and nodded my head. "Knew that was you when I saw the news. What else is new with ya?"

"I have my first boyfriend." I told her shyly, blushing like a mad man.

"Good for you, hun!" She said happily, a genuine smile on her face. "It's a shame I can't try and set ya up with my daughter anymore. She's 'bout your age." I laughed a little bit and tried to stifle it by taking a sip of my drink. "What? You're a good kid, strong set of morals, clear head on your shoulders, you'd be a good influence!" She defended her statement on it, her Hyogo accent heavily coming out.

"Thanks, Ikeda."

"So, what's he like? Is he treatin' you good?" She asked with a pointed look.

"He is, he's amazing. He's patient and kind, he has an amazing smile and beautiful hair, he knows right away when my hearing aids are out and does his best with it. We have a lot of the same interests. I feel comfortable and safe around him." I told her happily, indulging in her impromptu boy talk.

"And do you approve of him?" She asked Dad and he sighed.

"He's a good kid, so I'm trying to warm up to him for Onryo's sake." Dad begrudgingly told her.

"Well, I'm glad to hear you're happy, sweetie. You deserve to be. Now when did you get them fancy things in your ears?" She said, not passing over my comment about hearing aids.

"Probably five or six months ago." I told her, watching her face soften a bit.

"How ya holdin' up with it?" She asked sincerely.

"It was an adjustment at first, but with my quirk I always knew I'd need them one day. It was more of an adjustment for my friends, I think. We have dorms now, so after class my hearings aids are usually out, if I'm not wearing them there's only so much I can catch in large conversations." She hummed and nodded.

"That sounds like a pain, hun. How are you adjustin' to it? It must be a change for you and your other son. Speaking of, where is he?" She turned to my Dad.

"It wasn't a large adjustment for me. My spouse is hard of hearing, too. And Hitoshi was sleeping, this one couldn't sleep and we were both hungry, we figured we would come here." He answered, careful with his wording about Pops.

"Well that's a shame, kids missin' out. So tell me, what's UA like?"

We talked for another ten or so minutes before another customer walked in and she excused herself.

So, what to do you want to open up about?

Preferably, I wouldn't, but a deals a deal. I took a long sip of my milkshake to buy time. I opened up to Bakugou a little about Kamino.

How did that go?

He brought me up to the roof to talk one night and he told me that was my chance to let it out so I might stop having nightmares about it. Solid effort before the raid. I told him what Toga did.

Do you want to tell me about that?

Not really, to sum it up, there was a lot of blood and she turned into Shiroka at one point. I'm mad at myself more than anything. I feel like if I was stronger then none of that would've happened.

It wasn't your fault.

But-

It wasn't your fault.

I told them to take it out on me. How is it not my fault?

You didn't ask to be kidnapped. You just didn't want Bakugou to get hurt.

Everything from earlier has me concerned. Why would he leave a warning?

I'm not sure. He might just be able to tell tensions are high in the world.

I don't trust him.

I never said you had too.

Do you trust him?

He's one of my students. I'm required to have some sort of faith in him but I wouldn't call it trust.

Do you think it could be another way to get attention? I hate to phrase it that way, but he lives to be in the spotlight.

Could be a possibility, I suppose.

"Here ya are. A bowl of udon and a plate of kakuni manju. And let me top that off for ya, sweetheart." She said, reaching over and filling up Dad's almost empty coffee mug.

"Thank you, Ikeda." Dad said.

"Anytime, hun. I'll be back to check on y'all later." She said sweetly and I dug in right away, happily sighing at the amazing taste.

Do you think I should open up to Denki about what happened?

There's a question I never thought I'd hear. Why do you ask?

Well, cause, you and Pops and Toshi and even Bakugou knows what happened. I know he's curious and it's because he cares and he can see how much it effects me and I don't blame him for that. Even if I can bring myself to talk about it and tell him, I don't know if it would be a good idea. It would be me telling my boyfriend about how I was tortured mentally and physically for almost three days.

Your Pops and I were together for about a year when your Uncle Oboro died. I didn't open up about it to him for almost a whole year. I didn't know he died, I was convinced that he was still talking to me. Cheering me on as I fought. I blamed myself for a while. It was the only time I didn't believe Sunshine, then I saw the body bag and it felt like part of my heart stopped pumping blood. I felt crazy. So, tell him when you feel like the time is right. If he doesn't have it in him to wait, then he's not worth your time.

Thanks Dad. And you're not crazy. I think your brain just didn't want you to feel it yet so you would stay alive. And I'm sorry, if I brought back any flashbacks when I radioed in to the school when I was trapped.

You don't have to apologize for any of it.

It made me realize I don't want to die anymore. I'm not ready. I was scared, of losing you and everyone.

You're still here. That's what counts.

After we finished our food, we talked for another hours or so, even as the sun rose and shined brightly through the windows we talked. A ghost of a smile appearing on Dad's face when he checked his phone, I already knew who it was.

"Ready to head home?" He asked and I nodded. He paid and left a tip, the two of us walking out to the car. We sat in it as we waited for it to warm up. His phone started ringing after a moment and he picked it up, looking at it confused. "Rock Lock is calling me."

"Put it on speaker! I wanna hear! Please?" He sighed but obliged, answering the phone call and putting it on speaker.

"Hello?" He said tiredly.

"Hey Eraser. I gotta ask a favor." Rock Lock cut in on the other end.

"What's your favor? And so you're aware, I have Onryo with me and you're on speaker." I rolled my eyes jokingly at him taking my fun out of it but he shot me a look.

"That's perfect actually. I was callin' about your kid, I'm at a loss and the cops are too, can I borrow your kid?" He asked.

"I'm sorry, would you like to rephrase that?"

"Can ginger come down to the scene and tell us if we're missin' anything? Like I said, we're at a loss and after the raid, I trust his judgement and he has a different way at lookin' at things." Dad looked at me and we had a silent conversation.

"I'll be there as soon as I can. Send him the address and details to save time on you briefing me."

"Heard that, see ya soon kid." Dad ended the phone call and put the car in gear.

"This should be fun." He sighed.

[whirlybirbs]

          (   this chapter’s gif by @august-walker​ from this beautiful set !   )

✪   —   VACANT MIRRORS  ;  B.B.  |  4/?

summary: you formulate a plan, meet steve rogers, and bucky goes on a date.

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 6.8k, mother of pearl

a/n: this ended up being mostly a filler with a lot of romantic growth - i had to break this chapter up from the unce unce unce clubbing that coming up, so please enjoy! 

  (   PREVIOUSLY   |    AO3    |    MASTERLIST  |   NEXT  )

MOSCOW, 1975.

In all the years that James Buchanan Barnes has had a heartbeat, he’d come to know the sounds of grief well.

War taught him a lot of things — that they were all just little boys playing with guns, and that no matter how many times you thought you’d be ready for the vomit-inducing pungency of violence, you never were. In the end, you’d do anything to save yourself; you’d crawl through the thick of death and debris a million times over if only to cling to the shredded tatters of your own humanity.

You would kill someone else’s son for the sake of your own mother.

War was disease that devoured every part of you — it was gunpowder snuff and carved flesh. That sickness — inky and desperate — had sunk deep into this heart during the war, and it crescendoed to the sounds of mothers clutching dead sons. The sounds that followed death were like a hollow opera. Waning and wailing.

In the raucous wake left by warborn grief, Bucky drowned everytime.

To the Winter Soldier, the operatic quality to the sounds of grief were as insignificant as a child’s rhyme.

He did not drown. No, he waded through the waves, comfortable in the cold and unphased by the stinging cut of loss. That was not something he could comprehend. After all, there were orders and there were targets, and everything in between was absolute.

He was the disease that devoured all.

He’s holding a gun to Andrei Kuznetzov’s head in a dining room with ornate trim — with silverware as delicate as scalpels that tinker against fine china. The carpets are red, the curtains are red, there’s blood on the table cloth. The guests continue to eat. Kuznetzov’s wife is screaming, red nails dug so deep into the dining chair’s arms it’s carving out the fabric. War dogs, like him, keep her rooted in her seat, and her tears find polished boots. She’s begging and bartering but the man with Kuznetzov’s life in his hands is not listening. He is eating his veal, bloodied meat dancing between his lips. He takes a sip of wine as his medal emblazoned chest glimmers in the light of crystalline chandaliers.

The spoils of war.

His smile is stained red.

There is no deal to be made.

The Winter Soldier pulls the trigger.

NOW.

His eyes are open.

Panic is the first emotion he feels, and it seizes him up quickly in its grasp. He doesn’t know this view, he doesn’t know where he is, not again, not again, not again —

Then:

“Good morning, sleeping beauty. Did you know you snore?”

The relief that the sound of your voice brings is immediate, and just like that he remembers. He’s laying on the bed. You’re sat up across from him at that small desk in the corner. He reaches as he rubs his face to thumb the edge of the pillowcase. He exhales tightly.

He’s fine. His name is James Buchanan Barnes. He is not longer the Winter Soldier. He’s in his Brooklyn apartment. He is fine.

When’s the last fucking time he’s slept in a bed?

He sits up, scratching his neck as he does. You lean back, half rotated in the desk. Before you is a mess of papers and his laptop — and on top of the keyboard sits his notebook. It’s open to the page where all he’d been able to figure out about Innessa was scrawled in his chicken scratch.

Bucky swings his legs over the edge of the bed and immediately his back complains.

“How long was I out?” he asks, voice hoarse with sleep. He moves to part the curtains. The room blooms with warm morning light.

You offer an apologetic smile into the vanilla sunshine. “Three hours. I wanted you to get some shut eye. You were starting to look a little overwhelmed last night—”

“You click too fast,” he waves, standing and immediately rolling his neck to the side. You watch as the man, before as peaceful as a sleeping pup, now regains his usual thinning veiled level of threat. Bucky is dangerous — it shows in the way he holds himself. He cracks his neck, rolls his shoulders, and groans. He exhales again, posture sagging a bit, “I couldn’t keep up.”

You’re standing now, socks padding against the hardwood as you eye his cowlick with a budding bloom of affection. With his notebook between your index and middle finger, you offer it out. You cling to your empty coffee cup in the other.

“I didn’t peek,” you say warmly, “Pinky promise.”

His laugh is more like a hot puff of air. Bucky manages a look that feels like an emotional dethaw.

“Thank you.”

You lead the way to the kitchen, stretching your own back as you go. You’d been up all night — this is your third trip out here for yet another cup of coffee. The pot has been on for too long, though, and you know the coffee sitting there is beyond bitter. You’re moving to dump it down the sink when Bucky grumbles.

“Don’t.”

“You want it?”

“No,” he mutters, reaching for a mug, “But I don’t want to waste it.”

“Wow,” you chirp, “The Great Depression just jumped out.”

“Yeah,” he snorts, yanking open the fridge to search for something to eat, “It does that.”

“Well, grandpa,” you hand him the steaming cup and set out to make another pot, “You’re also living on Depression Era rations — might I suggest some Dolly’s? Because I’m starving and I’ve been up all night and I think that means I get to decide where we get breakfast.”

Bucky’s look is soft — but you don’t see it. You’re too busy scooping sugar into your cup, too busy nudging him aside to grab the milk. He’s rooted there in the kitchen, watching you move about. You’re comfortable. There isn’t a trace of anxiousness in you, not in this moment, and he tries to remember what it looks like.

Your eyes find his and he clears his throat.

“Earth to Sergeant Barnes?”

“Don’t start,” he groans, albeit playfully, “It’s too early.”

“Oh, what? Too early for me to grill you on why you didn’t tell me that little laptop in there was on loan from the FBI? To one Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th?”

His face falls.

“Don’t worry,” you raise a hand quickly, leaning against the counter as you sip your coffee, “I figured that out before I did anything massively illegal.”

Bucky rubs his face as he takes a sip of his coffee — the bitterness is enough to slap him awake. He winces, swallows it back, and remembers the taste of instant coffee made in helmets on the line in Bastogne. He can smell snow, and the acrid sting of mortar smoke. Suddenly, he’s craving a cigarette.

That hasn’t happened in a while.

Bucky clears his throat. “Did you find anything?”

You frown slightly, lips pulled as you hide your inward disappointment — you push off from the counter and shake your head as you brush past him. Like a loyal dog, Bucky follows. Into the bedroom you go, and Bucky’s again surprised he managed to get any sleep at all in that bed. Maybe it was the comfort of having someone else there, or the genuine exhaustion that had finally choked him out after hours of trying to understand what the hell you were even doing on there.

You plop into the desk chair and snatch up a piece of paper littered with notes.

“I couldn’t do much of my usual snooping,” you explain gently as you gesture to the chromebook, “This thing might have been given to you in good faith, but they’re watching you pretty closely. So, I worked a little magic and ended up running a virtual machine. Gave me enough wiggle room to avoid the malware and keystroke trackers. Even still, I wanted to be careful, so I just did a little looking.”

“Looking?”

“I can’t dig deeper on Innessa, I know where to dig, but I can’t,” you frown, “Not on this laptop, and definitely not on my personal machines. I’ve got the GRC breathing down my neck, and the files I need to poke are very much off-limits.”

“So, what? We’re shit out of luck?”

“No, not entirely,” you stand up and motion to the paper in your hands; your tone is tight, “I know a few people who can help, but getting to them is going to be the hardest part.”

Bucky takes the paper, squinting at the writing as you settle on the edge of the bed next to him. You take a sip of your coffee and watch as his blue eyes dart across the notes; you point to the name scrawled across the top.

“There’s a club in lower Manhattan, but you’ve gotta know the right people to get in,” you mumble, scratching your cheek as a creeping sense of embarrassment bubbles up behind your words, “It’s in the basement of an old computer repair shop. It’s like a blackhat networking event, but with strippers.”

Bucky squints at the paper and reads the name. “The Glass Cannon?”

“Yeah,” you huff, crossing your arms tightly as you stand, “That’s the one.”

Bucky looks up from the paper, attention now rooted on the pacing you’ve begun to do across the room. Back and forth. You’re holding your coffee like a lifeline, gaze far away. That anxiousless way you’d been holding yourself before is gone. Now, he can see the tensing in your shoulders, in your fingers. You’re suddenly nervous.

Bucky stands. His voice is gentle.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” you snap almost immediately, “Just, y’know. Worried. I spent a lot of time there when I was younger. Did stupid shit. And now I’m about to waltz in after six years like I haven’t put that part of my life behind me.”

“We don’t have to do this,” he says immediately, moving to stand closer and halt your pacing. The invasion of your space forces you to look at him. His fingers glimmering in the morning light. You follow the line of his figure up to his eyes. The emotion there makes your heart clench. You can’t pin it down, and it’s gone in an instant.

“It’s the only way we’re going to find Innessa.”

“You don’t need to put yourself in situations like this for me,” he says, stressing the for me part in both expression and tone. The depreciation makes you wince and you’re fast to shake your head.

“That’s what friends do, Bucky,” you stand your ground, but you know there’s more to your reasoning than that, “Plus, she’s a bad guy. And I know you said I technically wasn’t the sidekick, but—”

“You’re not the sidekick—”

“I know,” you huff, nudging him gently with your arm, “But, I wanna help. Do some good.”

“You do enough good,” he mutters, “You’re a good person.”

Your words fail you at that — and your mouth parts but nothing comes out. Bucky watches with an expression as solid as rock as you blink and look away. His hand, the one of flesh and bone, finds your wrist as you tighten your grip on your mug.

The touch, though far too tender for you to handle, feels like fire.

Like a slap in the face, you’re reminded of how handsome Bucky is.

You slap that thought back, trading volleys, and remain quiet.

His tone is stern. “I mean it.”

“Well,” you finally muster, tone dipping sardonically into a cruel peel of humor, “Just wait until you see me in my natural habitat. Maybe the tequila shots will make you second guess that.”

“I didn’t know we were going out drinking,” he chirps as he raises an eyebrow, “Am I going to need to get you a leash?”

“We’re gonna have to try and blend in as best we can. People are going to know me — if they try to pin me with the GRC or the feds, we aren’t going to get anything on Innessa. They probably won’t even let me in the building if they suspect something’s up, after all not everything that goes down in Glass Cannon is kosher.”

“This is already sounding like a bad idea,” Bucky mumbles as he crosses his arms, “I’m stating that for the record, by the way.”

“Well, I think standing around and working ourselves up about this is even worse of an idea,” you chirp back, moving towards the door to muscle on your shoes, “So I say we feed ourselves and don’t worry about this until Thursday night.”

“Thursday.”

You nod.

All of a sudden, Bucky’s eyes go wide.

“Today is Sunday.”

You freeze, hand on the doorframe. You shoot him a wide-eyed look at the sudden flare of panic that’s shot up through him. “Yea, Bucky, today is Sunday.”

“Shit.”

“What?” you nearly cry as he disappears into the bedroom once more. You hear his closet open, then a clatter as he grabs something like keys — you nearly run directly into his chest when he strides back into the kitchen. He’s shouldered on his usual leather jacket, and in his hands is another.

He’s got keys in his hand.

“C’mon.”

He shoves the jacket into your arms and you frown.

“What the hell?” you cry, doubling back to snag your phone and bag as Bucky moves to the door, “What is this?”

“Put it on,” he says, holding open the door for you as you follow him into the apartment hallway.

You raise a brow and stand there as he locks the door.

“Why?”

“Because,” Bucky mumbles, rubbing his face as he widens his strides to the stairwell across the hall; before you know it, you’re desperately trying to keep up as he bounces down the steps — light on his feet like the boxer he is — towards the lower level of the apartment complex, “We’re late.”

You groan, trying to shrug on the jacket that smells like Bucky as you follow — a smell you’d come to know as clean laundry and sandalwood. Must be something for his hair. He never wore cologne, that much was apparent. The jacket is big on you, especially on the shoulders. You were swimming in it, trying not to trip as he held the door open to the garage.

Suddenly, the air is cooler. Immediately you wonder how much his rent is if he had access to a ground level garage. Call it NYC instinct.

“Bucky,” you nearly whine, throwing your head back, “Where are we going?”

Before you get a reply, you run straight into his back. Bucky grunts, moving to grab both of your hands and push you to the front of him.

Sitting in the spot is a motorcycle.

It’s a jet black Harley.

Bucky is handing you the helmet on the back seat as your mouth moves in disbelief. “No way— no, I’m not getting on that thing. I’d rather sell my kidneys. Stop, stop — ow, Bucky — you haven’t even said where we’re going!”

He’s muscling the helmet onto your head and through the flash of the visor you can see a real smile, the sort born out of his never-ending amusement towards your fickle sense of humor. His fingers are nimble against your chin. He takes the time to strap it on, adjust it, and give it a gentle tug. Bucky taps the matte black helmet twice, then flicks the visor down.

“We’re going upstate.”

                                        ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

It takes two hours to get to Elmwood Senior Living.

You spent the first forty-five minutes clinging to Bucky’s waist with your eyes closed — no fault of Bucky’s, really. It was different from riding in a car by miles, and you had your own qualms with driving. You couldn’t be in the passenger’s seat anymore. Not after the accident with Jaimie, when Mom disappeared. Being out of control made you itch; and it’s not until the fifty-minute mark that you ease up on the panic and remember who the man is that’s driving the bike.

You trust Bucky. You trust him with your life.

Once it’s open road, winding up towards the Northern part of the state, it gets easier.

Bucky can feel your grip around his waist loosen just a bit — and it’s enough reassurance that he stops looking back in the mirror every fifteen seconds. It’s enough permission to open up on the throttle, and the bike roars alive. Your immediate reaction is a gobsmacked yelp, the sort that’s pulled from a jolt of shock, but then comes the laugh. 

Bucky’s own quiet chuckle rumbles against your chest. You hold on tighter, but this time with open palms against the thrum of his ribs.

Halfway through the trip, he pulls into a McDonald’s.

You drop your ass onto the parking lot’s curb as he leans against the bike and houses a burger. You laugh, eyeing him candidly as you take a large bite from your own lunch. Bucky is a mess with it — cursing quietly when he ends up getting ketchup on his jacket.

“Shit.”

“Jesus, Bucky,” you mutter, “Did you even taste that thing?”

“Barely,” he clears his throat and starts picking at his fries, “These things taste different now. First time I ever had McDonald’s was right before bootcamp.”

“How much was it? Five cents?” you snort, leaning back and dropping a fry into your mouth.

Bucky watches with a half-smirk. “Fifteen, but nice try.”

He spends the next five minutes on his hand with a wet nap, trying hard to get the grease out of the delicate plates along his palm. You watch, as you knock back the rest of your soda, as his eyes crinkle tightly in frustration. His mouth is pulled tightly into a fine line. For the second time today, you’re reminded of how handsome Bucky Barnes is — and how fucking stubborn he is, too.

“Want help?”

“No,” he mutters, trying to get a spot between his thumb and index finger, “I got it.”

“I have smaller fingers,” you sing-song, gathering up his trash and your trash and crossing the parking lot to the bin; upon returning, you waggle them in his face, “Good for hard to reach places.”

Bucky absolutely hates that can feel his blush hit the tips of his ears at the comment.

He’s glad you’re too preoccupied with his hand to notice. You’re watching, like you always do, with respectful awe. To you, this part of him is a bit like a treasure — you find it beautiful and intriguing and incredible. It’s clear in the way you watch the mechanisms turn and tighten that you aren’t frightened by it.

It unsettles Bucky every time.

Finally, once he’s finished under your watchful eyes, he leans to muscle that helmet back over your head. You groan, squinting tightly.

“C’mon,” he knocks your helmet with his knuckles, “We’re almost there.”

The rest of the ride is wide open space, farm land and mountainous peaks looming far ahead. It’s warm, and the sun is hot on your back. The wind is howling around you and it sends your jacket collar flapping against your neck. Your chin rests neatly on Bucky’s shoulder, trying to get a view of the road ahead.

Elmwood Senior Living is tucked into the back of a suburb.

The two of you weave through a neighborhood or two, dancing under the shade of age old maple trees. They cast long, scattered shadows across the pavement as kids play on their lawns. A dog barks somewhere in the distance. Over the hill, church bells ring. Sunday service has ended.

Bucky rolls into the parking lot, past the large sign with swirling lettering. Suddenly, things make more sense. Suddenly, you’re struck with a sinking feeling of grief. Nostalgia. Mourning. But, happiness.

There are folks sitting outside, basking in the sun, tethered to walkers.

Bucky’s wrists crank back weathered knuckles, and slowly the bike rumbles into an open spot. Extending his legs, Bucky balances the bike with ease. You take that as your cue to swing yourself off the back clumsily, hopping a bit. Bucky leans, kicks the stand down, and with significantly more grace than you, swings his leg over.

You’re shrugging his jacket off when he speaks.

“He’s going to be different than how you imagine him.”

You exhale slowly, draping the jacket over the bike’s seat. You peel the helmet off.

“I’ve sort of pieced that together.”

You can see the slight discomfort hanging in his posture. You reach and touch Bucky’s arm.

“Come on,” you nod to the entrance, covered by a shady overhang where someone is helping a family member out of their car, “We don’t wanna be late, huh?”

His eyes soften. Bucky nods.

You walk side-by-side into the lobby of Elmwood Senior Living and it’s like time slows down. It halts in a warm, sunshine colored still — full of chatter, full of humanity, full of wisdom. The room is framed by big windows, by plants, by a man in a U.S. Navy ball cap. He’s stationed by the door, watching the comings and goings. The main desk, where a young woman watches, sits in the corner. You follow Bucky with a content little look. He notices.

He stands a little closer at the main desk. The girl, who looks like she’s incredibly out of place with her blue hair and piercings, is younger than you thought. Highschool, maybe. She offers Bucky an excited smile.

“Took you long enough,” she chirps, moving to sort through a bin to her side with key fobs.

Your brows raise. You spy calculus homework on the desk.

Bucky snorts. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

He notices the same problem set you so, and purposely leans over the desk. Suddenly, you’re seeing flashes of a more boyish version of Bucky — one that reminds you of a man with siblings. Bucky taps the paper, jutting a chin to the girl as she tries to swat his attention away.

“How’d you do on that test?”

“I got a 96,” she chirps pridefully, laughing, “Thanks for the help, nerd.”

You’re watching the entire exchange with a smile, backing up a bit to toss a curious glance over your shoulder. There’s a dining room through open doors — and looks like lunch is just wrapping up. Folks are moving around, back to their rooms or upstairs where you can hear the beginnings of a seated aerobics class begin.

Bucky nudges you with his hand.

“Thanks, Sarah,” he says and waves the key she’d handed over.

The girl with the blue hair scoffs. “Say hi to grandpa for me, Bucket.”

You laugh out loud as Bucky quickly flips her off. She’s quick to do the same.

You follow him around the corner, grinning ear to ear. He spares you a sheepish look, then rolls his eyes.

“What was that?”

“She’s a good kid,” he offers, eyeing the key with the grey little fob attached, “Reminds me of my sister.”

Your face softens. “Sister?”

“Her name was Sarah, too,” he says quietly, boots landing softly on the blue carpet. He’s navigating the residential wing like he’s done it a million times. There are rooms with flowers outside, with holiday garb, with little photos and keepsakes. Each room holds a lifetime of personality — the sound of Jeopardy lulls along in the background.

You hum. Bucky sighs.

He meanders down a long hallway where a different door is — this one heavy and locked by the little keypad. Bucky raises the key fob to the device and the door buzzes.

This side of Elmwood is quieter.

Down the hall, Timmy Dorsey and Sinatra play quietly over someone’s record player.

There aren’t as many folks in the hall in this wing, but doors are open and nurses flit about. Around the corner, there’s a loud conversation going on about lunch — and you watch as Bucky weaves towards the nursing station. It’s a room overlooking the common area with windows. Inside are three women.

One of them immediately jumps when she sees Bucky.

“Oh, good! I was meaning to talk to you—”

“Everything alright?”

“About the same,” she breathes as she stands, moving to grab at a Bucky’s arm with a sense of motherliness that makes you smile, “But, meals have been a bit difficult lately.”

“No kidding,” he mutters, rubbing his chin, “He just doesn’t wanna eat?”

“He thinks Peggy is coming home,” the woman whispers with a pained smile as she begins to lead you both down the hall, “He thinks your grandmother made dinner for him.”

“Right,” Bucky nods, “Doesn’t wanna ruin his appetite.”

“Exactly.”

You take note of the conversation, muddling through your own confusion. You’re quiet, though. This isn’t really your conversation to have. Bucky seems to be relaxed more — even humming slightly to a song that plays across the hall from the room the nurse is knocking on.

“Mr. Carter?” she calls gently, “Your grandson is here to see you, and his…”

She looks expectantly at you. You bawk.

“Friend.”

“Right,” she smiles and pushes open the door.

It’s like a little slice of home.

Sofas, chairs, photos on the walls. There’s a record player in the corner, a television, a coffee table stacked with books on the second world war. There’s a dresser covered in baubles and warm light coming in from the window overlooking the street. It reminds you of your grandparents’ sitting room — everything looks so lived in, so comfortable, so alive.

And then, below the light of the window, is a hospital bed.

In it is Steve Rogers.

Not the one you know — no, this one has lived a full life. This Steve Rogers has fallen in love, owned a home, settled down. This Steve Rogers has years of wisdom settled into his face, years of well-fought fights in his joints. His blonde hair has gone shock white, but his smile is all the same.

“Bucky.”

The way Steve says his name is like the man beside you holds the world.

To Bucky, he can hear a new weakness. A new exhaustion.

“Hi, punk.”

The nurse offers a little wave to you as Bucky ventures into the room, stripping his jacket off and moving to scope out the minifridge in the small kitchenette beside the bathroom. She leaves the door open, and you smile to her softly. Bucky rummages, poking his head up.

“You want a drink, Steve?” he asks, tone almost like he’s feeling out the lucidity of the man across the room, “There’s some of that lemonade I brought last week in here.”

“Sounds good,” he says slowly, “Please.”

You feel out of place — not unwelcome, but… it’s clear that Bucky has come and gone from here a thousand times now. He knows to get the glasses out, to get a straw, to turn down the record player on his way over. Doris Day’s voice lowers to a soft croon. You watch with heavy eyes.

“I brought someone, Steve,” Bucky says, “She’s a big fan.”

“Oh?” Steve asks with a slow look to the corner where you’re standing, “That musta broke your heart.”

Bucky snorts as he moves to swing the hospital bed’s tray over Steve’s lap. He places the lemonade down, then the other glass on the nightstand. He’s quick to move the armchair closer to the nightstand, and gestures for you to come over. Bucky’s hands guide you by the shoulders as he plops you into the chair.

“She’s one of the good ones,” Bucky says, “Reminds me of you.”

“No kidding,” Steve says slowly, offering a hand that shakes, “Steve Rogers. It’s a pleasure.”

You exchange your name with a shy look, shaking that hand with reverence and gentility. “It’s an honor, Mr. Rogers.”

“Please,” he mumbles, moving to slowly take a sip of his lemonade, “Steve is fine.”

Bucky moves to take up a post on the opposite side of Steve, in the sun. “You’re losin’ weight, y’know.”

That earns him a wave of the hand.

Bucky leans back and sips his lemonade. He waggles a finger and you watch the two begin to go back and forth.

“No, no,” he swallows, “No, you don’t get t’ shrug me off—”

“M’fine, Buck,” a sigh, “Really.”

“Mhm,” he narrows his eyes, “You’re startin’ to look like the Steve I knew before the serum.”

You lean back, hiding a quiet smirk behind your hand.

“I was wondering when you were gonna show up an’ pester me,” he says with a tired look, “The only peace I get around here is when Peggy comes home.”

Your eyes jump to Bucky. He’s watching you.

“Peggy?” you ask gently, “Is that your wife?”

A proud smile washes over his face. “Still knocks me for a loop, too.”

“Steve,” Bucky’s voice is gentle, “Peggy won’t be coming around for a while. Remember?”

There’s a look that flashes across Steve’s face, then. A mixture of sadness, of confusion, of panic. It’s clouded with a furrow of his brow, hidden by a tilt of the head. He looks at Bucky, mouth pulled in a fine line.

When he finally speaks, his voice is sad.

“That’s right. I forgot.”

“S’alright,” Bucky taps his head, maintaining an air of nonchalance, “That’s why you got me.”

“And why you’ve got her, no doubt,” he turns to you with a winning smile and offers his hand again, “Steve Rogers. Nice to meet you.”

You take it, you shake it, and you introduce yourself once more. Your smile is patient and understanding. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Steve.”

Bucky breathes a sigh of relief. Steve smiles, tossing Bucky a look that borders on mischievous.

He sips his lemonade and clears his throat. “How is Sam?”

“You ask every time,” Bucky mutters, “And every time I have the same answer.”

“Sam?” you ask slowly.

“Wilson,” Bucky finishes, “Bird man.”

“You mean Falcon,” you correct, shooting him a stern look, “The Falcon. Are you ghosting The Falcon?”

“I don’t know what that even means, so maybe,” Bucky leans back and crosses his legs, “I’ve been busy.”

You roll your eyes. Steve saw. He smiles.

“I’m gettin’ why he keeps you around.”

Your face is smacked with a look of pure joy.

“C’mon on now,” Bucky cries, nearly indignantly, “No flirting—”

“M’ not flirting—”

“I know that look, Steve—”

Steve is laughing.

Bucky has a stern look in his eye. “You always do this—”

“I’m not doin’ a damn thing—”

“And you better keep it that way, old man,” Bucky shirks, voice splintering into a laugh in a way that you’ve never heard before, “I swear, this is how it always goes.”

“Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, huh, Buck?” you ask gently, leaning your cheek into your hand.

Steve laughs loudly at that.

Bucky spares you a smile — the sort that’s drenched in good humor and sunlight. It makes your lungs flutter, and you ignore the buzz in your fingers at the sight. You hide your laugh into your cup of lemonade, resigning to be a quiet counterpart in the conversation.

The two of them go on to chat about small things, then chat about old things. From the Commandos, to HYDRA, to amends, to therapy, to Peggy, to the itch the starch of their old dress uniforms used to bring. It takes a bit, a few redirections on the way, but it’s clear by the end why Steve Rogers is in Elmwood’s memory unit.

It makes your heart ache.

And if a super soldier is bed-ridden…

The two of you say goodbye around three in the afternoon after Bucky helps Steve shave.

The walk back to the bike is quiet.

Bucky speaks first.

“He’s dying.”

You chew your lip, eyes on the pavement. You match his slow stride, bumping your elbow with his as you walk. It’s still warm, and the clouds hang high in the sky. When you look up, Bucky’s watching you. You sigh.

“I’m sorry,” you finally muster, “I am.”

“Don’t be,” he says, grabbing the jacket from the seat and holding it up, “He’s lived a long life.”

You let Bucky hold out the arm for you, and you press your hand through the sleeve. He helps the other side on, and you zip it up to your chin. When you turn around to face him, there are tears in your eyes.

They snuck up on you. You hadn’t realized it until Bucky’s face fell, until the first one fell along the weathered leather of the jacket. You blink, raising your brows as you swipe them away, and offer an apologetic look.

“I’m happy,” you say, “Y’know. He has you. But, he’s a man out of time. Even now. That makes me sad.”

Bucky’s quiet for a while. He’s leaned up against the bike as you turn and watch Elmwood from the back of the parking lot. There’s a big part of you that feels heavy with guilt — and though Steve was in good spirits when you left, you can’t help but ache to provide him with more company. It’s clear that seeing Bucky means a lot to him, and that in turn it means a lot to the man beside you.

“Come on,” Bucky says then, “Let’s go home.”

You nod, let him muscle that helmet onto your head one more time, and hold on a little tighter back to the city.

                                       ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

You don’t see Bucky until Tuesday.

In all honesty, it feels weird to not hear from him for two days. At the very least, you expected some sort of phone call — but you remind yourself that you’ve been okay alone for a long time. There’s no need to throw all your work on being comfortable by yourself out the window for Bucky Barnes.

It’s tempting, though. God, it’s really tempting.

You hate the ache in your chest when you finally see him lumbering towards the cafe counter before your appointments. You hate this new feeling — so you shove it down and ignore the way his fingers brush yours when he hands you your latte.

He is ignoring it, too. He’s been ignoring it.

No use in thinking about it though.

“You got plans later?” you ask him in the elevator after your appointment, tilting your head, “Apparently there’s a Lord of the Rings marathon tonight on FX.”

Bucky stiffens — and immediately he can feel the hot sting of anxious regret flood his cheeks. He clears his throat, tucks his hands in his pockets, and toes the ground. You watch with a confused look. Then he speaks tightly.

“...I’ve got a date.”

You could have caught flies the way your jaw fell open.

“Oh. Oh!”

You blink, readjust your expression, and swallow down a sharp stab of rejection.

Bucky clears his throat. “It’s… I wasn’t going to but, Dr. Raynor—”

“No, no,” you wave your hands and shake your head and try to seem genuine, “No, I’m happy for you. Is this one of those Christian Minglers?”

Bucky groans. “Shut up.”

“Okay,” you say, “Okay! Just, uh, be careful. Y’know? And call if you need anything.”

The elevator doors open, and Bucky walks side by side with you through the well-lit lobby. He holds the door open for you, and you pass through with a pained look at the ground. He lingers, though, rubbing the back of his neck as you wait for him to say what’s on his mind.

“Thursday,” he says, “I’ll stop by.”

“Yea,” you say, waving your hand, “Whenever.”

But, that doesn’t end up happening.

No, Bucky Barnes shows up at your apartment doorstep at 10pm.

He’s clutching takeout and a six pack of beer and wearing a horrified expression that screams of guilt and exhaustion. No, Bucky buzzes the door to your apartment and basically croaks that he’s here — he’s asking if the marathon is still on while you buzz him up.

“Third floor,” you say into the buzzer with a smile, “Come on in, old man.”

When you open the door, you have to laugh — because his hair is a mess and there’s still a trace of lipstick on the corner of his mouth. Whereas jealousy threatens to flare, his incredibly regretful expression tamps it down. You cock a hip, eye him up and down, and jut your chin out.

“Get laid?”

Bucky rolls his eyes so hard you’re surprised he didn’t break something.

He pushes past you, moving to drop the beer on the counter and place the takeout gently down by the basket of fruit.

“I’m here for the cat,” he grumbles, “Not your witty commentary, sweetheart.”

You’re moving quietly to the sink and gathering a paper towel with a smirk as Bucky looks around, admiring the decor and aliveness of your apartment. When you turn around, he’s already pried a beer from the pack and popped the top off with his vibranium palm.

He winces when you reach up to swipe the coral lipstick from the corner of his mouth.

Then Bucky settles, letting you clean off the mess.

“Mhm,” you hum, “Right. Was it at least fun?”

“She had fun,” he mutters into his first sip, “It was a lotta tongue for my first night out in nearly a century, though.”

You wince. He nods with a sardonic smile that tells you everything about how the date went down — and you’re relieved. “So, I take it you're not calling her in the morning?”

“No,” he shakes his head, “Nope. No, and I’ve decided no more dates. That was enough for me.”

You wince and pluck a beer from the pack. Wordlessly, Bucky gestures for you to hand it over. In one smooth motion, he twists the cap off with his hand.

“That bad?” you ask, eyeing him critically.

“I decided halfway through,” he says as he moves to take the takeout from its bag, “I’d rather be watching Lord of the Rings with you.”

That stops you into silence. It’s like someone’s taken your own words and gagged you with them — and you’re left floundering for breath you never even realize you lost. You know he means it. You know it because he won’t look at you, because that sort of confession isn’t easy for people like you two. So you take those words and you glue them in a lonely locket and keep them close to your heart.

Poke’s entrance saves you a mouthful of broken words — he comes in, trots up to Bucky, and hollers.

Bucky laughs.

“Nice to meet you, too,” he mutters, eyeing the cat that’s eagerly rubbing himself along Bucky’s leg.

You wipe your face, sip your beer, and move to the pantry across from the kitchen island. You come back out with a bag of salmon treats — the good ones — and offer Bucky the bag. He takes it, eyes still on the calico, and crinkles it a little.

You lean against the counter and watch Bucky kneel.

“If you keep it up long enough he might even let you hold him.”

He lights up at that.

You laugh.

You move to grab plates and forks and knives and groan when you open up the first box to see Pad Thai — you make a mental note to properly thank Bucky for this. You meager dinner of reheated pasta really hadn’t hit the spot. This will, though. You can tell from the smell alone.

By your knees, Poke chirps.

“He’s cute.”

“I never took you for a cat guy.”

Bucky snorts.

You make a plate and flick his head as you walk by. “You’re missing the start of The Two Towers.”

“I’m going to be confused, aren’t I?” he asks as he stands and begins making himself a plate. He watches as you settle onto the couch and sip your beer, “I was too busy being turned into a cyborg to read the books.”

You laugh out loud. It shocks you.

“Was that a joke? Did Bucky Barnes just make a joke?”

He’s smirking. He rounds the counter with his food and settles next to you. Poke is following him, eager to curl up next to his new friend.

“I can be funny.”

“Funny lookin’.”

He elbows you on purpose. You snort into your beer.

There’s a comfortable moment of quiet between you, and you clear your throat.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah,” he says slowly, “No problem.”

More quiet, and he’s still watching you. Then, he asks what’s been on his mind for the last three days.

“You got a plan for Thursday?”

“I’ve got anxiety, Buck,” you exhale, swigging your beer and turning the television up, “I always have a plan.”

[emonaculate]

Streamer Eren Headcanon pt 2

`❥ AU: Modern!AU

`❥ Genre: Fluff

`❥ Pairing: Streamer!Eren x Black!Reader

`❥ Warnings Include: Profanity, Established relationship, Eren is a dork

`❥ Author Note: You guys loved the first one so much I decided to do it again. Sorry if it isn't as good as the first one, I'm working on other projects at the same time

Eren met you during college and was instantly smitten

You were a foreign student studying abroad

He spent months trying to learn English just to properly talk to you

You finally cave in and go on dates with him because slfkssrlw how could you not when he's that sweet

Having said that, when you're frustrated whilst he streams, to check on you he'll switch over to English.

"Hey pretty girl whats wrong?"

"I can't find the letters for my cross word."

"....Aha lemme see."

He is trying his hardest not to laugh at your cute little scrunched up face as he helps you find the word.

During his charity streams, by popular vote, he lets you do his make up

Despite the stream being 24 hrs long people continue to watch because the interactions are too cute.

" 'Ren stay still."

"It feels moist."

"Never say that again."

"Wait. Babe. I want the thingy on my eyes."

"Thingy?"

"Yeah the sharp shit and the stuff on my lashes."

"Its called wing liner and mascara, Eren."

"Yeah that shit."

"Don't swear. Kids are watching."

"Man fuck them-"

"Yeager."

"....Ahem... sorry."

He is definitely the baddest bitch after you finish <3

Kept the make up on even after the stream finished

He may be a COD player but he does not have toxic masculinity

LOVES how he looks when pampered and whilst he'll never go out of his way to do make up or use your products; if you ever offer he's down

"What that's shit on your face?"

"It's an Indian face mask."

"It looks like throw up."

"Do you wanna try it?"

"Yes."

Once talked shit about braids not hurting that bad.

So the only natural solution was to make a bet

You styled his beautiful long hair into nice and neat cornrows (if you can't braid, take him to the africans)

He couldn't even sit through the procedure, literally got up and left midway through

"Fuck no. I like pain as much as the next guy but hell no."

"Aw baby what wrong? I thought it wasn't that bad."

Went on stream the next day to talk about the experience and why he wouldn't wish that on anyone.

Everyone can tell that your relationship is serious when you accidentally broke his PS5

Like he gets absolutely livid and wants to do nothing more than yell at you

But after seeing your teary eyed expression and your broken apologies in German

He just accepts it and steps completely out of the room to keep from blowing up on you.

It takes a few days and even though you feel completely like shit, you dont bother him

He finally comes around and just holds you tightly

No words or anything

His gesture is enough to let you know he forgives you.

He gets a new one immediately and is more careful when it comes to letting you mess with alone though lmao

Decides to do the little draw my life video and moves people to tears without trying

He thought his trauma was normal pfft

While that gets to people, what really affects his audience is when he get to how you make him feel

"If I can describe Y/n with one word, I'd have to say sunshine. You know that feeling when you've seen nothing but depressing rainstorms for months at a time but just that one day, the sun pokes out and shows that the world isn't so gloomy and bad. It's actually quite beautiful. The sun manages to make those sad raindrops look like diamonds. Thats Y/n to me. She makes the days where I feel at my worst better in every way. "

Eren suffers from a couple mental illnesses which is why he donates to their respected charities

He suffers from ADHD, Depression, and Anger issues.

Now you can't just magically make all of his issues go away but you being around does soothe him in a special way

Not many people can do that and LOTS have tried

But you just manage to get him in ways he cant explain

Even the videos with all of his friends involved, his focus on you

Fans can tell when you guys are not together during streams

Eren's temper is a lot shorter and he pops off quickly.

And of course he just so happens to play "getting over it"

This is one of those times he gets cancelled

Coochie-manz63: wow ur trash

"You're literally someone who hides behind a fucking screen to talk shit but I know if I was in front of you; there would be no exchange because if you so much looked at me wrong, I would have beaten your ass into fucking next year, you dyslexic fucking waste of space. Learn how to goddamn spell before you try to talk shit again."

IloveYEAGGGGER23: Damn..

You ended up being the one to clean up his mess, yet again

"Eren is very sorry for his actions, He understands how his words can be hurtful to others.. Right babe?"

"Huh? Oh um yeah.. My bad ig."

After the apology video, you give Eren one of your famous lectures.

"Eren you can't treat others like that just because you get a little upset. Remember what your therapist said about controlling your temper. You can't just do it when I'm around, you have to do it all the time.

Now Eren loves you to pieces but your lectures just do not help his ADHD mind.

So to shut you up, he does the only thing he knows how

Takes your breath and thoughts away with his passionate kisses.

His pattern is always the same

He pretends to listen, nodding occasionally, stands up and moves closer to you.

Grabs your jaw gently and tips your head back before capturing your lips into a sheering kiss that always leaves you breathless

"What were we talking about?"

"We were just going to get some food."

You're just as weak for Eren as he is for you <3

[witchersgoldenbard]

season 2 ruined geraskier for me.

now, that's a pretty loaded statement, i know, but i just realised how i can explain that weird heavy feeling that's been weighing on my chest every time i think about geralt and jaskier since watching season 2. don't get me wrong, i still love my boys to death and i will continue to write stories with them, i still have so many ideas. but before that can happen, i need to ramble and vent a little bit.

during and after season 1, geraskier was my comfort ship. the grumpy one and the sunshine one, one with heavy trauma and the other with enough blank space to serve wonderfully as a projection screen. there was so much between them in little glances and touches and smiles, and also of course in the witcher source material. there was endless room for fluff and angst and hurt/comfort, and it was always so natural. the mountain break-up scene as classic fix-it point, cakes upon cakes only served to revolve around that. there was so much room for everything that could possibly come afterwards, it was beautiful. there was no doubt at all that geraskier would be a lasting ship, a big one, one of the biggest of tumblr.

and then? then season 2 happened. and i only just figured out what bothered me. there was no closure. for anyone. all that pain and trauma i mentioned, situations where both got hurt, and nobody got the chance to properly apologise, or demand an apology. they never, not once, got to talk it out. not even with glances and a fond but exasperated smile that would tell us everything could be okay. nothing. instead, what we got was geralt apologising to jaskier while sitting on a horse, not even properly looking at him, not even on eye level. that is horrible grounds for an apology. and jaskier? he brought back the most traumatising moniker of geralt's and made it famous again, called him "butcher" because he had a broken heart. all of that could possibly be excused but-- oh wait. there was none. no apology, nothing real on either part.

we were left like them: just hanging in the air, somehow, wrongfooted, hooked but unsatisfied. we were given scraps and pieces while they weren't given time to talk and heal.

and you know what that means? it means that it's us, the fanfic writers, who have to fix this all. we cannot possibly write post-season 2 fluff without going through the emotionally heavy and draining parts of reasoning and apologising and talking first. we cannot really write an au without first having to fix whatever the fuck season 2 did. it means that i, as a person who first and foremost used to write geraskier, now find yennskier more appealing simply because it isn't so draining. it means that i get weirdly sad and heavy every time i so much as think about geraskier, because, as a friend said: i hate that i have to write geraskier fluff either in modern au or during season 1.

it's no coincidence that most of the post-s2 geraskier tag is hundreds of versions of geralt apologising, or jaskier apologising (though the first one is far more prominent, and that's another thing i am very very tired of, because it's not just geralt who needs to apologise!). there's just so much trauma in these two that there'll be 200 fics set immediately after that final battle, and all of them will be different and have different angles, because there's still so much left for them to process, it almost makes me angry.

but i'm not angry. i'm just sad and exhausted and i miss my boys. and maybe that's just me, maybe other people don't have problems writing geraskier right now, but i am very drained that in order to make them happy, i have to make them heal first. because the professional writers who were supposed to do that, didn't. and now i can't have my comfort ship anymore, because everything is too heavy.

and that is how season two ruined geraskier for me.

[oitommothetease]

Invisible String (14/15)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female reader (Modern AU)

Word Count: 2.4k words

Warning : angst, sad reader, angry reader, dumbass Bucky, Steve being likable for once, smartass Sam, reader finally having some friends, mention of assault, confrontation, drinking, fluff, Bec is Bucky’s sister - Rebecca

Unlike you, Bucky remembered everything. He could never forget that you were hurt because of him — tied to a chair for hours while he couldn't save you — crying on the bathroom floor as he held you. The only thing common in all of those instances was him. You had to go through shit because of him, and yet, you still didn't blame him. You wrapped your arm around him as if he wasn't the cause of your pain. It was clear that his past and the baggage that he came with didn’t bother you. In fact, you understood and accepted his trauma and still loved him. You didn't love him despite his baggage. No, you loved him with every bad thing he offered.

Bucky was sure you were delusional. No sane woman would want to be with the man who was responsible for her captivity, yet you snuggled closer towards him the moment this thought occurred in his head. And Bucky loved you more because of that, and he thought he wasn't physically capable of loving you more than he already did. Bucky knew you reciprocated those feelings, it was very obvious that both of you were a goner for the other. Nevertheless, those emotions were not voiced out loud in your relationship yet. And Bucky wanted it to stay that way.

Bucky decided to sneak out of your bed and house before you could wake up. He was aware it was cowardly of him to just leave without giving you an explanation. But if he stayed to explain, you would have asked him to stay, and he didn't have it in himself to tell you no. You were the ray of sunshine in his stormy life and he could never say no to you. You could ask him to get you the sun, and he would get it for you, even after knowing that it would kill him and the humankind in the process. He would still do it.

But what he couldn’t do was refuse you, so he would have to leave you instead.

***

You woke up a bit disoriented, unaware of the surroundings you were in. It took you a minute to process that you were in your own house and not held captive. Once you came back to your senses instinctively you called for Bucky. He held you while you slept the previous night, so he had to be out in the kitchen. When no response came back, you went out to check for him, only to be met with an empty house.

When you tried to contact him, Bucky was distant. He didn’t respond to your texts and your mind was telling you that something was wrong, but you shoved those thoughts sideways, hoping that maybe he was busy with work. But you both went through something traumatic, you needed him to be with you. If he were busy, he could have at least texted you.

Well, if he was going to ignore you, then you wouldn't be one of those people whose life revolved around their partner. You had a book to write and ambitions that didn’t involve him. 

Two hours later, when there was no word from him, you stared at the blank  screen on your computer. You weren’t unfamiliar with writer's block, but it had been months and you haven't written a single line since the incident in the club involving Rumlow. And now that you were alone with your thoughts, you started doubting everything. Should you have stayed in that corporate 9 to 5 job? You'd have a stable life and a fixed salary. Maybe you could have even got a promotion. Should you have filed a complaint against Rumlow? Bucky wanted you to, he even assured you the cops would be on your side, but you just weren't ready. You realized that by choosing to remain silent, you were sending a predator out in the world. He could do that to other people and you could have stopped it.

A knock on the front door interrupted your train of thoughts and you were grateful for the person on the other side. You assumed it was Bucky, he didn’t need to buzz in because he literally owned the building. Well, it could also be any one of his friends. Sam and Steve also didn't need permission . And the other day when Peter came by to give you your phone (you left it in the club), he didn't buzz in either. 

Seeing Wanda, Peter and Pietro on the door was a good change and God, you needed a change or else you'd go mad with self-loathing. 

“We brought pizza,” Wanda exclaimed, lifting the bag in her hand to show you.

You didn't say anything, just smiled at them thankfully. You were really delighted they were here. Not only that, but you didn't have many friends here, and you considered your work friends, your only friends. It was nice to see that they saw you as a friend too and not just someone they work with.

“And beers,” Pietro chimed in, raising the carton in his hand. 

You looked at Peter before teasing, “Is he even legal, guys?”

Seeing you joke around with them made Wanda happy. Between all the testosterone, she truly needed a female friend, and she was relieved to see you treating them as friends rather than colleagues. And she understood the trauma that must haunt you since your kidnapping. She was an empath and when you didn’t show up at work, she grew worried. 

Half an hour later, most of you were on your second beer. Pietro was on his fourth. That man was fast at everything he did. A movie was playing in the background that none of you paid attention to while everyone was settled on your couch. It wasn't a very spacious couch, you were all squashed into it, but it was too comfortable to leave. You were sitting in between Peter and Wanda, while Pietro was situated beside his sister.

You forgot how nice it felt to have friends and bitch about people to them.

“And just like that he was gone. I woke up and he wasn't there,” you told them, “Hasn't been taking my calls either.”

Pietro took a sip of his drink before saying, “What an ass!”

Wanda raised her bottle, nudging all of you to join her, and said, “Fuck men!” 

“Amen!” you agreed, Peter and Pietro nodded too.

“You should focus on your book,” Pietro advised, “Bucky is gonna regret if he loses someone like you, babe.”

The book. Your book. You couldn't tell them why you weren't focused on the book. It was still a lot to process, and you were not ready, so you nodded before chanting, “Fuck Bucky!”

***

“What are you doing here?” Sam questioned as he and his husband entered the  office.

“Last I checked, I own this place.”

Sam huffed, “I meant why are you here instead of her place, smartass?”

Bucky looked around to avoid the questioning gaze of both Sam and Steve. He hadn’t talked to Steve since the argument they had over you. Of course, they did discuss business as usual, but nothing related to their personal life.

 “She doesn't need me,'' Bucky murmured and looked at Steve. “You must be pleased to know that it's over.”

Bewilderment was clear on the faces of both the men because Bucky exhaled loudly before continuing, “I almost got her killed. It would be wise and safe for her to not be with me.”

Steve finally spoke, “Did she say that?”

When his best friend shook his head ‘no’, Steve sighed in exasperation. “You are an idiot.”

“Yeah, well, that's what you wanted, didn't you?” Bucky retorted, “For me to focus on work and not on her.”

 “I was clearly wrong, pal,” Steve raised his hand in exasperation as if it was obvious, “And I’m sorry for that.” 

“Well, it's over now.”

***

“Before I met Nat. I dated a girl who pretended to be gay,” Wanda scrunched her nose, remembering the awful memory.

“Oh yeah, weird Sallie,” Pietro smiled teasingly, “Did you guys know that when Wanda brought her home, she hit on our dad?”

 “No!” Both you and Peter cried out, stupefied at his words.

“Yeah,” Wanda outlined, “And on Pietro too.”

 “I mean, Mr. Barnes is not like this,” Peter brought the conversation back to Bucky and you sucked in a heavy breath. “I’m sure he had a good reason for doing all of this.”

“Seriously?” you were pretty drunk, but not drunk enough to talk about Bucky. You looked at Wanda and Pietro for support, but they shrugged their shoulders in a manner that said, ‘He's not wrong, though.’

You wanted to go to bed and sleep. But you knew they were right. Bucky would never hurt you intentionally, you knew that. “Do you guys know where he is now?”

***

Since trying to talk some sense into Bucky wasn't working, Sam and Steve retaliated back to talk about business.

“Clint is officially out of here,” Steve reported, “Torturing him would just create more ruckus. Rumlow is behind us because he wants his weapons in the government, and Clint would just be a casualty in all this shit. He has three kids.”

Sam huffed, “We told Laura. Her wrath would be worse for Clint than our fists.”

Bucky didn't say anything and just nodded. Steve could feel something was on Bucky's mind, wrapping his arms to his chest, he raised a brow towards his best friend.

“I’m just tired of all of this,” Bucky said sadly, “Is this what we left Rumlow for, pal? You have a kid at home, Wanda has a wife, I have ma and Bec and I haven't met them in years, in fear of someone following me. And now — Well, now I’ve lost the girl too."

Steve and Sam looked at their friend with sympathy. They knew the toll their work took on all of them. Hell, they had a four-year-old daughter at home, and could barely sleep at night, always terrified of losing their kid because of their job.

Sam was about to ask Bucky to suggest an alternative that would help all of them could to make it out of there and just work on the club and not some shady business. Suddenly, the office door flung open and on purpose, everyone’s hand reached for the gun in their waistband. But in walked you with a beer bottle in your hand and a pizza slice in another.

“JAMES BUCKY BARNES!” You exclaimed, your steps wavering a little as you walked towards him. Oh, and you looked royally pissed.

Instantly, Bucky was on his feet and making his way towards you, to hold you — to be near you. And before you could say anything, he was engulfing his arms around your waist, his head settled at the crane of your neck and you frowned. Okay, You did not expect that. You thought he would ignore you, and you would give him a piece of your mind before leaving.

Sober you would have asked him to have a mature conversation like adults, but tipsy you wanted to flip him off and leave. Your arms hung around your sides awkwardly, trying to understand the situation before finally pushing him away.

“You left me,” you spoke so softly that if Bucky wasn't so close, he wouldn't have heard it. “I needed you and you left me alone.”

Bucky’s heart broke at your words. He didn't consider how his rash decision would affect you. You were kidnapped by the person who assaulted you. Fuck, he cursed himself. He was supposed to be protecting you, not hurting you. You sounded so hurt that Bucky wanted to get on his knees and ask for forgiveness. He was so focused on your physical injuries, he did not even realize he was hurting you emotionally.

Steve cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable to present. He interrupted and took his husband’s hand in his, “We’re going to go.”

Before they could leave, you shifted your attention towards Steve and pointed a finger at him. “Why do you hate me?”

Steve stammered, he didn't expect you to put him in a spot like this, but you had a tad more than necessary liquid courage in your system.

“Doll,” Bucky breathed, and you moved your gaze back towards him. Steve took the opportunity and left the room with Sam.

You were on the verge of tears by now — both of you were — Bucky wasn't a man who could voice his feelings, but with you, all of his armor came shattering down. With you — he would tell you his vulnerabilities and fears just so he could let you in. You meant so much to him that the fear of losing you blinded his sense of understanding. He realized that he acted immaturely and by doing so, he almost lost you.

“You hurt me,” Your voice wavered, the traitorous tears made their way down your eyes, and Bucky couldn't see you like that. Instinctively, he stretched his hands to wrap around you, but stopped, “Can I hold you?”

You sniffled and nodded, and Bucky engulfed you flush against his chest. After a while, you snaked your hands around his shoulder too, and a sob broke down from your throat.

He didn't remember how long he held you like this, but after a while, he picked you up and made his way to the couch. He stood before you and then slid one hand up to your cheek. Likewise, he brushed his thumb across your cheek. And then you slowly straddled his waist as you both settled down on the soft sofa. Bucky’s hands fell naturally to your hips to pull you closer.

“I love you, Bucky,” you whispered, once your tears suspended. You enveloped your arms around him and pressed your forehead against his.

Bucky didn’t know whether you meant it or not. You were pretty drunk. He hoped you did.

“I love you, doll,” he confessed as he kissed the crown of your head. He noticed that you were on the brink of sleep, your breathing even, and you looked so peaceful in his arms.

 He felt at ease — calm even with you in his arms and in that moment he decided he was never letting you go no matter what.

TAGS :  @bananapipedreams​ @akkinda10​ @rivers-rambles21​ @emmabarnes​ @valsworldofcreativity​ @boofy1998​ @marvel-3407​ @mybuck​ @priii​ @coffeebooksandfandom​ @ladydmalfoy​ @shaking-a-jar-of-bees @elizamalfoyy​ @maladaptivexxdaydreaming​ @sabrinathesimp

Taglist for future stuff.

[kiki-shortsnout]

Intimacy prompt 34 and 37 for IronStrange pleaze?.

Oh I think Have I Ever is my favorite work of yours in intimacy because there's no way those 2 will get together without being dramatic first haha XD

Hey! Thank you for the ask, and thank you for the compliment, I'm happy you're enjoying these prompts!

Whew! I'm making some progress on these prompts!

***

‘Do you regret it?’

Tony pulled up his sunglasses so he could give him the full effect of his unimpressed stare.

‘Am I supposed to pluck the context out of thin air, Strange? Regret what?’ he asked, flicking his sunglasses back into place, and sinking his feet further into the scorching sand. He heard the breath leaving the wizard’s lungs as he sat up on the blanket, the shift of bare skin across the fibers of it.

‘No, because you know exactly what I’m talking about.’

Groaning dramatically, Tony flung his arms out behind him to support his weight as he leant back, palms stinging from the heat of the sand, glorious, smoldering heat. He didn’t answer straight away, keeping his gaze locked on Morgan leaping through the frothy waves, Peter a few seconds behind her, just as excited.

‘No. No, I don’t regret it.’

His divorce with Pepper wasn’t something he liked to talk about, but their relationship was well past the point of idle chitchat. Hours wedged together on an alien spaceship would do that. They’d stared at death incarnate together, had given everything they could to stop Thanos, and that formed a connection between people, regardless of their backgrounds.

Magical or not.

Tony sat up, inching closer to the shade Stephen had refused to leave the whole time they’d been at Malibu, and taking a moment to eye up his milky white skin. The man looked like he could get sunburnt in the shade. Using magic to tilt the umbrella so Tony could share, Stephen scooped up the seashells Morgan had found earlier, gleaming treasure she had entrusted him with their safekeeping.

It made him smile, how seriously Stephen treated her, and it made an unusual sensation stir in his chest, a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time, not since he’d first started dating Pepper.

‘I think she loved the idea of me, what I could be, what I would’ve been if not for Iron Man,’ Tony said suddenly, watching his kids screech as the Cloak chased after them, shaking water from its fabric, indicating it’d been dunked in saltwater.

‘I wanted to be that man for her, I really did, and she’s still one of the most important people to me, not because she’s the mother of my child, but because I love her. I always will, just not in the way she deserves.’

‘Tony, this wasn’t an excuse for you to start tearing your self-esteem into ribbons,’ Stephen scolded.

‘I’m not, I’m answering your question. I knew, we both knew as soon as I leapt aboard the alien doughnut that it was over. We tried to work past it, all of us left behind in the five years you guys were gone tried to cobble our lives back together, but it…’ Tony sighed, scooping up a handful of sand and gazing at the millions of sun-kissed gems, fragments that created a whole.

‘I get it, I suppose it’s hard to love a hero, it’s hard to understand…unless you’re one yourself.’

‘I don’t blame her for wanting me to give up Iron Man, I get it, I just…couldn’t. I tried, but as soon as you came to me about Thanos, I knew I had to go…I didn’t stop to think about how it might affect her, jumping on another suicide mission.’

Tony reached over Stephen’s ridiculously long legs to reach his can of lemonade he’d left there earlier, grimacing at the warmth of the liquid, but grateful for the way it soothed his dry throat.

‘What about you, asshole, you got a special lady?’ Tony asked, deflecting the conversation.

‘Nope, no special someone,’ Stephen stressed the last part, watching the kids in the water and inhaling deeply.

Now that Tony didn’t know. He should’ve really, after the flirty little wink he’d given when they’d first met, but Tony had chalked that up to the man showing off his impressive skills. Tony wasn’t arrogant enough that he couldn’t admit Stephen had an extraordinary repertoire of skills, and the man could fight…but he didn’t have to verbalize it.

Strange had a big enough head already.

‘You were right, this…this was needed,’ Stephen said, waving a hand at the beach, indicating the this. Tony was distracted by the tremble in his fingers, the slender scars across his fingers and the back of his hands, revealing the trauma, the pain he must have felt having pins in his bones.

He could understand that, the story scars left behind, the proof of their hubris.

‘Well, I promised you both, didn’t I? Once we got back to Earth and everyone was saved, we were going to have a holiday. No outer space travels, no insane alien overlords trying to destroy us. Just us, the sun, sea and warm lemonade,’ Tony held his up in a toast, grinning as Stephen grabbed his own can and clinked the side of it.

Morgan had stopped running in the sea and was now digging a hole in the sand with her bare hands, watching as the tide came in and filled it, trying to create a moat of sorts. Lifting her head, Tony watched the briny breeze tease her salt-crusted tangles away from her face. His love for her startled him at times, how he could love another being as much as this. He loved Peter too, the kid had been his driving force to discover the trick behind time travel, and he’d risked everything to bring him home.

Thinking about them both made other feelings surface too, black oozing things that he tried to suppress, negative feelings about why his own father couldn’t have felt the same, if one day he would treat Morgan and Peter with the same cold-hearted disregard.

‘Tony, hey douchebag, you alright?’

The sun overhead burnt his gaze gold as he lifted his eyes, leaving him dazed and blinking back tears.

‘Yeah, sorry, I’m good.’

‘You drifted away there…anything you want to talk about?’ Stephen asked, his tone careful, trying not to probe.

‘Nah, Doc, just my daddy issues rearing their ugly head again.’

Stephen looked at him then, his aquamarine eyes glowing from the sun’s reflection, and Tony felt like his gaze was burning back the layers he swathed himself in, piercing his body and reading his mind. He couldn’t explain it, but he’d always had the sense Stephen knew more than what he revealed, that he could see things in the fabric of the universe that Tony was blind to.

Fourteen million futures, each a glimpse of a possibility, how many more of them were out there? What else had Stephen seen?

‘Tony, you’re a wonderful parent,’ Stephen argued.

‘How would you know!’ He regretted the snap, knowing it was part of his self-defense mechanism, but Stephen didn’t know him that well yet to recognize it for what it was, and he opened his mouth to apologize when he suddenly found a trembling hand across his mouth.

‘Because I’ve watched you with them. I saw you with Peter on the ship, the sheer horror in your eyes when you thought you’d brought him to his death, I could literally hear your brain trying to think of a way to send him home. With Morgan, Tony, you worship the ground she walks on, you’re caring, attentive…’ Stephen trailed off, a slight redness to his cheeks as he let his hand fall.

Tony went to warn him that he was burning from the sun when he caught sight of Stephen’s gaze fixed on his lips. Feeling daunting, he let the tip of his tongue come out to wet his bottom lip, suppressing his laugh when he saw Stephen’s blush deepen, his gaze turning back towards the sea.

He could do one of two things here. Ignore what had just happened and go back to the carefree attitude they were enjoying at the beach, or address the issue and explore the possibilities of what it could mean for them. Despite how quickly his brain tended to work, the way it could create possible scenarios and see them through in order for him to select the best one, Tony found himself hesitating.

‘When you said it’s hard to love a hero…were you referring to yourself?’ Tony asked.

Stephen didn’t answer for a moment, his gaze now on the Cloak shielding the kids from the worst of the sunshine, its collar dipping down as it tried to examine the castle Peter was building beside Morgan’s moat.

‘It’s not hard to love you,’ Stephen answered, his words nearly lost in the breeze.

‘I’ll have you know it’s near impossible to love me,’ Tony joked, his mouth moving faster than his brain. ‘I’m a mess, I forget about people when I’m inventing, I’ll always put the safety of Earth before my partner-’

Stephen’s mouth on his made his ramblings stop, the touch of shaking fingers on his jaw felt like wind brushing over sunburnt skin, blistering and soothing in equal measure.

‘It’s because of those things that I like you,’ Stephen murmured against his lips. ‘It’s not the idea of you I love, Tony Stark, I know who you are. Fourteen million versions of you.’

Despite the surprise he felt at this revelation, the clench in his gut from the anticipation of what this could mean, Tony smiled against his lips, leaning closer.

‘Sorry I didn’t ask,’ Stephen whispered across his mouth. ‘Can I kiss you again, Tony?’ His free hand covered Tony’s on the sand as the other continued to sweep across his jawbone, down to his throat and back again.

‘I could be persuaded,’ Tony agreed with a laugh, pretending to fight off Stephen’s tongue invading his mouth, falling back to the ground dramatically. ‘Why, Doctor Strange, I didn’t know you had it in you!’ he mock gasped, wriggling away from Stephen’s lunge, and getting to his feet as he scrambled down to the water.

‘Prepare to eat seawater, Stark,’ Stephen growled from behind him, giving chase.

He’d never seen himself in this position five years ago, hadn’t been able to see past the frigid metal walls of the doughnut ship as he hurtled forward on his suicide mission, but he was glad events had led him here. Looking over his shoulder at Stephen’s skin gleaming in the light as he pelted after Tony on the beach, he screamed for Morgan to save him, cackling as she ordered the Cloak to stop the Sorcerer Supreme.

This wasn’t where he saw his life at all, divorced, a beautiful daughter, an all but adopted mutant child, a sentient Cloak and a potential wizard boyfriend, but he was happy.

For the first time in years, he could say with complete honesty that he was content with his life.

[elytrafemme]

i’ve been thinking a lot about... living, and being a whole person, recently. i don’t really know how to phrase this or explain it, because i’m not going to trauma-dump or whatever here, and personal things stay personal. but. maybe there’s a point in talking about this.

last year, i kind of hit rock bottom. in like, february, a lot happened. and that summer i spent picking up the pieces, trying to reconcile the idea that i was still a person after everything? not even in a heavily dark way just, like, the idea that you can be surrounded by not the best crowd of people in not the best situation and when you’re separated from that, you still exist. you weren’t trapped there, but you don’t even know what comes next for you. 

i went to an arts camp that year. and when august came, i started taking long walks, listening to music and getting sunshine in and everything. and i started having a nice thing going with my current girlfriend, and i got closer with a lot of my friends, and like... i dunno. 

ended up seeing two school plays that year, both with my girlfriend beside me. instead of opting out in a project and just writing a boring essay, i baked a cake with some friends. i hung out with two people on halloween, i baked with a lot of people that year wow, nearly got confessed to by gf before her friend showed up profusely bleeding and interrupting us, spent eight hours total with my cousin-in-law for prom prep, it was really lovely.

and now i just think about like. i watched heathers with my girlfriend and she stayed over longer than anybody else used to, and i walked to the local park a few times just on a whim to see my friend and we just aimlessly talk. i’m taking a roadtrip to a different state to visit a college, and in september i might be flying to another state to go to a meeting for activism work. i want to go to homecoming and prom and graduation and spend my wednesday afternoons going to a local theatre with my girlfriend to watch the great gatsby over and fucking over again, and 

and i don’t know! i just. i think there’s something really, really wonderful about getting to a point in life where you realize that you can be a person, and other people want that person to be in the world, and i can just! i can. i can do things, you know? 

i don’t know why i’m sharing this again, i guess maybe because i think it’s helpful. part of the reason i wrote cough syrup was to kind of make peace with the fact that my life had fallen apart and left me with the scrambled pieces of a lot. and like, approaching nearly one year of writing it, it’s kind of crazy to think that i pulled myself out of a hell and am like... okay. i am okay! 

it’s a little scary to me to think about the fact that there was a point in time where i genuinely thought i would be just... a husk. drop out of college after two years and fly to a different country just to watch my 'loved ones’ fall apart and leave me alone with nowhere to go. genuinely thinking at the age of fifteen that i wouldn’t have a future that included anybody i really cared about, or any identity for myself. i thought i was this angry asshole, and i was an angry asshole, but that’s not all i had to be. 

so. i guess i’m just... i don’t know. i don’t know if this helps. if this is reassuring or just another instance of me talking about my past in vague ways and everyone going very cool mare go read some ao3 fic now and save us the favor. maybe it’s kind of both depending on the time.

i’m really happy that i’m alive. but i’m more happy that i got to be alive with myself, you know? it’s so, so lovely that i get to exist in the same time as you. it’s also really lovely i get to exist in the same time as myself.

[itsthestutterforme]

I Reject You (Ransom Drysdale)

Summary: Ransom has a friends with benefits relationship with Y/N recently learned that she is pregnant with Ransom's pup but rejects him as the father because of how he treated her when they were together.

Notes: GIF is not mine, slight smut, fluff, A/B/O dynamics, mentions of human trafficking, mentions of depression, implied sexual assault (if any of these trigger you, please do not read. Take care of yourselves.)

--

Here you are exactly where you promised yourself you weren't going. As soon as you saw Ransom sitting in your office chair, you knew where this was headed. He picked you up from your job and drove straight to his house.

Your body shakes when he lazily thrusts into your soaked cunt as you both are laying down on your side. Leaning your head against his collarbone, your mouth falls open when he rubs your clit when his thumb.

You follow his hips when he pulls out of you, leaving just the tip in before drilling into you hard and fast. "You are such a slut for my dick aren't you? No matter how many times you say you never want to see me again. You. Are. Mine. Omega." He whispers into you ear and you were starting to see stars.

A sharp gasp leaves your lips as you cum for the fifth time today. His knot pops open and his seed decorated your walls. He pulls out of you and you lay on your back, mustering up the strength to get up but he grabs your chin roughly so you could look at him.

"No one can make you cum like I can. No one." You pull away from his grip and swing your legs over the edge of the bed. You curse at your body for trembling. You needed to get out of there and quick before he notices something is off.

You noticed a different abouf a week ago and went to the doctor. Only to find out that you were pregnant by no other than Ransom Drysdale. The trust fund playboy. There's no way you were going to tell him the baby was his. You needed to end whatever this is and you needed to end it now.

"You smell different," he says, trailing his nose along the curve of your neck. "Is your heat starting?" He asks and you choose not to say anything. What is there to say to a man that calls you a cumslut one second and is worried about your well being, the next?

You stand on wobbly legs and slide on your underwear while in search for the rest of your clothing. "When I talk to you, I expect you to speak." He says, standing from the bed and you jump into your dress pants. When you reach for you blouse, he rips from the your hand and tosses it across the room.

Attempting to get the blouse, a growl emits deep in his chest and you still your movements. You don't meet his eyes but you could feel the anger blossoming in his gaze. He grabs your throat sharply and lowered his head until his blue eyes met yours.

"Speak, Omega." Chills rolls down your spine at his command. "There's nothing to talk to you about." "You could have just said that. You didn't have to ignore me." "I didn't peg you as the sensitive type, Drysdale." You snark, and he allows you to pull his hand away from your throat.

"You're not going to shower before you go like you normally do? What, am I that bad of a person?" "There's nothing normal about this, Ransom. And to answer your question, yes, you are." You walk across the room and button up your blouse.

"What's up with you? You've been acting bitchy all day." "Wow, you talk like you're a ray of sunshine." "You know what, you want me to speak. Fine, I'll speak. Don't talk like you give a shit about me because you and I both know you don't. The only thing you care about is getting your rocks off like a horny little bitch."

Oh your hormones are going to get you in trouble. The omega in you was trembling with fear of what Ransom was going to do to you. He snarls and before you could even think about running, he turns you around and shoves into the nearest wall. His eyes glowing a dreadful crimson as he growled in your face.

"You got a death wish, omega? Who the fuck do you think you're talking to." He snarls and you instinctively expose you neck to him. Your arm maternally drapes over your stomach protectively and he noticed. His eyes lost their glow and he stares down at your stomach with wide eyes.

He takes a few steps back and you could hear his anxious heart pattering in his chest. "Is it mine?" "No," you answer a little too quickly and he raises his eyebrow questionigly. "You're lying," he says, taking a step toward you with his eyes glazing over your mating gland.

"Absolutely not," you snap and he takes another step towards you. "Stop, Ransom. Please don't," you whimper as he blew warm air over your sensitive gland. Something else stirred inside of you that wasn't your omega part of you. It was something more dominant and heavy.

Your hand comes up and in between your neck and his face. Your gripped his face and shoved him as hard as you could with surprising strength. You sent him flying across the room. He initially landed on the bed and bounced off to land in the corner.

A deep, protective roar erupted from your chest and something happened that you dreaded for most of your life. Your eyes were glowing. Your eyes didn't shine a normal golden color. They glowed like a broken mixture between crimson and ogate from an unspeakable past trauma.

"What the hell are you?" He asks as your eyes restore to normal. "Baby," he adds, his features softened. "Stay away from me. And stay away from my pup." You threaten, before sliding on your shoes and walking out the door. You wave down a taxi who drives you back to your house.

"Hey, I stopped by your job and saw you- Y/N, are you okay?" Your mom asks as her eyes settle on your trembling frame. "He found out." You croak, she motions you to sit on the couch and you comply. "He found out about the baby?" She asks. "He found out," you repeat, watching as she realizes what you really meant.

"He saw your eyes?" She asks with disbelief. "He tried to forcefully claim me and I bellowed at him to protect my pup." "What are you going to do? Do you want to leave?" She asks, running a comforting hand down your arm. "I have no idea, Mom. I don't get it. I thought I wasn't able to get pregnant."

"This is a blessing, honey." She says and you shake your head. "It would have been a blessing if the father was a decent human being, but he's not, Mom. He treats me.." you trail off and your mother purrs sadly, resting your face on the sides of hers. "He's a terrible person, Mom. But I need him and I fucking hate it."

"I know, honey. We don't need to figure everything out right now. Take a deep breath." You take a deep breath and a series of sobs escape your lips. You're screwed and everyone knows it.

**

Ransom bounces his leg nervously in his Beemer as he parks outside of Y/N's house. He could smell her, she's in deress and she's feeling an immense amount of sadness. He doesn't even know what he's doing there. It's not like his presence would help anything. She hated him and he doesn't blame her.

He would always call you names and insult your intelligence to keep you rilde up so he wouldn't know how it was to be loved by you. He started to fall for you when you would talk back against his misogynistic tendencies. He loved how your nose crinkled just before you were about to snap on him.

You have guts and you stood your ground, regardless if you were an omega or not. He respected that about you. But now he wanted to show you that he was willing to change for you and that he treated you like shit because he was scared of what your love could to him.

But he knew you. You would tell him to fuck off and leave because that is what he was good at. He had a plan to get you to trust him, but if that doesn't work. He has no idea what to do with himself. With a deep breath, he hops out of his Beemer and stalks towards the front door.

He knocks firmly and he heard footsteps ascending to the door. His heart races in his chest but he swallows it down. The door opens and he meets the gaze of a very angry mother. "How dare you come here?" "I need to see her," "I think you've done enough."

"She's carrying my pup, I can't just leave her." Ransom's explains, desperate to be given the benefit of the doubt. "I've heard terrible stories about you. You trust fund, prick. My daughter made a mistake and I'm sure she'll learn from it without your help." She snaps.

"Did she say that?" "She did," "You're a terrible liar. Just like your daughter." He sighs when she growls defensively at him. "What happened to her? To her eyes?" He asks. "Please, I want to be in her life. She makes my heart tingle and that scares the hell out of me, so I tried to push her away by.."

"By treating her like trash. You have no idea how to deal with women, do you?" She asks and he shakes his with defeat.

"Come in," she says with a sigh. Ransom walks into the house much smaller than he's used to. That's what a family house looks like. The entire living room is the size of his walk in closet. But he understands why Y/N would call it home. "Stay here, I'll be right back." Y/N's mom says before disappearing down the hall.

He sits down on the side of the couch where your scent is the strongest. His eyes fall to the shut door closest to the kitchen. Your scent dripped from the room and it took everything in him not to burst in there and pull you into his arms.

Y/N's mom returns with a thin stack of newspapers. The looked to be a few years old by the font and the faded lettering in some places. The newspaper crinkles in his hands as he read the headline on the first page.

HUMAN TRAFFICKING VICTIM FOUND AFTER 7 YEARS. Below the headline was a picture of a young girl with bruises litering her face as she pulled the blanket close to her.

The most heart wrenching part about the picture was how hollow her eyes looked. It was like looking into a dark tunnel with no light at the end of it. Whatever she experienced ruined whatever childhood she had left. Ransom's eyes scan over the article and flipped through the rest of the pages, growing angrier the more he read.

"How long ago was this?" Ransom asks. "Five years ago. She was twelve when she was taken." Ransom shakes his head with disbelief and sets the newspaper on the table in front of him. "Can I see her, please?" He asks desperately.

"She hasn't moved since she came back from your house a week ago. She barely talks and eats. Hopefully you have better luck than I do." She says, motioning for the door.

Ransom stands up and opens the door within a few strides. Goosebumps littered his skin when he inhales Y/N's miserable musk. Tears threatened his eyes but he wiped them away quickly. She already been through hell and Ransom made it worse by treating her the way he was. She deserved better than him.

"Y/N?" Ransom starts but Y/N doesn't move a muscle. Her bed covers were draped over her entire body, leaving a small opening above her head so she could breathe. Her breathing was barely audible, she could easily be mistaken as dead. The room was dim from the closed curtain and lack of light.

Not knowing what to say, he decides he was going to stay there with her. Maybe.. hopefully.. his prescence is enough to comfort her because he has no idea how to do that as he was never comforted as a child. He was just told to suck it up and stop being a baby. He's a Drysdale. And Drysdale's aren't weak.

He shrugs off his peacoat and pulled off his cable knit sweater. He stepped a little closer to admire her nest but notice the lack of his scent. He drapes his cable knit over the headboard of her bed. Not wanting to push his luck, he walked away from the bed and slid down the wall a distance away from you.

He smiles when he hears you purr softly in your sleep as you notice his scent. "Baby, I'm going to stay here with you, if that's okay." Ransom says and you continued to purr. Guess that wasn't a terrible sign.

Later that night, Ransom left your house to grab a week's worth of clothes plus an assortment of clothes you could add to her you. You still haven't said anything but your vile scent of shame and sadness has lessened.

When Ransom came back, Y/N's mom offered him the guest room but Ransom claimed it was too far from her. So she pumped up an air mattress for him. He's spent every day in the room with Y/N without saying a word. One day, Ransom came back with sushi for lunch to see you out of bed.

You froze when you saw him down the hallway after closing the door to the bathroom. "You came back earlier than I expected," you say and a sigh of relief leaves his lips. You both stay in your spots and stare at each other, waiting for someone to make the first move.

"I'm not good at comforting people. But I am good at telling people what I know. And I know that I feel like absolutely shit for how I treated you. And I know what happened to you when you were younger. Why your eyes are the way they are." He starts. "The fact that you can stand up for other people despite your past makes you strong. A strong mate and a strong mother." He adds.

He sets the sushi on the counter and you shove your hands into the pockets of your sweatpants. "We're not meant to be parents, Ransom. This could be the worst thing that could happen to us." She explains. "Or the best thing. I don't know about you, but I've been looking for a change. And then I met you and that was the change I was looking for." He explains.

You eye him suspiciously, unsure of where this verbal affection came from. "Why are you saying these things? Did my mom put you up to this? I told her I would be fine." You say, walking down the hall and into your room. "She didn't put me up to this. And no, you're not fine." He says, leaning against your door frame.

"Baby, we're in this together." "I don't trust it. I don't trust you. I've seen what you're capable of and the way you treat people. And I will be damned if I let you treat my pup like that."

"Your pup?" "My pup," you repeat, placing a hand on your stomach. His gaze falls on your stomach and he nods to himself like he's making a decision in his mind.

"Mark me," he says, taking off his pea coat, cable knit sweater and tank top underneath that. He sets on the air mattress and nears you slowly. "What? No." "I'll honor the bond. I'll be yours and only yours. I won't mark you unless you want me to. Just please, mark me."

"This is insane," you start and takes your hand to place on his cheek. He inhales the scent of your pulse point on your wrist before placing your hand on his mating gland. You shake your head no and he sits down, pulling you into his lap and burying your face into his neck.

Your inner omega takes over and you wrap your arms around his neck. "Alpha," you whimper. "Oh, omega. I'm so sorry, baby." He whispers. He stares up at the ceiling as he tries to hold back his tears but it was no use. He always thought that he was fucked up because Linda never showed him any affection as a kid.

But to hear about what you experienced as a kid. The fact that you had nothing and you had your will and autonomy stripped from you. Ransom's autonomy was the only thing he felt like he truly had. He rubbed circles on your neck and you sigh into his. He learned that from a Google search he did but you didn't know that.

You pull away from his neck and cupped his cheeks, pressing a warm kiss on his soft lips. You were desperate for each other's touch, but it wasn't in a sexual way.

It was more like a tending to an internal scratch. Your eyes fluttered closed and he lifted your chin to deepen the kiss. Your tear stained cheeks rubbed against his and his tongue swiped against your lip, begging for access.

You glady give him the access he needed and his happy hummed vibrated your chest. He pulled away slowly and held you gaze before exposing his neck to you. You couldn't believe your eyes. The Ransom Drysdale was exposing his neck to you. Submitting to you. Maybe he wasn't bluffing after all.

You ghost your fingers over his mating gland and he sighs at the touch. You look to him and he nods, encouraging you to continue. Your tongue darted out to moisturize your dry lips and press a kiss to the sensitive skin. You purr as you inhale his musk of honey and crackers, his favorite childhood snack.

."Y/N, please." Giving him one last look before sinking your teeth into his neck, his mouth falls open and you bite down harder until you could taste the metallic drops of his blood.

You lick away the droplets of blood escaping the wound before pulling away. You lick away the blood from your lips and expose your neck to him but he gripped your chin and shook his head.

"You have to want it." He says sincerely. You barely recognize the Ransom in front of you. His ogate eyes dilate as they met your Y/E/C eyes. And in that moment you realize that Ransom was just as broken as you were. He truly was yours.