#and the people who cried over will the first time

[mannien]

I Don't See Your Mistakes, I See You | Bucky x f!reader

Pairing: Thunderbolts*Bucky Barnes x enhanced female character

Summary: A peaceful evening in Brooklyn turns into emotional chaos when Bucky comes home and brings unexpected guests.

Word count: 9k

Warnings: Thunderbolts* spoilers!, established relationship, enhanced female character with magical powers, third person narration but no name is called, swear words, angst, soft comfort, slow burn, sexual tension, heavy petting, dry humping, (not porn but +18 minors pls stay away!), teasing, flirting, protective and tired Bucky, mild wound description, talk of magical powers, depression, references to past trauma, English is not my first language

Note: Watching Thunderbolts* got me heavily daydreaming about Bucky and his new friends! It's also been a very therapeutic experience to write this for the past 2 weeks (yes, that long). I hope at least someone will enjoy it!

(Edited)Tagging @loving-barnes @kinanabinks @real-jane @cheekybarnes @marvelstoriesepic @aquaticmercy @witchywithwhiskey @sergeantbarnessdoll @mercurial-chuckles @navybrat817 and @captainsimagines because when I think of writing, I immediately think of you! I won’t tag you again if you don’t want it, just wanted to share my inspo with you

            The late afternoon carried an ambiance of comfort. The smell of cooling air after a slightly warmer day; the soft hum of the city somewhere in the distance, broken by a clutter of local shops closing down nearby. The sun already hid behind the tall horizon of Manhattan, but the city was still very much alive. 

            The apartment in Carroll Gardens was like a safe haven. Nested in the middle of a quiet neighborhood, close to the park and surrounded by families or people who crave a respite in the middle of a crowded city. A quiet street of brownstones and aged trees led to a renovated block, slightly modernized to facilitate to the everchanging world, yet still full of soul, of Brooklyn heart, of the things that brought Bucky the most peace.

            The long-stretching Thursday was coming to an end, but her night was only beginning. A quick and effective plane trip from D.C., an overly expensive taxi drive from the airport, and you made it to your second home. 

Or first, depending on the day of the week, time of the year, time of their lives.

            The home in Washington was where legislations, reports, and analyses were read. Where congressman and strategic liaison ate quick breakfast and indulged in a late-night dinner on a commitment-free evening. Walls were bland, countertops marble, and kitchen big enough to fit a multigenerational family. Something that felt closer to a temporary solution rather than a home for years. Only a couple of personal touches here and there – misplaced accessories, loose change, a piece of jewelry she took off once and forgot to put back on. A pair of colorful mugs, because she refused to drink from plain whites that came with the interior. Bucky’s suits and tuxedos were there, fitted to perfection, dry-cleaned and delivered straight to the door, only a couple blocks away from the center of the country’s government life. A place where she managed not to kill only one succulent, because the time spent inside these walls was not dedicated to hobbies. This is where they worked, where they came back after their long days – Bucky from the Capitol Hill, and her from the Agency. 

            But the home in Brooklyn? 

            Not ideal or picture-perfect. With mismatched furniture in their bedroom, because they couldn’t agree on one style, yet somehow creating their own world. A soft, off-color sofa, deep and slouchy, remembering many movie nights and hushed conversations. Soft lighting, making the bookshelves glow with colors of many loved and exchanged titles. Spare blankets thrown over bedding and chairs. A place where they laughed, cried and loved. A safe haven for the time they need to breathe, be in peace, be themselves. With a kitchen that hosted a few too-many gatherings for Bucky’s liking, but that proved to them that they can live a normal life. 

            Entering the building of their Brooklyn home felt like a ray of sunshine after months of gloomy winter. Unlocking the door was a warm hug. 

            The apartment was empty, but the familiar walls spoke to her in their own way. When she breathed deep enough, she could sense the good, soft comfort of a judgement-free space. The empath in her recharged in a place full of hers and Bucky’s things and memories. She quickly fell into a routine that brought her so much ease. She took a shower, to take off the smell of office buildings and public transport, put on a quick laundry load, and slowed down. 

            Slowing down was as close as she could get to relaxing, when she hadn’t heard from Bucky in two days. Three, if we count the whole day he was held up in meetings, before he shared with her a change of heart, a new plan, and promised to be back soon. She knew he had reasons, had a hint of what this might entail, and just waited, trying to carry on. 

             The soft glow of the semi-open plan kitchen welcomed her. The floors were soothingly cool against her bare feet, grounding in the moment. With hair still wet from the shower and seeping through the shoulders of Bucky’s old t-shirt, she fixed the waistband of her leggings and exhaled some of the tension that was still left and strong in her body. 

            The quiet whirring noise of the washing machine died down in the background when garlic and shallots started sizzling on the pan. When she occupied her hands, her mind could focus more and wander less. She tried really hard not to look at her phone, and really poured her heart into making a hearty meal. A therapeutic resolve, some might say, but it really was one of the healthy outlets she could use so that her magic doesn’t go on an uncontrollable rollercoaster of anxiety. She stirred in two cans of the good tomatoes from the Italian shop two streets away and let the sauce simmer. With the dinner slowly cooking away, she leaned on the kitchen island over a notepad and a bright screen of her laptop, reviewing some of the files from the last intel she requested, before the CIA went through a major lockdown due to events that Bucky was supposedly notinvolved in. She knew better than to read too much into it, so she focused on the facts – the data logs, mission reports, and a side of agency’s new recruits’ evaluation, that she was actually being paid for. 

            Long minutes passed, the sauce sizzling away and pasta water ready in the pot. She was rinsing her hands when she felt it – an emotional tug at her heart. A sprinkle of tension pulling her magic through the veins, making her aware of her heartbeat and suddenly perked up attention. She stopped the music playing from her laptop and turned off the stove, listening in. She was hyper sensitive, but lacked the enhanced hearing of a super soldier, so the silence that followed only frustrated her. She closed her eyes and tried to listen to her senses, but a heavy bang at the door startled her instead. She visibly flinched, loose sparks flying around her fingertips at the intrusion. 

            Another harsh movement against the door and before she could even react, it burst open, the handle hitting the wall in the hall. She spun around and felt the heat trickling down her fingertips, right when a familiar voice rung out through the apartment.

            “Hey, it’s me. Not alone. Don’t hex anyone.”

            Right when she exhaled, she felt how tight her chest had been a second earlier. The sparks swirling around her hands died down with the flow of his voice, and she briefly touched her chest, taking one more grounding breath. 

            “I swear, if you scare me like that one more time…” She walked out to the hall and saw him. A bloody bruise on his cheek, dusty forehead and a trickle of either dirt or dried blood down the side of his neck. His tactical shirt cut in a few places, definitely by something sharp and she hoped not by a knife. Left shoulder lifted in slight discomfort and right palm of his hand flexing uncomfortably. But he was standing, breathing, and looking at her with a tinge of relief. 

            He was most definitely not alone – the crowd behind him was bigger than she could have expected:

            John Walker, scrunching his forehead so hard that at least one of these wrinkles could become permanent. 

            Yelena, assessing her surroundings with caution and desperately needing a band aid to her temple. She let go of the forearm of a guy whose picture covered half-a-page in the files that she briefed through mere minutes earlier. 

            Red Guardian, blocking off almost the entire entryway, smiling in awe and in a suspiciously cheerful nature.

            Ava, leaning her side on the door, limping and tugging at the neckline of her suit with desperation. 

            When her eyes were quickly assessing the situation, Bucky stepped closer to her and exhaled with visible remorse.

“I should’ve given you a heads up,” he said, voice low, eyes scanning her face. “I know we planned a quiet weekend. Things just went sideways fast.”

She lifted her hand to his chin, angling it gently to examine the gash above his stubble. The blood had dried in a jagged trail down his neck. “You need patching up.”

“We need to lay low and figure out our next step,” he said, though his eyes stayed on her more than the group behind him. His tone held that familiar thread of guilt — like he’d brought more than dirt into their home.

            She did pay attention to what he was saying, but not more than to the exhaustion visible around his eyes, the tension that he carried in his muscles and nerves that trickled from behind him, from the group of guests he brought. 

            “When you said you know someplace safe, I thought you meant like a safe house,” John pitched in, taking measured steps forward, still cautiously watching his surroundings as if it was a trap. 

            “It is a safe place, and it is a home. Anything else you need to fit the description?” Bucky turned back and gestured them to move forward. He made sure to close the door with the secure lock and offered Ava his arm to offload her weak side. 

            Some of them knew who she was, but she offered her name anyway, just to stick to the friendly pleasantries. They needed security, she could feel it. She invited them in and made a beeline for the heavily equipped first aid kit hid in the bathroom. 

            She carried the large box and a few towels in to the table, laying the kit out. Bucky gestured for Ava to sit down and helped her find the antiseptic and sterile bandages. 

Yelena leaned over the table with a surprised look on her face.

            “That’s not an ordinary first-aid kit.”

            “You’re in a house of people who refuse to go to urgent care,” she piped in with a lightness to her voice. She took a look at Yelena’s gash on the temple and sprayed an antiseptic over a gauze. “and in case you didn’t notice, he is the type to attract knives and bullets.”

            “Yeah, I know the type.” Yelena replied, nodding in thanks for the help. 

            “If you want to clean up, bathroom is down the hall,” she pointed to the corridor and already started walking that way. “I’ll get more towels.”

            She got accustomed to tuning out people’s feelings. It took years of practice as an empath. But the moment a group of troubled, battered and bruised fallen heroes entered their home, her mind was struggling. So, she switched into action mode, preferring to be of service and of help, rather than linger around and fight the feelings that creep in. She piled the spare cloths on the dresser in the corridor and made sure Yelena got the right door – which she did, because she immediately let out an impressed whistle. 

            Taking a moment to breathe in the empty hall was a mistake – she started spiraling. She didn’t understand why. Bucky is home. He is safe. He trusts these guys, because he brought them in. Why is my mind screaming?

            The apartment became too loud. Not in volume, but in energy. Something was stretching her mind to stay open, and she couldn’t contain the input of feelings. She didn’t dare pull on the threads – they weren’t hers to play, not tonight. But something definitely triggered her soul – something powerful and unknown. A new source of energy that she hadn’t felt before. 

            She moved. Mechanics and focus were a taming tactic, so she settled on a kind attitude and acts of service. A large pitcher filled with water, ice packs that were always on the top shelf in the freezer, and almost all of the glasses they owned. She set them all on the table. The heat on the stove put back on, water slowly coming to boil under the pan. 

            When she carried a bunch of napkins to the table, Bucky was closing the first aid box. She looked up to his face and still saw the bright red scratch atop of his cheekbone. That woke her up from the haze.

            “No, no. You’re getting cleaned up.” She tried taking the box from him, but he pulled it behind him too quickly. 

            “I’m fine.” He said it too calmly and too confidently, so it riled her up. Steered her hears away from whatever ate at her, and made her narrow her eyes at him. 

            “Fuck fine, you’re bleeding.” She tried reaching out for the box again, but took a hold of her hand instead. He shook his head lightly and let their gazes meet for a silent conversation. 

            “I am fine. Later, I promise.” He softens his voice, squeezing her palm briefly in reassurance. It makes her release a heavy breath and finally nod in acceptance, understanding that she won’t be able to push him now. 

            “We’re waiting for pasta to boil. Dinner should be ready soon.” 

            That sparked interest. While she was still looking up his gorgeous eyes, trying to find comfort in his presence, the word dinner seemed to have perked up almost everyone in the room. 

             A packet and a half of spaghetti was carefully thrown into the boiling water, barely fitting and almost overflowing the pot. People started moving, matching the rhythm of the bubbling heat on the stove. Someone dragged a chai and moved the table to fit more people; the clinking noise of jackets taken off and weapons meeting the floor echoed through the walls almost naturally. A few relieved exhales followed, mimicking a moment of peace for the loud minds. 

            “Can I help you with anything?”

            The question startled her, pulling at the invisible trigger of her anxiety even harder, making her drop the spoon. The quietest guy, Bob, shyly lurked into the kitchen. His eyes were kind, soft, almost scared, but something dangerous and dark tingled her fingertips when she paid too much attention. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

            The harsh noise of the metal spoon against the tiles kept on ringing in her head, but she tried to shake away the feeling. The unnerving moment stretched until Bob took a cautious step forward, probably in worry, and Bucky walked into the room, intentionally. 

            “Yeah, um…” She started to break off the static that clouded her brain in weird, dark clouds. “The plates are just above you,” she pointed to the cupboard and started moving towards him to help.

            “I got it,” Bucky stopped her, and pulled the door open instead. He looked to her with quiet concern painted on his face, lips pursed. The unusually tall stack of plates was laid on the counter near the stove. She focused on trying if the pasta is soft already, adding spices to the sauce and stirring more than necessary.

            In the fleeting moment of quiet cooking, Bucky stayed with her. Eyed her for a moment, resting his hip against the counter and switching his attention between her determined movements, aggressively boiling pasta and focused eyes that watched the steam blow away from above the pot. He moved closer, his side meeting hers, and rested his hand gently on her waist, enveloping her in a cautious embrace. The heat that travelled from his body made her eyes flutter and upper back lean into his side, resting some of her weight on him. The thread of anxiety loosened where he held her. He was leaning in, the way he always was when he wanted to kiss her head, but his breath only escaped near her forehead, interrupted. 

            “It smells like you’re actually gonna feed us,” Yelena appeared, hair slightly wet and skin visibly cleaner, even the gash on her temple was smaller once the dust was not sticking to it. Bucky moved away towards the fridge, and her fingers subconsciously wandered over the countertop to find the oven mitt and safely drain the pasta. 

            “Well, it looks like it,” she gently poured the pasta into the pan with bubbling sauce and blew air over her hands, feeling the heat from the steam prickle at her skin. “I don’t expect you all had a shawarma on your way here,” she glanced at Bucky, who has already taken out cheese and still fresh enough salad mix from the fridge, but was still fidgeting to find a quick snack. “I’m not going to eat by myself and have you watch me. That’s creepy.”

            “Ah! That’s a good home with a good hostess. Whatever else would you need from a safe house?” Alexei’s loud voice shook the walls and made Bucky sigh with exasperation. 

            “Your hands to set the table,” she smiled, holding out a handful of forks and knives. He took them with a small bow and a hand salute, and it weirdly fit to his huge posture, bright red costume and a crooked smile. 

             With focused precision, she laid out hearty, more or less even portions of pasta for their guests. 

            “You are so calm for a person whose night just got ruined by a bunch of strangers with guns and knives,” Ava wondered in curiosity from her spot at the table and showed a shadow of an honest smile when a steaming bowl was set in front of her.

            Others were already coming in to the table and grabbing a bowl, only John was still standing off to the side, his eyes cautiously eyeing the corridor to the bedrooms, lurking in to get a peek of what is on the pictures hung on the wall. 

            “Walker,” Bucky’s warning made everyone look up at him in curiosity, “if you’re so desperate to snoop around, there are spare chairs in the entryway closet.” It made the others snicker or hide a chuckle. 

            “I’m not snooping around,” he mumbled like a stubborn child. Before she carried in the last two portions – a bigger one for Bucky, smaller and just enough for her - John was already carrying in four folding chairs, a confused grimace still glued to his face. “I just- I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be disrespectful or anything,” he turned to her briefly with a somewhat apologetic tone. She only raised a brow and took a seat at the last free corner of the table, next to Bucky.

            “Usually when you say you don’t want to be disrespectful, you already are.” Yelena chipped in, blowing on the pasta wrapped neatly around her fork. 

            “No, listen –“he hesitates, rubbing his eyes in frustration. She could feel the bubbling confusion threatening to slip out from his aura, and it made her hide her smile. She should not laugh at their guests, even if it was John Walker. “it just doesn’t make sense. Why would Barnes bring us to a place like this?”

            “Like what?” Bucky raised his eyebrow, which could pass as a warning, but she could see a tint of amusement in the way his lip twitched.

            “I don’t know, this feels too… cozy,” He gestured vaguely around the living room. “I didn’t expect you to hide away at a place that has colorful pillows and scented candles.”

            Ava snorted, “You thought he sleeps in a cell?” 

            “No,” he replied almost too quickly, defensive mode kicking in. “It just doesn’t fit the general description, I guess.” He shrugged, then looked from the flickering candle on the countertop, to the soft lights that shined near the corner of the living room. “I thought you would crash somewhere between government reports and military bases.” He said the last sentence directly to Bucky across the table. She could feel his chest rising heavier than before, so she laid her hand on his thigh, massaging in calming rhythm. 

            “That’s not really a nice thing to say to someone who trusted you and invited you to their home.” She said calmly, with a tint of a kind smile on her face, looking carefully to Bucky. Her sentence made him loosen up, exhale a breath and almost chuckle. Almost, because it died down in the awkward series of coughs from the team, and earned a wide-eyed stare-down from John. 

            “Wait, hold on—” 

            “You really didn’t see that coming, Walker, did you?” Ava cut him off between bites.

            “You’re a clueless boy, John Walker,” Yelena mused, and then turned to her. “This is really good, by the way. Do you have any hot sauce?”

            “Yeah,” she nodded and almost got up, but Bucky beat her to it, putting away his napkin and steadying her on her chair with a warm hand on her shoulder.

            “I’ll get it.” 

            John watched Bucky retreat back to the kitchen like a hawk, the gears in his brain working overtime. Then he looked back to her, like he tried really hard to match two puzzle pieces together. 

            “I know you.” He said bluntly, which made her smirk. 

            “Do you?” She asked from above her bowl, twirling the fork around another string of spaghetti. She tilted her head, almost in a challenge, surely in amusement. 

            “You were there when we fought in Riga,” he started, his eyes focused like in a distant memory, “and then in New York… Shit, yeah. You were with Sam and Bucky there.”

            “And you were acting like authority, yelling and breaking things.” She blew on another bite of pasta before eating with composure. The unnerving feeling danced around the table, she could still feel it, but John provided her enough of a distraction to lower the tension in her chest.

            “Ha, I wish I could see it!” Ava’s chuckle lifted the atmosphere.

            Bucky came back with a bottle of sriracha and passed it to a brightly smiling Yelena.

            “Okay, alright – as far as I remember, you weren’t exactly a definition of peaceful, either.” John held up his hands in defense. “I mean, you were waving your fingers with this weird energy, making people dizzy.” John doesn’t let go, but at least manages to sit down at his waiting spot and take a hold of his fork. “You were giving very strong ‘weird glitter witch’ vibes.”

            Bucky chose to walk around the table to his seat. His stride didn’t break, but only faltered for a millisecond, when his open palm flicked into Walker’s head with dull force.

            “Hey!” He held his hand up and recoiled. Bucky was already sliding into the chair. “What was that for?”

            “For the weird glitter witch.”

            She bumped her knee into Bucky’s and sent him a grateful look. She put down her fork and cleared her throat, before speaking up with a measured tone. 

            “I like glitter. My magic shines like sparkles when it’s visible, look,” she turns to Alexei right next to her and lifts her hand above the table. She let a tingle of emotion to travel through her body and stop at her fingertips. A few light sparks started to dance around her nails, swirl around like calm beacons of energy, delicate enough to mesmerize whoever watched. 

            “Oh, that is pretty.” Alexei widened his eyes and leaned closer, admiring the spark of magic.

            From next to John, Bob spoke up with curiosity and fascination. His voice resonated with calmness, but it made her hand tremble with something unknown. “What else can you do?”                   

            She pursed lips and tried to choose her next words wisely. Looking to Bucky and seeing no hesitation from him, she took a breath and continued.

            “I’m an empath.”

            “So, you mess with people’s heads. I thought so.” John nodded to himself, but his face was not dismissive anymore.

            “Do you really?” Yelena perked up, more curious than wary. 

            “Not exactly,” she started, letting the sparks die down. With elbows now resting on the table and soft focus, she looked at John and just listened. “Right now, John is curious and very defensive. He’s angry at himself for…” she pauses, filtering what to display for others, and what could be too private. “…some of the things that happened today. And you hate it that the clasp on your jacket is broken.” She smiled up at him gently, trying to not add on to the overwhelming situation. 

            The table was silent for a moment, broken only by a soft clutter of a fork against the plate. Ava whistled under her nose and avoided eye contact. 

            “You do that to everyone?” 

            “No.” She shakes her head lightly and feels Bucky’s fingers rest on her thigh in quiet comfort. “I control it. I know when there’s a lot of emotions bubbling up in a room at once, but I won’t listen in without consent. Well, not unless my line of work requires it.”

            “The most accurate intel I’ve ever worked with.” Bucky said quietly, and the fond look in his eyes wrapped warmly around her heart. 

            “And you make a very good pasta. Impressive, for a last-minute host.” Yelena’s nod of appreciation was enough for the conversation to die down a tone, and everyone to continue their dinner.

            She took a deep breath, playing with the last few strings of spaghetti in front of her, letting the twinkles of magic settle in her body. At least Bucky’s arm was still brushing hers, reminding that he’s back home. 

            They clink of plates slowly died down, everyone resting more comfortably and enjoying the moment of peace. Exhaustion was written all over their faces; some deep in thought, others slowly scrapping off the outer layers of their suits. 

            Bucky’s arm laid atop of the back of her chair, fingers brushing her shoulder briefly. It made her look up to him, notice his irises already shining. She reached up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind his ear. Her fingertips brushed the stubble of his cheek for a fleeting moment, before they locked gazes in a silent conversation. He nodded towards the group – a movement barely noticeable, but she could feel it against the palm of her hand. He exhaled a heavy breath and she knew what it meant – they needed shelter. She could only agree to that, so she sent him a sad smile and let him kiss the inside of her hand.

            “If you want to avoid being chased by Valentina, her strike force or reporters, I suggest you stay the night,” Bucky cleared his throat. Someone sighed, someone nodded pensively, but she only looked at him with patience and curiosity. “I guess we could fit everyone, right?” He looked back to her, to which she immediately nodded. 

            “How do we know they won’t knock on your door in the next five minutes?” Yelena asked, pushing away her plate. 

            John immediately agreed with that, “Exactly. I mean, she’s Val, right?” He looked around the table, “nothing should surprise us anymore.”

            “Well, if she has a reason to, I’m sure she will try hard to find you,” She spoke up carefully, but kept on eyeing Bucky. A slight raise of her brow told him that she has questions, but whether they should be answered right now or later, she left for him to decide. “but she won’t succeed here. We made sure it’s a secure home. Only a handful of trusted people can find it.” 

Bucky pursed his lips and nodded. 

She couldn’t shake the feeling that a lot more happened than they managed to share. She kept her eyes on Bucky’s face, watching as it scrunched in confusion at a comment that someone made. The way the corners of his eyes dropped told her that he had a long day, and endured more than he was prepared for. With the omnipresent unnerving feeling of anxiety that drifted around the table, she felt even more braced and worried, struggling to not let anything inside her consciousness. Keeping her magic at bay after a bunch of neurotic, special people faced something difficult, was harder than she wanted to admit. Already zoned out of the conversation, she stood up slowly and grabbed a few plates to start cleaning up. Bucky watched her, but was still talking back to John and Alexei about something, so he didn’t manage to stop her. 

Ava and Bob helped. She was mid-rinse, still holding the dirty pan, when they came in with two stacks of dirty plates. 

“You should be careful with that wound,” She pointed to her bandaged side, but knew better than to stop a hurt agent who wanted to feel useful. “There are some more pain meds in the box if you’ll need them during the night. Just… take it easy.”

“Thanks,” she showed half of a smile, “I’ll be fine.”

She let them take over the dish duty and paid attention to the notorious buzzing that resonated from the countertop. Her long-lost phone laid on top of a closed laptop, screen facing down, but vibrating as if it was ready to burn a hole in everything nearby. 

Four missed calls and a long list of new text messages.

SAM WILSON: Call me back. 

SAM WILSON: We need to talk.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: You need to see this

Then, a stream of breaking news alerts and notifications. Against the better judgement, she started scrolling through all of the key words and headlines. Her heart rate sped up and her mind started tightening in a mix of worry, confusion, fear and disbelief. 

DARK CLOUD ATTACKING MANHATTAN 

DISRUPTIONS AND DISAPPEARANCES IN THE CITY. WHAT CAUSED THE MASS PANIC?

THE NEW AVENGERS ASSEMBLED.

VALENTINA DE FONTAINE: ‘THE NEW AVENGERS!’

DID CIA PLOT THE TRAGEDY TO UNVEIL THE TEAM OF FUGITIVE HEROES?

“You didn’t know what happened before we arrived, did you?” Yelena’s voice broke the nauseating screams in her head and made her look up. Cheese grater and an empty glass in hand, her eyes were almost sympathetic. Ava and Bob looked at each other but didn’t speak up. 

“No.” 

Even though her response was quiet and measured, it sparked a burst of fearful emotions to try and kick into her soul with a crashing effect. She couldn’t pinpoint the source, but with Yelena turning back to wave Bucky over, nothing would make sense. It could be a combination of everything, so she didn’t look for the cause of overwhelming feelings. She only looked up at her partner, walking into the kitchen with a worried look on his face, eyes resembling those of a scared puppy. 

“I was going to tell you later,” he started, taking slow steps and looking briefly to Yelena. She didn’t back off, but just leaned on the opposite wall and pretended to help with the clean-up. 

“Tell me what?” She didn’t know what was she expecting, but she needed something. She showed him the screen of her phone and let him look through her notifications, speaking for themselves.

“There’s a lot more to the story than the news is covering.”

This feeling, again. A simmering tension, pulling at her emotional strings harder than anything that Bucky’s words could cause in that moment. Sparks shone in her eyes as she quickly looked around the room, uncomfortable enough to break up the conversation. A particularly louder clank of a dish in the sink and that’s when she noticed it – Bob’s staring. Not dangerous, but fearful. Scared, but also fierce and with underlying certainty. He looked away quickly, but not enough to lose her attention. 

“What’s up with Bob?” She suddenly asked, and the weight of emotions sounded like shrill cry. Everyone looked up at her and then to Bob, who straightened up and dried his hands on the fabric of his shirt.

“I’m okay…” 

“Bob’s just fine.”

Him and Yelena replied at the same time. Bucky sighed in defeat. She felt cornered, attacked by everyone in the room by asking just that question, so she took a breath to calm down. She could read the room. 

“That didn’t sound nice, I’m sorry.” Apologizing seemed to have a calming effect. Yelena leaned back on the wall, losing her braced stance. Ava continued to put away the dirty cutlery into the dishwasher, the world moved on. 

“You said you’re an empath,” Bob started quietly, with a shadow of a kind smile. “Maybe you could, you know…”

“Not happening,” Bucky suddenly cut him off, stepping one step in front of her, like a predator ready to pounce. He then turned back to her with a determined look, “you are not reading him.” 

“Why not?”

“Because you aren’t.”

“Huh,” she breathed, “thank you, honey, that explains it all.” 

That shut him up. With squared jaw and soon-to-be pleading eyes, he didn’t have any immediate response. He started to understand that he might not win. 

“Bob,” she turned to him, forcing a gentle tone. Bucky’s eyes were burning holes in her face but she just let him. “Are you sure you’ll be fine with this?”

He shrugged, but took a moment before speaking up again. “How does it work?”

“To make it easy on the mind, I would touch your hand and just… feel whatever you feel right now. I might see the emotions that drive you, or how they manifested for you recently. You won’t feel a thing.”

“You might do, though.”

Yelena’s comment made her turn her head. 

“How so?”

“I’m a little enhanced, too.” Alexei’s boisterous laugh echoed through the apartment at Bob’s response. “But-but I won’t do anything to hurt you, I promise.” He added immediately. 

“This is a terrible idea.” Bucky shook his head, disappointed. 

But she did it. She crossed the short distance to Bob and reached out, waiting for him to take a hold of her hand. When the palms of their hands clasped around each other, darkness filled her mind. 

She felt it all. The darkness. The Void. The fear of a regular guy who just wanted to be better. The overwhelming dark cloud, turning the minds of thousands of people into their darkest memories. She could seeall of it. She was everywhere with him: in the lab in the Philippines; in Utah, feeling the first spark of something hopeful; in the old Avengers tower; on the streets of New York in the spotlight of cameras, giving way into something too forceful to fit inside her mind. The overpowering depression and its camp set up in Bob’s mind. The depths of it stretched onto everyone who came into their home today. Disturbing images of people struggling, fighting their old demons. A soul-crushing image of screaming Bucky, tied up to a chair. 

Then, something strong pulling her in – a weave of power different than hers. Pulling her into a very specific scenery from her childhood, where the sight of her mother was the first alarming point. She was slowly losing control of her magic and giving way to Bob’s powers, and it took a toll on her. Dark fumes wanted to hide her sparks flowing through her blood, and she couldn’t let it happen. The only way was through pulling his darkness in and shifting it into something better, so she focused on the beauty of being an empath. She imagined taking care of a broken mind, tending to a hopeless soul, giving reassurance and caressing the thoughts. She didn’t want to be trapped in a memory she knew as long gone – she pushed away, let the darkness slip, imagined a stream of golden power that could light up every room and pushed it away, towards the heavy train of thoughts. 

She let go of his hand as soon as the light gave her enough strength to pull away. The eyes of everyone in their apartment were focused on her; Bob stood there, as if nothing happened, still shyly looking up at her with an expectant look. Tears were streaming down her face and she looked around, trying to ground herself in the walls of their home. Bucky was immediately next to her, steadying her frame against his side, letting her rest. The silence stretched for a very long moment, until she managed to find her voice again.

“I’m so sorry for what happened to you, Bob.”

The rest of the evening carried on with more of a quiet understanding. After they finished cleaning up, spare pillows and bedsheets were pulled out of the depths of the hallway closet. Bucky was in charge of setting up the pull-out bed in the living room and the extra mattress on the floor, and she worked in the peace of the guest bedroom, fluffing the fresh sheets and adding an extra blanket on the armchair. It was comfortable enough for a mid-reading nap, so it had to suffice for a few hours of sleep. 

When she carried the last of the decorative pillows that could help someone sleep better into the living room, some guests were already setting camp in their sleeping spots. Alexei started to doze off in the armchair so the voices – if any – were now a bit more hushed. 

She noticed Yelena in the corner of the room, standing still, eyes focused on the wall where a few pictures were stuck to the corkboard. The makeshift office corner was full of papers, files and random things that they didn’t clean up the last time, but that didn’t matter. The picture of Natasha was the sole focus, radiating happiness from her captured smile and the tight embrace that they had on each other. The took it during one of their cheer-up movie nights, two years into their new reality after Thanos had snapped his fingers. Another shot from the same night, but with Steve in the frame too, was right next to it. 

“She talked a lot about you, you know?” She was careful with her words, but poked Yelena’s hard to read exterior anyway. “She never really stopped looking for you during the blip. The same way I always kept looking for him,” a finger pointed at a slightly bigger picture of the couple, Bucky hugging her from behind and looking down at her with love painted all across his face. “Steve was the only one to actually try and move on, before we found a way to get everyone back.”

Yelena’s eyes didn’t leave the picture of her sister, when she finally spoke up. “She called you Sparkles. Didn’t say much, but enough for me to understand that you kept her company in times she least expected it.”

Her face scrunched in grief, but only for a fraction of a moment. Neither of them moved, just stayed still with heads full of memories that spoke without words. She didn’t have to look into Yelena’s mind to know that grief has started to mix with grace. It reassured her, knowing that her friend’s sister is finally coming to terms with some of the more difficult truths. Natasha would want her to find peace.

“The bed in the guest room is still empty, you can still beat Walker to it if you make it before he leaves the bathroom.” She said after a moment of silence. A corner of Yelena’s lips twitched upwards and she simply nodded, sneaking away to find respite in the more convenient sleeping arrangement. 

Most of the lights in the living room and in the hall went off. A peaceful quiet was broken only by random murmurs of movement around the apartment. Their home was full, a questionable mix of characters, preferences, and assassin skills sizzled in their safe space, but there was an odd familiarity to it. Something that she sometimes felt hanging in the air back in the Avengers compound. 

Before entering their bedroom, she hovered by the doorframe for just a second. She could still feel the tension hanging low between her and Bucky, the unspoken heaviness was starting to lift slowly with the layer of exhaustion that took the reins of their bodies. 

The bedside lamps were on, and a trickle of light traveled from underneath the bathroom door. Their bedroom felt like a soft embrace, even though her heart was still probed at with a stick of emotions. Darkness threatened to loop around her veins, especially when she sat down on the bed and opened her laptop that still had classified files open, screaming at her. Her fingers tapped on the mousepad until they reached the last documents that were sent to her: the designs behind the Sentry Project. Eyes scanning the page, her hands shook with nerves. 

The water in the shower was still running when she stopped reading. His shower was now longer than usual. With something forceful still squeezing her heart in discomfort, she let go of the intelligence, files and access passwords. She closed everything she worked on earlier and put her laptop away, desperate to ease her consciousness into something easier. Something she missed in all of this. 

She softly knocked on the door that would usually stay creaked open when they were alone. Her knuckles made a rather quiet sound on the wood, so she thought he did not hear her, but then a very low “Yeah?” travelled through her ears.

He was in the shower, standing still under the forceful stream of water, his back to her, arm resting on the wall for support. His head hung low, tilted only slightly when she came in, enough to recognize her presence. He didn’t turn back to her. Didn’t stop the shower or make any move to finish it.

She stripped of her clothes, leaving a pile on the tiles next to the door. Without thinking, she stepped into the shower. Tried not to hiss when she felt how cold the water was. It made her hurt for him, so she reached his body in no time. Wrapped her arms around his waist and held him tight, her lips finding the skin between his shoulder blades. He was tall, stood strong, muscles almost ripped at the seams, and the tension in his body pulsating with each breath. Her hands travelled higher, to his chest, finding the spot where she could feel the steady beat of his heart. He exhaled with something that reminded her of relief and covered her hand with hers, intertwining their fingers. Her lips kept on pecking his wet skin until she also breathed, inhaling the familiar scent that followed her every time they were close. Her mind, gentle touch and kisses begged, Come back to me.

One of her hands wandered off to the shower knob, twisting it until the water warmed up at least a little bit. His muscles softened almost instantly, his skin giving way for her fingers to hold his skin tighter.  

“You’re freezing,” she mumbled, caressing the skin of his chest, letting her hands rub on his skin up to the shoulders and down his arms, just to help him get rid of the goosebumps quicker. 

“Got lost in thought for a minute,” his voice was softer around the edges now that they were alone. He got a hold of her hands and slowly detached them from his skin, taking measured steps in place to face her instead. 

Lukewarm water streamed down their bodies, scars lined up on his torso glistening under the shower. Her hands traced his chest and arms with subtle movements, until she reached his head. Wet hair flopped down the back of his head and she run her fingers through it, gently massaging the scalp and taking out any remaining bubbles of shampoo that he didn’t manage to rinse out. He hummed in soft contentment at the drag of her nails, his hands landing on her waist for grounding. 

“Cold shower and poorly washed hair?” Her voice was soft, but with a tint of something bright and warm. She tilted his head under the stream for the last good rinse and rested her hands on his cheeks, caressing his rough stubble. “I might think it you wanted me to come and save you from your poor washing habits.”

He breathed out a small laugh at that, light enough to mistake it for a gasp of air. 

“You got me, baby.” 

She leaned in to his chest, landing a kiss above his heart and feeling the way his hands started to weight more on her hips. 

“I do,” she murmured into the bruised skin. “always.”

She tugged him out of the shower and passed him a fresh, fluffy towel. They both dried each other slowly, and then stood close when they brushed their teeth. She slid back into her underwear, pulled the same t-shirt over her head and grabbed the small tubes of ointment and antiseptic from the drawer. 

She made sure there is enough light on his side of the bed, but not too much to disrupt their tired haze. She pulled out the covers so they could slide right in, and sat down on the side of the mattress. He came in to the bedroom a minute later, clad only in his black boxers, excess water shaken off from his dark hair. 

“Sit down, Mr. Soldier.” She pointed to the bed and sent him a barely-there smile, mocking the name Alexei kept on using all evening. He shook his head in disappointment, but climbed in bed and rested his back on the headboard nonetheless. 

“He thinks I got the ‘fancy stuff’ with the Hydra serum.” His low voice leaked annoyance, but his face was too tired to show it, too. 

“Well,” she breathed out a chuckle. She went up on her knees on the mattress and walked up to him, climbing over his lap. “I think you are my fancy stuff.” 

That put a brief, but cheeky smile on his face. He took a hold of her hips and helped her land in a comfortable spot on his thighs, but never let go of her body. His warmed-up hands traveled underneath her shirt and set camp on her skin, moving around ever-so-slightly, but never breaking contact. 

She leaned to his torso to inspect the bruises that were already formed over his ribs, checking for any cuts. There was an already closed-up gash on his side, wide enough to think that a sharp object was pushed into his skin, and then pulled out quickly. The line was faintly pink, healed nicely because of the serum, but still enough of a tell that recently something caught him off guard.

Bucky watched her in silence. Eyes scanning her focused face, looking down at the delicate inspection of her fingers, and the caring and focused way she watched him, reserved only for him. 

“I should’ve told you sooner,” he whispered at some point, when her focus switched from his chest to his face. She held his chin gently, inspecting the scratch above his cheekbone. She sat back on his thighs and worked with the ointment tube, pushing out the right amount on a cotton swab. “I should’ve told you that the situation changed. Not just barged in with a group of strangers. I’m sorry.”

She didn’t say anything at first. Her eyes still focused on dripping the antiseptic on the right spot beneath his eye. 

“You’re allowed to do your thing. You can bring people home,” she started gently, while the cotton swab precisely rolled over the torn tissue. “Just…” she sighed, straightening up and putting away the medication. “Seeing how severe the situation was, what unveiled and how messy it will be now…” Her mind kept going back to every image that Bob showed her earlier. “I just wish I knew sooner.”

“I know. I’m sorry, doll.”

“I didn’t even know you were hurt until I saw your face.” She whispered with a sad smile, caressing his clean cheek. He leaned into her hand and sighed, closing his eyes briefly. “I wasn’t watching the news, I had my notifications off - except for yours, of course,” she kept on talking, feeling her chest swell with the accumulated worry and affection. “and then Bob showed me everything. I saw the pain you were in,” she gulped, trying to contain her emotions. He tugged on her hips to bring her closer, letting her fall forward and rest her forehead on his. “It’s been a minute since you were out in the field. I guess it scared me.”

Bucky took a deep, shaky breath, his fingers flexing on her skin, slowly drying hair loosely falling over his ears. 

“I didn’t think it would escalate this quickly.” he whispered right into her lips. His flesh hand traveled up to her face and caressed her cheek, wiping underneath her eye to take away the first tear that threatened to drop. 

“I know.”

“And now with Valentina claiming us as the New Avengers?” He mused, letting out a dry chuckle. He kissed her nose affectionately and let them breathe together. “This definitely wasn’t on my campaign.”

She smiled at him then, locking their gazes in a comfortable stare-off. She could feel her magic start to turn blue, the same color as his eyes. Something that happened whenever their hearts were on their sleeves, and where they both were feeding off each other’s love. 

“Sam needs an explanation. He called so many times.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, a fake seriousness flashing across his face. “good luck with that.”

She gasped at that, smacking his arm playfully.

“What? He called you, not me. My phone was dead.” He smiled. She started to climb off his lap but he stopped her, sitting up and tugging her in for a very tight embrace. “No, don’t leave me. I’ll call him tomorrow.”

“You better do it before I do.” He tucked his face into the crook of her neck, kissing her skin and smelling it deeply. 

“Yes, ma’am.” Bucky looked up at her, eyes shining, smile threatening to break. 

Finally, she relaxed into his body, leaning in with purpose. Her nose touched his gently, before their lips connected in a gentle, loving kiss. Her hands hugged his shoulders and tugged him closer, deepening the kiss and breathing in his scent. Bucky let out a quiet sound from the back of his throat as they pushed toward each other, with more relief than desire at first. Then, with each of the caress against the other’s lips, with each tug of his hair and delicate scratch of her fingernails, the need grew. 

She kissed him like she almost lost him, and he kissed her back like he never wanted to let go. Her thighs firmly wrapped around his hips as she moved impossibly closer, earning another groan from his wet lips. She smiled into his mouth and he bit her lip in response, grazing his teeth across tender skin and teasing her with purpose. 

“I thought you were tired,” she murmured against him.

“I am,” he agreed, “but I missed you more.”

His breath got heavier. Their mouths kissed harder, hungrier, chasing each other like careless teenagers who have just realized how magnetic it is to make out with someone you love. Her hips rolled forward, out of habit, causing a whimper to shake her lips against his. He held her tighter, vibranium palming and kneading her ass, the other hand moving freely under her shirt. Magic trickled at her fingertips, making each of her nervous ending even more sensitive to the feeling of his body against hers. Another move of her hips, a raspy groan from Bucky’s throat, and—

A creak of the floor, movement on the pull-out sofa, or maybe even a footstep towards the kitchen. A quiet sound that made them stop, freeze in their embrace. Her hand travelled to his chest, letting his heart beat hard against her fingertips, catching a breath. 

“Don’t,” he almost begged, leaning in again to kiss her neck in places that make her shiver. “If we stop now, I might cry.”

A breathy laugh escaped her mouth. She tucked her face into his shoulder, holding him close. 

“If we can hear them moving, they will definitely hear us, baby.” She whispered, peppering his jaw in short and chaste kisses. “We’re enough of an entertainment to Walker.”

Bucky groaned in response, wrapping his arms around her waist tightly and rolling them over. With a huff, she landed on top of her pillow and spread her legs enough to let him lay between them. He caged her head with his arms and leaned down for another kiss.

“Don’t talk about Walker when you’re making me hard.”

She chuckled quietly, letting his nose travel along the side of her face. Warmth enveloped her whole body and she wished they could stay like this forever. With no care in the world about politics, agendas, no missed deadlines or events to attend. No one else around them, just her and Bucky, tangled in the sheets of their Brooklyn home. 

“Hey,” he nudged her cheek and searched her eyes. They looked at each other for a few moments, engraving this moment in their memories. “How was your day?”

“You’re asking that now?” She lifted her eyebrow in question, gently caressing his face and tucking away the loose hair that threatened to cover his eyes.

“Now is perfect.” He mumbled into her cheek, leaving a wet kiss behind. “It’s just me and you.”

She sighed, trying to focus and gather her most mundane thoughts of the day. 

“They put me in the middle seat on the plane from D.C.” 

Bucky fake-gasped at that, “How dare they?” 

“I know, right?” she smiled at his disappointed face. “but I survived in that middle seat. Can you believe it?”

“Impossible,” another kiss to her cheek, before he rolled over and landed on his side, his legs tangled with hers, tugging her as close as possible so they could still stare in each other’s eyes. “What else happened?”

He listened to her until her eyelids turned heavy. Until her lips started moving slower and slower, pushing forward one last time to touch his skin. He covered them with the sheets and held her close, watching as a single blue spark flew away from her fingertips, fading into the night. Her breathing evened out, arm still tucked in his torso. A quiet ‘I love you’ mumbled to each other in a sleepy haze, like nothing else mattered. 

[arrenjo]

Summary: You meet Jack Abbot during a terrible shift as a nurse in labor and delivery.

Notes: After a really shitty shift, this is my coping mechanism. All similarities are coincidences, this is not an actual patient/situation that I have had but rather a mix of many. This is a separate storyline from the Robby series!!

Trigger/content warning: perinatal/intrapartum loss, loss of a child, infant loss (trying to tag/mention words appropriately so that people who have it filtered don’t see the post; the content warning only applies to the first few paragraphs)

You needed air, you needed out of the unit. Your chest felt heavy like you couldn’t breathe and you couldn’t lose your composure right here. Ultrasound techs, residents, other nurses from the postpartum unit, and your coworkers were all gathered around in an attempt to debrief what had just happened.

You were a part of the worst day of someone’s life, the day they lost a child, and that always weighed so heavily on you, but this one, this one didn’t make sense. Baby was fine until she wasn’t, you rushed her mom to the OR to get the baby out, but the NICU team worked her for an hour and never got a blip of a pulse. A complete concealed abruption was the cause.

“Need a minute,” You said suddenly and got up out of your chair and headed out of the unit, you felt eyes on you but you didn’t care. You took long, quick strides towards the staircase and up the stairwell onto the roof, your vision getting blurrier by the second. By the time you were crossing the roof, tears were streaming down your face. You ducked under the railing and sat parallel to the roof’s edge, pulling your knees to your chest. The cold air stung your lungs as you sobbed, able to let go now that there was no one around. You don’t know exactly how long you cried for, but when the tears stopped flowing you rested your head on your knees, looking out over the skyline. Your back hurt and you were starting to shiver, it was 4 am in Pittsburgh in November, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move. You contemplated staying up here until your shift was over at 7, but surely someone would come looking by then.

You didn’t so much as move as the door to the roof opened, you were composed enough now to deal with your coworkers. You stayed in the same position, you weren’t ready to go back in just yet.

“Must be that kind of night,” A man said from behind you, leaning forward on the railing from the opposite side. Not a voice you were expecting. You turned to look at him briefly. He was older, salt and pepper curls and a black scrub top mostly hidden by a black zip up hoodie, you turned back to the skyline.

“A really fucking shitty one?” You countered

“A really fucking shitty one.” He agreed.

“Labor and delivery isn’t supposed to be shitty,” You said, not to him or to anyone in particular, really to just get it out of your system.

“Yeah, but when it is, it’s really shitty…” The man trailed and you were both silent for a moment. “How long have you worked L&D?” He asked.

“Five years. It’s been sad at times, for sure, but what just happened literally doesn’t make any fucking sense.” Your voice broke on ‘sense’ and you laid your forehead on your knees, willing yourself to keep it together. You had the patient volumes, you had seen some real shit, but this one was hard. You felt warmth over your back and arms, he had taken his jacket off and draped it over you.

“I’m really okay,” You said, starting to shrug his jacket off.

“I can see you shivering from here.” He retorted. You paused and closed your eyes, taking another deep breath. His jacket was warm and it smelled heavenly, it was comforting. Coupled with the fact that you didn’t have the capacity to fight with anyone right now, you stayed silent. He leaned on the railing for several more minutes then ducked under the railing and sat down in front of you, your feet inches from his thigh. He stretched his feet out to almost touch the edge of the roof. He leaned back on one of the poles of the rail and he was staring at you when you finally looked back up at him.

“You alright?” He asked. You just barely nodded your head.

“I will be.” You rested your chin on your knees, taking in the man in front of you. You were both silent for a beat, the hum of the city a soft soundtrack from the roof.

“I’m Jack,” He stuck his hand out and introduced himself. You gave him a halfhearted smile and introduced yourself, shaking his hand.

“Thanks for not letting me freeze, Jack. Where do you work?” You could see his badge clipped on the neckline of his scrub top but couldn’t quite make it out in the dim lighting.

“ED,” He responded. You let out a soft laugh.

“Props, I could never.” You said, shaking your head. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Eh, it’s not all bad…” He trailed off, looking out to the skyline. He cocked his head to the side after a moment.

“Just most of it.” He deadpanned. You let out a small chuckle at his crack and he smiled at you.

“Gonna go back in?” He asked, nodding towards the door. You sighed and sat up to stretch.

“We could just hide out here until 7?” He suggested, pulling himself up to stand, you laughed.

“Though I’ve truly considered it, I figure it’ll probably be in my best interest to go back in at some point. Can’t give away our hiding spot, and they’ll definitely come looking.” You said with a slightly more relaxed smile. This night sucked, but the company you were in helped. He was sweet, genuinely concerned.

“Of course, gotta protect the hiding spot.” He said with a small grin. His face changed, a look of genuineness washed over his features as he extended a hand to help you up from the concrete rooftop.

“I’m sorry your night sucks.” He said, his voice soft. You gave him a tight lipped smile and took his hand, pulling yourself up. “Anything I can do for you?” He asked. This man was genuinely so sweet and seemed to care a lot about someone he had just met. The genuine kindness made your stomach flutter.

“No, you’ve actually already helped a lot, thank you.” You said with a small smile. “I’m sorry your night sucks too, but it was nice to meet you.” You added.

“It’s been a pleasure, come hide with me again, yeah?” He asked with a smirk, his tone almost playful.

“For sure, but under better circumstances next time.” You said with a grin and gave him a wink. You let your smile fall and let seriousness fall over your features again.

“I hope your night gets better.” You said softly.

“You too,” he said with a tight lipped smile.

After a moment, you ducked under the railing and started towards the door, turning to look back at him one more time. You caught him watching you walk away and smiled, immediately turning back around and ducking your head so he didn’t see you blush. You tucked your hair behind your ear and opened the door to the stairwell, heading back to your unit.

By the time you swiped your badge to enter the unit, the slew of people had dispersed, which you were grateful for.

“You good?” One of your coworkers asked as you passed her in the hallway. You nodded,

“Better, thanks.” You said with a small smile. “Hey, do you know wh-“

The shrill sound of the staff assist alarm cut you off. You spun on your heel and sprinted in the direction of the alarm. When you got to the patient’s room, she was obviously post-seizure and disoriented. She was combative and screaming about someone trying to kill her.

Two nurses were working on putting her in soft restraints, you took the place of another younger nurse who was frozen in place, asking her to go get medication to help calm the patient down and to call the doctor. You turned to look at the patient when you felt a sharp pain around your eye socket. The patient had slipped out of one of the restraints and you were at perfect height for her elbow to collide with your eye in the midst of her flailing. You staggered backwards, your vision immediately blurry, and fell to the floor.

“Fuck,” you groaned, your hand reaching to cover your eye. You touched something wet and looked at your fingers. Blood.

“Oh, shit.” you heard, and in a flurry, everyone was around you. You were put into a wheelchair and wheeled out of the room. Someone at some point handed you an ice pack. You hissed as you put it to your eye.

“You have to go down to the ER,” someone said from behind you.

“I’ll take her,” another person volunteered.

“No, I’m fine.” You objected. Your head hurt like a bitch but other than that, you were good.

“I already called a code medic, they’re on the way” Another voice chimed in.

“Oh fuck me,” You groaned and leaned your head back. “I’m really fine, tell them to go away.” You insisted, closing your eyes.

“Oh, I’m gonna pretend my feelings aren’t hurt,” a familiar voice said. Your eyes snapped open to Jack crouching in front of you, already assessing. Two things dawned on you in that moment: you were still wearing his jacket, and he was a doctor.

Nothing was wrong with being a doctor, but they usually weren’t as kind or as caring as Jack had been to you on the roof. Most of the doctors you worked with were real dicks to the nurses.

“Lemme see,” He said softly, gently taking your hand with the ice pack away from your eye. His thumb brushed your brow bone and you flinched.

“You’ve got a cut that I think needs a couple of stitches but I can’t tell for sure. I need to get you to the ED to clean you up and look with better light,” He said. “You also gotta have a head CT, that was a hard hit.”

“I’m really fine,” You said, he shook his head.

“Don’t fight me on this,” He warned, “Let me make sure you’re good.” He shined a pen light in your eye and you flinched again. He raised an eyebrow at you, the look on his face told you everything you needed to know.

“Okay, okay. Can I at least walk?” You asked, he laughed and unlocked your wheelchair, already pushing you to the ED.

“Does this answer your question?” He said as he continued walking and pushing your chair.

“Don’t make me roll my eyes, it hurts.” You said with a small smile. He pushed your chair into the elevator and swiped his badge for the ED.

“I didn’t mean to steal your jacket, I honestly forgot I had it on until I saw you,” You filled the silence. Not being able to see his face was making it hard to gauge his reaction. He sighed.

“I wasn’t gonna ask for it back, though you could have used that to see me again instead of taking an elbow to the eye,” He ribbed.

“Oh, yeah, should have thought of that first,” You said sarcastically. He wheeled you into a room and offered a hand for you to stand up. You took it and sat on the stretcher. He turned the overhead light on. You shielded your eyes.

“Jesus Christ,”

“Sorry, give me just a sec, I need to get sutures and lidocaine.” He said, your eyes widened.

“You weren’t kidding about the stitches?” He chuckled and shook his head, starting out of the room. He turned to look back at you in the doorframe.

“Not at all. Keep the ice pack there, I’ll be back in a few. I’ll put you next for a head CT. Any chance you’re pregnant?” He asked, you scoffed.

“Not at all,” You responded. He tapped the doorframe and nodded, disappearing into the hallway. Minutes passed and he was back with a handful of supplies. He sat down on a stool at the side of the bed and laid the head of stretcher back. He set up his workspace and drew up medicine.

“Lidocaine stings like a bitch,” he said. You nodded, closing your eyes.

“Be gentle,” You warned, he chuckled.

“One, two, three, little pin prick and lots of burning.” You did your best not to flinch but hissed as the stinging started.

“Motherfucker…” You winced.

“It will be better in a second.” He said, taking the needle out. A few seconds passed and you felt him touch the skin around your eye gently, you jumped at the initial contact. “Just relax,” He soothed. “I’ve got you.”

Jack set to work on the sutures, it only took about four before he cut the thread.

“All done. CT is ready for you,” He said, sitting the head of the stretcher up and offering you his hand again. You took it and sat down in the wheelchair.

“Now I’m starting to think you’re the one that wants to spend time with me,” You teased. “Hey, do you accompany all your patients to CT or am I just special?” He handed you your ice pack back with an eye roll and pushed you out of the room in the wheelchair.

“You went through such great lengths to see me again I figure you might as well get what you wanted.” He said playfully with a squeeze of your shoulder. You put your hand on top of his as he wheeled you down the hall.

You took a sharp left into CT and he locked the wheels, helping you up onto the table.

“Thank you,” You said softly. He nodded.

“I’ll be right here when you’re done.”

The whole scan only took a few minutes, he wheeled your chair back into the hospital room and helped you sit.

“It’s clear, but you need to go home and rest. You need to stay home for at least 48 hours. You probably have a concussion. Do you have someone that can come pick you up?” He asked. You chewed on your lip and shook your head.

“I can uber?” You asked. He shook his head at you.

“Not a chance, I can take you home.” He said. You laughed.

“Seriously, I get off in half an hour anyway. Stay here, I don’t want you driving.” He pressed. Your head really hurt and you honestly weren’t sure if you had the reaction time to be able to drive in Pittsburgh morning traffic. You nodded once, laying back on the stretcher and closing your eyes.

“I’ll be back in a few and we can go,” He said, flicking the lights off. You weren’t sure how long he was gone, you had dozed off. He woke you by gently rubbing your arm.

“Hey, you ready?” He asked softly. When you opened your eyes, he was staring at you. His eyes full of tenderness and caring, he helped you off the stretcher. He linked his arm with yours as you walked with him.

“Careful, Dr. Abbot. People are gonna get the wrong idea,” You teased with a smirk.

“Just to steady you, can’t have you falling.” He said with a wink. Your stomach did a flip and your cheeks flushed. Headache be damned, this hot ass doctor was flirting with you. You got to the physician’s parking lot where his truck sat and he opened your door and helped you climb in. He started the truck and handed you his phone.

“Type in your address,” he said, putting the truck in reverse. You chewed on your bottom lip.

“Are you sure this isn’t too much? What about my car?” You started to worry. Not that Ubers weren’t plentiful in Pittsburgh, but it seemed pretty out of his way to do this for you.

“I don’t mind, I’m only a phone call away if you need me for anything.” He said. You nodded and typed in your address on his GPS app on his phone and handed it back to him. He took one look at the screen and let out a snort.

“Yeah I think I can handle that.” He said with a smirk. He closed the app off of the phone and started to drive. He wasn’t using the directions and seemed familiar with the surroundings.

“You live close by?” You asked after a few minutes of driving. He nodded.

“You could say that,” He answered. “What apartment number?” He asked as he pulled into a space and put the truck in park.

“417,” You said, gathering your things. He nodded, the corner of his mouth tugging up and got out, rounding the truck and coming to your door. He took your backpack from you and slung it over his shoulder, offering his hand to help you out. You took his hand and slid out of the truck, wincing as your feet hit the ground.

“Thank you for doing this,” You said again.

“Anything to help a neighbor out,” He quipped. You did a double take.

“You live here too?” You asked, your eyes wide. He let out a laugh.

“Not just here,” He responded as he linked his arm with yours again, walking you to the elevator. He pressed the ‘up’ button and the elevator started to descend.

“How’s your head?” He asked, you sighed.

“Honestly? Really fuckin’ hurts,” You grimaced as the loud ‘ding’ of the elevator signaled that it was at the ground floor. Jack stepped on the elevator with you.

“I have Tylenol though, I’ll take some when I get in, hang on, let me get my keys,” you said, unzipping the backpack that Jack had slung over his shoulder. You dug your keys out of the bag.

“So, you gonna tell me which apartment is yours?” You asked, getting off the elevator when it stopped at your floor and walking down the hall to your apartment. He chuckled and shook his head.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” He said.

“Try me,”

“That one,” He pointed at the door marked ‘414’ as you passed it. You stopped in your tracks and turned to face him,

“You’re fucking with me,” You said, studying the look on his face. “There’s no way, I would have seen you before,”

“Okay yeah I’m fucking with you,” You rolled your eyes and scoffed, turning away from him and continuing to walk towards your apartment.

“But you’re still not going to believe me when I tell you.” He said.

“I’m not playing that game twice,” You said as you unlocked your door.

“317,” He said. You spun on your heel as you pushed the door open.

“You live directly below me?” You asked skeptically.

“Honest to God,” He said, fishing his keys out of his pocket and showing you the key engraved with ‘317’. You laughed and looked up at him.

“Do you hate me, just a little bit?” You asked, still in disbelief.

“I’ve honestly never been annoyed, more concerned?”

“I do drop things quite often, sorry,” You admitted sheepishly. You held the door open for him and he walked inside. “It’s kind of a mess, work has been kicking my ass lately,”

“I get that,” He said, taking in your apartment.

“Thank you for everything you did for me, Jack.” You said softly, taking half a step closer to him. He locked eyes with you and nodded.

“Anytime. Can I put my number in your phone, in case you need anything?” He asked.

“That’s incredibly sweet but you don’t have to,” You said, taking your phone out of your back pocket and unlocking it.

“I know, but I want to,” He said, taking your phone out of your hand and typing in his number. “Though I guess you could stomp really loud and I would hear it,” He added, handing your phone back to you with a smirk.

“We can figure out something about your car later this week, or I can drive you to work whenever you’re well enough to go back?” He offered. You nodded.

“That sounds good, thank you again.” You said. He nodded.

“I’m just a phone call away, or a good stomp, if you need me,” He said with a wink, turning to leave. You laughed as he walked out the door.

“Have a good day, Jack.” You said, holding the door open with one foot.

“You too, get some rest. Call me if you need anything,” He said, turning to walk away. You closed the door behind him, and then realized you still had his jacket on.

You contemplated opening the door again, but you opted to keep it for now, he could get it back later— right?

[bitchy-craft]

PICK A CARD: what would drive you to kill? (18+) *a little cringe*

Hello and welcome to this new reading of mine! In here I will tell you what would drive you to kill. I hope you enjoy it and find it interesting!

masterpost > paid readings > patreon masterlist

for the extended version of this reading and 80+ exclusive and extended pac's check put my patreon

Pile 1:

What would drive me to kill?

The people I love. Easy. No hesitation. My friends, my family, my brothers and sisters. I don’t care who it is or why, if they try to hurt the people I love, I’ll lose it. Fully. I’d go blackout if I had to. Because you don’t touch my people. Ever. You don’t even look at them the wrong way. I’d rather be someone who protects with words. Who hugs it out. Who talks through it. But this world doesn’t always let you do that. Sometimes people cross lines that can’t be uncrossed. And in that moment? I wouldn’t be kind. I wouldn’t be sweet. I’d be done. I’d kill for them and still hold their hand after. I’d wash the blood off and help them fall asleep that night. They’d never even have to know. I’d carry it alone, I’d take the weight, the fear, the aftermath, if it meant they get to live their life safe and untouched.

extended reading > paid readings

Pile 2:

What would drive me to kill?

When it’s survival or death. When someone forces me to pick between them or me, and I’m sorry, but I’ll pick me every single time. I’ve been through too much to let someone take me out. I’ve crawled out of places so dark most people wouldn’t even know how to breathe in them. I’ve seen things that rewired my brain, I’ve healed from things I never even talked about. I’ve had to rebuild myself using scraps; no map, no help, just stubbornness and a pulse. I had no one. So if someone tries to end that, if someone thinks they can take away the little bit of peace I’ve found, the safety I scraped together with bloody hands? No. I’ll kill before I let that happen, and I won’t feel bad about it either, because I know what it cost me to survive.

extended reading > paid readings

Pile 3:

What would drive me to kill?

A memory, or a moment. A past version of me who stood there and did nothing, or couldn’t, or wasn’t strong enough. That version of me still lives in my chest, it still cries when no one is around. It still shakes when certain things come up. I don’t talk about it much, not because it wasn’t real, but because it was too real. Something happened, and that broke me in a way I didn’t even notice at first. By the time I was aware of it the damage was already done. I don’t even know what version hurts the most; the one that froze, the one that stayed silent, or the one that couldn’t fix it. And even though people say it wasn’t my fault, even if they try to reassure me that over and over again, I still carry it like it was; like I should’ve known better, as if I should’ve done better, as if I failed someone who didn’t deserve it. So now? If I ever see that again, if I ever hear that same scream, that same panic, that same desperate begging, something in me will break loose. No mercy, no pause, no waiting. I won’t freeze again, I just cannot afford to do so.

extended reading > paid readings

[nudityandnerdery]

Okay, so we played this game for my birthday.

Context, I have played the first three games in the series, I love them, they're so much fun. The games are stupid and clever and incredibly bawdy and also just very sweet and sometimes fucking heartbreaking? Awesome characters, absurd plots, incredibly queer affirming, and just so goddamn funny. Made me laugh so hard I've cried. So I was pretty excited for this game.

You guys. I need you to know. I have played one time through, and my excitement and hope for this game has been so rewarded.

I mean, it's hilarious. It's dorky as fuck. The romance options are ridiculous. There's over the top violence to solve simple problems in absurd situations. There's picking your character traits like you're picking which panels you want to attend at the convention. There's making a dumb comic with your friends which ends up hilarious and stupid and I'm still not entirely sure how the mechanics interface with the gameplay, I'm still learning it.

But also?

It's so goddamn welcoming. Opening up the game for the first time directs you to settings where you can adjust some filters if you want to avoid the absurd violence or drugs or toilet humor. There's six romance interests: two with he/him pronouns, two with she/her pronouns, two with they/them pronouns. You can make your "romance" entirely platonic- or there's an option where you can just go on a date by yourself. You get time with your protagonist and let them have some self reflection if you do that. It's a really cool thing for a dating sim game.

And the whole thing just really lives by the idea that the point of the con isn't just about finding romance. It's about finding people who love the same things you do, and how the point is that sharing our passions reminds us that we have a place we belong, with each other.

And, honestly, that was fucking incredible. That was what I needed from the game.

So, thank you, @btflglitch, for working so hard and creating such a beautiful piece of hilarious, smutty, deeply meaningful work. I've barely scratched the surface, and I already feel so rewarded by this game. The love y'all put into it shines through.

And thank you for letting us finally live our dreams of having Liam and Milo make out, and not just in fanfic of Zoe's fanfic this time.

Anyway, if anyone out there is looking to spend $15 on Steam to see my early lock for GotY 2025, you gotta check it out.

Also, y'all killed it on the background music in this one, I opened the game up to check what topics you had for the trigger warning filters, and I've just had it open for like ten minutes, because whatever this lo-fi onsen track I'm listening to is, it's a vibe.

Monster Prom 4: Monster Con is OUT NOW!

How are you liking it so far? Any favorite char, event, joke?

18 months of preparing this weird little game for y'all!

[davrinsleftpectoral]

It’s here!

Welcome to Nug E Cheese

Baby’s first fic on ao3. The first chapter, in its entirety. I wanted to put it here as well but it’s nearly 5k words lol, and that felt like a little too much. So instead have a little snippet under the cut

==

Turvi walked with Lucanis to the back. “Come sit. The cabinet under Old Joe holds a bunch of snacks. Mostly nuts and granola bars, and a little chocolate that Harding keeps stocked. Take as long as you want. I’m going to get into the Gus the Nug suit and go out and high five some kids and dance.”

Lucanis nodded, looking glad to be back in the break room. He grabbed a pack of mixed nuts and turned around to find Turvi standing there in only his very short shorts.

“Rook!” He cried, as he flushed and turned back around.

“What?” Turvi looked around to see what had caused Lucanis such distress.

Neve popped her head out of her office to ask “Is everything okay… Oh.” She stopped when she saw what was happening. “Rook, I’ve told you that you can change in the storage room, it’s more private.” She shook her head, chiding him, but with no real heat behind it, instead there was a fond tilt and chuckle under her breath.

“It’s dark and there isn’t a lot of room back there. And it’s hard to open the door once I have my Nug hand gloves on.” Turvi protested. “Besides, I'm not actually naked.” He shrugged.

Lucanis muttered something unintelligible and pointedly sat at a table with his back to Turvi. “Well you should be considerate of people who are new here.” Neve said and raised her eyebrows pointedly at Turvi.

“Oh. I’m sorry, Lucanis! I’ll be more mindful next time and warn you when I’m getting into the suit.” He paused, looking at the other man for a moment. “Hey, we’re about the same height aren’t we? I can let you have a turn in the suit next time! I have dibs on the parties, but if you wanted to do the dance party sometimes, I think you’d fit in it.” He said enthusiastically. Turvi loved putting on the suit and interacting with all the kids. He had even choreographed a few extra dances himself, so that the dance parties could go on longer than the standard one song.

“Is that the only suit you have here?” Lucanis asked.

“Sure. We don't really need a second one,” Neve replied.

“So the only suit is the one you’re getting into it in just your short shorts?”

“Yep. It gets warm in here, I don’t like wearing extra clothes inside.” Turvi explained.

“I see.” Lucanis paused, seeming to consider his next words. “I wouldn’t want to take over something you clearly enjoy, Rook. So I’ll pass. Learning the rest of the jobs in the store has been enough for today.”

Turvi shrugged. “More for me then.” He continued putting on the costume as Neve walked away trying not to laugh.

==

I almost called this chapter Lucanis’ no good very bad day. But he’s not the main character in this fic, I promise hahaha.

Special thanks to @blackwall-my-tiny-husband best sister, beta reader, and person who has to listen to all my weird ideas.

And thank you to everyone that has read parts of the wip and cheered me on. @thedissonantverses @serensama @seaglassmelody @genjyoandgojyoandhakkai @biowaredisasterbisexual @woundedsoul12 @mythals-whore I’m sure there’s more but I have a terrible memory im sorry. It’s not because I don’t love and appreciate you.

I can’t wait to write more of this.

[nanamineedstherapy]

Ooga Booga Hiromi gets Mated to a Criminal

Previous Chapter: Ooga Booga Choso, Shoko & Yuki: The Great Gas Chamber Incident (Tumblr/Ao3)

Summary: Prehistoric, period-accurate Neanderthal JJK daddies courting you with grunts, rocks, & zero verbal communication. Just prehistoric buffoonery. A/N: OOGA BOOGA TRIBE, WE MEET AGAIN. 🦴🔥 Welcome to the prehistoric chaos that is this fic, where Higuruma tries to be the only man with a brain cell in a tribe of absolute menaces. 😭🪓 This is a crack fic with way too much bonking, aggressive courtship rituals, & the questionable choices of a woman determined to make her mate lose his mind. You’ve been warned. If you’re here for historical accuracy, please turn back now, because this is 100% Gege Akutami’s fault. Enjoy. 😂 Haven't written anything for this AU in a bit so apologies if this feel a lil rusty.

Higuruma is tired.

Not in a normal way.

Not in a "I hunted all day" way.

Not even in a "Gojo is talking again" way.

No.

Higuruma is tired in a “This tribe has no laws, only chaos, and I have to fix it before I lose my mind” way.

Higuruma is different from other men.

Other men grunt. Fight. Eat. Sleep. Repeat.

Higuruma thinks.

Higuruma ponders.

Higuruma judges.

He does not hunt for sport.

He does not kill for fun.

He kills because it is fair.

Because justice must be served.

Because if he lets Gojo and Suguru keep doing whatever they want, the tribe will devolve into "monkeys with rocks" in a week.

So Higuruma creates laws.

He carves rules into stone tablets.

He makes judgements by the fire.

He carries a mighty club—his gavel of justice.

And when someone breaks the law?

He bonks them.

---

You are a problem.

Not like Gojo, whose only crimes are his mouth and his face.

Not like Shiu, who steals meat like a starving wolf and disappears into the woods for days.

Not like Ino, who collects rocks and insists they’re his “sons.”

No.

You are a real problem.

You steal.

You lie.

You fight people for fun.

You once stole Sukuna’s food, then bonked him on the head and grunted, “Mine now.”

You made Gojo cry once.

You are the most feared woman in the tribe.

And yet—

You like Higuruma.

---

The first time you court Higuruma, you do it like any normal Neanderthal woman would.

You steal his club.

You bonk him on the head with it.

You grin. (Mate now.)

Higuruma stares.

Then exhales slowly. (You broke law.)

You tilt your head. (What law?)

(Do not steal.)

(…Even if I want mate?)

(Especially if you want mate.)

You blink.

This is confusing.

Men are supposed to fight for mates.

Men are supposed to take what they want.

Higuruma is not like that.

Higuruma is different.

You squint. (Then… how I mate you?)

Higuruma crosses his arms. (Follow the law.)

You stare at him like he is speaking forbidden magic. (Follow… law?)

(Yes.)

You grumble.

You do not like rules.

But you do like Higuruma.

So… maybe you try?

Maybe.

A little.

---

For one week, you follow the law.

You do not steal food.

You do not fight Gojo.

You do not throw rocks at Suguru’s cult.

Higuruma watches you closely.

He sees you trying.

And when the week ends—

He smiles. (You good now.)

You light up. (Good. We mate now?)

Higuruma nods. (Yes. Good mate now.)

You beam.

You grab his face.

You kiss him so hard he almost falls over.

The tribe cheers.

Shiu cries. (EVEN HIGURUMA HAS A MATE BEFORE ME!?)

Sukuna glares. (She should’ve stayed a menace.)

Suguru watches silently, judging.

Choso, holding his three pregnant mates, mutters, (Why does no one ask me for advice?)

But you do not care.

Because you have won.

Higuruma is your mate.

And now you just need to break the law again so he will punish you.

---

Higuruma has made a mistake.

A terrible mistake.

A life-changing mistake.

Because he mated you.

Because you pretended to follow the law.

Because you lied.

And now?

Now you are committing crimes again.

---

The day after mating, you steal Nanami’s food.

The day after that, you chase Toji with a spear for no reason.

The day after that, you throw a rock at Suguru’s cult and grunt, "STUPID!" before running away.

Higuruma watches.

Higuruma suffers.

Higuruma realizes he has married a criminal.

He catches you in the act.

He crosses his arms. (You broke law.)

You grin. (Yes.)

He grits his teeth. (Why.)

You tilt your head. (Mate only look at law. Want mate look at me too.)

Higuruma exhales sharply. (You committing crime… for attention?)

You nod, grinning. (Yes. Now mate must bonk me. Punish me.)

Higuruma blinks.

Higuruma processes.

Higuruma realizes you are too far gone.

---

That night, by the fire, Higuruma holds a trial.

You sit on a rock, swinging your legs, grinning.

The tribe gathers.

The men are invested.

Gojo snickers. (Your mate is a menace.)

Suguru hums. (She should join my cult.)

Sukuna glares. (Let me fight her.)

Nanami sighs. (She stole my food. I demand justice.)

Higuruma raises his club. (You guilty.)

You shrug. (Okay.)

(You must pay price.)

(Okay.)

The tribe waits.

The punishment must be severe.

Harsh.

Unforgiving.

Higuruma steps closer. (You must… help me enforce law.)

You blink. (What.)

---

Higuruma does the unthinkable.

He makes you his co-judge.

Now, you must enforce laws with him.

Now, you must catch criminals instead of being one.

Now, you must bonk others instead of getting bonked.

It is horrible.

You sulk.

You grumble.

You sit next to Higuruma with a club, frowning.

Gojo, caught stealing food, kneels before you.

Higuruma grunts. (You guilty.)

You sigh. Bonk Gojo’s head.

Gojo whines. (THIS IS NOT FAIR. SHE IS CRIMINAL TOO.)

You shrug. (Not anymore.)

Higuruma nods. (She is law now.)

The tribe cheers.

Sukuna looks disgusted.

Suguru squints. (I could use her in my cult.)

You sigh, bonking another criminal.

This is your life now.

You married the law.

And now you are the law too.

---

Higuruma has reached his limit.

He has dealt with stupid men.

He has dealt with stupid crimes.

He has dealt with Gojo existing.

But this?

This is too much.

Because there has been a crime.

A crime so unholy, so disturbing, so out of pocket that Higuruma is questioning why he even made laws in the first place.

---

It starts early in the morning.

A scream echoes through the valley.

A scream of horror.

A scream of a man who has seen the devil.

The tribe gathers.

And there, in the middle of the camp, is Nanami.

Nanami, standing over a horrific sight.

A monstrous display.

A thing so cursed it should not exist.

Gojo stares.

Sukuna squints.

Suguru blinks.

Toji gags.

Choso, holding his three pregnant mates, whispers, (What in the name of all that is good and pure is that?)

And then—

Nanami turns to Higuruma.

Face blank.

Grunt voice dead. (Your mate did this.)

Higuruma freezes.

Then slowly turns his head.

And there you are.

Grinning.

Proud.

Standing next to your creation.

It is… a totem.

A horrific, nightmare-inducing totem.

It has:

Gojo’s hair woven into it.

Sukuna’s missing teeth jammed into its mouth.

A stolen piece of Toji’s fur.

Nanami’s broken spear tied to its back.

Choso’s old loincloth wrapped around it like a cursed robe.

It is cursed.

It is horrible.

It is staring at them all.

Higuruma exhales. (…Why.)

You grin. (For protection.)

Ino wheezes. (PROTECTION FROM WHAT!?)

You shrug. (Bad spirits.)

Sukuna crosses his arms. (I am bad spirit. I don’t want to see this thing ever again.)

Toji gags again. (BURN IT.)

Suguru hums. (I will take it for my cult.)

Higuruma rubs his temples. (You… stole from men. Broke laws.)

You tilt your head. (For good reason.)

Higuruma grits his teeth. (You stole Nanami’s spear. How is that good reason?)

(He has too many.)

Nanami closes his eyes. (I have one.)

Higuruma inhales deeply. (You stole Toji’s fur.)

(Toji has many furs. One missing not hurt.)

Toji grits his teeth. (I was cold, you demon.)

Higuruma exhales. (You… took Gojo’s hair. How?)

Gojo freezes.

Slowly, his hand reaches for his head.

He realizes.

His eyes widen. (OH MY GOD. SHE DID. SHE DID.)

Gojo screams.

Higuruma is done.

---

The Judgement.

The tribe waits.

Higuruma rubs his temples harder.

You squat, grinning.

Waiting.

Higuruma sighs.

Then—

He throws his club down. (You are guilty.)

You nod. (You have no defense.)

You grin wider.

Higuruma takes a deep breath.

Then—

(Your punishment is me.)

The tribe gasps.

Gojo chokes. (EXCUSE ME!?)

Sukuna snorts. (Oh. Oh this is gonna be good.)

Suguru nods. (Yes. Divine judgment.)

Choso, still confused, grunts, (Why does no one ever ask me how to breed—)

But no one is listening.

Because Higuruma is already dragging you away.

And you?

You laugh.

Because you knew this would happen.

Because this was your plan.

Because breaking the law is fun.

And Higuruma will always come to punish you.

And that?

That is why you keep breaking it.

---

A/N: Thank you for surviving this Neanderthal nonsense. If you have theories about how many brain cells Higuruma lost during this fic, or if you just want to scream about the absolute chaos this became, the comments are open. Also, if you have headcanons for prehistoric tribe dynamics, weird mating customs, or other crack fic ideas, please share. I am disturbingly receptive to them. 💀 Thanks for reading, and remember: if you bonk someone, make sure it’s legal. 😏🪓

Next Chapter TBA

All Works Masterlist

[himbochub]

nearly cried upon seeing ur post cuz you're the first fat person ive seen with top surgery scars, let alone the first person with top surgery scars whose also into feederism T_T <3 ty

almost didn’t wanna post this ask so i could just keep reading it over and over because this is just so special to me, i remember the first time i saw a fat person who looked like me with top surgery and it was truly the most hopeful and gender affirming feeling ever. the fact that i could be that for you is so special to me, im so glad <3 i have a lot of recommendations of other transmasc folks who have top surgery and make feedism content but i feel weird making a master post tagging people in the current political climate lmao- feel free to privately dm me if you’d like those!

[meadowfics]

OHH could you some seo-ah and byeol headcanons. I FEEL LIKE THEY HAVE SUCH A CUTE SISTER BOND TBH despite their age difference!!

YES AWWW I loved writing this!!!

seo-ah and byeol's bond: headcannons

keep in mind, seo-ah is five years old and byeol is still around 7months old

seo-ah absolutely adores being the older sister.

she takes pride in the title and will remind anyone who will listen that she is the big sister.

when byeol was first brought home from the hospital, seo-ah insisted on being the first one to “show her around the house,” even though the baby couldn’t comprehend any of it.

she took her to every room..

well actually, she made dae-ho carry byeol around while seo-ah walked in front of him...

and whispered introductions like

“this is the couch, we sit here,”

and

“this is the kitchen. mommy makes yummy food here. however, she can't for a few weeks since she needs to recover from brining you into earth”

even in the early days when byeol did nothing but sleep and cry, seo-ah would sit next to her bassinet and just talk to her.

she would tell her stories about daycare, about her dolls, and just how excited she was for her to get bigger.

one of the first moments of jealousy happened during a quiet evening when you were holding byeol and feeding her.

seo-ah walked up, frowned, and whispered,

“you always hold her…”

you gently pulled her close and reminded her that she used to be held just like this, and she still is, every single day.

after a short cuddle session with you and byeol, she felt better again.

when daeho plays with byeol, seo-ah often squeezes her way in between them like a human wedge.

“appa, can you play with me and the baby?”

she just wants to make sure she’s never left out.

during tummy time, seo-ah lays beside byeol and mimics her poses.

“look! i can do tummy time too!”

she’ll say while kicking her legs back and forth dramatically to entertain her little sister.

seo-ah always wants to help feed her baby sister.

even though byeol is still bottle-fed, seo-ah will hold the bottle with both hands, overly focused and proud when byeol drinks without fussing.

seo-ah holds byeol in the cradle position when she feeds her, which is a loving sight to you and dae-ho, since byeol looks up at seo-ah with confusion yet so much love.

she once tried to put a pair of her old sneakers on byeol’s feet.

they were hilariously too big, but she insisted.

“she needs soccer shoes so she can play with me!”

when you explained that byeol couldn’t walk yet, seo-ah blinked in disbelief

“but… she’s got legs!”

the first time byeol giggled while looking at seo-ah, the little girl screamed with joy and ran around the room yelling

“she loves me! she really loves me!”

seo-ah likes to sing to byeol, completely off-key lullabies or just silly songs she makes up.

one of them is literally just “baby byeol, baby star” repeated over and over to the tune of twinkle twinkle little star.

seo-ah often pretends to be byeol’s “teacher,” placing picture books in front of her and dramatically flipping pages while explaining things like, “this is a dog. he barks. woof! understand, baby sis?”

when byeol gets fussy and cries, seo-ah is the first to run over with her favorite pacifier or toy and say, “it’s okay, i’m here. omma is coming. don’t cry, baby.”

there was a time when byeol accidentally yanked on seo-ah’s hair, and while she shrieked a little in pain.

however, she immediately turned around and reassured everyone, “it’s okay! she didn’t mean it. she’s just a baby.”

if anyone aka even a stranger at the market, comments on byeol’s cuteness, seo-ah immediately beams and says, “that’s my sister!”

she tells people she’s going to teach byeol how to kick a soccer ball “as soon as she learns how to stand.”

she’s already drawn up an imaginary training schedule.

she loves picking out byeol’s outfits.

she’ll bring you two completely mismatched ones and say, “she looks best in this one, trust me.”

she sometimes tries to read bedtime stories to byeol, sitting on her little stool and showing the pictures to the baby as if she’s giving a presentation.

“look! that’s a bunny! he hops!”

whenever you or daeho asks who her favorite person is, seo-ah always gives the same answer: “you and appa and byeol. we’re a family.”

she once asked if byeol could sleep in her bed.

“i’ll take care of her, i promise!”

you and daeho said no, but the heart behind the question made them melt.

during family movie nights, seo-ah insists that byeol be swaddled and sitting right next to her.

she’ll even share her snacks (the soft ones, the ones that don’t pose a choking hazard).

when you are busy, seo-ah proudly announces “i’m in charge of the baby!”

she sits by byeol like a little bodyguard with a plastic sword from one of her costumes.

they already have matching outfits for special occasions.

tiny pink dresses, little soccer jerseys, and pajamas with the same print.

daeho often watches the two of them and just smiles to himself.

it’s like seeing a softer version of his wife in the baby and a bold, expressive version of himself in seo-ah.

one of his favorite things is seeing how often byeol stares at her big sister.

it is with pure admiration, her eyes light up every time seo-ah enters the room.

that is everything to him and to you.

masterlist

[theegemini92]

I asked ChatGPT to let Tamlin go full unhinged and roast both Feyre and Rhysand, book by book?

ACOTAR (A Court of Thorns and Roses)

Tamlin (seething in the ruins of his manor):

“Feyre. You showed up looking like a starving bandit with a bow and arrow, killed one of my men, and I still let you live in my house. I fed you. I gave you books. I tolerated your atrocious table manners.

And somehow, that still wasn’t enough.

Then there’s Rhysand—struts into Under the Mountain like a discount villain with a smirk glued to his face and decides to tattoo his phone number on my girlfriend’s arm?

You were both a mess. One of you was hallucinating, and the other was out here acting like a shirtless motivational speaker.”

⸻

ACOMAF (A Court of Mist and Fury)

“Feyre, I gave you everything—safety, protection, a literal palace—and your reaction? Run off with the first winged bastard who offers you a job title and a view.

And Rhys? You kidnapped her. You manipulated her. You built an entire court of morally grey Pinterest rejects and called it ‘freedom.’

Let’s not forget: you knew she was mine. But go on, pretend the mating bond justifies emotionally grooming her while she was grieving.

Both of you have the emotional maturity of a fae fruit fly.”

⸻

ACOWAR (A Court of Wings and Ruin)

“Oh, so now you’re spies? Feyre, you infiltrated my court—my home—pretended to love me, and then blew up my entire political standing with literal paint on the floor.

You gaslit my entire staff and walked out like you were on a runway.

And Rhysand? Your grand strategy was to hide Feyre like a shiny sword and hope she’d win the war for you while you threw smoldering looks across a war table.

You both act like you’re the saviors of Prythian, but let’s be honest—you’re just two hot messes in matching outfits.”

⸻

ACOFAS (A Court of Frost and Starlight)

“While my court is in shambles, you two are playing house in Velaris. Buying lingerie. Decorating trees. Writing solstice poems.

My people are starving and you’re over there like, ‘Oh no, what if the present isn’t sexy enough?’

Rhysand, you turned the trauma of an entire continent into a Hallmark novella.

And Feyre… you’re a High Lady now, but where were the High Lady decisions? All I saw was shopping and aggressive gift-giving.

At least send a fruit basket next time.”

⸻

ACOSF (A Court of Silver Flames)

“You’re both so deep in your ‘mate bubble’ you didn’t notice Nesta was unraveling the universe.

Rhysand, you basically threw her into boot camp and expected that to heal centuries of rage.

Feyre, you got pregnant with a magical death baby and didn’t think to ask one single healer about the risks.

Your whole parenting strategy was ‘manifest positive vibes.’

Meanwhile, I’m still trying to figure out how to stop vines from eating my manor.”

⸻

Tamlin (ending, sipping wine alone in the ruins of Spring Court):

“I may be the villain in your story, but at least I didn’t weaponize trauma and call it ‘growth.’

You two deserve each other—truly.

One cries about paint, the other cries during war meetings, and both think sarcasm counts as strategy.

Blessed mating bond my ass.”

⸻

This is actually sad ChatGPT 😆

[monstersandmagicians]

So, finally read Silverborn, plus reread the first three books. Marvelous time had by all, almost cried twice over Jupiter's letters etc etc.

Anyways, been left with some questions and thought I'd post some of my favourites for prosperity.

-Jupiter inherited Octavia? So who did Bertram build her for and what happened to them?

-Also, what's up with Bertram's nosebleeds? Love a magical nosebleed, of course, but I need to know.

-What happened to the other cursed children? Like, Jupiter says they're safe, but...? I need more.

-What is the long-term plan for Lam? Like, she's a princess, is she going back to her people and leaving the Wunderous Society or what?

-the whole Free State/Wintersea split. Why? When did it happen? What the hell is up with the Wintersea party? What are the implications of the Free State having a prime minister? Is it just for aesthetics or what? Maud starting with a M? Bertram and Squall both being ominous about the Party?

-When will Mog get to go on an expedition etc with Jupiter? Like, that has to be something that will happen. Or else she has to go and rescue/fetch him at some point.

-Side note: Jack's plan!

-the Hotel Deucalion. It was 'a wreck' when Jupiter took it on, and it is a location that draws in Wunder. So was it an abandoned Wunderous Act? Squall says he's been coming for years, but he doesn't know the inner workings, so is it the work of one of his peers? And, side note, had Squall been monitoring Jupiter's monitoring of Mog?

-What drew Jupiter to the Deucalion in the first place?

-the Deucalion's name? Greek flood myth?

-Black bird chandelier for Mog. Pink ship for Jupiter. What was it before that?

-What actually happened that day in Courage Square? Like, Ezra "sought to own the city", rocked up with some monsters, killed the eight other Wundersmiths (will check this on next reread), and then the city exiled him? Pyrrhic victory? I need more details.

-We know why Jupiter became Mog's patron, but why had he refused to take on patronage before then?

-Squall's decision to make Mog his heir? "Rise to take my place", two mentions of the "black ice at the heart of you". And, of course, the nursery rhyme with crowlings and rabbits (Emmett??? Meredith???) and such.

And, finally:

Jupiter and Squall meeting in Book 5!!!

[girl-hwat]

you ever think about how william wisp has parents that love him

[pickaropoprocks]

Day 44!! Movie Outfits!!

[fatalelity]

imagine shaming people for not reading a book where the main characters are dyslexic and adhd...

do you not see the irony ??? hELLO???

[nemonclature]

Don't forget his tragic sellotaped glasses and tiny little notebook

his horrible personality and stupid little vest has captivated me

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤSTRAWBERRY BABYㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Jason Todd x Fem Reader

☆⁠ SYNOPSIS : You Just Gave Birth To Your Child, Jason's Child, The Love Of Your Life. But Everything Went Wrong When You Saw The Child...

☆⁠ NOTE : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

Your life was supposed to be perfect right now. You just gave birth to your beautiful baby—a moment that should have been magical, joyous, and filled with happy tears.

Instead, you were losing your mind.

Because the baby in your arms… did not have black hair. Not even a single dark strand.

No.

Because the baby—the tiny, fresh-out-the-womb infant that you had just spent hours screaming into existence—was blonde.

Blonde.

BLONDE.

And he looked exactly like Jason.

Now, for most normal people, this wouldn’t be an issue. In fact, it would be a cute, happy moment—"Oh wow, he looks just like his dad!"—but you? No. You were spiraling. Because Jason had black hair. Jet black. Dark as the night. Dark as his soul (romantically speaking).

And your baby?

Your baby had a tuft of blonde hair that made him look like a tiny cherub sent straight from heaven.

Which made no damn sense.

You hadn’t cheated. Hell, you barely even looked at other men since getting together with Jason because—let’s be honest—your man was already borderline psychotic when it came to his jealousy.

So, if you had cheated (which, again, you HADN’T), you would already be dead. There would be no hospital room. No baby. Just a Jason-shaped shadow standing over your shallow grave.

But that didn’t change the fact that you were staring at your son, this tiny, beautiful baby with blonde hair.

Which would be fine. If Jason had fucking blonde hair.

But he didn’t. He had black hair.

You were a hundred percent sure of that. You had run your fingers through that thick, inky hair so many times. You had tugged it when he pissed you off. You had yanked it when—

That didn’t matter right now.

Because either you had just given birth to the wrong child, or—OR—

“Oh my God,” you choked, your voice cracking as you looked at the baby in your arms with sheer, bone-deep horror. “Jason’s going to think I cheated on him.”

The room went silent.

A nurse looked at you with wide eyes, hesitating mid-step. Alfred, ever the picture of composure, cleared his throat, carefully folding a tiny onesie. And Dick—because of course Dick was here—froze mid-bite of his celebratory snack, a hospital pudding cup, before slowly turning to you.

“Uh… what?”

“I didn’t cheat on him,” you gasped, convulsing in hormonal sobs as you clutched the tiny baby closer to your chest. “I didn’t! I swear I didn’t!”

“I mean, obviously,” Tim mumbled, looking more alarmed at your emotional breakdown than at the situation itself.

But you weren’t listening. You were spiraling, your voice getting more frantic.

“Oh my God. What if they gave me the wrong baby?” you whispered, eyes darting wildly around the hospital room. “What if some poor woman out there has my real baby? And I have hers?”

“Miss, please,” Alfred sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Damian, perched in the corner of the room with his arms crossed, made a disgusted sound. “That’s your child, idiot. It looks just like Todd.”

“NO, HE DOESN’T!” you wailed. “JASON HAS BLACK HAIR!”

Damian just scoffed. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I—WHAT?!” you shrieked.

Dick sighed dramatically, putting his hands on his hips. “I can’t believe we have to do this right now. Jason’s gonna lose his mind.”

That set you off even worse. Jason’s gonna lose his mind?! Oh God, oh God, he was going to think you cheated. He was going to leave. He was going to storm in here, take one look at the baby, and—

You sobbed harder. Ugly cried harder.

Bruce actually looked like he was reconsidering every decision that led him to this moment.

“Uh, wow,” Tim muttered.

“I didn’t cheat,” you repeated, voice breaking. “I mean—how would I even have the time?! Jason’s always around! He’d kill anyone who looked at me for too long! It doesn’t make sense!”

“Why are you trying to convince us?” Damian scoffed. “Shouldn’t you be telling Todd?”

Your stomach dropped.

Jason.

Jason wasn’t here.

Oh, God. Oh, fuck.

“I—I love him so much,” you sobbed, clutching your little (wrong?!) baby. “I—oh my God—what if he leaves me?! What if he thinks I—Oh God, he’s gonna think I cheated, and I didn’t, I swear—”

“Jason’s going to break the door down when he gets here,” Tim muttered, rubbing his temples.

“No, he won’t,” Bruce grumbled.

CRASH.

Jason absolutely broke the door down.

It slammed against the wall so hard that even your baby, who had been peacefully asleep through your meltdown, flinched.

"Fucking Gotham traffic, I swear to—"

He froze.

You were crying.

Sobbing.

Hysterical.

His brain ran a million miles per hour. Did something happen? Did you change your mind about the name? Did one of the nurses insult you? Did he leave the oven on? Did someone die?

His eyes darted to the baby in your arms.

Tiny. Swaddled. Breathing.

Okay. Not dead.

So why the fuck were you crying like this was a damn crime scene?

"Uh," Jason started. "Baby? What’s wrong?"

You let out another broken sob, clutching the baby to your chest.

Jason panicked.

You started crying so hard you couldn’t even get words out. Just absolute, gut-wrenching sobs while Jason rushed to your bedside, grabbing your face.

“Baby, baby, what’s wrong?!” he panicked, his voice an octave higher. “Did they hurt you?! Are you in pain?! Do I have to kill someone?! Is it Bruce?! I bet it’s Bruce.”

Bruce exhaled through his nose, deeply unimpressed.

It's just made you cry harder.

"Oh, God—what happened?! Are you okay?! Is the baby okay—"

"Jason, I SWEAR I didn’t cheat on you!" you blurted out.

Jason blinked.

Everyone collectively flinched.

"…What?" Jason said, voice flat.

"I didn’t cheat! I would never cheat! I love you, and you were my first, and I would never, I would never, I—"

"Baby," Jason said slowly, trying to wrap his head around this absolute fever dream. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

You let out another shaky breath, eyes darting around the room in pure panic. "T-the baby, Jason. Look at him."

Jason frowned, stepping closer. He looked at the baby. Looked at you. Looked at the baby again.

"…Yeah?" he said, confused.

"He has blonde hair!"

Jason blinked.

Then blinked again.

Then turned to the rest of the family like they had the answers.

Dick rubbed his temples. "Jay."

Jason turned back to you, lips parting like he was about to say something, then stopping. Then opening again. Then stopping.

“I swear I didn’t!” Your sobs renewed, your shoulders shaking as you held up the tiny, peacefully sleeping baby. “But look at him! He has blonde hair! He looks exactly like you! But you have black hair! I think I got the wrong baby, or I cheated on you in my sleep, or maybe you’re going to leave me—”

Jason stared.

Then he turned, slowly, toward the rest of the room. “…Did you guys let her spiral like this on purpose?”

“Yes,” Damian said, unbothered.

“Absolutely,” Dick grinned.

Jason inhaled deeply.

Then, to your absolute shock, he let out a long, tired sigh—before shoving a hand through his hair and grumbling, “I fucking forgot you didn’t know.”

You hiccupped again. “Wh—what?”

Jason gave you a flat look. “Babe. My hair. I’ve been dyeing it black since I was a kid.”

Your breath caught. “Huh?”

“Because of him,” Jason added, jerking his thumb toward Dick, who just wiggled his fingers in a smug little wave.

Silence.

More silence.

The world stopped.

The Earth stopped spinning.

Your breath hitched. "You…"

Jason nodded.

"You… had blonde hair?"

Jason nodded again.

You sniffled. Sniffled again. Processed this information.

Then immediately let out a loud, gut-wrenching, ugly sob and buried your face in your hands.

Jason Todd. Your husband. Your big, scary, six-foot-four, muscle-bound, leather-wearing husband. The man who used to be the meanest street kid in Crime Alley. The man who could disassemble a gun with his eyes closed and had murdered actual people.

Had spent his entire life dyeing his hair because he wanted to look like Dick Grayson.

“Oh my God,” you whispered, eyes wide.

Jason groaned, rubbing his face. “Babe—”

“Oh my God.”

“Listen, it’s not—”

“You mean to tell me I’ve been married to you this whole time thinking you had black hair, but you’re actually some kind of undercover blonde?!”

“Strawberry blonde,” Tim corrected.

Jason shot him a glare. “Shut up.”

You gasped, gripping his jacket like you might collapse. “You mean to tell me this baby is actually yours?”

Jason exhaled. Then he stepped forward, resting a warm, solid hand against your cheek before pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead.

“Yes, babe,” he muttered, lips brushing your skin. “He’s mine.”

"Oh my God," you wailed. "I’m so stupid."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa—" Jason sat on the bed, grabbing you. "You’re not stupid. You just had a baby. And hormones. And clearly, no one ever showed you my baby pictures."

"This whole time," you hiccupped, voice muffled, "I thought they swapped our baby, and I stole some random kid. I thought you were gonna leave me!"

Jason sighed, rubbing your back. "Sweetheart, I would never leave you. Especially not over our perfectly fine, baby."

Damian scoffed. "Tt. As if anyone else would willingly have a child with Todd."

Jason shot him a glare. "Not the time, demon."

Dick sighed, stepping forward and ruffling Jason’s hair. "Guess we should’ve mentioned that whole blonde thing earlier, huh?"

Jason glared. "You think?"

Stephanie shook her head. "I thought everyone knew. It's, like, a family fun fact at this point."

"I DIDN’T KNOW!" you shouted.

Jason pulled you into his arms, still rubbing soothing circles into your back. "It’s okay, babe. It’s okay. I promise."

You sniffled, eyes red and puffy. "So… he’s really yours?"

Jason pressed a kiss to your forehead. "He’s really mine."

You let out a weak whimper. "I wanna see your baby pictures."

Jason chuckled. "Alright, sweetheart. When we get home, I’ll show you all of them."

Tim crossed his arms. "I have them saved on my phone."

Jason turned his head. "Why the fuck do you have baby pictures of me on your phone?"

Tim shrugged. "For emergencies."

Jason squinted. "…What kind of emergencies?"

Tim smirked. "Like this one."

Jason pulled back, finally looking down at the baby in your arms.

And—oh.

The storm in his eyes vanished.

Replaced by something warm. Something deep. Something soft.

The big, scary Red Hood, suddenly looked—small.

Awe-struck.

Because there, curled in your arms, was a tiny, sleeping baby with blonde hair and soft little features that looked just like his.

Jason swallowed.

Then, hesitantly, he reached out, brushing his fingers over the baby’s little fist.

“…Holy shit,” he murmured.

Dick grinned. “You made a clone.”

Jason turned to you, eyes softening.

Then he kissed you—long, deep, and full of love.

“I love you,” he muttered, lips still against yours.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[humanjarvis]

caught in a lie

synopsis: when you ignore caleb’s calls, he catches you trying to run from the consequences. you make a false promise to appease his anger, not expecting your lie to unravel. but almost immediately, it does.  

tags: based loosely on caleb's "hidden waves" memory, porn with plot, manipulative!caleb x manipulative!reader, brat!reader, mean(ish) dom!caleb, caleb makes out with your cunt for an hour, reader cries, belly bulge, 3 brother mentions but they’re done ironically/out of spite, humiliation, semi-public sex (caleb makes you call and cancel plans with that friend while he fucks you), lines lifted directly from hidden waves in bold pairing: caleb x fem!reader  word count: 3.9k

a/n: love the scene this is based on bc it reminds me of my favorite book from the wattpad era in 300 BC. also this is my first time writing full-on smut and omfg i don't know how people write like 10k of it u guys are wizards. but the response to this will determine how explicitly i write going forward, no pressure

As the Skyhaven nightscape twinkles around you, you can’t help but feel like you’re forgetting something. 

You’d had a great night: Simone had invited you to a cute café, the owners had given you a free muffin, and the raging storm from this afternoon had dwindled into a drizzle. But still, a sense of foreboding loomed over you, threatening to taint the precious memories you’d made tonight.

“...And next week we can go to this new bar downtown! I heard they have the best drinks, and there’s even a puppy mascot they let walk around and play with guests. Doesn’t that sound fun?” 

“Yeah, sure,” you agree absently, Simone’s words going in one ear and out the other. “I’ll be there.”

As you walk farther down the sidewalk, the vibrant city atmosphere melts away your worries. People of all ages were out splashing in leftover puddles, trying new food stalls, and window shopping in the strip of stores that lit your path. Gradually, you give up on trying to place your unease, surrendering fully to the comfort of the cool night air.

“Hey!” you exclaim, an idea popping into your head. “Do you want to find a photobooth and take some pictures? I want something to remember tonight by.”

“Oh my gosh, absolutely,” Simone responds. “There should be one not too far from here. I went with my brother a few months back! It was really fun.”

At her words, you stop in your tracks. Her enthusiasm is no match for the dread building in your chest. 

Caleb.

Caleb who’d told you to text him when you got to the café, when you were about to leave, and when you were almost home. 

Caleb was what—or who—you were forgetting.

Slowly, you reach your hand into your purse until you feel your phone, digging it out and staring as if it were a venomous animal. Taking a deep breath, you tap the screen awake and immediately lose the air you’d just inhaled. 

7 Unread messages

4 Missed calls

3 New voicemails

Fuck.

“Uh, actually,” you start, chucking the device back into your bag, “I just realized I didn’t bring a brush! There’s no way I can take pictures without fixing my hair—it’s like a bird’s nest up there,” you ramble, giggling nervously. “Can we end the night here?”

“O…kay?” Simone says, clearly confused by the sudden shift in your mood. “Yeah, we can go back now. Your hair looks fine, though.”

Thanking the universe for giving you such an agreeable friend, you walk back to her car, the quickness of your usually unhurried steps betraying your agitation.

He’s gonna kill me, he’s gonna kill me, he’s gonna kill me, you think. 

As the familiar outline of Simone’s car comes into view, she turns to face you. “Do you want a ride to the train station? I told my girlfriend I’d be home at 1:30—I have another hour.”

“Wait!” you cry, throwing your hands out in front of you. She looks at you as if the intensity in your voice is unnecessary. Which is true, because she’s standing a foot away. Quieter this time, you ask, “Would it be okay if I spent the night at your place? Just this once, I promise.” 

“...If you really need to,” she agrees warily. “As long as you don’t mind cat hair.”

When you reach her car, Simone gestures for you to wait as she walks around to the passenger’s side. “I just need to clean up real quick. The granola bar wrappers build up when you’re constantly called in early for emergencies.” 

But when Simone pulls on the door handle, it doesn’t open. “Weird,” she mutters, wiping raindrops onto her jeans. “I swear I unlocked it.” 

She clicks a button on her keys and tries again. Inexplicably, the door still doesn’t budge. “It’s like some force is holding it shut or something,” she says. At that, an alarm sounds in the back of your mind. But before it can reach your consciousness, she continues. “Well, I have a locksmith on speed dial anyway—I’m always losing my keys. But before I call, seriously, are you ok? The way you asked me to stay over….Is there something scary waiting for you at home? Why do you look so worried?”

"It’s probably because I’m home,” the all-too-familiar voice rings out behind you. 

In an instant, your entire body goes rigid. Your now-pounding heart screams at you to run, but you can’t obey without making a scene in front of your friend. 

Plastering a smile on your face, you turn around slowly, as if the longer you took to face him, the more likely he’d be to disappear.  

You had no such luck. Towering over you, umbrella in hand, was Caleb, his normally expressive face a wall of stone. 

Despite his obvious anger, he steps forward to shield you from the downpour and you refrain from taking a step back—against your better judgment.

“Caleb!” you remark, your voice shrill with unease. “What a surprise!”

Ignoring your greeting, Caleb turns his attention to Simone. “Skyhaven isn’t very safe tonight,” he says coolly. “You’d better get home.”

The finality in his words makes it clear: you won’t be joining her. 

“Um, sure,” Simone trails off, wary eyes searching yours. “Will you be alright?”

“...Yes, it’s okay.”

Though your words don’t seem to convince her, Caleb’s penetrating glare does. She quickly walks to the driver’s side and effortlessly pops the door open—surprise, surprise—before jumping in. Giving you one last look, your only chance at salvation drives into the night.

The ride back to Caleb’s house is silent. You scoot as close as you can to the window beside you, paying no mind to the intensifying patter of rain against the glass. All that you notice is how he grips the steering wheel tight enough for his knuckles to turn white. 

When you pull into his driveway and exit the car, he walks closely behind you, preventing any more last-minute escape attempts. His imposing presence follows you inside and all the way to his bedroom. 

When you both cross the threshold, the air thickens with tension as you stand in silence, unmoving. 

“Well, goodnight!” you call when you can’t take it anymore. But before you can take one step, Caleb swings the door shut with his Evol. Huh, you think. Doors must be his speciality tonight.

“Where do you think you could possibly be going after the night you gave me?” he asks, steely voice cutting through your thoughts.

“Listen—” you start, but he cuts you off. 

“You ordered coffee three times. Burst out into laughter I could hear from outside six times. And yet, you somehow managed to check your phone zero times.”

“If you’d just given me more time, I was going to—”

“You were going to what? Because here’s what I think would have happened: If I hadn’t picked you up, you would’ve gone to your friend’s place, right? Then, you’d message me with an apology. Oh, throw in a cute emoji as the cherry on top,” he snorts. 

“With that done, you’d put your phone away and curl up into a ball to sleep. You wouldn’t even dare to check my response. You’d wait it out and believe I wouldn’t be upset. And once I’m away on a mission or somethin’...you would sneak back into the house and pretend nothing happened. Tell me,” he challenges you. “Am I wrong?”

He wasn’t wrong. He was never wrong—not about your habits, at least. 

“Okay, okay, I get it,” you snap. “I thought you said you were ‘done playing games’? You don't have to act so big brother-y all the time.”

Clearly, that was the wrong thing to say. Caleb’s head rears back, his eyes going wide in incredulity before he scoffs. 

Alright, you sigh, time to turn on the waterworks. 

Taking a deep breath, you force tears into your eyes. “Caleb,” you begin, “I really didn’t mean to ignore you. I was just having so much fun. S-someone brought their puppy to the café and I got distracted.” The café hadn’t allowed pets, but you needed all the sympathy you could get. You’d have to thank Simone for telling you about that new bar later. “I won’t do it again. I won’t even go out at night anymore—promise.”

As he takes in your pitiful expression, you see Caleb’s resolve start to crack, the twitch in his right eye giving away how much he wants to console you. Maintaining your pout, you internally grin like a Cheshire cat. He could never say no to you. He could never le—

Your phone rings.

You thought you’d turned it off in the car, but your fucking phone rings. Right when you have him where you want him. 

The shrill tone sucks the air out of the room, and with it, any hope for your escape.

“Answer it. Speaker.” His voice leaves no room for argument.

Visibly shaken, you fish your phone out of your bag and accept the call. “H-hello?”

“Hey Y/N, it’s Simone. I’m calling to check on you—that guy who took you home was kinda scary. I just wanted to make sure he didn’t do anything. Are you okay?”

At the insinuation that he’d ever harm you, Caleb’s face turns thunderous, his jaw clenching so hard you’re afraid it’ll snap. 

“No, no, I’m fine,” you reassure her. “Thanks for worrying though, that’s really sweet,” you add, your eyes darting up and immediately back down after meeting Caleb’s glower. 

“That’s great, I really was worried,” she says, relief evident in her voice. “Well, before you hang up, are we still on for same time next week at the bar I mentio—”

You hang up as soon as she reveals your plans, throwing your phone so abruptly it bounces off the chair where your purse sits and onto the carpet. But it was too late. There was no sweet-talking the irate scowl off of Caleb’s face. You’d lied. 

Like a deer in headlights, you stand frozen and helpless as Caleb stalks toward you. 

“You almost had me,” he chuckles darkly, squishing your cheeks between one hand. “And I bet you knew it, too. Remind me to thank Simone for being such a good friend later.”

His grip tightens when you try to respond, and he pulls your face closer to his instead. “I think I’ve had enough of you talking for now. No point in hearing it if you’re just gonna lie to me again.”

With uncanny speed, he lifts you by your legs and tosses you onto the mattress. When you attempt to sit up, hoping to crawl away, he captures both of your wrists in his hand and claims your lips in a bruising kiss. 

“Don’t talk.” A kiss. “Don’t move.” Another. “Don’t do anything I don’t tell you to do, and I might not chain you to this bed.” You’re so distracted by his final kiss—the exclamation point—that you barely register when he yanks your loose pants down, baring your cotton panties to him. 

When he spots the wet patch spreading through the middle, he moans, shifting to push his nose into your center. The deep inhales he takes seem to calm him down, and his voice loses some of its earlier edge when he murmurs, “Can’t believe you were keepin’ her from me tonight. Look at how much she missed me.”

He demonstrates by pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your panties, tasting you as you leak harder under his tongue. The whimper you let out falls on deaf ears as you remember his command: Don’t talk. 

Licking a stripe up your clothed folds, Caleb sighs into you in contentment. “Gonna see her in a second,” he breathes. “Just can’t give her too much at once, or she’ll get greedy.” 

He’s too far gone, you think, closing your eyes in preparation of what’s to come. But nothing prepares you for the way the seemingly sedated Caleb rips your panties open at the seam, exposing your hot skin to the cool air. 

With no hesitation, he plants a long kiss onto your core, his lips smacking against the fat of your outer folds. Covering your skin with a flurry of pecks, he moans into you, his intermittent licks becoming sloppy, appreciative kisses. 

Caleb was making out with your cunt like your brain wasn't in the room, kissing it like he hadn’t seen it in years. The sensations and lewd squelches make your arousal unbearable, but when you try to grind into his mouth—to get him to do something more—he pushes your hips into the mattress. 

“Don’t interrupt us,” he mumbles, lips still latched onto your unspread cunt. Heat rushing to your cheeks, you flop your head back down, defeated as the man ignores you to have his heartfelt reunion with your core. 

An agonizing few minutes later, you feel him press a last hard kiss against your skin before finally spreading your soaked folds. “Can’t believe you ever thought you could hide from me,” he growls, eyes sparkling. “I’ll show you you can’t. Make you never want to again.”

Slowly, he licks up and down your wetness, teasing his tongue around your entrance. You try to relax during his ministrations, knowing he won’t give you what you want this early, but he catches you off guard when he buries his tongue into your weeping, sputtering hole. 

A strangled moan escapes you as he fucks you with his tongue, twisting, turning, and circling himself inside you. 

One pulse has your walls flexing with desperation, and Caleb pulls back slightly when he feels you tighten around him. “Look at that, I think she’s kissin’ me back,” he coos, a string of his saliva refusing to part from your quivering cunt. 

Spurred on by the whine you give him, he flashes you a wicked grin before diving back in, plunging his tongue in and out at a punishing pace. 

All the while, he studiously avoids where you need him most, licking and kissing everywhere but your twitching clit—neglecting it like you did him earlier in the night.

Suddenly, he lifts his head up, flashing you a quick smirk. “You know,” he starts, licking his glistening lips. “When you were givin’ me all those crocodile tears and cryin’ about puppies earlier, you never did say sorry for trying to run. How about now, hmm?” he asks, pressing a wet kiss to your center. “You sorry?”

You pant out an incoherent moan, and he nips at your clit—the first time he’s touched it all night. Ignoring your squeal, he gives you another kiss. “I don’t know what that means. Try again.” 

You go to speak again, but Caleb suddenly rubs his nose against your clit, your resulting gasp sending your back shooting off the bed. He swiftly slams you back down with his Evol, giving you another nip. “Just two words, baby. You can do that for me, yeah? Two words, loud and clear. Want to know you mean it.”

You don’t know what it is—the last strands of your pride clinging on for dear life, your stupor after being toyed with for almost an hour, or pure stubbornness—but you can’t bring yourself to say it. With a whimper, you clamp your mouth shut, staring at the ceiling in rebellion. 

“Hmmm,” he hums, looking up at you briefly. Before you can even process it, Caleb covers your clit with his mouth and sucks, simultaneously groaning into you. The combined sensations set your nerves on fire, and you come in his mouth with a prolonged cry. 

“I’m sorry!” you wail, the tears in your eyes genuine this time. As Caleb laps up your release, chants of “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m—oh—I’m sorry,” fall through your lips, your earlier defiance reduced to blubbering submission. “Should’ve checked my phone and called you back, I’m so sorry.” 

You’ve apologized ten times over, it feels, but he won’t let up. He suckles you until it aches, and there’s nothing you can do but lie there and sob as his Evol keeps you pinned down. When he’s finally had his fill, he presses a reverent thank-you kiss to your cunt before crawling up your body, nestling in between your thighs. 

“Aw, none of that, now,” he coos, wiping under your eyes. “I forgive you, alright? I forgive you for getting distracted, baby.” Still crying, you nod frantically, leaning into his gentle touch. “But if you ever run from me again, whoever you’re with won’t like what happens when I catch you,” he promises, pressing a kiss to your lips and then your forehead before plunging into you. 

Though his pace is relentless, your walls draw him in, his earlier date with your cunt letting you take his thick length with ease. 

When the pressure builds and you shy away from his brutal thrusts, he turns your chin toward him, pressing an ironically chaste kiss to your mouth. “No running, remember?” 

As you hurtle toward your release, he leans close, kissing you briefly before speaking into your lips. “The next time you wanna ignore me—next time you wanna hide from me and lie to me sayin’ you’ll be good from now on—I want you to think of this, to think of me right here,” he murmurs, palming his cock through your belly. You squeal at the foreign feeling, but he only adds more force, and you think you’re about to pass out.   

“My baby,” he chides. “Loves to act out but she can’t handle the consequences.” While he speaks, he folds your left leg up, pushing it to your chest so he can penetrate you deeper.

“Please, Caleb!” you beg, the new angle making stars float across your vision. As your body rocks with the force of his strokes, you cry, “I said I was sorry!” 

“Mm, you did,” he nods, absorbing a tear on your cheek with a kiss. “But I don’t think you really are. Not yet.”

Without warning, he pulls out of you and flips you onto your stomach before sliding back in. Resuming his thrusts, he uses his Evol to pick your forgotten phone up off the floor. “Call her back. Speaker,” he orders. 

At first, you're flustered into hesitation, but as he holds the phone ahead of you and taps through your history to do it himself, you pull yourself together. “Wait,” you wail. “Wait. I’ll do it.”

You do it.

When Simone picks up, Caleb shows you mercy by decreasing his pace so the sound of slick skin colliding doesn’t travel through the phone. 

“Hey Y/N, what’s up? Is it about earlier? …Did something happen?” she asks in concern.

Frantically, you twist your head to look up at Caleb, not knowing what to say. 

Leisurely, he folds forward over you, his chest flush with your spine so he can whisper in your ear. Throughout his dramatics, your time to respond without raising suspicion wanes, and you grow more desperate by the second.

“Hi Simone,” Caleb finally whispers, pressing kisses to your ear in time with his languid strokes.

“H-hi Simone,” you repeat louder, a slight tremble in your voice.

“I just wanted to say thanks again for checking in. That guy, the one from earlier—he can be so mean sometimes,” Caleb murmurs, pouting his lips in ridicule. 

“I just wanted…wanted to say thanks again for checking in. The guy from earlier—hah—can be so mean sometimes,” you echo, breathless from the impact of Caleb’s hips rocking into yours.

“Can we reschedule our plans for next week? My big brother’s,” he emphasizes, mocking your earlier jab with two deep thrusts, “coming home, and he really misses me.” As he feeds you lines, the taunts in his words break through the softness of his whispers. 

As softly as you dare to, you whimper for him, hoping it’s enough for him to end his torture.

But as the phone screen goes black from inactivity, you see his smirking reflection looming over your humiliated one. The only way out is by appeasing him. 

“C-can we reschedule our plans for next week? My…my friend—” 

As soon as the word leaves your mouth, Caleb lifts off of you slightly, landing a harsh smack on your ass.

“Y/N? What was that noise? Are you alright?”

“Yes,” you all but moan as he bites your neck, reprimanding you further for breaking his script. 

“My friend is visiting next week, and he really misses me,” you finish, waiting with bated breath for her—and Caleb’s—reactions. 

“Oh…sure, Y/N. That’s fine with me. That’s a lot better than I was expecting, you sounded like you were in trouble for a second.” Caleb smirks against your ear. “Just let me know when you want to reschedule.”

“Sounds good,” you breathe as Caleb’s thrusts return to a faster pace. “I-I gotta go, I’ll see you later!” you rush, almost squealing as you end the call. 

For the nth time that night, you want to burst into tears. “I can’t believe you just did that,” you whine, your voice mixing with the renewed slaps of skin on skin. 

Chuckling, Caleb lifts off of you, his sudden absence from your cunt making you shudder. In an instant, he flips you over so you’re face-to-face before entering you again. 

“Technically, you just did that,” he smirks, his thrusts now lazy and sporadic. “I don’t remember pressing ‘call.’” His matter-of-fact tone is teasing, but you knew that if you hadn’t canceled on Simone, he’d have made good on his earlier threat. He always does. 

As you open your mouth to retort, Caleb’s face grows serious, and all your neurons responsible for making witty comebacks seem to atrophy at once. 

Caleb leans down, light bites on your throat punctuating his confession. “I can’t stop at wanting you not to run from me anymore. I want you to stay with me. To choose to, for as long as we live, for the next hundred years.” 

“But what if…” you trail off, but he understands what you’d been implying. 

At that, his eyes darken. Rutting into you with renewed fervor, he grasps your chin tightly, holding you captive in his gaze. “You’ll be around for however many years I’m alive and kicking,” he growls. And you believe him. 

Nerves alight, mind numb, and core throbbing from your impending climax, you nod as much as his iron grip allows you to. “I’ll stay,” you whisper, kissing his thumb near your lip. “Wanna stay—with you.” 

Letting out a strangled huff, Caleb surges forward, his lips meeting yours in a searing kiss. He bites your bottom lip as he presses down on your stomach once again, and you careen over the edge, feeling the hot spurts of his release intensify the flood inside your cunt. 

With a shuttering groan, Caleb collapses to your left, immediately closing the space between you with a hug. You stay like that for a while, your sore body curled into his arms as you face each other on the bed. 

“You okay?” he asks quietly, rubbing circles into your hip. “I know it was a bit much.”

“Forgive you,” you mumble into his chest. “Felt good.”

He chuckles, tapping your nose twice. “You shouldn’t forgive me so easily. Or else I’ll want to keep testing your limits.” 

When you fall asleep in his warm embrace, Caleb looks down at you intently, trying to brand the visual into any part of his commandeered mind that’d take it. Daring to disrupt the image, he gently untangles your bodies, lifting you before laying you back down on top of him. 

At peace for the first time that night, Caleb looks out the window, smiling to himself. The rain has stopped.