#and then had to check to make sure i was remembering right

[softsunnyy]

Quinn Hughes would be the happiest man alive if he could stay with his face buried in your pussy and this is a hill I will die on

-🐥

so… i did something 👉🏻👈🏻

this is also @ruinix fault !!

🚨 oral sex... and kinda a drugged subby Quinn, oops 🚨

poorly written, i literally finished this right before going to sleep, so i'll just post it and check in the morning. DON'T KILL ME.

Quinn is watching, trying to contain himself. He plays with his hands nervously, trying to hide the effect you have on him, but it gets harder and harder every second.

he´s sure it all started that morning, when you put on that perfume. The same one he smells on your neck every time you two fuck. Every time he's buried in your pussy and trying to hide his face, biting your skin, growling, even whimpering. It's an addictive scent, it drives him crazy, but today he particularly feels it more than ever. He's smelled it before you appear in every room.

his senses are more alert, his eyes glassy, his bulge aches, and he starts to sweat coldly. It's like you do it on purpose. As if you know the effect it has on him and decide to use it against him today, when all his friends and teammates are invited to the house. When he can't do anything about it, because all eyes and attention will be on him, so he can't take you to the bathroom and make you his.

it's stressful, and he's getting grumpier and grumpier. His eyes travel over your body, and he´s getting distracted in the middle of conversations now.

he sees how your clothes hug your figure. You look beautiful, as always, but this time his feelings are more intense. And his eyes travel to your legs, seeing how you squeeze them, how they move when you walk, how they expand when you sit. He sees how you move your head when you talk, and how your hands try to match the passion with which you converse.

he tries to see your chest, your ass, and feels like a pervert, but he can't help it, and some of his teammates have started to notice, teasing him, with huge smiles on their faces, not understanding the torture this is for him.

his cock aches, and he tries to hide it, to fix his pants, to adjust his posture, but nothing works, and he shifts uncomfortably, trying to ignore your existence, but failing. And he feels like he might cry and come when you approach his side, hugging his arm, resting your head on his shoulder, and waving at one of the boys. He smells you, he can't help it, and then he loses himself even more.

memories, images, his head filled with all the things he'd love to do to you, and you can feel his body almost shaking from how tense he is, causing you to smile. You know what you're doing, you know what you're causing, and you're completely entertained watching your boyfriend, normally so dominant with you, turn into a ball of arousal, a bundle of nerves who will do whatever you ask. And he doesn't even know the real reason behind it. He doesn't know what you did.

and when the meeting drags on a bit, he feels like he might start begging. He's capable of kneeling, screaming for you to please help him, to touch his cock, to even give him a kiss, because he knows that's all it takes for him to cum and stain his pants.

it's pathetic.

his cheeks are red, and he constantly runs his tongue over his lips, feeling his dry throat. He looks everywhere, lost, and tries to find you once more, because you've left him, and he feels like he can't stand it. You can't leave him, not even for a second. And when his eyes find you, he sighs in relief, feeling his underwear slightly wet, sticky. He knows he's on the edge, and he can't understand what's happening.

he tries to remember, to understand when it all started. When he woke up, he felt attracted to you, of course he did, but everything got even worse when this started, when his friends arrived and he tried to have a drink with them. You had handed him a glass of something; and that's all. From that moment on, he began to feel strange, heated, increasingly confused. And he tries to put the pieces together, to understand what you did to him, and normally that would have led to you being brutally punished, but now he feels helpless. He feels like he can't control you.

he can only beg.

and when his friends finally leave, there's silence, tense and charged. You turn your back on him, waiting for him to speak, to come closer, to whimper or cry. But you don't hear anything, and you're alarmed, so you're about to turn to face him. At that moment, Quinn takes your hand, hurriedly, without care, and leads you to the bedroom, trying not to stumble.

then, when you enter the room, he turns to look at you, cupping your face in both hands, pulling you close, kissing you.

and it's desperate, you feel it. It steals your breath and you try to put your hands on his arms, searching for support because your legs want to give up, like every time you feel his lips. He leaves a kiss, and another, and another. And you can hear him whimper, how he moans in pain for his cock, and how his body grows weaker and weaker, until he finally falls to his knees in front of you.

you have him.

and you look down on him, making him feel small, consumed, at your mercy for the first time. He stares at you with his bright, glassy eyes, completely attentive. He's stunned, and you can see the dark patch on his pants. You can literally do whatever you want. So you decide to give him a show.

he doesn't touch you, he doesn't dare, but he feels like he's going to come when you start to take off your shirt, followed by your bra. You let him see your tits, and for a moment he's about to drool, watching them bounce, how the air makes your nipples harden rapidly. He wants to kiss, suck. He wants to put his face on your chest and leave the marks of his fingers, his teeth. Anything.

he wants to come on your skin, watch his cum run thickly between your tits. Or over your nipples. And every thought makes him want to move, but something stops him. Your gaze.

your eyes are intimidating, full of leadership, of power, and he won't do anything unless you ask him to, even though he feels like he's about to die from not being able to touch you.

"what do you wanna do, Quinn?" you ask him, and he wants to whine when he hears his name. “I need you to tell me what you want.”

he swallows, trying not to look at your tits so he can look at your face. He tries to formulate words, to say something coherent, but it takes him a couple of seconds to think of anything.

“please…” he mumbles.

“what?” you ask, leaning in slightly, your tits closer to him.

“please, just let me touch you... please.” you can see he’s desperate, his cheeks flushed, and then you nod.

“fine,” you said, and before his eyes, you took off your pants, slowly, missing the way his eyes wandered to your legs, to the bite marks adorning your thighs, or to the bruises on your knees from every time you’d been in his position. Then you took off your panties, and he could see the dark stain of your arousal, letting him know he wasn’t the only one who felt this way.

then you moved to the bed, sitting on the edge, watching as he moved closer, quickly, scraping his skin, making his knees turn red. When he was in front of you, you opened your legs, showing him your glistening, wet, hot pussy. He can smell your arousal and you nod, giving him the green light.

Quinn doesn't hesitate. His hands spread your legs even wider, and his face buries in your pussy, devouring you. His tongue runs between your folds, and you can hear him swallowing your juices, instantly becoming drunk on your fluids.

he's always loved eating you out, but now? now he feels like he's on another level. In heaven.

he plays with your clit, sucking, licking, listening to you whimper as one of your hands tangles in his hair, trying to pull him even closer. And he complies, taking over your pussy, which welcomes him, dripping wet.

your hole throbs, your clit swells, and he doesn't stop moving, making out with your lips, making sure your moans are loud and clear. Unconsciously, he moves his pelvis and rubs himself against the floor and the edge of the bed, stimulating his cock, sending shocks of pleasure through him that make him moan, grunt, and become even wilder and more primal. He wants to cum, he wants to make you cum.

he doesn't even need to get inside of you; he just wants to eat you out, even if his tongue goes numb, his jaw cramps, and his knees break. Nothing matters to him, just you and your sweet, addictive pussy, which has him in the clouds.

and you try to go along with the plan, conscious, but it's so hard, and all you can do is throw your head back, moaning his name like a broken record, feeling his tongue everywhere, doing what he knows you like.

even though the idea was to torture him, you can't deny how much it turned you on to see him so desperate, and for hours, you waited for this moment, making your pussy more than ready for him, for anything.

Quinn is good at what he does, he knows it, and he knows he doesn't even need to use his fingers, thrusting his tongue into your hole, being welcomed by your tight walls, which throbbed around him, acknowledging him, welcoming him home. And he lingered, drugged by the sensations, his mind completely clouded.

all he can think about is devouring you, making you cum again and again so he can keep feeling your taste, your juices. And you know it, you know he can go on for hours, and the thought alone excites you.

soon, a knot begins to form in your belly, and you know what's coming, but you don't warn him, because you know he knows. And when he notices, he begins to rub himself harder, widening the stain on his pants, feeling his cock throb, furious, red, marked by his veins and with his swollen tip, his balls eager to release his cum.

it's when he feels you cumming that he allows himself to do it. But he doesn't let you rest; he keeps moving, keeps swallowing, feeling drop after drop of your cum run down his chin, wetting his neck and soon his chest. His pants are soaked, completely sticky, with thick white strips wasted, but his cock is just as hard as it was at the beginning.

and you moan, trying to beg him to slow down, to give you a few seconds, but he's physically incapable of doing that. He feels drunk, he needs to keep drinking from you, and nothing's going to get him out of your pussy, not when he's stronger and desperate.

you gave him access to the only thing he needs, and he doesn't even care if he has to ruin his pants now just to stay there. He's willing to do whatever it takes.

he loves your pussy.

so, for now, get ready; he won't stop until he's gotten a good number of orgasms out of you.

whatever you gave him, it worked.

[em1i2a3]

Cradle

Pairing: Beefy!Bucky Barnes x Mom(Post-Partum)!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Starts off on a bit of a scary note, Fluff, lot’s of it, reader went through a C-Section, and there is a reference to that, there is accidental swearing, and once again Bucky is just a super soft sweet boi being his sweet boi self…But all in all, very fluffy, very cute, just pure vibes.

Authors Note: This is connected to ‘Forwards Beckon Rebound,’ it’s a little bit of a continuation of sorts but it’s more of a blurb, there’s not a lot connected, this could be read as a standalone too though, I think. Also, Adrianne Lenker has really been a mood for me lately, and thank god she has so many beautiful songs because this one was so frickin fitting.

Word Count: 3,443

Taglist: @sleepysongbirdsings (y’all I’m so mentally old I’m slowly getting used to what to do for these posts lol, so if anyone wants to be part of my Taglist I mean…Give me a shout :))

The last thing you remembered before going under was Bucky’s voice. His large hands framing your face, his thumbs running along the bags under your eyes.

”I promise I’ll be here when you wake up…” His voice was cracking, fear breaking through his words. He was terrified, you could see it in the way his dark blue irises scanned over your face, taking every detail in as if this could be the last time he saw you. Everything happened so quickly that neither of you had time to process anything. One moment you were in the hospital bed getting checked, the next they were preparing you for an emergency C-Section. You were panicking, scared for the baby, scared for yourself even.

You reached up and squeezed his fingers tight–a desperate goodbye you didn’t want to be saying–nodding through the tears that streamed down your face, then the cool oxygen mask slid over your mouth and nose, and you were taken under a sea of black.

————-

Coming back to consciousness felt like being dragged through wet cement. Your limbs were heavy and numb, as if they were being pinned down by invisible weights. Your throat was burning and your mouth was dry, you assumed it was probably from the tube they had put down your throat during the surgery to make sure your breathing was controlled, you heard them mention it in the chaos of them preparing you for the C-Section…At least you thought you did.

Thankfully there was no immediate pain, just a deep, tight ache that buzzed in your lower abdomen reminding you of what just occurred two and a half hours ago.

You felt like you were floating, half-aware, but half-asleep, until the sound of voices pulled you closer to the surface.

“You’re doing perfect hun,” A soft, coaxing voice said, you assumed it was a nurse. Her tone was patient, and warm, almost motherly even.

”I’m…I just haven’t done this before…I don’t think I’m doing this right.” Another voice cracked out, low and thick with nerves. It was Bucky. Your Bucky…Your rock...You could feel your chest twist at the sound of him so worried, but there was such relief when you heard that voice.

“You’ve been doing great. She’s calm, she’s breathing steady. Been asleep for the past hour after that big feed. You’re keeping her warm and giving her something steady to nap on, I’d say you’re a pro.” You could feel your body immediately tense at the word she. A baby girl. You had fought to keep the gender a secret from yourself, and now knowing gave you some sort of second wind in a way, a push to try and keep yourself over the edge so you could stay at least semi-conscious.

There was a soft rustle of fabric, a faint creak of a chair, and the sound of shifting. You forced your eyes open, just the tiniest bit, fighting against the weight that was trying to pull them closed again.

The first thing you saw was him.

Bucky was sitting stiffly in the reclining hospital chair, his broad shoulders hunched slightly forward, like he was attempting to curl himself around the tiny bundle in his arms, trying to make himself seem small in a way, which was nearly impossible given the sheer size of him. His hair was pulled back in a bun, and he was shirtless, with a soft pink blanket covering a portion of his chest and midsection, containing as much warmth as possible. His vibranium hand hovered awkwardly over the fabric, resting there for support, but not fully touching, letting his other arm do all the heavy lifting. You could see the way it was wrapped around her, his enormous hand cupping nearly her whole back with the most delicate kind of softness.

Your vision was still swimming, but you could make out the faint shape of a tiny hand–impossibly small–splayed out over the center of Bucky’s broad chest. Her little fingers twitched now and then, though there were no shifts or squeals, not yet at least.

The entire sight was almost too much to take in.

You could see how tense Bucky was even from across the room, his jaw tight, his brows drawn together. It was easy to tell he was nervous and worried that he might accidentally do something wrong, and every muscle in his body showed that through the way they locked and tensed into place so that he could hold himself perfectly still.

”I-I definitely don’t feel like a pro,” Bucky muttered, “I’m scared I’m gonna hold her too tight…She’s so small.” The nurse chuckled softly, adjusting the blanket a bit higher over the baby’s back with a practiced hand, moving carefully, and reading the tension that was running all over his face. She was treating him with the same tenderness she might offer a brand-new parent, even though she knew the situation.

“She’s not little. Nine pounds, two ounces is a chunky little peanut.” The nurse teased gently, patting Bucky’s vibranium arm reassuringly, “You’re just a big ol’ mountain of a man, and you make everything look tiny.” Bucky gave a small, uncertain laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes, even though it did ease him a bit. He continued to cradle the bundle against him, dragging his thumb along her warm skin, a small smile coming up on his lips as he looked down at a carbon copy of you, just in tinier form.

His head dipped slightly, his nose brushing against the crown of the baby’s fuzzy head, breathing in without even realizing he was doing it. His eyes fluttered closed, and for a second he looked younger and softer than you’d ever seen him before.

“Is it weird if I say she smells like spun sugar…Like Coney Island cotton candy…That real sweet, sticky kind of smell.” Bucky asked quietly, his voice rough with nerves and awe as he cradled the bundle tighter to him. The nurse let out a soft, affectionate laugh.

”Not weird at all,” She soothed, “Every baby’s got their own smell, it’s kind of like a new car smell…But for tiny humans, and you’re certainly not the first tough guy to melt over it, either.” You could see Bucky’s cheeks turn a faint red through the blurriness in your vision. You swallowed against the dry scrape in your throat, heart aching as you opened your mouth to form a word.

”Bucky…” It was barely a sound, just a breath in the air, but he had heard it. His head immediately snapped up, his wide blue eyes locking onto you from across the room, a wave of relief washing over him. His mouth parted, but no sound came out, and he looked wrecked. It was like he had heard the most important voice of his life. The nurse nudged him slightly.

“C’mon, big guy, let’s bring her to mama hm?” Bucky blinked up at her like he’d forgotten he could move, like the only thing that was keeping him focused was you and the tiny heartbeat that was pressed against his chest. Slowly, he shifted to his feet, the nurse helping guide him as he adjusted his hold on the baby with exaggerated care. You could see the way he kept his vibranium arm hovering uselessly by his side as he stepped towards you, and you could feel tears filling your eyes at the gentleness of it all.

You tried to lift your arms, desperate to reach for the both of them, but they barely twitched against the sheets. A helpless whimper tore itself from your throat.

”My arms are still numb.” You croaked, feeling the tingling heaviness that plagued your nerves. Immediately the nurse was beside you, smoothing a hand over your shoulder.

”That’s alright sweetheart, we can still get her tucked up against you, Bucky over here can climb in beside you and secure her on your chest for extra safety.” Bucky stood frozen for a second, looking down at the tiny bundle, then at you.

“I would like that.” You replied quickly. The nurse smiled at your response and held her hands out to Bucky motioning for him to hand over the bundle so he could slip onto the mattress, and fill the space beside you. The hand off was gentle, and you could see the look on his face when the soft warmth of the baby’s skin left him, like he was holding onto the fleeting moment. He kicked his shoes off and brought down the railing beside you, carefully sliding underneath the covers, the mattress shifting beneath the new weight he introduced to it. You knew it would be a tight fit, but you wanted him there with you, and no matter the close proximity, you just craved his steady presence, and he gave you that with no questions.

He slid his vibranium arm around your shoulders, curling it carefully around you, bringing you closer to him with such a protective instinct that you could feel your heart beating out of your chest, leaning into him, absorbing the warmth that radiated off his skin.

”Alright, now you’re gonna help me a little bit and just untie the top of her gown so we can get the little one tucked in.” Bucky nodded once, like he was taking orders on a mission. He reached up to the shoulders of your gown, and you could see the hesitation in his eyes, before gently pulling on the ties, loosening them slowly just enough to reveal the top of your chest. The cool air ghosted across your skin for just a fraction of a second, then the nurse carefully placed the tiny, perfect weight of your daughter onto your body.

The moment her skin touched yours, it was as if the whole world cracked open. The heat of her, the fragile rise and fall of her chest against yours, the indescribable softness of her cheek pressing into the curve of your breastbone, the way she nuzzled her little nose into you with her fists curling up tight against your body–it was overwhelming, but worth every second. You could feel the coolness of Bucky’s vibranium hand run over your bicep, soothing you the only way he could in those moments as he looked down at you, watching tears flowing down your cheeks. You were so relieved everything was okay, and now that your eyes were on her, the instinct of wanting to be closer pulled at every fiber of your being. Bucky brought his arm over her back so he could hold her closer against your chest, keeping her nuzzled on your skin so you could take in every moment, even though you couldn’t cradle her on your own yet.

“That’s perfect sweetheart,” The nurse said quietly, tucking the soft pink blanket loosely around all three of you, securing the warmth once more without actively separating everyone, “I’m going to step out and give you all some privacy, if you need anything the call button’s right on the bed rail.” The both of you nodded, but you weren’t even sure you heard her properly because you were so enamoured by the little bundle that was frowning against you.

The door clicked softly behind the nurse as she stepped out of the room, leaving the three of you wrapped in a bubble of silence. Neither of you moved at first. There was too much floating in the air around you–gratitude, wonder, a love so thick it was hard to breathe through. The only sound that could truly be heard was the tiny, steady coos of the newborn sleeping against your chest.

Slowly, Bucky shifted closer to you, and without a word he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead. It was feather-light, the kind of kiss that would’ve broken you in any other situation apart from this. When he pulled back, his lips ghosted another peck against your hairline.

”You are…Incredible.” He whispered, his voice trembling with the weight of everything he was holding in, “The strongest person I’ve ever met.” He added, another kiss landing right on your temple.

“I’m so proud of you Y/N…” You closed your eyes at his words, a fresh wave of tears burning behind the lids, as you leaned down to press your cheek against the tiny crown of soft fuzz that was your daughter’s head, breathing in to calm your heart from seizing up from the overwhelming sensation of love that coated it. You let the scent of her settle in your lungs, and it hit you that it was exactly how Bucky described it. Sweet and warm, soft and sticky like spun sugar on a summer day. You let out a little, tearful laugh against her head.

”You really are right…She does smell like cotton candy,” Bucky let out a low, broken chuckle, tightening his arm around you, his hand stilling against your bicep, shifting so he could get even closer to you.

“I thought I was hallucinating, so I’m glad you confirmed that. I assumed the nurse was just trying to ease my worries when she said it was normal.” You let out a quiet giggle, looking up at him.

”I think it was for the best. You looked so nervous…Like a gentle giant.” He blushed at the way you said it, realizing that you had been watching and listening to his interaction with the nurse for longer than he thought.

“Yeah well…I was scared,” Bucky replied sheepishly, his eyes flickering from you, down to the tiny sleeping bundle against your chest, “She’s a carbon copy of you…I didn’t want to accidentally do something wrong.” You smiled through the burning in your throat, bringing yourself even closer to him, nuzzling into the steady shelter of his body.

”You did amazing, Bucky…” You whispered. He let out a shaky exhale, as if he’d been holding his breath for hours, his forehead tipping down to bump yours. You know how much he needed to hear that, and how much it soothed the nerves that were ripping him apart from the inside. The baby cooed gently, shifting a bit against you, her tiny fist moving along your chest, like she was trying to get closer.

The both of you watched her, your chests moving in sync, taking in deep breaths, and after a while, he broke the silence.

”So…” He said softly, his thumb stroking absently along your forearm, “Have you thought about what you’re going to name her?” You could feel a smile tugging up on your lips at the question.

”I have,” You responded gently, shifting slightly so you could see his face better. He pulled back a little as well, giving you his full, undivided attention, his eyes focused on yours, scanning over your face in anticipation.

”I’ve actually known for months,” You admitted, watching as Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed. You usually told him everything, but this was a secret you kept safe until today, not wanting to be too reliant on getting a specific gender, because truly it didn’t matter, all you wanted was a healthy baby. He tried to hold himself back from looking too desperate for your answer, but you saw through it.

“I want her to have the name of the person who raised my second favourite human being in the world,” You said quietly, your voice trembling with such tenderness it almost felt like you were shaking against him. You could see the cogs turning in his head, his brows pulling together even tighter like he was trying to figure out what you meant by that. You loved seeing the confusion in his eyes in that moment, and it made you smile through the tears that began to build up in your eyes.

”Winnifred,” You whispered, “I’m naming her Winnifred.” You could feel the air get sucked out of the room, watching Bucky’s jaw go slack, blinking hard, once, then twice, like he didn’t trust himself to believe what he just heard. His throat bobbed in a rough swallow, as he took in a small breath.

”My ma…” He rasped, his voice breaking into pieces, his eyes glistening over with unshed tears as he stared at you like he was witnessing a miracle “You…You’re naming her after my ma?” You nodded, smiling through your own tears. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, like he was trying to ground himself, his forehead lowering until it rested lightly against yours, his breath shuddering out over your cheeks.

“You deserve everything good in this world, Bucky…And she would be so proud of you…I want to honour that.” You could feel him shake slightly, as he sniffled, pulling back to look at you again. The sheer sight of him wrecked you, his blue eyes swimming with tears that clung thickly to his lashes. You wished in those moments you could reach up to hold his face between your hands, but they were still tingling.

”You’re…You’re my sun, Y/N…” He whispered, his vibranium hand slipping from your bicep to cradle the side of your face with aching tenderness, “You’re the center of everything for me…I choose to be in your orbit every second of every day…And I don’t want to do anything else.” You could feel yourself choke up a little bit, as Bucky carefully leaned forward, kissing your cheeks gently, soft and slow, like he was memorizing you.

“Because I love you…So fucking much.” His breath ran over your skin as he said the words so lightly you could barely hear them over your pulse pounding in your ears. His confession hung between the both of you, filling the space and sinking into your body like sunlight after a long, brutal winter. You closed your eyes at his thumb dragging along your cheek, your breath trembling as you pushed yourself to speak.

”I love you too, Bucky…I always have.” There was a moment of silence, and you opened your eyes to look at him, seeing a small smile on his lips. It was such a relief to finally say it aloud, and it was the perfect moment to do it. He breathed you in for a fraction of a second, then without words he shifted. His hand slid from your cheek to the side of your neck, his fingers splaying out to anchor himself there. You tilted your chin, nudging your nose against his, then finally…His lips touched yours.

It was barely a kiss at first, it actually mirrored the way you had brushed the corner of his mouth with yours the night he had felt the baby kick for the first time, but only this was more like he was offering himself to you. Surrendering.

You let out a small exhale through your nose, and Bucky answered with a breath of his own, pressing a little closer, kissing you now with just the slightest bit of pressure. The softness of his lips captured yours in such an aching, and burning way…Because it was him kissing you with a kind of worship so raw and stripped down that it made your chest swell.

You kissed him back with everything you had, and with as much care as he gave you, trembling against each other with the weight of it all–the baby sleeping on your skin, the love that tied you together, the history, the hope, and the future.

When you finally broke apart, it was by small fractions, neither of you really willing to let go–your noses brushing, your breath still tangling together in the space between you.

“I’m all yours…” He whispered, letting the words fold into the fragile air, like a promise. Like a prayer. You closed your eyes for a second, breathing every inch of him in–his warmth, his steadiness, and his devotion.

“Forever and always, Bucky…Till the end of time.”

[piplup335]

Mafioso x reader! (platonic)

*ahem* HELLO, F E L L A S so uh my sch started ;-; meaning I may or may not be active bc of school but I'll try to write as much as possible since I still need to feed you guys :,D also bc i like writing lol- ANYWAYYYY I'm gonna use both dream game and forsaken tags, there don't seem to be any frozen soul tags as of making this post (as far as I can see, I didn't check ;-;) and I'm using their mafioso in forsaken's context, sorry! if the developers of any game said anything about this please do lmk and I'll change it :,) also pls gimme feedback, this is my first time writing for this dude and I may have messed up in some parts, particularly since it was a pain in the ass to find lore for this dude- I cooked this up for my friend but I also need to feed you guys so uhhh enjoy! :D

… *cries*

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You didn't know how it happened. And you sure as hell didn't want to know.

Were you all in debt in one way or another? Did that gambler...whatever his name was...aggravate the mafia? By taking out one loan too many?

You had just been tossed into that forsaken realm, flying out of the sky and landing right in front of that old, run-down cabin.

When the inhabitants of the cabin...survivors, they called themselves...opened the door, they dragged you in and immediately started blasting you with information as though they had no time to spare. You could only look around, hurriedly registering faces and voices as everyone's incessant chatter filled your ears, eventually fading into nothing but an incoherent buzz.

A young man in a pizza delivery uniform. A middle-aged guy with a soldier's outfit. A guy wearing...a burger on his head? Wait, was that an actual head on top of the burger? Was it alive?

Before you could open your mouth to ask anything, your vision faded to black.

You could hear the faint sound of a radio starting up and a stern voice.

"I see one of them."

It sounded hostile. Strict. Whoever was speaking was clearly dedicated to his job and determined to hunt down "them", whatever people that referred to.

...and just like that, you woke up in an unfamiliar place.

No elaboration, no nothing. Just the radio, the voice, and you were back to normal in who knows where.

After walking around aimlessly for a bit, though, you realised that the place was more familiar than you thought. The hotdog stand, the fountain, even the Drakobloxxer exhibit...it all seemed too familiar. The name of the place was on the tip of your tongue...but you just couldn't reach it.

Then again, some things changed too. You didn't remember this carnival being that old and run-down. The last time you were there, you saw children running around, playing tag with each other while other families would queue up to buy hotdogs from the various stands...

Now all you heard was silence, save for your quiet breaths and the occasional sound of footsteps against the concrete floor.

A few more steps here and there. A Ferris wheel. An ice cream truck. More and more memories resurfaced, from the time you went on the Ferris wheel with your parents to the times you'd constantly beg and plead with them to buy you ice cream. Everything felt nostalgic.

You still couldn't remember the name of the carnival, but you did know that it was rather cool.

You jumped as you heard something whizz past you. It hit the wall with a soft squeak and fell to the floor.

"What the...?"

You ran towards whatever that was and picked it up. It was a small bunny.

"...nooo, who threw you? Are you okay?"

The bunny seemed to be perfectly fine. In fact, it seemed to be happy, almost as if it liked being thrown as fast as a speeding bullet.

The fluffy little critter sniffed your hand, giving it playful nibbles like it was trying to get used to you. When it finally registered that you weren't a threat, it started to try climbing your arm. 

"Hey...no, that's dangerous!"

You placed your hand out in front of the bunny, satisfied as it scuttled into your palm. Bunny in hand, you held the little fella in front of you. It glanced at you with those beady black eyes, those eyes filled with innocence and curiosity...

You couldn't help it. You needed to pat the bunny. 

With your free hand, you started gently scratching the bunny behind the ears, trying to gauge its reaction. The bunny let out a happy squeak. Instead of trying to bite you, it was relatively docile, sitting in your palm and letting itself get scritches.

"Aww, you're such a cutieeeee..."

You kept petting the bunny. Its soft, snow-white fur felt like heaven to touch. No matter how much you petted it, it didn't seem to mind. In fact, it seemed to like all the attention you lavished on it.

You were so preoccupied with petting the creature, you didn't notice the presence of someone behind you.

"Having fun now, eh?"

You turned your head to look at the individual behind you.

For starters, this man was tall. Really tall. He donned a black suit with matching trousers, and his tie was neatly adjusted as if he was going for some formal occasion. His fedora cast a shadow over his eyes, but everything else didn't matter to you. He looked...familiar.

"I don't recognise you from our list." He stated bluntly.

You gave him a blank stare. List? What list? You got thrown into some cursed realm less than an hour ago, and now you had some weird list to worry about?

Noticing your blank stare, the man shook his head.

"...never mind."

Meanwhile, you were still trying to figure out what his name was. You didn't catch many names in the wooden cabin. You knew Elliot as he was the only one with a relatively normal name, Dusekkar because of his pumpkin head and...uh...yeah, no. You only remembered those two. Regardless, with that fedora and suit, you were almost positive that he was one of the survivors, but just to be sure...

"...are you one of the survivors?" You quipped. 

The man took notice of your completely clueless expression. He put two and two together...and knew that you had no idea who he was. He did find you interesting, and the bunny squeaking in your hands only softened his heart. He wouldn't want to kill you, lest his bunny become upset. So, he played along with it.

"Affirmative. I go by Mafioso. Do not let the name deceive you, I do not cause harm."

You nodded in understanding. Mafioso looked down at the bunny in your hands, and his stoic expression cracked into a smile.

"I believe it likes you. That bunny is mine, by the way."

You glanced up at Mafioso with horror on your face.

"You threw that poor thing at a wall-? Why?"

Mafioso laughed- a deep, hearty chuckle. The sound of it was comforting, to say the least.

"Relax...it's okay. It likes being launched at walls and always makes these happy little noises. Am I right?"

Mafioso gave the bunny a few head scritches, and it squeaked happily.

"Told ya."

You watched in disbelief as Mafioso picked up the bunny, the small animal not resisting or showing any signs of pain. It liked him, and he liked it back. Mafioso smiled at the bunny, watching it scurry around on his palm.

He set it down on the ground, watching with a small smile as it explored the area with little hops and jumps.

"Adorable, isn't it?"

Mafioso flashed you a charming grin. You smiled back, now a lot more comfortable around this once-unfamiliar stranger.

"Yeah. This is...nice..."

A loud gunshot rang through the area. Another male stood at a distance away from you, with a black tuxedo set. He had an old gun in hand, and he donned some cool black shades and a pair of headphones- wait.

There was only one person with a tuxedo in the cabin as far as you recalled. Then who was the other person? Or rather, was Mafioso not a survivor this entire time?

"Oi, new guy! Run! Mafioso's the killer- are you trying to die?!"

Oh. That was your answer.

Mafioso's smile was wiped clean off his face. He tenderly picked up the bunny and dropped it into your hands, the ball of fluff staring up at you with curiosity in its small eyes.

"Take care of the little fella, will ya? And cover your ears. Do try to cover my bunny's ears too, princess."

Princess? Did he seriously call you that?

You didn't have time to question further as Mafioso chased after the unknown person, and all you could hear as he ran off was a single phrase. Not directed towards you, but your fellow survivor.

"I love knocking out teeth."

You gently covered the bunny's little ears, stroking its soft fur as pained screams rang out through the carnival grounds.

Looks like you've managed to make an unexpected new friend.

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╚══════⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ ══════╝

and that's it! I hope you enjoyed, and I'll see you all soon! ...at least, I hope I can get back to writing...

[reesereadsalot]

𝐹𝒶𝒸𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒜𝓇𝑒𝓃𝒶

previous chapter - next chapter

Pairings: Finnick x pregnant!reader Johanna x reader (platonic)

Warnings: check series masterlist

Desc: Your 7 months pregnant with Finnicks baby. When your the happiest you were in your life, your whole world comes crashing down. You were reaped for the 3rd Quarter Quell.

Credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

｡𖦹°‧masterlist

a/n: probably the longest chapter I have written. The time period goes by fast because r is delirious. I proofread 500 times.

You sit in the rocking chair in the small room with all white walls. A rocking chair sits in the corner of the room. In the middle, lays a bed that you’re frequently tied down too so you don’t cover your ears when Peeta or Johanna are screaming. That’s your form of torture. Slowly going crazy. A water station sits on the wall right next to the locked metal door. You get infinite water but low amounts of food. You’re not sure if you have lost weight or not. No mirrors are in the room. You have lost track of the days. Has is been 2 days or 2 weeks. Or maybe 2 months? No. Your child would be born.

They frequently do ultrasounds to make sure your baby is okay. They want to use your child as propaganda against Finnick and citizens of 13. You don’t know much about District 13. All you know is that they’re leading the rebellion and Katniss is the Mockingjay. You were right. Finnick was apart of some big plan to escape the arena.

Finnick. Your darling Finnick. Even when going insane you remember his handsome face and his sea green eyes that just understood you. When you are tied to the bed you often escape to your world of memories. Good memories. Like when you told Finnick you were pregnant. He looked at you like you gave him the sun and the moon. You smile at the memory.

As you sit in the chair, you rock back and forth.

Back.

And forth.

Back.

And forth.

You think about your last words to Finnick. You mouthed “Give us a moment”. It wasn’t meant to sound rude. You at least think so. You don’t remember that well since you try not to think about it. You wish you had said goodbye or kissed him on last time. You assume it has been 2-4 weeks by how much your belly has grown. They won’t tell you when you’re due. They just bring you food, do your ultrasound then tell you something bad about Finnick. You stopped listening to what they said about Finnick a while ago. You don’t believe it. Any of it.

Someone you have come to recognize enters the room. You escape from your world and look up at her. “The doctor” is what you call her. You don’t know her name.

“Come here. We need to get you ready.” She says grabbing your wrist.

“What for?” You ask confused.

“For your interview with Caesar. If you do what we tell you, you can talk to Peeta.” She tells you. You know he has already done one interview but I guess he’s not enough.

When you get to the interview room they’re putting makeup on Peeta. You glance at him. He’s lost so much weight. He is covered in bruises and cuts. You gasp at the sight of him and he looks at you. He doesn’t offer you a smile. He just stares. Your stylist team from your games is getting you ready. They look at you with sympathy but don’t say anything as many peacekeepers are in there. Caesar sits in a white chair in the middle of the back wall in front of a white background. His stylists are doing final touch ups.

“Y/N is first.” Says one person. You don’t remember there name.

One of your stylists, Francesca, guides you to a seat across from Caesar. He offers you a smile which you don’t return. The doctor comes up and whispers instructions of what to say in your ear.

“Ready. Action!” The camera man says.

“Hello everyone. Today I have Y/N to deliver a special message for the rebels. But first, how is your baby Y/N?” Caesar stares at you expectantly. Is Finnick going to be watching this? You blink.

“My baby is doing great Caesar but we have more important issues to discuss. We have received..uhm…more reports of attacks on the districts. Performed by the rebels.” You swallow.

“Katniss, Finnick, District 13, you don’t want a war. War is dangerous for both sides. We risk being eliminated as a species entirely. Do you want that?”. You ask. Tears threaten to spill over. Finnick probably hates you for turning on the rebels.

“How do you feel now that you know Finnick is attacked all of these innocent people?” Caesar asks and you flush with rage.

“He is obviously delirious, Caesar. He has gone through the games. I mean you have seen the morphlings, Haymitch, Chaff.” You say taking a deep breath “Caesar I truly believe that District 13 is brainwashing them.”. That was a lie. You were lying. You hear something.

“They’re planning to bomb district 13.” One person murmurs.

“Can I talk to Peeta now?” You ask expectantly.

“Cut.” The camera man says.

“Go ahead.” The doctor says gesturing to Peeta who sits, back straight against a wooden chair..

You walk up to Peeta who’s eyes are blank. You grab onto his hand and you pull him into a hug. You whisper into his ear.

“Peeta, listen to me very closely. They are planning to bomb District 13. You have to warn them. Katniss is in danger.” You whisper ever so lightly and hope that he heard. When you pull him out of the hug he nods at you.

His interview did not go as planned. Well, according to the capitol. Yes, he did warn District 13 but they also played something. Katniss was singing and walking in the ruins of District 12. She sounded amazing. Peeta looked like he was having a war with himself whether to say it or not. He does say it and gets brutally beaten in front of you. You sob hysterically before they stab you with a syringe and you wake up chained to the bed. Forced to hear the brutal screams of Peeta Mellark. That poor boy.

You’re rocking in your rocking chair when you feel something gush down your pants. Did you pee your pants. You check. No. Your water just broke. You scream for the doctor and she comes running. She calls more people in who chain you down and put you to sleep and when you wake you feel the worst pain you have ever felt.

“You are going to have to push.” The doctor says. She’s sitting near your propped up legs.

“What?” You say still confused as you just woke up. You scream. This pain is like no other.

“Push.” The doctor says again and you do. You feel searing pain and you’re screaming.

You continue to push. You want this baby out now. This is your lifeline. The one thing keeping you sane and alive in this white room. The doctor doesn’t say anything except the occasional push.

“One more.” She says face blank.

You push the hardest you ever have before and blink. Your baby is out. You hear a shrieking cry coming from where the doctor sits. She gets up and cuts the umbilical cord. She starts to leave the room.

“Where are you going? My baby! My baby!” You scream and thrash as she exits then a nurse injects you with another syringe.

When you wake up, you’re sore. You look around the room and see a small crib with the thinnest mattress. On the mattress lays a baby. You’re baby. You stand up and groan. Your legs hurt and you look down. You’re wearing an adult diaper. Weird. You slowly walk to the crib and then you see your baby. The first thing you do is open the diaper to see the gender.

“A boy!” You laugh picking him up. He cries from being woken up so abruptly. “Aww no. Shh. Shh. It’s okay, baby.” You say to him as you rock him back and forth in your arms. Even if you’re trapped you feel the happiest you have ever been.

You rock him back and forth in your rocking chair. You are breastfeeding him. You knew you would have to and you thought it would feel strange. It doesn’t. It feels—oddly—natural. You put your finger in his mouth to make sure he’s suctioning good. You figured out the perfect name for your baby. Ronan.

“Ronan.” You say testing the name on your tongue “do you like that name, Ronan.” You coo.

He just suckles on your breast some more. Taking care of Ronan is fairly easy. He doesn’t cry to much at night but when he does you just sing him the only lullaby you know.

Hush little baby don’t say a word,

Mama’s going to buy you a mockingbird.

And if that mockingbird don’t sing,

Mama’s going to buy you a diamond ring.

You would sing as he fell asleep in your arms. You would continue.

And if that diamond ring turns to brass,

Mama’s gonna buy you a looking glass.

And if that looking glass gets broke,

Mama’s gonna buy you a billy goat.

He would be asleep by now but you would continue anyway.

And if that billy goat gets cross,

Mama’s gonna buy you a rocking horse.

And if that rocking horse turns over,

Mama’s gonna buy you a dog named Rover.

You would oddly start to fall asleep too.

And if that dog named Rover won’t bark,

Mama’s gonna buy you a horse and cart.

And if that horse and cart fall down,

you’ll still be the sweetest little baby in town.

After you’d finish, you would place him down in his crib and go to bed. Being exhausted. You rarely got tortured after having Ronan. Only occasionally, when they would take Ronan away to an unknown place and the screams would start again. At night, after the screaming had stopped, you sing your lullaby extra loud for Johanna and Peeta to hear.

You hear ruckus outside of your room. Then the hissing sound of something. You quickly grab Ronan and pull him close. That’s when the gas starts to creep in your room.

“Please!” You scream “There’s a baby in here please don’t poison us!” You say as someone barges in and scoops you up in a baby hold. Just how you hold Ronan. You start to fall asleep presumably from the gas. Are you being rescued or are you dying? “Please. Don’t kill me.” You say as you drift off.

“We’re here to save you.” A voice says before you fall asleep.

You wake up in a different room. You sit up and look across from you. In another bed lays Johanna. Oh, Johanna. You haven’t seen her in so long. Wait how long? Her head is shaved and she is as skinny as a twig. She has bruises and cuts everywhere. You look to your side to see Peeta. Weak as ever. He’s lost so much weight and looks as weak as Johanna. Where is Ronan?

You stand up and walk to where you hear voices. You’re in a patient gown now. In the capitol you were dressed in sweats and an oversized T-shirt. The door is cracked open. If this was past you, you would walk away, to embarrassed to barge in on something. But this is now you, the you who was tortured and starved. You only live once. You open the door and see seven men dressed in black outfits. One you recognize as Katniss’ cousin. Gale.

“Where is my baby?” You ask all of them. “And don’t lie to me.” You say glaring daggers.

“Uh..uh—your baby? Plutarch?” You look over to see the head game maker.

“What the hell? Is this some kind of sick joke the capitol is playing on me to torture me?” You ask getting angrier but your voice doesn’t rise. “Where is my baby?” You ask again.

“This isn’t a joke. We rescued you. Your baby is safe. Here, I will bring him to you.” Plutarch says with a straight face “Hey can you go to room 234 and get the baby?” Plutarch asks a soldier. “We’re apart of District 13 Y/N”.

“District 13?” You try to recall where you remember that from. Oh. The leader of the rebellion where Finnick stays now. “Finnick? Will I get to see Finnick?” You ask.

“Yes. We are on our way there now.” Plutarch says as the soldier comes in and give you Ronan.

“Ronan, you get to meet daddy.” You say to him touching his face. Even though he’s your child you never focused on his features. He has sea green eyes just like Finnick but your face shape. Tears form in your eyes. You look up at the soldiers. “Thank you. For saving us.” You say and they just nod.

Nurses had put needles in you. Bags that had white and yellow liquids were attached to you. You wanted to take them off but you were scared of what they would do to you. You don’t know if they punish people here. They gave you a special bra that you can clip on and off to breast feed Ronan. You were feeding him and rocking him back and forth in your arms.

“We’re here. In District 13.” Plutarch says abruptly, making you jump. He popped up out of nowhere.

“Okay.” You say looking back at Ronan then clipping your bra back on. You pull the hospital gown over your breast.

You try to get out of the bed but nurses stop you. They wheel you out of the room. The aircraft doors are already open. You didn’t know what to expect about District 13 but you didn’t expect this. They wheel you through two sliding doors. You see Finnick at the end of the hall looking around.

“Finnick!” Tears are welling in your eyes and he looks up then his gaze travels to Ronan. You pull the wires and needles out of your body before running to him.

He runs to you and pulls you both into a big hug. You remember this love. This hug. His warmth. His breath. And you’re glad to feel it again.

Part 7

[lonelypinecove]

Unethical fur farms, Yarn tails and Faux fur

It's a little alarming that people may not know about cruelty fur farms and unethical fur tails, so I'll put my little guide on how I usually spot them. I'll also have a little section comparing faux fur, yarn tails and real tails.

How to spot Unethically sourced fur

Everything I know is by my experience, as well as research I have done via youtube videos. Thorn from Therian Territiory has an excellent video talking about the subject, (Click Here) But I will summerise below if you want to get straight to the point.

A key feature I find when it comes to unethical tails is this goddamn golden keychain

I have 4 tails with this keychain and all of them are of varying quality - however I don't doubt they are from unethical fur farms.

Another key detail is The tail is thin, the fur brittle and the leather has not been scraped correctly, meaning there is fat from the animal it once came from. Have you ever bought a tail, looking at the leather within and there has been yellow patches? That is animal fat that should have been scraped away.

I avoid buying from Chinese or Korean sellers as that is usually where unethical fur comes from, there are very little rights to animals within these countries, so there is no guarantee the animal had a good life before being killed. As stated earlier, Thorn goes into detail on this subject, although I must warn you the contents He speaks about are quite upsetting.

I would also avoid buying from Amazon, temu, wish, shein and Ebay, as the tails bought from these sites are usually of questionable Quality.

So, where can I buy ethical fur from...?

I highly recommend Etsy, Always check the reviews from sellers - check how thin the tail is and check for that pesky key chain. As a personal caution, beware of cheap tails as there is a good chance they are drop shipped from unethical fur farms, I'd bought a cheap tail from a sale here in Australia (With the golden keychain) and the tail was sadly not great Quality...So always check for that keychain. I hear people can buy tails from Renfaires, oddity and taxidermy markets.

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Authentic fur vs Yarn tails vs Faux Fur

I've seen there's quite a debate on which is the best to buy and best for the enviroment. I'm sure all of you have your reasons for swinging this way or that way, so I'll just list some pros and cons

Authentic Tails

Pros

Good for the environment as it is bio-degradable

Beautiful to look at

you will never find 2 identical tails

If well looked after, can last you a lifetime

supporting small buisness

Cons

Expensive

From a real animal

Yarn Tails

Pros

Fun craft

heavily customizable

cheap to make

Cons

Time consuming to make

Getting the supplies can be a pain

not completely biodegradable (Yarn has plastic)

Faux Fur

Pros

An animal didn't have to die for it

Durable if made right

Cons

not bio-degradable (Faux fur has plastic)

faux fur is expensive

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If you have questions feel free to send them to my ask box, I'll do my best to answer them as best I can - I'm not an expert or a professional in this field, just someone with a bit of knowledge.

I hope this helped keep you all informed ♡ And remember, gear does not make you a Therian or Alterhuman - your non human identity does.

If you have anything to add please feel free to reblog with any additional information. I'd really appreciate it if someone who did Taxidermy were able to weigh in on this manner, as I'm just a dog who loves to collect tails :3

[krirebr]

Lips Like Sugar 1

Pairing: sugar baby Ransom x late 40s female reader

Word Count: ~3.1k

Summary: Finally cut off by his mother and grandfather, Ransom has to find a new way to access the lifestyle he's accustomed to. He figures it won't be too hard to find some rich old lady willing to bankroll him in exchange for sex. You aren't exactly what he expected.

Warnings: sugar baby au, sex work, d/s relationship, power imbalance, explicit language—All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by me

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: This one's a little different for me, but I had so much fun writing it! I hope you enjoy it too. But don't worry, my trademarked angst isn't gone forever. 🤭

Huge thanks to @biteofcherry for talking through the initial idea with me and @bigtreefest for being a sounding board throughout the whole writing process.

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. And if you need to come scream at me, that's ok too!

As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

Sixty days.

That’s what the certified letter said. The one he had to sign for. The one from Linda.

When she and Harlan had told him they were cutting him off, he’d rolled his eyes. What did that actually mean? He wouldn’t have access to his trust anymore? Whatever, that was fine. He had his checking account. He had his house. He had credit cards. The only thing he thought it really meant was that he wouldn’t have to see any of his asshole family ever again. He was coming out ahead, all things considered.

Except. He didn’t actually have much of anything, as it turned out. His parents were on his bank accounts and credit cards. The deed to the house was under Linda’s name. And she was fucking evicting him.

It was this panic, wrapping itself around his chest and squeezing, that he wasn’t used to. That he didn’t know what to do with. He’d gone out of his way, worked hard to make sure he never felt this way. To make sure his life was comfortable and easy. And now his asshole granddad and bitch mother had ruined all that. Now he had sixty days to find a place to live.

He needed to come up with a plan. He could do that. He was good at plans. But where to start? He couldn’t afford a place he’d actually be willing to live in on his own right now (he couldn’t afford a shitty place either, but he wasn’t going to dwell on that). His grandfather, during the announcement of Ransom’s new status, had suggested he get a job, but fuck that. Ransom knew, deep in his bones, that he wasn’t meant for work. And also, any job that wouldn’t make him want to shoot himself required relevant experience and degrees and all sorts of other things Ransom didn’t have. So getting a job was out.

He could sell his things but, as he’d been so rudely informed by this entire situation, he didn’t actually own much. The only thing of significant value that his name was actually on was his car. But he’d rather cut off his own arm than sell his vintage BMW. So he marked that down as an absolute last resort. 

He could see if he could stay with a friend until he got things figured out, but all of his friends were assholes and he already knew that none of them would say yes. Plus, all of his friends were assholes and he’d sell his own body before he asked any of them for a favor.

Actually…

Okay, that wasn’t a half-bad idea. He knew exactly how hot he was. He’d been very aware of that since he was a teenager. And if he sat down and actually thought about what his biggest skills were, it’d be fucking and talking. In that order. This could work.

But how to go about it? He wasn’t eager to go out and stand on a corner in barely anything at all hours. Same went for sitting in a hotel bar and hoping for the best. Plus, he didn’t like the uncertainty of all that. He needed a reliable, steady stream of income that would be there whenever he needed it.

And that’s when he remembered Andrea. 

His friend Chad had dated her for about six months. Well, “dated.” Everyone in their circle knew exactly what that arrangement was, even if Chad had never admitted it. Ransom pulled out his phone and sent off a quick text.

Hey, where did you meet Andrea?

The dick took two hours to respond.

Andrea? At the grocery store. Why???

 Ransom responded immediately with an eyeroll emoji and followed it with

Cut the shit, asshole. What was the app?

The three dots to show Chad was typing appeared and disappeared three separate times before Ransom finally got the truth.

SUGR

But watch out, bro. That shit was way more expensive than it was worth.

Ransom smiled. That was exactly what he was counting on. 

He didn’t bother correcting Chad about which side of this arrangement he was hoping to be on. He didn’t need the embarrassment of anyone knowing that mommy and (grand)daddy had finally cut him off. And if this worked the way he hoped it would, no one would ever need to know. 

The first setback was that he had to pass a background check before he could join the app. What a fucking hassle. And it took a whole week before he got the email telling him he could move forward with setting up a profile. He could physically feel the number of days he had to find another place to live ticking down. The constriction around his chest got tighter with each one. 

But in that week of waiting, he became even more convinced that this was a good idea. There had to be tons of old hags desperate enough to bankroll him in exchange for sex with a hot youngish thing. And he’d be able to suck it up and do what was needed if it meant his lifestyle wouldn’t have to change. Hell, that's what viagra was for.

The other thing he’d done while he waited was take about a hundred pictures of himself. He’d used all his best outfits—designer sweaters, skintight t-shirts, pants that hugged his ass. He did fifty pushups and then took a bunch shirtless so that he was sweaty and his abs popped. He had a few that were just of his junk in gray sweatpants. And then he threw in a couple straight up dick pics for good measure. He was ready.

But, ugh, there were so many forms to fill out first. He had to agree to all of the terms and conditions. The company reserves the right to blah blah blah. The company does not guarantee yada yada yada. Agree, agree, agree. 

There were forms that asked him to detail the expenses he wanted covered and another that wanted him to rate kinks based on his interest. These were both optional so he skipped them. Was he the only one who understood what was happening here? He'd do whatever she wanted that guaranteed him the most money. That was it.

Finally, he got to the point where he could build his actual profile. It automatically imported some of the biographical information he had to give to set up his account, which wasn’t ideal. Hugh D. 35, stared back at him. He normally hated his given name, but he didn’t hate the way it kind of seemed like Huge Dick here. He could work with that. But that 35. That– that felt old for this sort of thing. He tried to change it to 30, but it wasn’t editable. Well. That was fine, right? He was going after women. Weren’t they known for being less shallow than men? That was part of the whole thing, wasn’t it? Yeah. It’d be fine. It just meant he knew what he was doing in bed. That’s what mattered.

He moved on to pictures. They only let you add fifteen, so he combed through all the ones he’d taken and picked the fifteen best. He scrolled through the ones he’d chosen before he clicked save and nodded to himself. Yeah, this was good. He was hot as fuck.

He skipped through all of the useless essay questions. Who cared what his interests were or what he was offering?? His dick pics spoke for themselves. 

But he did put something in the headline area. Call me Ransom. >20k/month only

Perfect. Done. Save. Now he just needed to sit back and wait for the DMs to roll in.

The DMs did not roll in. It’d been forty-eight hours, and he’d gotten absolutely nothing. He couldn’t understand it. What was wrong with these women? He was offering himself up at a fucking steal.

He’d figured the onus was on the buyer to make the first move, but maybe he’d gotten the etiquette wrong. Maybe he needed to sell himself a little more aggressively. 

He went to the browse feature and set his filters for women with the biggest budgets. Then he sent a random ten of them a simple “hey”. Then he made himself close the app.

When he came back a few hours later, he was chagrined to find that he hadn’t gotten any responses. There must be something wrong. When he went to the chats to make sure he hadn't missed something, half of them weren't even there anymore, and he couldn't find the corresponding profiles either. He refreshed the notifications page. He restarted his phone. He uninstalled then reinstalled the app. Nothing made a difference.

Finally, as he was checking his settings, a message popped up.

Honey, what are you doing?

Yes! Finally! 

He clicked on the profile. Carolyn M., 55. Under what she was offering was rent, living expenses, and a negotiated allowance. Perfect. 

He wrote back

I'm looking at your pictures and touching myself. What are you doing?

The response was immediate. 

Oh my god, no. That's not what I meant.

He stared at her message, confused, but then she sent another. 

I'm going against all of my instincts to just block you, and I'm going to take pity on you instead. 

He was typing before he even fully processed what she'd said.

Excuse me??

This is not the way to get what you want.

What the fuck??

You’re obviously new to this, so let me explain something to you. Yes, these relationships are transactional, but most of us are looking for a genuine connection as well. No one who wants that is going to contact you based on your profile. 

Who the hell did she think she was? Ransom knew what he was doing. He’d never had any issues picking up women. He didn’t need help. He locked his phone with a scoff and threw it on the couch as he got up and moved to his bar. He deserved a drink after dealing with that bullshit. 

As he poured himself a glass of eighteen-year-old scotch, he paused. This bottle was $700. Who knows what everything in this bar totaled to? And this whole house. Fucking shit. He was down to forty-nine days. He didn’t have time to fuck around.

He took a large gulp of his drink and then picked his phone back up. He could do this. He could play the game. He could fake anything if it meant his life didn’t have to change.

Fine. How do I fix it?

Start by filling out the information. Be honest. Any prospective match will want to get a sense of who you are. Right now the only thing I can tell about you from your profile is how highly you think of your own dick.

This fucking bitch.

Okay, sure. What else?

You are demanding a lot of money without giving any details about how that money will be spent. Anyone who sees that will immediately feel taken advantage of. The best version of these relationships is an equal give and take. A lot of us are here because we enjoy taking care of someone. We don’t enjoy feeling like a faceless ATM. Give an actual, honest account of the expenses you would like covered.

God, this was annoying. But he had to keep his eye on the prize.

Anything else??

Put some actual effort into your first message to someone. Something you think you might have in common, something you liked about their profile, or a relevant fact about yourself. ‘Hey’ isn’t going to get you anywhere. And don't just jump into sexting immediately. 

Despite himself, he took a screenshot of the conversation. If it helped him get more money, it was worth it.

Alright. I’ll do it.

You know, it’s customary to say thank you when someone helps you out like this.

He rolled his eyes.

Thank you.

He hoped she could feel the sarcasm coming through the screen.

Well, look at that. Maybe you can be someone’s good boy after all.

The heat that rushed to his face at that– He didn’t know what that was. Annoyance probably. What else could it be?

He was about to send something snarky back when her status suddenly switched to offline. Goddamn bitch.

Ugh. It took so much effort to take things seriously. To act like he cared. This was exhausting. 

But he could do it if he kept the goal in mind: being the pampered pet of some rich old lady. Once he’d achieved that, all he’d ever have to do again was get it up for her once or twice a week, tops. He just had to get there.

So he poured himself another glass of whiskey and took a slow sip as he looked at the first section of his profile he’d previously left blank. The About Me header stared back at him as the cursor blinked. Come on. He could do this. What did these women want to hear?? He wished he could see other prospective babies’ profiles. Do some market research. 

He skipped down to the next section: Looking For. He’d already selected women with no age restrictions. Now he just had to get into the specifics. Ok, this he could do. Buttering people up was a skill he’d been honing his entire life.

A woman with life experience who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to go out and get it. Someone to share good times, good food, and good sex with. And yes, someone to spoil me rotten. 😉

That was cute, right? Yeah, these old bats would love that.

Ok, now it was on to what he offered. He remembered what Carolyn had said about not wanting to feel like an ATM. He needed to make it seem like he’s was bringing something to the table (more than just his dick, that is, which, honesly, should have been enough).

I’m offering companionship with plenty of intelligent conversation. I’ll keep you from being bored at any functions you may need to attend, and I’ll look great on your arm doing it.

That seemed good enough for now. He could change it up depending on what he found waiting for him out there. 

He switched to the form for expenses. For rent, he put approximately 10k a month (he’d looked around the Boston area for what was available and that seemed to be the going price for the sort of place he wanted) with a note that his lease was ending soon and he’d need a new place to stay. That was close enough to the truth and made him seem like more of a charity case, which would normally bother him, but right now was exactly what he wanted. He divided up the rest of his asking price across utilities, clothing, and other expenses.

On the kink list, he started by putting yes to everything, figuring that’d make him more expensive. But would that look weird? Desperate? Fake? He went back and randomly switched a few to maybe and a couple to no. Ok, that was done. 

He went back to his photos and removed the straight up dick pics. He left the sweatpants one, but moved it to the end. And he added a couple more of himself in sweaters that he knew made people drool.

There was only one thing left. This fucking About Me. Come on! Okay. Okay.

The only thing I love more than reading is getting to talk about what I’ve read. I’m well-educated, and I’m at a point in my life where I just want to be able to enjoy things with good company. I love trying new restaurants, and I know my way around a whiskey menu. And as for other realms of experience you might be curious about, let’s just say I know what I’m doing. 😏

Ugh. God. He hated this. The whole thing was so fucking corny. That had to be good enough right? The last thing he did was delete everything but Call me Ransom from his header. And then, without overthinking it, he hit save and immediately put down his phone.

Goddamnit, fucking Carolyn was fucking right. The whole thing made his blood boil. But now, finally, the messages were rolling in. Sort of. Moderately. But it was something.

He’d gone back and tweaked a few things based on the response he was getting, and each improvement seemed to have made a difference. He was starting to get the hang of this bullshit.

But, frustratingly, he hadn’t managed to hook a whale yet. He’d had some promising conversations, but none had ultimately gone anywhere. How exactly were these conversations supposed to move from “Hi, how are you?” to “What say we make this official and you bankroll my entire life? I promise I’ll lay the pipe real good.” The one time he’d tried that, it hadn’t gone over well.

But god, the days were running out.

He sat down with his phone, hoping to find something that would help him strategize, when a new message popped up at the top of the screen. 

God, you’re pretty.

Ransom stopped and stared at the message. 

He couldn’t remember ever being called pretty before. Handsome, sure. Gorgeous, hot, all the time. But pretty– Pretty felt different. And he couldn’t explain why.

He clicked through to the profile.

And there you were.

Don’t you want to be good for me? the line under your profile picture read. Ransom swallowed involuntarily as he kept reading.

You were forty-nine, had founded your own business (although you gave no clues as to what that was), and you were looking for someone to take care of. Glancing at what you were offering, Ransom surmised that what he needed wasn’t outside of your budget.

He moved on to your photos. He picked up a little more caginess there. There were no straight-on pictures of your face, but he spent several moments looking at a close-up of just your smirk, soft lines framing your mouth. Then, as he continued to swipe through the pictures, he stopped again at one that was just of the back of your legs clad in shiny, thigh-high boots, with some of the tallest stilettos he’d ever seen.  Something about that image made his breath catch in his throat.

He moved back to your message and stared at it again, his fingers drumming against his leg. After thinking about it for far too long, he fired off a short response.

I know.

Your reply was immediate.

Yeah, I bet you do.

Tag List is open!

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[salty-autistic-writer]

Tommy talks to Maddie. (Spoilers for episode 15, grief)

Evan is asleep. Finally, after hours of shaking and crying, his breaths turned even. He's curled up on his side, the pillow wet from his tears.

After a last checking glance at Evan, Tommy carefully leaves the room and gently closes the door behind him. He can’t sleep yet. His body still caught in a state between agitated disbelief and the urge to do what he can to take care of Evan in his heartbreaking grief.

When Tommy steps into the living room, he sees Maddie sitting on the couch. She nods at him, her face pale and eyes red rimmed from her own tears. While Tommy is here for Evan, she’s here for Chimney.

“How’s Buck?” Maddie asks quietly.

Tommy leans against the table. “He’s sleeping now.”

Maddie nods, sighing softly. “Chimney too. Finally. How are you doing?”

Tommy shrugs. “Right now, I’m feeling pretty numb. I haven’t been able to cry so far, even though my head feels like it might burst any moment. Maybe I won’t be able to stop crying later. I don’t know. I have no idea what will happen. Until now, I only had experience with the death of people I stopped caring about.” He falters, blinking, realising he talked an awful lot instead of answering the question with a short okay or something. “Oh. I’m sorry. I think I just overshared.”

“It’s okay. Everybody grieves differently,” Maddie states quietly, reaching for a pillow and pressing it to her chest. “Thank you,” she adds, looking up at him. “For being here for Buck. And … For helping to save Chimney. I was so scared when … when I saw him. He looked so sick. So pale. So … Close to death. If he hadn’t gotten the antiviral in time …”

She stops, twisting her fingers into the pillow, her eyes staring into the void and filling with new tears.

Tommy knows what she wanted to say. 

If it wasn’t for the antiviral, Howie would have died too.

Tommy swallows. “Howie saved my life,” he says, remembering waking up in a hospital bed, surprised by Howie’s face hovering above him, smiling and holding a sandwich. “He’s my friend. I will always be there if he needs help.”

Or anyone from the 118 really.

“I wish I could have done something to save Bobby,” Tommy admits, his chest clenching. He felt so lost when he was watching it all happen on the monitors. So helpless.

Maddie nods. “I think we all wish that,” she says, wiping at her eyes. “But no one could have helped him. He knew that. It was his choice to die like this. It was his choice to make sure his team, his family, got out of that lab alive. We have to honour it.”

“Yeah. It’s just so hard to imagine a world without Bobby Nash,” Tommy says, remembering the moment when Bobby encouraged him to transfer. I’m sad to see you go, but happy you get to chase your dream , he had said with that honest smile. And then he welcomed Evan to the 118 table. The father I never had , Evan told Tommy once. And now … that piece was torn from the world, yet it’s still turning. It’s surreal.

Maddie gives him a sad smile. “Well, we all somehow have to live in that world now,” she says, getting up and hugging him, which surprises Tommy, but also fills him with a warm glow.

“We should try to get some sleep too,” Maddie tells him. “Tomorrow is going to be tough for everyone."

She slowly leaves the room, running a hand through her hair. Tommy watches after her, his head aching. He can feel pressure behind his eyes. Maybe tomorrow he will be able to finally cry.

(AO3 Link)

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

//A/N: cute joel miller flirting blurb :’) //

“what would you be if you could be anything in the world? any job, pre or post infection?”

you’ve been driving for a few hours now. you’d known joel for a while.

back in the boston qz, you were a doctor— not by pre infection standards, but you had been practicing for about 15 years in the qz. you were only a teenager when the outbreak happened. then, you got dragged along by joel to check out this ‘medical’ thing he and tess were looking into..

and long story short— you were making your way from boston to salt lake.

so, as you drive, you became bored. you asked ellie to play a game of truth or truth—

ellie wanted to play truth or dare, but you were stuck in a car and didn’t trust ellie’s concept of a ‘dare.’

“an astronaut,” ellie’s answer is immediate. you smile, remembering when you were 14 and knew exactly what you’d be if you could be anything.

“yeah?”

“yeah. it would be fucking sick, right?” and when you glare at her for saying ‘fuck’ she just gives you a sarcastic glance. “being up in space and stuff.”

“yeah, guess it would be pretty cool.” you nod. you’d never considered it. but when you imagine it, starman by david bowie starts to play in your brain. or maybe space oddity. you’re not sure.

you wonder if ellie has ever heard either of them. you desperately wish you could see the expression on her face as she listens to it. to dance to either of the two songs with her.

“what about you?” ellie asks joel.

you wait.

you watch his features subtly shift.

“i always..” he hesitates. “kinda wanted to be a singer.”

“a singer?” you smile.

ellie laughs.

“what would you sing?” she questions.

“probably country.” he answers honestly. you just smile.

“alright, cowboy.” you smile, the nickname slipping out with ease.

“well, how ‘bout you?”

“how ‘bout me?”

“yeah, if you could be anything..” ellie started.

“i’d want to be a writer.” you answer honestly. you had this whole plan. get great grades, go to a great college. become some great writer.

how you longed to have the time, the energy, the urge to create— because you missed it desperately.

your hands ached for long forgotten movements.

“yeah?” ellie’s voice is soft. curious.

“yeah.” you smile. “a poet, maybe. and at least one novel.”

the dream slips out so easily it’s almost freaky.

you’d never told anyone that before. because even at 17, you knew that you’d probably never pursue that dream; you’d become a teacher, or a psychologist.

then joel surprises you.

“you gonna write me a love song, sweetheart?”

your eyes roll as your face flushes.

“i’ll only ever write you a breakup song, miller.” you tease.

joel just rolls his eyes with affection.

yeah, you thought, you would write him a love song. in another life, maybe.

or maybe you’d write it in this life. then you could have him sing your words as you fall asleep, and you’d be a poet after all; and he’d be a country singing cowboy.

your cowboy.

[iamquiantrelle]

ROSY DELUSIONS •────── iamquiantrelle

# pairing: eduardo camavinga x black reader (spring has sprung series)

# tags: @irishmanwhore @kj77 @oceanfanatic06 @snowseasonmademe @leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro @thepointlessideas

# summary: Eduardo has always been her best friend—the one constant in her life, the person who knows her better than anyone. So when she starts gushing about a new guy she’s dating, he does what any good friend would do: listens, smiles, and pretends it doesn’t bother him. But the more he hears, the more he realizes—no one will ever know her like he does, no one will ever care for her the way he does. Maybe she’s blinded by the idea of something new, or maybe she just doesn’t see what’s been right in front of her all along. Either way, Eduardo is done playing the role of the best friend. It’s time for her to see him in a different light.

"Celmi," you called, letting yourself into his apartment with the key he'd given you last year. "You home?"

Music was blaring – some Afrobeats track he'd been obsessed with lately – but no response came. Typical Eduardo, lost in his own world again.

You followed the sound through his ridiculously spacious Madrid villa, finding him in the kitchen, dancing while making... something. His dreads were pulled back in a messy bun, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, completely oblivious to your presence as he stirred whatever concoction he was working on.

For a moment, you just watched him – this 6'0" professional footballer with all the grace in the world on the pitch and absolutely none in the kitchen. Eduardo Camavinga, your best friend for the past three years.

You smiled, remembering how it all started...

Three years earlier

"That's the last pair in a 10," the sales associate said apologetically, pointing to the sneakers another customer was currently examining.

You groaned internally. You'd been waiting for this release for months, saved up specifically for these limited edition kicks. And now some guy with dreads was holding them, turning them over in his hands like he wasn't even sure he wanted them.

"Excuse me," you said, approaching him with what you hoped was a friendly smile. "Are you planning to buy those?"

He looked up, surprised, a grin automatically spreading across his face. "Yeah, they're the last in my size."

"Your size is a women's 10?" you asked skeptically, eyeing his considerably larger feet.

He laughed. "Men's 9. Same thing."

"So you know they're unisex?"

"Yeah." He looked confused now. "Why?"

"Because I've been waiting for these for months, and they're my size too." You tried to keep your voice even. "And it kind of looks like you're not even sure you want them."

"Who says I'm not sure?" His accent thickened slightly with defensiveness, French undertones becoming more pronounced. "I want them."

"You were looking at them like you were debating."

"I was admiring," he corrected. "Big difference."

The sales associate looked increasingly uncomfortable. "Perhaps we can check other stores—"

"I was here first," the guy said, not rudely but firmly.

"By like two minutes!"

"Still counts."

You weren't typically confrontational, but something about his easy confidence, the way he seemed to expect things to just go his way, made you stand your ground.

"Do you even know what makes this release special?" you challenged.

His eyebrows shot up. "The Air cushioning, the limited colorway, and the fact they're the first collaboration with—"

"Okay, so you know your stuff," you conceded. "But I'd still rock them better."

A surprised laugh escaped him. "Bold claim."

"I can back it up."

Something shifted in his expression – amusement, maybe respect. "Tell you what," he said, "why don't we—"

But you never found out what his solution was going to be because a small crowd had gathered now, a few people whispering excitedly, one teenager nudging another.

"It's Camavinga," someone said, and suddenly you realized why he looked vaguely familiar.

The guy – Eduardo Camavinga, apparently a football player based on the reaction – looked mildly annoyed at the interruption. The sales associate, sensing a potential scene, stepped in.

"Perhaps both of you could try another location? We can call ahead—"

"Keep them," Eduardo said suddenly, handing the shoes to you. "But only if you let me buy you coffee and explain why they'd look better on me."

You blinked, thrown by the unexpected offer. "You're asking me out?"

"I'm suggesting a debate over coffee." His grin was back, somehow both confident and boyish. "Unless you're scared I'll convince you."

"In your dreams," you said, but you were smiling now too. "Fine. Coffee. And I'm keeping the shoes."

"Deal."

Present day

"Yo, Celmi!" you tried again, louder this time.

He spun around, wooden spoon in hand, face lighting up with that infectious smile that hadn't changed since that first day.

"Shit! When'd you get here?" He turned down the music with his free hand. "I'm making that Angolan dish my mom showed me."

"It smells..." you searched for a diplomatic word, "interesting."

"Shut up, it's gonna be fire." He pointed the spoon at you accusingly, spattering something red on the floor. "You're just mad I didn't warn you I was cooking."

"Last time you 'cooked' we had to order pizza at midnight because whatever you made was straight trash."

"That was different. I was experimenting." He turned back to his pot, adding something that looked suspiciously like way too much spice. "This is a family recipe."

"Uh-huh." You dropped onto his couch, kicking your shoes off and making yourself at home like you always did. "How was training?"

"Good, good." His voice carried from the kitchen. "Carlo says I'm starting against Valencia."

"Look at you! Starting two matches in a row?"

"Don't sound so surprised!" He peeked around the corner, pretending to be offended. "I'm kind of a big deal, you know."

You rolled your eyes, but the pride was evident in your voice. "Yeah, yeah, superstar."

This was your rhythm with Eduardo. The easy banter, the comfortable silence that sometimes fell between conversations, the way you could show up unannounced and it was never a problem. He was your person – the one who'd held you through breakups, celebrated your victories, listened to your fears at 3 AM.

Just friends, you always told people who assumed otherwise. Just really good friends who happened to spend most of their free time together. Who occasionally fell asleep on each other's couches, or sometimes in each other's beds after movie marathons. No big deal.

It hadn't always been this easy. After that first coffee – which turned into lunch, which turned into exchanging numbers – you'd been wary. Not just because he was a professional footballer, but because guys who looked like Eduardo Camavinga rarely wanted to just be friends with girls.

But that's exactly what happened. Texting turned into hanging out turned into a genuine friendship that surprised you both with its depth and ease. He wasn't what you'd expected from a football star – he was goofy, thoughtful, surprisingly deep when the situation called for it.

"So," he called from the kitchen, "how was your date last night?"

Right. The date. The reason you'd actually come over.

"About that..." You sat up straighter, excitement bubbling through you. "I need to tell you everything."

Eduardo appeared in the doorway, his expression carefully neutral. "That good, huh?"

"Celmi, he's amazing." The words tumbled out, enthusiasm impossible to contain. "Like, seriously amazing. We talked for four hours and it felt like minutes. He's smart and funny and he does that nonprofit work I told you about, the one with refugee kids?"

"Sounds perfect," Eduardo said, returning to his pot. "What's his name again?"

"Karim. He's Algerian-French, grew up in Lyon." You followed him into the kitchen, perching on a counter. "And get this – he doesn't even care about football. Like, at all. Didn't even recognize me from any of the team events I've been to with you."

Eduardo's stirring rhythm faltered slightly. "Wow. A unicorn."

"I know, right? No awkward questions about getting him tickets or introducing him to the team." You swung your legs, caught up in the excitement of someone new. "We're going out again tomorrow night."

"Fast work." He glanced at you, something unreadable flickering across his features. "Must really like him."

"I think I do." You paused, watching him cook. "You okay with that?"

Eduardo looked up, surprise evident. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know. You seem..." You gestured vaguely. "Weird."

"I'm good." His smile returned, bright as ever, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Just focused on not burning this."

"Need any help?"

"From you?" He laughed, the tension dissipating. "The girl who set pasta on fire?"

"That was one time!"

"One time is enough when it comes to kitchens." He bumped you with his hip. "Go sit. Tell me more about Mr. Perfect."

So you did. You told him about Karim's work, his travels, his ambitions. You told him about the restaurant he'd taken you to, tucked away in a corner of Madrid you'd never explored. You told him about the easy conversation, the lingering touches, the goodnight kiss that promised more.

And Eduardo listened. He always listened. Stirring his pot, adding ingredients, occasionally asking questions, but mostly just letting you talk. It was one of the things you loved most about him – how he gave you space to process out loud, to explore your thoughts without judgment.

By the time dinner was ready – surprisingly edible this time – you'd exhausted the topic of Karim. The conversation shifted to Eduardo's upcoming match, to the latest drama with his teammates, to the movie you'd both been meaning to watch.

Normal. Comfortable. Exactly what you needed after the nervous excitement of a promising date.

Later, sprawled on his couch watching the film, your head in his lap while his fingers absently played with your hair, you felt that familiar contentment that only came with Eduardo. The ease of being with someone who knew all your stories, all your quirks, all your flaws, and liked you anyway.

"Celmi?"

"Hmm?" His eyes didn't leave the screen, but his fingers continued their gentle movement through your hair.

"I'm glad I have you."

Now he looked down, his expression soft in the dim light. "You always will."

Something in his tone made you glance up, but his attention was already back on the movie, his face revealing nothing.

Just friends, you reminded yourself. That's all this was. All it had ever been.

No matter what your heart sometimes whispered in moments like these.

______________________________________________

Eduardo was used to being watched. On the pitch, every move scrutinized by thousands of eyes. In public, the subtle recognition, the whispered "isn't that...?" But nothing compared to the intensity of Aurélien's stare across the training facility locker room.

"What?" Eduardo finally asked, pausing in lacing up his boots.

"You're doing it again," Aurélien said simply.

"Doing what?"

"That thing where you pretend you're fine but you're actually dying inside." Aurélien dropped onto the bench beside him. "She went out with him again, didn't she?"

Eduardo sighed. Of course Aurélien would notice. The man missed nothing, on or off the pitch. "Third date tonight."

"And you're still playing the supportive best friend?"

"What else am I supposed to do?"

"Oh, I don't know," Aurélien's voice dripped sarcasm, "maybe tell her how you feel? Crazy concept, I know."

Eduardo shook his head, returning to his boots. "It's not that simple."

"It literally is that simple. 'Hey, I'm in love with you, have been for years, please stop dating this random guy and date me instead.'"

"I'm not in love with her," Eduardo protested automatically.

Aurélien's eyebrow rose in perfect disbelief.

"We're friends," Eduardo insisted. "Best friends."

"Best friends who practically live at each other's places? Who call each other first with every piece of news? Who fell asleep cuddling on my couch at the last team party?"

"Friends can cuddle."

"Celmi." Aurélien rarely used his middle name – that was your thing. Coming from him, it felt like a warning. "You're not fooling anyone but yourself. And maybe her."

Eduardo stood, needing to move, to escape this conversation. "Even if you're right – which you're not – she's clearly into someone else right now."

"Someone she's known for what, a week? Versus you, who she's known for years?"

"Exactly! Years of friendship. Years of her seeing me as just Eduardo, her buddy, her pal." He grabbed his water bottle, frustration building. "If she was going to see me differently, don't you think it would have happened by now?"

Aurélien shrugged. "Maybe she's waiting for you to make a move. Maybe she thinks you only see her as a friend. Maybe she's dating this guy precisely because she thinks you're not an option."

That gave Eduardo pause. Could it be possible? Had there been signs he'd missed, opportunities he'd let slip by?

He thought back to the countless movie nights, the way you'd sometimes fall asleep against him. The time you'd gotten sick and he'd stayed up all night, making sure your fever didn't spike again. The way you lit up when he entered a room, even if you'd just seen him yesterday.

No. He couldn't let himself hope like that. Couldn't risk the friendship that meant everything to him on the chance that maybe, possibly, you might see him as more than just good old reliable Eduardo.

"I'm not having this conversation," he decided, heading for the door.

"Coward," Aurélien called after him, but there was no heat in it. Just concern.

Eduardo ignored him, pushing through the door onto the training pitch where he could lose himself in the game, in the physicality and focus that left no room for complicated emotions.

But even as he ran drills, as he practiced passes with mechanical precision, his mind kept circling back to you. To how you'd sounded on the phone this morning, excited about tonight's date. To how he'd forced enthusiasm into his voice, offered advice on what to wear, promised to be waiting for the full report tomorrow.

Playing the role of the supportive best friend while something inside him cracked a little more each time.

Maybe Aurélien was right. Maybe he was a coward.

Or maybe he just knew that some risks weren't worth taking, no matter how much the reward might be.

_______________________________________________

"He's taking me to Barcelona next weekend," you said, scrolling through train options on your phone. "Just a quick overnight trip to see some art exhibition he thinks I'll love."

Eduardo nodded, trying to look interested rather than irritated. It had been two weeks since your first date with Karim, and somehow the guy was still around, still apparently perfect, still taking up more and more of the conversation every time you and Eduardo hung out.

"Sounds fun," he managed.

"You okay?" You looked up from your phone, brow furrowing with concern. "You've been weird all day."

You were at his place again, ostensibly to watch the match replay from yesterday's game, but you'd spent most of the time talking about Karim. Eduardo couldn't even blame you – new relationships were exciting, all-consuming. He knew that. He just hadn't expected it to bother him so much.

He thought back to the one serious relationship you'd had since he'd known you. That guy from your work, Adam or Alex or something. That hadn't bothered him nearly as much. But then, that guy hadn't been taking you to Barcelona or perfect in every way. That guy hadn't felt like a real threat.

"Just tired." He forced a smile. "Big match yesterday."

"You were amazing, by the way. That assist? Chef's kiss." You demonstrated, fingers to lips, then outward in appreciation.

"Thanks." His smile turned more genuine. You never missed his matches, either in person or on TV. Even with New Perfect Boyfriend in the picture, you'd still been there yesterday, cheering from the friends and family section.

"Seriously, Celmi. You're playing at another level this season."

"Finally getting the minutes I deserve," he joked, but the praise warmed him. You'd always been his biggest cheerleader, right from the beginning when you barely knew offside from a corner kick.

Two years earlier

"Wait, explain it again?" you asked, forehead creased in concentration as you watched the replay on his TV.

Eduardo fought a smile. You were so determined to understand football, despite having little natural interest in the sport. All because you wanted to be able to talk to him about his work, to share in the thing that mattered most to him professionally.

"He's offside because when the pass was made, he was behind the last defender." Eduardo pointed to the screen. "See?"

"But he wasn't when he got the ball."

"Doesn't matter. It's where he was when the pass was played."

"That's a stupid rule."

"Maybe. But it's the rule."

You threw a handful of popcorn at him. "Your sport is complicated."

"Says the girl who tried to explain the blood pressure notes to me for an hour last week."

"That's different. That actually makes sense."

He laughed, pulling you against his side without thinking. "You don't have to understand it, you know. I don't mind explaining."

"I want to, though." Your head found his shoulder naturally. "It's important to you, so it's important to me."

Something warm unfurled in his chest at your words. That was the moment, looking back, when friendship started shifting into something more – at least for him. The realization that you cared enough to learn about something that didn't interest you, simply because it mattered to him.

He'd never told you that, of course. Some things were safer kept to himself.

Present day

You set your phone down, giving him your full attention. "For real though, something's off with you. Talk to me."

This was the problem with someone knowing you too well. Nothing stayed hidden for long.

"It's nothing," he insisted. "Just... stuff on my mind."

"What kind of stuff?"

"Team stuff. Family stuff." He shrugged, avoiding your eyes. "Nothing important."

You studied him for a long moment, clearly not believing him but also not pushing. That was another thing about your friendship – knowing when to press and when to give space.

"Well, if you want to talk about it," you said finally, "I'm here."

"I know." And that was the crux of the problem, wasn't it? You were always there for him, just as he was for you. The perfect friendship. Exactly what he'd always told himself he wanted.

Until suddenly, inexplicably, it wasn't enough anymore.

"Actually," he said before he could stop himself, "there is something."

You sat up straighter, giving him your full attention. "I'm listening."

Eduardo took a deep breath. Now or never. "This thing with Karim..."

"Yeah?" Your expression was open, curious.

"Are you sure it's what you want?"

Your brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." He struggled to find the right words, to express the feelings he'd been fighting without revealing too much. "You barely know him. It's all happening so fast."

"That's usually how dating works, Celmi." There was a hint of amusement in your voice, like you thought he was being overprotective. "People meet, they click, they spend time together. Normal shit."

"I know that." He ran a hand over his dreads, frustration building. "I just... I don't want to see you get hurt."

"Who says I'm going to get hurt?"

"No one, it's just... guys like that—"

"Guys like what?" Now there was an edge to your voice. "You don't even know him."

"Exactly! And neither do you, not really. Two weeks isn't enough time to know someone, to trust them with—"

"With what, Eduardo? My heart? My body? What exactly are you worried about here?"

You were getting angry now, and he was making a mess of this, but he couldn't seem to stop himself.

"All of it! He's moving so fast, with the Barcelona trip and everything. What's his rush?"

"Maybe he just knows what he wants." You stood, gathering your things. "Like I do."

"And what's that?"

"Someone who sees me as more than just a friend. Someone who wants to be with me and isn't afraid to show it."

The words hit like a physical blow. Was that how you saw him? As someone who didn't want you that way? Who only saw you as a friend?

"That's not fair," he said quietly.

"No? Then what exactly are you saying, Eduardo? Because it sounds like you're telling me I shouldn't date anyone you haven't personally vetted."

"That's not—"

"Then what? What's your problem with Karim? With me dating him?"

"I don't have a problem with him!" The words exploded out of him. "I have a problem with it not being me!"

Silence fell between you, heavy and sudden. Eduardo's heart pounded in his chest, the confession hanging in the air, impossible to take back.

Your expression shifted from anger to confusion. "What?"

Too late to retreat now. Eduardo stood, moving toward you with a determination he usually reserved for the pitch.

"I said, I have a problem with it not being me. Taking you to Barcelona. Planning stuff for you. Being more than just your friend."

You stared at him, shock evident in your features. "Celmi..."

"I know, I know. Terrible timing." He ran a hand over his face. "I didn't mean to say it like this. Or at all, maybe. I don't know."

"How long?" Your voice was barely above a whisper.

"Does it matter?"

"It matters to me."

Eduardo sighed, the fight draining out of him. "I don't know exactly. It happened so gradually. One day you were just my friend, and then... you were everything."

You sat back down, looking like you needed the support. "Why didn't you say something? All this time..."

"Because what we have is good. It works. I didn't want to risk it for something that might not."

"That wasn't your decision to make alone." There was hurt in your voice now. "You never even gave me the chance to—"

"To what? Let me down gently? Tell me how much you value our friendship?" His laugh held no humor. "I've heard that speech before. Didn't particularly want to hear it from you."

"You don't know what I would have said."

"Don't I? We tell each other everything, remember? If you'd felt something, anything beyond friendship, I think I would have known."

You stood again, moving toward him now, something determined in your expression. "You don't know everything about me, Eduardo Celmi Camavinga. Not if you think I've never thought about this. About us."

His heart stuttered. "What?"

"You think you're the only one who's ever wondered? The only one who's ever lain awake thinking about what it might be like if things were different between us?"

"But you never said—"

"Neither did you!" You were right in front of him now, close enough that he could see the flecks of gold in your eyes, the slight tremble in your lips. "We were both too afraid of ruining what we had. So we just... stayed safe. In this comfortable friendship where we could have almost everything without risking anything."

Eduardo's mind was racing, trying to process what you were saying. Had you really felt the same way? For how long?

"And then Karim came along," you continued, "and he was straightforward about what he wanted. No guessing, no reading between the lines. It was... refreshing."

"So you do like him." The realization settled like a weight in his chest.

"I like the clarity." Your hand came up to rest on his chest, right over his heart. "But Celmi... it's always been you. Even when I tried to convince myself otherwise."

Time seemed to stop as Eduardo processed your words. You'd felt it too. All this time, while he was playing the role of the supportive best friend, you'd been harboring the same feelings, the same fears.

"So what now?" he asked, hardly daring to believe this was real.

"Now?" A small smile played at your lips. "Now you should probably kiss me. Before I change my mind and go back to the guy who was brave enough to ask me out in the first place."

Eduardo didn't need to be told twice. His hands came up to frame your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks with a gentleness that belied the storm of emotion inside him.

"Bossy as always," he murmured, earning a laugh from you that he captured with his lips.

The kiss was everything he'd imagined and nothing like he'd expected. Familiar, because it was you – the same you he'd hugged a thousand times, the same you whose head had rested on his shoulder during movie nights. But also entirely new, a revelation, a beginning.

When you finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, the look in your eyes was worth every moment of uncertainty, every pang of jealousy, every fear he'd battled to get to this point.

"I should probably cancel that Barcelona trip," you said, a smile spreading across your face.

"Probably," he agreed, pulling you closer. "Or we could go instead. I know this great little spot near La Rambla..."

Your laugh was warm against his chest. "Always competing."

"Only when it matters." He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "And you matter more than anything."

It wasn't how he'd planned to tell you. Wasn't the perfect moment he'd sometimes imagined. But as you stood in his living room, wrapped in each other's arms, Eduardo knew that sometimes the best things happen not according to plan, but according to heart.

And his heart had always belonged to you, his best friend, his person, now something even more precious – his everything.

_______________________________________________

When Eduardo told the story later, he always ended with the shoes.

"She still has them," he'd say, arm draped around your shoulders. "Never wears them though."

"They're collector's items now!" you'd protest.

"They're shoes. They're meant to be worn."

"Says the guy with fifty pairs he keeps in boxes."

"That's different." He'd press a kiss to your temple. "Those are investments."

"These are memories," you'd counter.

And he couldn't argue with that. Those shoes – the ones you'd almost fought him for in a boutique three years ago – had changed everything. Had led to coffee, to friendship, to love.

Had led to him finally seeing what had been right in front of him all along.

[annasghosts]

April 27th and 28th for @jilymicrofics with the prompts guy and tell

“You’re sure –”

“Yes, Lily.” Mary said, waving off her worries with an eye roll. “Sirius said his mate is down for everything. I think he also said he doesn’t like women.” She added after a pause. “I think.”

“You think? Wait, you’ve met him right?”

For the first time Mary seemed to falter, looking slightly guilty. “Not exactly. But Sirius – ”

“I’m not going to take your fuck buddy’s word for it! I’m going home.”

“Wait!” Mary interrupted her. “There’s no reason why this won’t work. And really, I’d marry you if the Ministry of Magic wasn’t so backwards.”

Lily sighed and grabbed her friend’s arm, dragging her to the side. She quickly checked the busy street, but no one seemed to be interested in them. “Mary, I’m about to commit fraud. I need this guy to be serious about it.”

“And that’s why we’re meeting him! Come on, just keep an open mind and if you don’t like him, I promise I’ll drop it.” Lily shot her a look, but there was no heat to it. “What do you have to lose?”

And that was the problem. What did she have to lose? In meeting Sirius Black’s friend, nothing. In leaving England, a job she enjoyed, a group of friends she adored and an admittedly adorable apartment. “Alright. But if he is a creep, I’m out of there.”

As it turned out, James Potter wasn’t a creep. He seemed a bit too full of himself and obviously thought the whole situation was a joke but, as Lily dragged her eyes over his face, she had to admit, at least to herself, that he wasn’t the worst option for a fake husband.

“So,” He said, leaning back on his chair. Lily’s eyes went to the shirt stretching on his chest and his grin, if possible, grew even more smug. “do you need me to get down on one knee now? I have to admit, I’ve always thought of the Leaky Cauldron as a romantic spot.”

Lily narrowed her eyes. “Is this just a big joke to you?”

He had the gall to shrug, which only irked her further. “Well, it’s an interesting new experience at least.”

She got up, grabbing her bag, avoiding the helpless look Mary was sending her. “We’re leaving.”

“No wait.”

“I’d rather be deported that have an arrogant toerag as a husband.”

***

“Toerag. Such a sodding toerag.” Lily muttered as she stirred her potion. It wasn’t turning the proper hue of lavender, but the only thing in her mind was James Potter’s insufferable attitude. She could picture him, as if he was standing in front of her: carefree grin, strong fingers pushing dark curls away from his forehead, warm hazel eyes gazing down at her. Strong fingers? Warm hazel eyes? What was wrong with her?

“Hullo?” She froze, hand clenched on her wand. It couldn’t be. “Is this a bad time?”

The sheepish look on James Potter’s face was almost enough to convince her he was truly sorry, but then she remembered his smug grin and narrowed her eyes in a glare. “For you? Yes.” She went back to her potion, satisfied that was enough to send him on his way, but apparently he was as stubborn as he was conceited.

He approached the table, joining her in front of the cauldron. “That doesn’t look right.” He observed and, as Lily glanced up at him, he seemed focused on the pink liquid. “I can tell you boiled it too much.”

She dropped her wand on the table with a huff and turned to look at him, arms crossed over her chest, because he was right, damn him. “What do you want?”

“Look, I’ll admit I didn’t put my best foot forward the other day –”

“You think?”

He tilted his head, looking slightly exasperated. “I want to help you.”

“Why?”

“I just want to do it.”

Lily sighed. She wasn’t about to accept the help he offered out of guilt for the way he’d acted, only to change his mind again down the line. There was too much at stake for her. “Look, it was a stupid idea anyway.”

“No, it wasn’t. It’ll work.”

“Lily – oh! I apologize for the interruption.” They swirled around, the booming voice of Slughorn, Lily’s boss, making her take an instinctual step away from James.

“No need,” She answered after a moment. “he was just leaving.”

But he didn’t seem to be paying attention to her. His eyes were glued to James and she frowned as a wide, excited smile broke on his face. “James Potter! Merlin’s beard, boy, what a wonderful surprise!”

“It’s good to see you, professor.”

Lily glanced at him sideways. Professor?  “What are you doing here? I wasn’t aware you and our Lily knew each other.”

“We do. Lily is quite the character.”

“She is!” He exclaimed, delighted. “She is one of the most brilliant witches I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with. You two would have hit it off at Hogwarts.”

Oh, of course. He must have been one of his students at Hogwarts. Sometimes she forgot how small the wizarding community was.

“I’m not sure.” He answered, turning to look at her with a mischievous grin. “I think Evans here might have found me arrogant back then.”

“No, no, don’t listen to him. He was perfectly charming.”

“I’m sure.” Lily said, holding back a laugh. “Was there anything you needed, sir?”

“It can wait! You two should catch up. And James, come see me before you leave.”

He nodded, even if she noticed his smile dimming a little as he watched Slughorn close the door behind him.

“What does he want from you?” Lily asked curiously, but he only shrugged.

“Who knows? So, what do you say about my offer?”

She hesitated, observing him, his obvious attempt of deflecting her question intriguing her as much as his odd insistence to help her. “I’m not sure I’m adventurous enough to marry a stranger.”

“Well that’s disappointing.” He looked at her for a long moment, before thrusting his hands inside his pockets. “It was nice seeing you again, bye Evans.”

She watched him walk away, somehow torn, confused by the mystery that seemed to be James Potter. “Wait!” She jogged to catch up with him, pushing back the door he was about to open. “I said I don’t want to marry a stranger.”

“I heard you.”

“Which means,” She interrupted him with a touch of impatience. “that I should get to know you.”

[lilydalexf]

Hey. Is there any fic where Scully being a badass and Mulders like “yeah that’s my girl”?☺️

Usually when I get an ask for X-Files fics I can think of some without having to refresh my memory. Here I had no idea! But I knew I’d read some fics where Mulder says “that’s my girl” out loud about Scully, so I went looking and found I’d read many great fics. Enjoy!

Breathe by Terri It’s set in the future after Mulder has disappeared and a fearful Scully gets in contact with him.

The Cry of the Truth by A.I. Irving As their love affair unfolds, Scully reveals to Mulder a painful secret relating to her abduction. Mulder's reaction tests their bond and eventually leads Scully to discover a few truths about herself.

Dance Without Sleeping by wonderland @amplifyme (Lydia Bower) Scully learns to live with her cancer and take back control of her life. [There’s more fic in this universe: Into Each Other Sinking.]

Dispatches by Lapsed_Scholar Dispatches from the government-issued cell phone of SA Dana Scully, MD.

far away to the west and south by audries @audriesfic This is what she always thinks of when they are at the gunmen’s: Where the Wild Things Are, an off-brand frat house, a basement lab, Robinson Crusoe, electrical fires, a high school AV club. Outerspace. Jail time for marijuana possession.

Five Stakeouts by thatfragilecapricorn @thatfragilecapricorn30 Mulder and Scully on stakeouts throughout the seasons.

focus by kittenscully The quality of the air in their office has changed along with the nature of their relationship, there’s no denying that. What had been a hotbed of uncertain attraction is now a space riddled with overt sexual charge, a pull as distracting and persistent as the compass needle pointing north.

gravity by ms_starlight71 msr, season 11 smut in the unremarkable house, sex against the window

Heart’s Content by oohnotvery @oohnotvery Mulder will break his own heart before he lets Scully do it.

The Measure of My Days by Marguerite Skinner prepares himself for a sacrifice.

Midori No Me by FridaysAt9 When several couples go missing from a 55+ community in Florida, Mulder and Scully are once again assigned as an undercover married couple tasked with solving the case. Mulder can’t wait to play house as a retiree, but because of the nature of their relationship at its current state, Scully isn’t so sure. Set post Plus One.

morbid by kittenscully Her clinical detachment is mitigated by the absolute fascination in her eyes, and he is in awe of her, despite himself. His little scientist, the best the Bureau has to offer. Elbow deep in guts, and enthusiastic to the core.

Original Sin by Syntax6 It's post Fight the Future, and Scully has moved to Utah. Unfortunately for her, the X-Files followed her there. She must not have noticed that the state emblem is a big old beehive. Poor Scully. When will she learn? [Also check out some commentary here from @syntax6 about the fic]

Right Hand Return by Anonymous An alternative universe in which Scully is returned from her abduction with a baby, no memories of anything prior to her captivity and some PTSD.

Sleep Talk by PiecesOfScully @piecesofscully Scully ponders the boundaries of their relationship

SN 1572 by Prufrock’s Love After colonization and Earth’s devastation, Scully remains in one of the few safe, walled colonies, remembering the past and praying for some future with Mulder. Whatever the hell Mulder has become. [This fic is also at AO3.]

A String of Stars by @smilingoceanlover For some Christmas-y MSR on-the-run fluffy/sexy times. There be tropes, folks.

Time by Terma99 Returning to San Francisco, Mulder and Scully discover that becoming lovers is just a matter of time.

Truly Madly Deeply III by misslucyjane (Jenna Tooms) Where has Scully been, and why did she go there?

Twelve Beads by Zuffy IVF never happened.

Valentines ‘99 by @is-on-its-way Mulder tries to cheer up Scully after the bed sharing and her epiphany in the rain king make her upset. Main event takes place Feb 16th 1999

The Wisdom of a Man – Dancing With Mulder by wonderland @amplifyme (Lydia Bower) Scully reflects on her changing relationship with Mulder.

The Wish III by ViXen On St. Patrick’s Day, Scully is given the opportunity to see how life could be different had alternate paths been chosen.

[tgmsunmontue]

Wild fields of forget-me-nots - 11/? WIP

During the training for the mission Jake has an accident which results in him losing 10 years of memories.

A lot has happened in ten years. Bradley broke up with him. DADT was repealed. He got and air-to-air kill and a new callsign.

And he doesn't remember any of it.

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN

PART ELEVEN

                “God I love you, you completely stupid fucking idiot…”

                “Hey baby…” Bradley drawls, not sure if Jake can understand him, tongue thick in his mouth, but that’s what he’s saying. Trying to say. Jake looks so good. He needs to tell him that, painkillers and concussion making him feel drunk. Except he’s in too much pain for that. “You look good…”

                Jake laughs, but there’s a hysterical edge to it and he’s swooping down to press a kiss to Bradley’s forehead.

                “Still trying to flirt when you’re horizontal.”

                “It’s… it’s how I do my best work,” Bradley jokes, and his ribs are fucking sore, breathing hurts. Laughing hurts. Everything fucking hurts. But he’s alive.

                “Not for a while you’re not. We’re walking wounded. You just lay there and look pretty…”

                “Thought that was your job.”

                “Guys. I’m right here,” Coyote states, and his expression is incredibly unimpressed. He’s looking at Bradley like he’s waiting for him to just blurt it out and he shifts, trying to sit up a little, because he knows he needs to do it.

                “Hey, what are you trying to do… stay there,” Jake says, hand on his shoulder, too soft to actual apply pressure but he gets what Jake is trying to do and he slumps back down, what little energy he had sapped away.

                “I… I need to tell you something.”

                Jake’s eyes rove over his face, or he’s more concussed than he thought, unable to focus properly and Jake’s concussion also means he’s unable to focus. God they make a pair.

                “Oh… oh darlin’. You don’t need to tell me anything. I already know.”

                “Know?” Bradley asks, stomach twisting and he thinks he might be sick again. Thinks about Jake turning around and walking out. He wouldn’t blame him. Wouldn’t stop him. “Know what?”

                “I know that we’re not actually married. Although I’m going to marry the hell out of you Bradley Bradshaw. Once we’re both fully recovered and can actually enjoy our wedding night and honeymoon…”

                “Um. Did you get your memories back?”

                “Nope. Not yet. Did read a few hundred letters with my name on them though…”

                “Oh. Oh shit…” Bradley says with dawning horror. He hadn't thought about them.

                “Letters?” Coyote asks and Bradley feels woozy again. Jake doesn’t look upset though, and Bradley scrambles for his hand, needs to check.

                “Yeah darlin’, I’m still wearing my ring. Wild horses couldn’t take it off me.”

                “I’m sorry…” Bradley whispers, and he can feel the pressure in his head, concussion headache becoming worse with the threatening tears so he just lets them fall. “I’m so sorry.”

                “We will be having a very very long conversation. A long overdue one. But it can wait until you’re feeling better,” Jake says quietly, pressing another kiss to his forehead and he still feels sick with guilt, but also a little relieved that his letters have already done the job he’d been dreading, despite it not being his intention.

                “You wrote him a letter?” Coyote asks, tone sharp, accusing and Bradley shakes his head and he groans, the action making him feel worse. Jake’s hand settles on his face, cupping his jaw.

                “He’s been writing me letters for years. Since he broke up with me.”

                “What? And you’re just going to forgive him?”

                “Well, seeing as I don’t remember him doing anything that needs forgiving, yes. We’ll cross other bridges when we come to them. Okay?” Jake asks him, and he blinks slowly, nods his head just as slowly.

                He knows there’s a chance Jake might leave when he gets his memories back, but there’s also a chance he’ll stay. He’ll take any chance over zero chance.

…            …            …

                He wakes up later with a gasp, nightmare of explosions fading behind his eyelids. Someone is sitting there quietly, and he shifts, expecting to see Jake. Instead, it’s Maverick and he’s disappointed, clearly does a poor job of hiding the fact if Mav’s amused huff is any indication.

                “He’s gone home. He’s still meant to be resting, and he only went because Coyote insisted he go home and sleep in a proper bed. They’ll be back early tomorrow. Today.”

                “Pretty sure you’re meant to be resting as well,” Bradley croaks, and Mav snorts, stands to get him a glass of water which he accepts gratefully. His ankle is throbbing and he vaguely remembers them saying he’d hurt it.

                “Couldn’t sleep. Needed to check on you. They’ve got me next door.”

                “Good. How are you feeling?”

                “Sore. Don’t think my body can handle any more…” Mav says and Bradley scoffs, but doesn’t shake his head, still doesn’t trust himself to not throw up. “I’m serious. Two ejections in a month are two too many.”

                “What? Two?”

                “Yeah. First one was before I came to North Island obviously, only by a couple of days. So. Yeah. That was my second ejection. Then a crash landing. My body is letting me know it’s had enough. Even if my mind is willing, my body is telling me it’s tired… Not as young as I used to be.”

                Bradley sucks in a quiet breath and lets it out silently, wonders if he should ask, if it matters, or whether it’ll give them something else to talk about. The idea that Mav could have died without them talking… Fuck. He doesn’t think he can handle it right now. Not with the one he’s already sort of had with Jake and the bigger one he knows he has coming.

                “I’m glad we’re both alive Mav.”

                “So am I kid, so am I.”

…            …            …

                Someone is running fingers through his hair. It feels nice. He hums, presses into it, blinks sleepily, feels fingertips brush over his eyebrows. The room is dark, but he suspects it’s actually daylight outside now.

                “Jake?”

                “Right here…”

                “Love you.”

                “Love you too. Go back to sleep if you want. I’m not going anywhere.”

…            …            …

                When he wakes again he feels more alert. As his eyes adjust to the darkness of the room he can see Jake, his arms and head resting on the hospital bed so he can also sleep. He can’t reach him, but he desperately needs to touch him, fumbles with the control of the hospital bed, gasps and breathes through the pain in his ribs as the bed moves him slowly more upright. Fuck. If this is just bruised he’s really glad they’re not broken.

                “What are you even trying to do?” Jake asks, and Bradley can see now that his eyes are open, mere slits watching him.

                “Couldn’t reach you…”

                “You only had to ask darlin’,” Jake says, and he’s pressing a kiss to his forehead again and he knows he’s feeling better because he wants to kiss him properly. Especially now that there’s not the lie of their fake marriage between them. “How are you feeling?”

                “Uh. Honestly? I really need to piss…”

                “There are crutches if you think you can handle them, or I can go and find a wheelchair.”

                “Crutches are fine…”

                Of course it’s not that easy, but Jake is there and helping, standing beside him with his hand on his waist and he gives in to the urge to draw him into a hug, holds him tight and feels his breath catch as he feels Jake hug him back, much gentler, clearly mindful of Bradley’s ribs.

                “So glad I got to come back home to you.”

                “Oh, trust me. I’m just as glad. But don’t think that I’m not also angry with you, but I’m also a little angry at myself for clearly missing how bad you must have been feeling. Loving you has always been easy.”

                “Even now?”

                “Especially now…but come on, get moving before you piss yourself.”

                Bradley grins and does as he's told.

[nameless-ken]

Bucky Barnes x Reader - Part Eight

Word count: 7k

Warnings: mentions of fighting, guns, blood & the usual angst

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

Masterlist

Bucky lays on another squeaky motel bed, gaze fixed on the cracked ceiling above. It brings him back to when he was on the run many years ago, in hiding from his alter ego of chaos. Aged walls, peeling wallpaper and that lingering musty smell of smoke and dust that makes the air feel thick after years of neglect. The silence was almost too much. Normally, Bucky didn’t mind the quiet, but at this moment, it feels suffocating.

Steve and Sam left to grab dinner, giving him the space they knew he needs. After what happened earlier today, they figured it was best to let him process whatever was going on inside his head. But that didn’t make the silence any easier to bear.

The helplessness crashes over him in waves, weighing him down.

Bucky’s mind churns relentlessly, each thought pulling him deeper into a pit of regret. He can’t stop replaying the moments he messed up but mostly importantly how he’d failed you. He hates imagining the ways Jakob and his men grabbed you.

Was it too aggressive? Had he hurt you? How bad is it?

His chest tightens with each unanswered question, each horrible thought. What could you be thinking of him right now, tied up somewhere, possibly in pain, waiting for him to save you?

His voice cracks as the weight of the words hits him harder than any punch he’s ever taken. He rolls over, facing the wall, closing his eyes in an attempt to clear the storm in his head. But it’s impossible. The guilt gnaws at him.

“Why can’t I ever do things right? He mutters under his breath in frustration. “Everyone I love always gets hurt because of me.” He drags a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes as if that would stop the endless flashbacks he can never undo. 

He’s always been good at carrying the weight of others’. He’s done it for over 70 years. But this—this is different. This is too personal. This is about someone he’s come to care for in ways he’s never allowed himself to since 1943. And he’s terrified of that, no matter how hard he tries, he’ll only end up hurting you in the end.

He wants to be better, to be the man you deserve but every time he lets himself hope, every time he lets his guard down, someone he loves gets hurt. He’s not sure he can handle losing you for good.

A soft knock on the door pulls him from his spiraling thoughts. His heart beats a little faster.

"Bucky? You good in there?" Steve’s voice is calm but with an undertone of concern, one that Bucky can feel even through the door.

Bucky doesn’t answer right away. His throat is tight and jaw clenched. The voice in his head is sharp and punishing, wanting him to believe he doesn’t deserve help, or friends, or hope.

The lock clicks and the door creaks open.

“We brought food,” Sam says, stepping inside first. He holds up a brown paper bag with grease stains. “It’s nothing fancy but they had decent burgers.”

Steve follows, setting down a pair of bottled waters and the keys on the chipped motel dresser. He glances at Bucky without saying much. His usual quick check-in with his eyes before sitting down at the small table tucked in the corner.

Bucky stays on the bed. “You didn’t have to bring me anything.”

“We’re not about to let you starve yourself out of guilt,” Sam says plainly, handing him a takeout bag and a napkin.

Bucky sits up slowly, adjusting off his wounded side, the bed springs groaning under his weight. He doesn’t open the bag, just holds it in his lap. He can’t remember the last time he thought about food. 

Steve pulls a crumpled map from his back pocket, spreading it across the table beside his food. “We’ve got something. Not solid yet, but it’s a start.”

That gets Bucky’s attention. He sets the untouched bag aside and leans forward.

Sam joins Steve at the table, flipping through a notebook filled with scribbled intel. “Jakob’s been moving fast, but not smart. Left a trail of surveillance hits. Gas station cameras, back road traffic cams... Bruce’s team is scrubbing everything for patterns.”

Bucky finally speaks, his voice low. “Any faces?”

Bucky’s metal fist tightens as his arm winds up in anger. “How far is that from here?”

Steve nods. “One. From a convenience store. It's blurry, but it’s definitely him. And there’s a glimpse of someone in the van with him. We couldn’t get a clear shot of the face but we’re assuming it’s Y/N.”

“Too far for a straight shot tonight,” Sam says. “But close enough that if we leave at dawn, we can hit the next likely stop before he moves again.”

“We’ll get her back,” Steve states.

Bucky looks away, eyes fixed back on the ceiling, jaw twitching. “You can’t promise that.”

“You’re right,” Steve says. “But we’re not giving up. And you’re not doing this alone.”

Silence falls again but this one isn’t suffocating. It’s heavy, sure, but shared now.

Sam breaks it after a moment. “We’re going to keep going through everything the team sends overnight. We’ll take shifts. You try to get some rest.”

Bucky doesn’t respond at first. Then, quietly, “I don’t think I can.”

Steve moves to sit beside him on the edge of the bed. “I know. But even an hour or two—clearer head, better reaction time tomorrow. That’s how you help her.”

Bucky nods faintly. Not agreement, not really. Just understanding. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.

“She was so scared the day we left,” he says suddenly. “I could see it. She didn’t say much but I knew. And now she’s hurt and alone.”

Neither Steve nor Sam says anything for a moment. There’s nothing that can make that truth easier.

Sam puts a hand on his shoulder. “Then let’s make damn sure this is the last time.”

Bucky exhales, sharp and shaky. He picks up the paper bag again, not because he’s hungry, but because it’s something to do. Something that makes him feel human, even if just for a minute. He knows you’d want him to take care of himself, even if he feels like he doesn’t deserve it. 

The room quiets again. Sam taps at the keys of his laptop, Steve mumbles to himself over the maps and notes. Bucky allows himself one small, fleeting thought:

Please hang on Y/N.

Because even though you're out there—scared, hurting, waiting—he has to believe there's still time to fix this. Still a chance to bring you home. And maybe a chance to be someone worth coming back to.

A dull ache throbs at the base of your skull as you drift back into consciousness. The air is thick with the scent of damp concrete and rust. Your wrists burn where the restraints tear into your skin.

You force your eyes open, blinking against the dim, flickering light overhead. The walls are concrete with no windows. One steel door. A camera in the corner, its red light blinking like a slow heartbeat. You weren’t sure how long you’d been out, but the sluggishness in your limbs told you enough. Jakob’s men drugged you.

The sound of a door creaking open cuts through the silence. Footsteps, deliberate and unhurried, echoes as Jakob steps into the room.

“Well, look who’s awake.” His voice is smooth, almost amused. He moves with confidence, his dark eyes studying you like a predator toying with its prey.

You don’t respond, keeping your expression plain even as your heart pounds loudly in your ears. You won’t give him the satisfaction.

Jakob exhales a short laugh. “You’re just as stubborn as I expected.” He slowly steps closer, clasping his hands behind his back. “But I wonder how long will that last once you realize just how much danger you’re in?”

You lift your chin. “Cut the theatrics. We both know I’m just bait.”

His lips curl into a smirk. “Clever.” He crouches in front of you. “See, Bucky has always been predictable. No matter how much he pretends he’s free, he’s got one fatal flaw—he cares. He’s spent years running from his past, but all it takes is the right pressure and old instincts resurface.”

Your fingers curl into fists. “You don’t know him.”

Jakob’s smirk falter slightly, annoyance flashing across his features. Without warning, he stands and kicks the leg of your chair.

You don't have time to brace yourself—the world tips, and you crash hard onto your side, the impact rattling your bones. Pain bursts down your arm and side where it takes the brunt of the fall.

The metal chair cracks under the weight, splintering at one of the joints, but it doesn't fully break. Still, you feel the weak point you could maybe exploit.

Jakob leans over you, voice cold. "I know enough." Then, with a final look of disgust, he straightens and steps away.

“He’s a killer,” Jakob says with a calmness that makes you want to scream. “Do you really think someone like that can love anyone the right way? He destroys everything he touches. You’re just next in line.”

That lingers in your mind. You know of Bucky’s most deep and dark cracks that you’ve tried to help fill. His fear of being too much, not enough and being forgotten.

You remember the way his hand trembled the first time he reached for yours. The way his eyes softened when he looked at you like you were something good, something worth protecting. You think of his laugh—rare, quiet, but real—and the way his walls would fall for just a second when he let you in.

He loves you and you feel it. Even through the distance and conflict between you. And you cling to that now.

Jakob’s gaze darkens. “I know him better than you think. I know what he’s capable of when he’s desperate. And right now?” He tilts his head. “He’s frantic. Reckless. The perfect pawn.”

You glare up at him from where you lay sideways on the floor, breath steady despite the anger simmering beneath the surface. “If you think I’m going to help you break him, you’re delusional.”

Jakob chuckles, rising to his feet. “Oh, I don’t need your help. Bucky will walk straight into my hands, and when he does… we’ll see just how much of the Winter Soldier still lurks beneath the surface.”

The threat lingers in the air but you don't flinch from his admission.

He studies you for a moment longer, then nods toward the guards stationed at the door. “Keep an eye on her. I don’t want any surprises.”

With that, he turns and struts out, leaving you alone with his men.

Your mind races. You can’t sit here and wait for Bucky to charge in headfirst. If Jakob wants you as leverage, then he needs you alive. Which means you have time.

And you aren’t about to waste it.

You flex your hands, feeling along the weak spot in the chair where it cracked from the fall. Pain shoots through your wrists, but you ignore it, focusing on what you can control.

If Bucky is coming for you, you’re damn sure going to try and make it easier for him. Because you aren’t just going to sit here and wait to be saved.

You glance around again, slower this time, trying to see anything you missed before. The guards are posted by the door, half-bored, half-alert, eyes flicking between their phones and you like they’re waiting for an excuse to do something.

There’s nothing in this room you could use as a weapon but that’s not what you’re looking for.

Your eyes land on the far wall. A faint crack runs beneath one of the exposed pipes. There’s something there, maybe a broken seam in the concrete or old damage from a repair. Either way, it’s out of the camera’s direct sight.

And that gives you a window.

You shift again, wincing as your tied hands brush the floor. Something small and sharp jabs your palm.

When the guards switch shifts a couple hours later, one of them yawning and muttering about needing coffee, you make your move. You fight off the sleep that’s been begging to drag you under.

A shard of rusted metal. Part of the broken leg of the chair. You curl your fingers around it, tucking it into your sleeve.

The lone guard doesn’t notice as you ease toward the wall and crouch low, hidden by the shadow from the pipe. Your hands shake partly from pain and another part adrenaline as you press the shard into the concrete and begin to scratch.

The sound is nearly silent but the pressure is slow and grueling. You don’t know how much time you have. You don’t care as you press deeper.

Line by line. Until the symbol begins to take shape. A star, lopsided, jagged and imperfect. But unmistakable. A symbol only one person in the world would recognize.

You pause, your fingers bleeding now from the pressure and raw edge of the shard. 

You press your forehead against the cold wall for just a moment, exhaling slowly and quietly. You can feel your heart steady.

No matter what Jakob says. No matter how hopeless it feels. You won’t let Bucky walk back into the dark. Because you believe in him.

And you know—you know—he’s coming for you. Even if it kills him.

The SUV crunches over gravel as it rolls to a stop in front of an empty warehouse. The windows are shattered, graffiti stains the brick walls and a rusting sign now hangs at a crooked angle, swaying slightly in the breeze.

Bucky steps out first. His boots hit the ground like a warning shot. He’s sharper now more in control than he was in that motel room and the fight yesterday but just barely. The storm inside him hasn’t calmed. It’s only been redirected.

Steve joins him at his side, already scanning the perimeter with his soldier’s eye. “This is the place,” he says quietly, holding up the printout of the last surveillance hit. “Traffic cam caught a van matching Jakob’s heading north. License plate is half-legible. We cross-referenced it with gas station activity—this was the last confirmed stop.”

Sam swoops down seconds later, wings retracting as he lands beside them. “Place is cold. No heat signatures inside. But someone was definitely here—fresh tire tracks around the back, looks like they didn’t bother hiding.”

Bucky’s jaw tightens. “He’s moving fast.”

Steve nods. “Which means he’s nervous.”

They move in silently, weapons drawn but held low. Bucky leads, stepping over broken glass and into the shadowed interior. The air smells of mold and rot. It’s dark, but a few rays of light filter through cracks in the boarded-up windows.

They sweep the building methodically. Sam checks what used to be the offices, Steve clears the back storeroom. Bucky moves deeper into the warehouse itself, toward what looks like a storage area still partially intact.

It’s when he brushes past the far wall near the back that something makes him stop cold.

He tilts his head. Narrow eyes scan the wall, ignoring the crumbling paint and cobwebs. Until he sees it.

Carved into the concrete. Small. Rough. Hidden low, just above a busted pipe.

His breath catches. A star.

Not perfect, but it doesn’t need to be. He’d know that shape anywhere. His own ghost reflected back at him.

His heart stops. Then it slams back into rhythm, harder, louder, as if trying to claw its way through his chest.

“Steve,” he calls out hoarsely. “Sam.” They rush to him. Bucky doesn’t move, doesn’t take his eyes off the carving.

“She was here,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “She left this for me.”

Steve crouches beside him to see it clearer. “It’s recent,” he says. 

Sam exhales sharply. “She’s fighting. That means Jakob doesn’t have as tight a grip as he thinks.”

Steve pulls out the map again. “If this was the last stop, we can assume he’s continuing north. There’s only a few major routes he could take if he’s trying to stay out of sight. We narrow it down, we catch him.”

Bucky backs away, hand resting on the wall like he can still feel your presence there. His fists curl at his sides.

But Bucky’s already walking. “Then let’s move.”

Sam glances at Steve. “He’s locked in now.”

Steve nods. “Good. We’re going to need him like this.”

The three of them step back into the morning light, the fog burning off under the rising sun.

The hidden message has changed something in Bucky. Not just reignited his hope.

It reminded him who he is when he fights for love.

You sit in the back of a beat up, old van, wrists still bound tightly. The floor vibrates beneath you and every bump in the road shoots a jolt of pain through your bruised ribs.

Jakob rides up front, barking directions into a burner phone. “We’re altering course too much heat on the original route. Prep the next site. Now.”

You tune him out. Your focus is on the screw you palmed back at the last holding room. Small., sharp and tucked tight against your skin beneath the hem of your shirt. 

The van takes a sudden turn, tires screeching. “What the hell—?” Jakob mutters.

A dark SUV speeds into view behind them, headlights flashing.

From the back window, you catch the unmistakable silhouette of Sam in the passenger seat. And Bucky—he’s driving.

Your heart skips. You can’t believe it. They're here.

Inside the SUV, Bucky’s grip on the steering wheel is white-knuckled. His eyes are locked on the van. “That’s them.”

Steve checks the GPS tracker Bruce’s team hacked from nearby cameras. “They don’t have many places left to run.”

Sam nods, already reaching for his wings. “Let’s close this down. We take them before they hit the tree line up ahead—no chance of backup out there.”

Back in the van, the guards scramble. One climbs into the back with you, gun raised, shouting at the driver. Jakob growls, “Move faster!”

You see the moment everything starts to fall apart: the van swerves and tires scream again.

Outside, Sam launches from the SUV mid-motion, wings snapping open. He gains altitude and fires a stun round at the van’s back wheel. It hits dead-on. The tire explodes.

The van fishtails violently, skidding into the dirt shoulder. It doesn’t flip, but it slams to a jarring halt. Dust flies everywhere.

Bucky’s out before the SUV fully stops. He’s running before Steve can shout his name.

The van door swings open and you see him.

“Bucky!” you yell, scrambling forward despite your restraints.

A guard tries to grab you but Bucky’s bullet finds his shoulder before he makes contact. You drop to the floor, dazed but conscious.

Jakob curses, draws his weapon but Bucky’s already on him, metal arm slamming the gun free.

They grapple, brutal and fast. Jakob’s stronger than he looks, fueled by desperation and adrenaline. But Bucky’s faster. Better at winning.

Steve and Sam are dealing with the other guards outside—shouts, punches, gunfire. It’s chaos.

Then a flashbang rolls under the van.

Bucky sees it too late. It detonates with a deafening BANG, flooding the air with white light and searing pain.

You scream. Bucky stumbles back, eyes clenching shut as his ears ring.

In the confusion, someone yanks you backward—Jakob. His hand is like a vice around your arm as he drags you out the other side of the van, shielding himself with your body.

“Move, now!” Jakob shouts to what’s left of his men.

Steve reaches Bucky. “You okay?!”

Bucky blinks the white spots from his vision, searching frantically for you. “Where is she? Where the hell is she?!”

Sam, now airborne, yells from above. “They’ve got her again heading toward the treeline!”

Bucky’s on his feet, running. Sprinting.

You twist and fight in Jakob’s grasp, screaming his name again. “Bucky!”

He’s so close. Just ten more feet and he could grab you. You see it in his eyes. How ready he is to take a bullet for you if he has to.

But another guard blindsides him, tackling him hard. Steve’s there an instant later, taking down the attacker but it’s too late. Jakob disappears with you into the trees.

The sounds of retreat fade quickly, leaving only the heavy breathing of three worn-down men and the distant hum of birdsong.

Bucky falls to his knees, chest heaving, fists in the dirt. “She was right there,” he whispers, voice shattered.

Steve kneels beside him, hand on his back. “We’ll get her back.” But Bucky’s already shaking his head.

“She called for me. I saw her. I almost had her—” his voice breaks off.

Sam touches down nearby, scanning the direction Jakob fled. “We’re not done yet. He’s bleeding. He’s sloppy now. We can use that.”

Bucky doesn’t answer. He just stares at the treeline where you disappeared.

This time, when he goes after Jakob—he’s not coming back without you.

Bucky stands near the burned-out shell of a campfire Steve and Sam put together last night. His arms are crossed, jaw clenched so hard it aches.

They almost had you.

And somehow, in the chaos of extraction, Jakob slipped through the cracks again, dragging you with him.

The guilt continues to seep through him. He couldn’t sleep a wink, replaying his movements from yesterday. How he should have held tighter, moved faster and killed anyone in the way.

Steve and Sam are a few yards away, speaking low into a comms device. Reinforcements were called before sunrise. 

The sound of the quinjet overhead draws Bucky’s eyes upward. It touches down hard, kicking up a storm of leaves and dust. The hatch drops and there they are.

Natasha hops out first, already geared up, her expression grim. Clint follows. Bruce shoulders a heavy duffel packed with tech and field equipment. 

The team has arrived and they all look ready for war.

Steve wastes no time. He meets them halfway, voice sharp, commanding. “Jakob’s moving north through the ridge. Intel from the last surveillance sweep picked up heat signatures inside an abandoned mill about five miles out. He’s fortified. Traps, sensors, probably hostiles. It’s not going to be easy.”

Natasha steps forward, sharp eyes locking onto Steve. “And Y/N’s still inside?”

Bucky answers before Steve can. “Yeah. She’s alive.” He says it with such certainty that no one questions it.

For a moment, the team goes still. The weight of knowing that one of their own is in enemy hands.

Sam clicks a new magazine into place with sharp, practiced motions. "Jakob’s gonna regret breathing our air when we're done with him."

Bruce adjusts the duffel strap on his shoulder, his brow furrowed with worry. "Y/N’s tough. She’s holding on."

Clint steps up, slinging his bow across his chest. His voice is steady but there’s a dark edge to it. “She’s scrappy. Always thinking two steps ahead. If anyone’s giving Jakob hell right now, it’s her.”

Bucky swallows thickly, feeling something twist deep in his chest.

Natasha flips a knife into her palm, twirling it as she speaks. "She notices the small things," she says quietly. "The stuff we try to hide." Her mouth pulls tight. "She’s been a saving grace to many of us these past months of getting to know her.”

A silence falls after that. Heavy. Meaningful. Bucky breathes through his nose, feeling the fire in his veins sharpen, focus.

This isn’t just about him anymore. It never was.

This is about family.

Bucky tightens the straps on his tactical gear, checking the slide on his sidearm.

Jakob wasn’t just kidnapping you. He was baiting a trap. Trying to bring back the part of him he’s fought so hard to bury.

The Winter Soldier.

But what Jakob didn’t understand—what he never understood—was that Bucky Barnes isn’t a weapon anymore.

He’s a man again and he’s not alone.

Steve moves closer, voice dropping low just for Bucky. “We’re getting her back. No matter what it takes.”

Sam claps Bucky’s shoulder hard, a grin cutting through the tension. "Let’s go get our girl."

Clint grins too, dangerous and sharp. “Time to crash a party.”

Natasha just loads a round into her rifle with a chilling calm. “Move fast. Hit harder. No second chances.”

The team assembles as they move out. Bucky leads.

And this time, nothing—not bullets, not bombs, not even Jakob’s worst nightmares—will stand between him and you.

The building sits ahead like a fortress, thick concrete walls coiled with razor wire and barred windows. Guard towers blink red with motion sensors.

This isn't just a hideout. It’s a trap meant for him, he knows that much.

Natasha and Clint peel off first, tasked with disabling the external defenses.

Bruce stays close to the main group, jaw tight, hands already twitching. If this goes sideways, they’ll need the Other Guy.

Bucky, Steve, and Sam storm straight through the center that’s been left free of threats. 

Inside, the air is foul. It reeks of oil, blood and scorched metal. Bucky’s heartbeat pounds harder with every hallway they clear. Every corner they turn.

Where are you?

He doesn’t dare say your name but then a scream—thin, desperate—cuts through the building.

You.

Bucky’s blood ices over. He breaks into a dead sprint, Steve and Sam hot on his heels.

They reach the second floor. The scene punches the breath from Bucky’s lungs.

You’re strapped to a battered, blood-stained medical gurney, wrists and ankles bound so tightly the cuffs have torn your skin raw. Wires snake from your temples and arms into a monstrous machine humming low and ominous beside you.

Your head lolls weakly. Blood trickles down your face from a gash at your brow. Your eyes flutter, fighting to stay open but it’s a losing battle.

“Y/N…” Bucky’s voice cracks. His feet move without thinking.

And then he sees him. Jakob.

Standing too close to you. One hand poised over the machine’s controls. The other gripping a black trigger device, thumb hovering inches above the button.

"Welcome, Soldat," Jakob sneers, voice dripping venom. 

“Let her go.” Bucky’s voice is a growl, metal hand twitching at his side.

Jakob tilts his head mockingly. "Oh, I plan to," he says softly. "After you remember who you really are."

He slams his thumb down. The machine shrieks to life. You convulse violently, thrashing against the restraints, a raw, broken scream tearing from your throat.

"NO!" Bucky roars, lunging forward but the floor beneath him disappears. A trapdoor triggered the moment he crossed the line.

He falls, slamming hard into a pit lined with electrified walls. A surge of voltage rips through him. His metal arm spasms violently. His breath rips out of him in a ragged cry.

"Bucky!" Your scream tears through the air like a blade.

Steve and Sam open fire at the machine, trying to disable it. Natasha and Clint take out snipers from the rafters.

But it’s not fast enough.

Jakob stands over you, triumphant, as if he’s already won. "You die," he spits viciously, "unless the Winter Soldier wakes up."

In the pit, Bucky shudders against another pulse of electricity.

The memories slam into him— The chair. The trigger phrases. The mind-wiping pain. A command, an identity that was never really his, screaming to the surface.

But then—Through the agony, through the roar of blood in his ears—He hears you.

Weak. Struggling. Still you.

"Bucky..." you whisper, voice broken but unwavering. "Please..."

Not the Winter Soldier. Not the weapon.

Just Bucky.

Something inside himself snaps forward. He grits his teeth, focuses past the pain, and drives his metal fist into the pit wall.

Concrete cracks. Another hit. Sparks shower.

Again. Again.

Until the wall finally buckles, the sparks halt and gives way. Bucky hauls himself up, a roaring storm of fury and panic wrapped into one.

He barely sees Jakob’s wide-eyed panic. In two brutal strides, Bucky slams into him, knocking the trigger from Jakob’s hand. It clatters across the floor, harmless now.

The machine sputters and shorts out in smoke and silence.

Steve and Sam wrestle the guards flooding into the room. Natasha drops from the rafters and Clint’s arrows pin down every last straggler.

Through the chaos Bucky only cares about you. You’re barely conscious, trembling, your body wrecked.

He rips the restraints free, gathering you into his arms. You slump against him, breathing ragged but alive.

“I’ve got you,” he rasps against your hair, voice breaking. “I’ve got you, doll. It’s over. You’re okay. You’re okay…”

But behind him comes another wave of movement.

Jakob, bloodied, broken and not done. He lunges, a jagged blade flashing.

You see it first.

With the last strength you have, you shove Bucky hard and the blade buries itself in your shoulder instead of his back.

You cry out, the sound tearing straight through him.  Bucky spins just in time to catch you.

He sees the blood blooming down your arm and all he sees is red.

Without a second’s hesitation, Bucky rips Jakob from the ground and slams him into the nearest wall hard enough to crack concrete.

His fist lifts. One blow could end it.

But your shaky, bloody hand reaches out to stop him.  "Don’t," you whisper, voice trembling. "You’re not him."

It’s you. It’s always you.

Bucky stares down at Jakob who is now broken, and pathetic, letting his hand fall. Jakob slumps, unconscious.

Clint steps in, shackling him with chains. His voice rumbles low and grim. "No more running."

Steve presses a makeshift bandage to your wound, working fast. Bruce is already calling in medvac team. Natasha disappears into the corridors, making sure no one’s left alive.

Bucky just holds you tighter. Your forehead presses against his chest, your body trembling in his arms.

"You saved me," you whisper, as your breath rumbles through your chest.

Bucky closes his eyes, his voice rough in your hair. "We saved each other."

As the medics storm in, Bucky doesn’t move, even as Steve waves them forward with urgent hands, Bucky just holds you tighter, pressing you against his chest like he can shield you from everything. Like he could will your pain away by the sheer force of his love.

"Sergeant Barnes, we need to stabilize her—" One of the medics tries to ease you from his arms.

Bucky growls low in his throat, metal hand tightening protectively around your back. You flinch weakly at the pressure and Bucky’s heart shatters into a thousand sharp pieces.

"I’m not letting her go," he snarls, voice shaking. "I'm not—"

Steve steps in, firm but gentle. "Buck. They're here to help her. You can stay with her. Just let them work."

His entire body is vibrating with the need to fight—to protect—but finally, slowly, he shifts just enough to let the medics work around him. He never lets you out of his arms.

They strap an oxygen mask over your face, start a line in your arm, wrap tight bandages around the deep knife wound in your shoulder. You whimper once, a tiny, broken sound and Bucky hunches over you instinctively, shielding you from the world.

"You’re okay, doll," he whispers, over and over, like a vow. "You’re safe. I’ve got you."

They move fast. Within minutes, they have a stretcher ready. Bucky lifts you himself, cradling you against his chest like you weigh nothing at all. The medics don't dare argue.

Sam and Steve walk tight to either side of Bucky like living walls, watching every shadow, every movement.

Nobody is taking you from him. Not again.

As they board, the quinjet rocks slightly under the weight. Bucky sinks into a seat, still holding you, arms locked. His metal hand strokes trembling lines down your back, soothing you even though you're barely conscious.

Your fingers twitch weakly against his chest. He lowers his head, pressing his forehead to yours.

"You fought so hard," he breathes. "I’m so damn proud of you."

Across the cabin, the others work quietly. Clint reloads. Natasha cleans her knives. Steve scrubs a bloodied hand through his hair. And one by one, they glance toward you.

Sam is the first to speak, voice rough but full of something almost like awe. "She's a damn fighter."

Clint grins tiredly, twirling an arrow between his fingers. "Wouldn’t want to be on the other side of her."

Bruce, crouched by the medical gear, nods quietly. "Most people would’ve given up in there. She didn’t."

Bucky can hear their words but doesn’t acknowledge them. He just holds you closer, feeling the steady, fragile thump of your heartbeat against his chest.

Alive. You’re alive.

And he swears—swears with every battered piece of himself—that you’re going to stay that way.

As the quinjet lifts into the sky, Bucky closes his eyes and breathes you in.

The ride is rough. Turbulence kicks the jet sideways more than once. Each time, Bucky locks his arms tighter around you.

When the private hospital finally appears through the clouds, Bucky doesn’t wait for permission.

The second the hatch lowers, he’s moving, boots pounding down the ramp with you cradled against him. The medical team rushes out to meet them, gurney ready, equipment flashing.

"Sergeant Barnes, please—" Helen steps forward, trying to take you from his arms.

Bucky jerks back a step, teeth bared. "No."

Steve’s voice cuts sharp and low behind him. "Let him. She needs him."

Helen hesitates but one look at Bucky’s wild, shattered eyes and she nods.

Together, they hurry into the building, Bucky carrying you the whole way. His metal arm shields you. His other hand cups the back of your head, fingers trembling.

The doors crash open full of bright lights and sharp voices. The smell of antiseptic and blood fill the room

Bucky lays you down gently, so carefully onto the operating table. You stir faintly, whimpering. Your hand flails weakly toward him. Immediately, Bucky catches it, pressing your fingers against his mouth.

"I’m right here, doll," he chokes. "I’m not going anywhere."

The medical team works around him in a blur, cutting away blood-soaked fabric, starting IVs, prepping for surgery. They don’t ask him to leave. They know better.

As the heart monitor beeps steadily beside you, Bucky pulls a chair up your side, never letting go of your hand. Even when they wheel you toward the surgical wing, he follows, step for step.

Natasha appears in the hall. She watches him for a long beat, eyes glinting with something softer than usual. "You did good, Barnes," she says quietly. "She’s strong. Like you."

Bruce moves beside him, gentle. "Bucky… we’ll do everything we can. She’s stable."

Bucky doesn’t answer. He just watches your every breath, every twitch like if he looks away for even a second, you might disappear again .

Still, Bucky refuses to leave. They let him scrub in, let him sit just beyond the sterile zone.

Hours bleed by in a blur of beeping machines and whispered medical commands. Bucky doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

The others gather quietly outside in the waiting room. Because they all know: You are his anchor. His heart. His reason.

When the surgery finally ends, when they finally wheel you out, Bucky almost collapses with relief.

He stays at your bedside through the night. And the next. 

The world comes back to you slowly and heavily. Your body aches. Your head pounds. But the first thing you feel is the warmth of a hand wrapped around yours.

You blink against the harsh lights above, your throat dry and raw. It’s hard to move. Hard to breathe.

But then you see him, slumped in a chair beside your bed, still in torn combat gear, dark hair a mess, face filled with exhaustion. His eyes are closed, gripping your hand like a lifeline.

Your thumb brushes weakly over his knuckles.

"Buck..." Your voice is barely a rasp.

His head snaps up immediately, blue eyes flying open. When he sees you awake, his whole body jolts like he’s been hit.

"Hey," he breathes, voice breaking. He leans in so fast the chair is pushed away as he moves. "Hey, sweetheart. I'm here."

You try to smile, but it comes out shaky. "You... you didn’t leave."

"Never," Bucky says fiercely. His metal hand cups your cheek, so gentle it makes you want to cry. "Never leaving you again."

You can feel it. The fear still coiled tight inside him. The guilt. The anger.

You reach up weakly, fingers brushing his stubble-rough jaw.

"You saved me," you whisper.

Bucky shakes his head, throat working like he’s trying not to fall apart. "You saved me," he whispers back. His forehead drops to the edge of your mattress. "You—you pulled me back, Y/N. You stopped me from becoming him again."

Tears prick your eyes. "I knew you were stronger," you murmur. "Stronger than him. Stronger than anything."

He lifts his head, eyes shining, jaw trembling. "I love you," Bucky says, raw and shaking and real. "I almost lost you. I’m not—" He breaks off, voice wrecked. "I’m not wasting another second with you. I love you so much."

You tighten your hand in his as best you can. "I love you too, Bucky."

A sound punches out of him, half-laugh, half-sob. He leans down and kisses your forehead, slow and aching. You lean into him as much as your battered body will allow, feeling his trembling hand cradle the back of your head.

Neither of you say anything else. You don’t have to.

You’re here. Together. And from here on out, you’re not letting go.

You shift slightly in bed, still sore but feeling better than days ago. The soft light filters through the window as the events of the past few days weigh heavy on your mind.

The door opens and Steve walks in, a smile on his face as he steps aside to let a very excited Elizabeth enter.

Elizabeth’s face lights up when she sees you, her tiny feet practically skipping across the floor as she rushes to the side of the bed. Her big blue eyes are sparkling, clutching a teddy bear in her small hands. 

“Aunt Y/N!” Elizabeth exclaims, her voice filled with relief. “You’re awake!”

You smile softly at the name she calls you, trying to sit up just a little bit more but still feeling the weight of your recovery. “Hey, sweetheart. I’m awake. Thanks for the bear—it’s perfect.”

Elizabeth beams, holding the bear up proudly. “I picked it out just for you! It’s got lots of healing magic, I think, so it can help make you feel better.” She looks up at her dad, her voice a little quieter now. 

Bucky has been quietly standing near the window, watching the interaction. His face softens when he sees his niece, the tense lines of his expression easing. He crosses the room to join you, crouching down to Elizabeth’s level, his eyes lighting up as she runs into his arms.

“Hey there, Bee,” Bucky says, his voice a little rough but filled with warmth. 

“I missed you, Uncle Bucky!” she says, squeezing him tightly. “And Aunt Y/N. I brought her the bear so she could feel better!”

Bucky chuckles softly, wrapping his arms around her. “You sure know how to take care of people, Elizabeth. I’m proud of you.”

Elizabeth looks back at you, her eyes full of excitement. “Aunt Y/N, Uncle Bucky says we’re gonna be okay now. That we’re all safe.”

You nod gently, heart swelling at the sight of Elizabeth’s unwavering optimism. “Yeah, sweet girl. We’re safe now.”

Elizabeth looks back at Steve, then back to you, her little face thoughtful for a moment. “You know, Aunt Y/N... Uncle Bucky’s really good at keeping everyone safe. And he told me I’m a good helper, so I’m gonna help make sure you get better!”

A small laugh exhales from your chest. “You’ve already helped a lot, Elizabeth. And I’m really glad you’re here.”

Steve watches the exchange with a soft smile. “Elizabeth, why don’t you sit with Aunt Y/N for a bit? I’m sure she’d love the company.”

Elizabeth nods enthusiastically, scooting up onto the bed beside you. She gently places her stuffed bear in your lap, her hands folded neatly in hers as she looks up at you with the sweetest smile.

Bucky steps back for a moment, watching his niece with a quiet affection before gently resting his hand on the edge of your bed, his voice low, filled with care.

“You’ve been through a lot,” Bucky says quietly. “But you made it. You’re here.”

You nod, reaching over to squeeze his hand gently. “I couldn’t have done it without you... all of you.” Your eyes meet each of the teams gaze and they nod in acceptance and appreciation. 

Steve’s eyes shift between you and Bucky. “We’re a family,” he says simply, his tone full of sincerity. “And we take care of each other. Always.”

Bucky smiles faintly, his eyes softening as he watches Elizabeth snuggle up against you, the little girl’s head resting against your shoulder as she watches Bucky with a trusting gaze.

The moment feels peaceful, like a new beginning after all the chaos. You’re surrounded by people who care for you—your newfound family—and though the road to full recovery may take time, in this moment, everything feels right.

“I think we'regonna be okay,” you whisper, looking at Bucky.

Bucky’s response is soft but certain. “I know we will be.”

The room is quiet for a moment, only the soft sounds of the hospital room filling the space as the group gathers close. Elizabeth’s tiny hand is holding onto yours now and Bucky is standing watch at your side.

You’re all safe and together. 

That’s all that matters.

Thanks for reading! Please reblog & comment <3 would love to hear how you enjoy it and feel free to send in requests!

[jywllkr]

DR S3 P2 LEAKS

a long analysis about Jay's character. w/pictures

this is going to be a bit messy cuz english isn't my first language,,, but fuck thattt.

what irks me about that last Jaya scene from the leaks is when Nya told Jay she thought she saw his old self—and that she was wrong

knowing the fact she doesn’t even know what happened to him after the Merge, or what he went through before he shattered whatever was left of his goodness, all while dealing with amnesia alone

we can all agree on how the way the ninja, Nya and Lloyd in this case, keep trying to shove the image of who Jay used to be onto someone who’s clearly not himself anymore,,,it's just a bad move overall

We still don’t know why Jay left the Administration. he didn’t just leave, he escaped

the thing about the Administration is that;

the Administration knew who Jay is on a personal level (they were searching for him specifically)

Jay doesn’t want anyone there knowing he’s the elemental master of lightning

and then he was clearly upset with the Administration right after he wasn't involved with them too

Jay is absolutely sure that the Administration, the one he naively trusted at first, lied about something. lied to such a degree that he was visibly upset. and another thing we know about his state during his time there, according to Bonzle, is that his heart just wasn’t really in it

that already tells us a lot about Jay’s position here. remember, he still had his goodness during all of this. the fact that he left must mean he found out the Administration was doing something seriously wrong, and he didn’t want to be a part of it

then Ras came along, again, during the time Jay still had his goodness. Jay genuinely thought Ras was a good guy and ended up believing the Ninja weren’t thanks to his manipulation

now that he left Ras shattered and betrayed, he probably stopped believing there’s any good in people at all. add some major trust issues into the mix

and as far as the lore of this franchise goes, one of Jay’s core traits is that he dislike lying—especially after Season 6. bro literally judged Nya for telling a white lie to Arin’s parents.

I’m kinda guessing here, but Jay’s probably testing the waters with Nya and the rest of the ninja, trying to figure out whether they’re actually safe to trust or not

So far, he’s been extremely blunt about what he thinks,,,he doesn’t exactly lie to the ninja. despite how mean sounding most of them are, Jay is just being bluntly honest

It’s sad to see this “silly” scene on its own, because Jay genuinely believes he never had any goodness to begin with

probably because his first memory was working in the Administration, a place he ended up escaping from for some unknown or bad reason, and he was stuck there for who knows how long

and also because he trusted Ras. the guy he thought was a good person/better than the administration

So, a little conclusion: the obvious reason why Jay only thinks about himself and not others right now is because this kind of thing has happened to him way too often

If he’s going to lean on other people, he needs to see two things

that they’re being truthful

that they’re not trying to force him into being someone he’s not

and as of now, the ninja fail both of those checks—so Jay’s nowhere near ready to believe in them

a little thing I wanted to point out too,,,,Jay left the group right after they were at the Spectral Land’s Monastery. It’s pretty odd because he could’ve left when they were waiting for Sora and Arin to come back from the junkyard. but he didn’t

the reason he probably stayed with them was just to make sure they arrived there safely, knowing how dangerous that place is. and why he wants to go there willingly?

he probably wants to see some truth from the ninja themselves when he’s not involved with them (since we’re all guessing this is Jay following Nya in this scene)

and he might be picking Nya because he’s drawn to her the most, even if he realize it or not

last but not least

I couldn’t stop thinking about this one scene from episode 3 because it went straight to Jay’s picture (who ironically enough is the only one smiling in the picture) when she explained the main core of the ninja. being selfless and caring about people

it was all now shown in the series that Jay’s core personality is still there despite being shattered. being absolutely terrible at jokes and playing video games are two of them

so the question is,,, is there more to Jay that we haven’t seen yet?

POINTS THE OBVIOUS 👆

.

.

.

.

oh also. this part??? I bet you is a foreshadow

anyways yea,,, sorry if my writing's hard to digest. I'm no writer or whatever, but I need to yap about this

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Me

A/N: Needed to write about how I felt the last few months. Although, I didn't have someone break down my door, I had a few friends who broke through the darkness in my mind.

To all those who struggle with anxiety, depression, negative thinking, and just everyone who needs a hug, you're not alone.

Love oo

Warnings: Dealing with Depression; breaking down a door.

AO3 Link   |   OS & MS Master List |   Main Master List  

Dark.

That’s all I see. Darkness.

The black out curtains I had bought a year ago, which at the time felt like a good idea, now seemed to be the very thing that kept me trapped. Kept me from venturing out of my room. In a way it kept me trapped in my own misery. As long as those curtains remained closed, there was nothing out there. 

No job. 

No friends.

No one to call me, theirs. 

No problems.

No hobbies.

And the more I thought about it, the more I realized I really didn’t have those things. Sure, I had a job, but it was just routine now, it didn’t provide stimulation or change. 

Alright I had friends, but … did they even need me? Did they even care about me? 

“OPEN THE DOOR!” 

Wrecker’s voice bellowed through the door I had locked. My comm had been buzzing constantly for the past day, but I managed to ignore it. It all felt too much and not enough. 

“I’M NOT GOING AWAY!”

I rolled to the other side, pulling my blankets up to cover my ears and face. I didn’t want anyone to see me, I didn’t want anyone to know how much I failed. How far I had fallen. I didn’t want to admit to myself I needed help. 

I’m not even sure what happened or what exactly triggered me. Was it the fact that my best friend had another guy fall for her, and I didn’t have anyone? Or the fact that the guy that fell for her was someone I was fond of, somewhat? Maybe it’s just realizing that there’s something wrong with me. Something that everyone else sees that I don’t. 

Am I really so horrible? 

Maybe I really am boring, like some have said.

People forget that I exist often enough.  Hell when I go to a restaurant there are times when the server forgets I’m even there. 

No one ever contacts me unless they need something. 

Maybe it would be better if I just disappeared. 

The door breaks open, as strong, heavy footsteps come to my bedside. 

“Talk to me, cyare.”

I turn to see Wrecker, his eyes wide, his one good eye full of worry and emotion. 

“Wrecker?”

“Talk to me, sweetie, what’s going on? Who hurt you?”

“No one.”

He gently sits on the floor beside my bed and holds my hand, “Talk to me.”

It takes several silent minutes before I try to open my mouth, I subtly wipe a tear and finally the words come out, “I’m not needed.”

“What do you mean?”

“In life, I’m not needed.”

“Bullshit.” I flinch at his cuss. “Of course, you’re needed. What makes you think you’re not?”

I shrug.

“Don’t do that.” Wrecker squeezes my hand, “Don’t just shrug, explain to me your rationale, tell me why you think you’re not needed, why you don’t matter? Because you do.”

“No one remembers me.” I swallow, “Everyone thinks about me, but no one ever speaks to me.”

“What about me? Don’t I count? I’ve been calling and stopping by to check on you.” His warm large hand brushes away the strand of hair dangling over my face. 

“Of course, you matter.”

“Well I need you.” His hand gently cups my cheek. “Who else will go on culinary adventures with me? Who else will make sure I’m getting the right amount of sleep? Or eating right?”

I smirked, “You have Hunter, Crosshair and Omega for that.”

“Fine, then who will make my heart quicken with just a smile? Who will make my breath hitch just with a look of your eyes?” Tears well up in my eyes as he gently presses a kiss to my forehead. “Cyar’ika, you matter. You matter more than you know. You’re everything to me. So please, don’t hide away, don’t disappear on me. Don’t …” he swallows back the lump in his throat, as tears begin to prickle his eyes, “Don’t leave me alone.”

“Wrecker … are… what … what are you…” The words keep failing me.

“I’m trying to say that I can’t stand the idea that you’re not okay. I can’t stand you thinking you don’t matter, when you do.” Wrecker takes a moment to simply stroke my forehead with his thumb, “Sweetheart, have you … have you thought that maybe you need help?”

I looked down at our hands, it had been something I thought about for a long time. Something that constantly played around in my head, but I always came back to the fact, there are others who needed it more. Others who deserved that allotment. I wasn’t worthy to take that space, wasn’t worthy to have someone try and fix me. Which I know wasn’t true, I know I deserved help just like everyone else, regardless of what my brain tried to tell me. Truth was I was scared. Scared of what asking for help really meant. 

“It’s scary.”

“What is?”

“Asking for help.”

“Why?”

I take a deep breath, letting out a shaky sigh, “Being vulnerable. Opening myself up … what if I can’t be fixed? What if it makes it worse? What if everyone realizes how pathetic I am?”

“First, you’re not pathetic. You are never pathetic. You’re ill, love. And when you’re ill, you go see a doctor. Second, it’s not about fixing, it’s about managing. Managing whatever symptoms you have. Maybe trying to figure out what triggered you, or if you need medication. And finally, sometimes it gets darkest just before the dawn.” His hand is gentle as he slowly and smoothly strokes my head, “It might get worse before it gets better, but that doesn’t mean you’re alone. I will look after you. Help you. You won’t be alone.” He presses the gentlest kiss to my forehead. “But none of it will work until you’re ready to get help. So in the meantime, can I simply hold you, remind you you’re not alone. You are important. You matter. And you’re loved. Not just by me, but by everyone.”

I can’t talk as I try to fight the tears that are welling up, I shift on the bed, Wrecker, lying down beside me as he pulls me close, holding me, and hiding me from the world in his arms.

“Also, I’m sorry, love. I broke your door. I’ll fix it later.”

“ ‘tis okay.” I sob out, crying into his chest, and holding him close as I finally start to see the streaks of light shining through the darkness. 

AO3 Link   |   OS & MS Master List |   Main Master List  

@justanothersadperson93

​ @liadamerondjarin​ 

 @spicymcnuggies​

 @lady-ren​

 @firstofficerwiggles​ 

@darkangel4121​ 

@discofern​ 

@kavecika​ 

@monako-jinn-stories​ 

@ladykatakuri​ 

@avathebestx​

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@furyhellfire66

​ @carodealmeida​ 

@ciramaris

​ @sprout-fics​ 

 @dindjarin-mandalorian​ 

@clonethirstingisreal

@crosshair-is-the-superior-clone

@totallyunidentified

@griffedeloup

@leotawrites

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@dragonrider9905reads

[echoghost1]

Phic Phight Phic #4!!!!!

Title: Witness

Prompt: Someone finds the lab security footage from the day of the accident

Prompter: @kinglazrus

Word Count: 1,831

You can read it on AO3 or down below the cut!

The camera was set in the upper corner of the far wall so it could see who came in and out of the lab along most of the lab.

The Fenton's hadn't purchased or made any way for the camera to move from its perch so the view was always steady. 

The camera wasn't so much a security feature as it was another way for the scientists to keep track of their work.

As such, it wasn’t on 24/7, it was only activated when Maddie Fenton turned it on as part of her daily work tasks.

When Danny had his Accident, the camera was the last thing on anyone's mind.

Even if they had thought about it, they would have assumed it was off during the incident as the parents hadn't been in the lab for several days.

This was the wrong assumption. 

In fact, the camera had been on since the grand reveal of the portal. Quickly forgotten with the overwhelming disappointment of the initial portal’s failure.

So the camera kept on watching. Kept recording.

Ever vigilant. 

Ever since.

It's not until several months later that anyone realized that was true.

===========================================

Maddie entered the lab and went to turn on the camera before they started their newest project. It was a big one and she wanted to make sure the entire process was recorded.

Only when she went to turn it on, she found it already was.

“That’s odd.” She said to herself.

“What’s odd, Mads?” Her husband asked from the work bench.

“It’s just the camera is already on. Do you remember when we last used this?”

“Uh,” Jack hesitated, “Not sure. It's been awhile I think.”

“We used it for something after we finished the portal right?” Maddie asked despite the sinking feeling in her chest.

Jack thought for a moment, “honestly I can't recall.”

“I can't think of anything either.”

“You don't think it's been on that whole time do you?”

“I don't know.” Maddie said with a frown.

She did not like not knowing.

“Only one way to find out!” Jack said with a grin as he walked over to the computer. 

She smiled and followed him. She was so glad he was here for this. His optimism was always refreshing. 

They each pulled up a chair and took a seat.

Jack took the mouse and wiggled it around but looked a tad lost. “Where do we keep the files on this thing again?”

“May I?” Maddie asked with her hand hovering over Jack’s.

He gladly scooted his rolling chair to the side and she slid into place. A few clicks later and she had the video files ready to go. 

There were a lot of files.

Which, she supposed, was better than one huge multi-day long one, but it was still a little overwhelming.

She scrolled through the files and watched as the dates went backwards in time closer and closer to the day they revealed the portal.

There it was.

The day they did it. The day they failed.

And every video after, showing everything else they’d worked on until today.

“This is so much footage.”

“Should we keep it all?”

“We can’t just delete it. Not without making sure there isn’t something useful first.”

“But Mads, this would take forever to watch.” Jack already sounded bored at the idea of just sitting and waiting for something to happen.

“Well we don’t have to do it all right now.” Maddie went to close the program but hesitated when she heard the basement door open.

“I’m home!” Danny called down the stairs.

“Hi sweetie! Is Jazz tutoring today?”

“Yeah, think so.”

“Okay, see you at dinner.”

“Don’t forget your homework!” Jack added helpfully.

“I will. Or I mean, I won’t forget, but I’ll do it.” Danny said before closing the door and leaving them to their work.

The door clicked shut and inspiration stuck.

“We never checked! We had the answer right here and we never even looked? Jack, do you know what this means?”

Her husband stared at her for a second looking completely lost. “No?”

“Remember Danny was the one that got the portal to work. We tried to ask him, but he’s just a kid. He didn’t know what he was doing so of course he couldn’t explain it.”

“But we can just watch how he did!” Jack said as he caught on to what she was talking about and grabbing a nearby notepad and pen. 

“Exactly!” she said clicking the first video after their failure.

===========================================

The first several minutes of footage was of an empty lab and a non-functioning portal.

Maddie skipped ahead until she saw her son walk into frame, but then went back a bit to catch what he was saying before he walked into view.

“So here’s the lab.” Danny introduced as he came down the stairs, “try not to touch anything, okay?”

He hopped down from the second to last step, stumbled a bit, but then righted himself before he actually fell.

“Smooth landing.” Tucker joked as he entered the lab behind him.

Danny stuck his tongue out at his friend. “I didn’t fall though so it still counts.”

“Amateurs.” Sam scoffed before jumping from the third to last step and landing flawlessly.

“See, that’s a landing.”

“I don’t come down here that often.” Danny complained.

“And I’ve literally never been here.” Sam countered.

“Oh yeah.”

“Plus I’m wearing combat boots, so that up’s the difficulty.” She preened.

“She’s got a point man.”

“Who’s side are you on?” Danny wined.

“The correct one, obviously.” Sam teased.

Tucker simply shrugged, “I call it like I see it.”

Danny sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes, “Anyway! Here’s the lab where my parents make their stuff.”

The teens looked around in awe.

“So does any of this stuff work?” Sam asked as she picked up a half assembled circuit board. 

“Well most of this stuff is supposed to only work on ghosts so it's not gonna do anything unless a ghost shows up.” Danny said as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“So what’s in that room?”

“That’s not a room, that's the portal.”

“That’s the portal?!” 

“It's huge!”

Both Sam and Tucker started to walk towards the portal and it looked like they were about to step inside before Danny stopped them.

“Wait! You can't go in there!”

The pair stopped.

“Why not?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, you said it didn't work.”

“Well yeah, but it's still a big machine. You got to wear protection.”

“That’s what she said.” Tucker joked automatically. 

Both Sam and Danny rolled their eyes and sighed.

“Hey man, you can't say something like that and not expect it.”

“You're disgusting.” Sam scoffed in annoyance. 

“It's just a joke, lighten up.”

“Don't tell me to lighten up!”

“Guys!” Danny interrupted before they really went at it.

“Well if we can't go in, you should.” Sam said.

“Me?”

“Unless you got enough suits for all of us?” 

Danny hesitated before heading over to the storage closet where the spare jumpsuits were kept.

The trio all started trying to see if anyone could fit into the suits. They laughed when they realized all three of them could fit into Jack’s spare.

“Wait, what's this white one?” Tucker asked pulling out the smallest jumpsuit.

“Oh, that's mine.”

“You had one the whole time?” Sam asked incredulously. 

“I forgot.”

“Well better suit up.” Sam said, taking the suit from Tucker and shoving it at Danny.

“You sure you don't wanna wear it? I don’t mind.”

“No, no, it's your suit I insist. Besides, I have to take pictures.” she said before she pulled her camera out of her bag.

Danny looked into the portal for a moment before giving a quick decisive nod. “ Alright, but only a few pictures and you can't show anyone else okay?”

“My lips are sealed,” she mimed zipping her lips shut.

Danny took the jumpsuit and went into the laundry room to change.

Once he was back his friends took a bunch of pictures of different parts of lab, most of the portal and it’s controls. Several pictures had Danny posing with exaggerated gestures.

Then he stood in front of the portal.

“Well go on! Get closer.” Sam urged.

“Yeah, you got the suit on, might as well go in.” Tucker added.

Danny slowly walked into the portal. 

“It’s really dark in here,” he commented as he gently placed his left hand against the wall to keep himself steady.

He took a few more steps inside, he was about half way into the machine when he stopped dead.

There was a blinding white flash that washed out the entire room.

A crash like thunder followed by a terrible gut wrenching scream.

The portal filled with the familiar toxic green of ectoplasm and everything went quiet.

The two teens left in the room stood frozen in front of the now active portal.

Sam took a hesitant step forward, “Danny?”

A gloved hand slowly appeared reaching out of the portal followed by an arm and then the rest of the person. 

It was hard to see them with the way the portal’s light was so much brighter than everything else. It wasn’t easy to make out details on who exactly was walking out of the portal.

Sam rushed forward, “Danny!”

The boy from the portal stumbled and Sam tried to catch him.

She would have been successful if she hadn't been trying to catch a ghost.

Tucker came a little closer but kept his distance. “Are you sure that's Danny?”

“Who else would it be?”

The ghost, who might be Danny, sat up with a groan, “what happened?”

He looked to the portal and jumped, literally by a few inches, into the air.

“It’s on! I did it?” He spun around to face the two with a confused smile.

“That’s not all you did, man.” Tucker said a with wince.

Sam elbowed him.

The ghost tilted his head in confusion, seemingly unaware that it was floating.

Sam sighed with resignation, “you might want to look in a mirror.”

The ghost walked, despite his feet not even touching the ground, to the nearest mirror. Inside the door of the jumpsuit storage was a mirror.

The ghost was horrified by what it saw.

In denial.

It claimed it couldn’t be a ghost.

But not because it didn’t believed it had died.

“I can’t be a ghost, my parents will kill me!”

Sam and Tucker tried their best to calm the ghost down.

“Just close your eyes and breathe.” 

After a moment of clam, they were all surprised when the ghost was enveloped by a bright flash of light.

When it faded Danny Fenton was standing where the ghost had just been.

After a brief moment of joy, he promptly passed out.

The video ends.

===========================================

Jack and Maddie stare at the screen in silence.

They finally knew just how much it cost to get their life’s work operational.