#and then i will draw them kissing... every day..
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How they comfort you, their love languages
(Future spouse/partner/lover)
This is a mini reading about the things that your partner/spouse would do or say to comfort you.
This is a general reading meant for multiple people. Take only what resonates and leave out the rest.
Your feedback is much appreciated. If you find the reading resonated with you, leave a comment, I’d love to know 🎐
About me | Masterpost
Book a reading with me - KO-FI (→ personal reading)
CUBE 1
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"Our life together is the most important thing"
"You're alive, I'm alive and that's good"
Tickle
Clumsy jokes that make your belly hurt
"Let's go to the beach"
"Whatever you do, I'm right beside you"
"Don't worry"
"Don't be afraid to fall, I will catch you"
"I'm your biggest fan"
Silent understanding
Scary movies that make you jump into their arms
Passionate, emotional sex
The warmth of their body
Holding you in the dark
Holding your hands whenever you go out together
Warm breads and fresh flowers
Board games
Forehead kiss
"Let's run away"
"I will find you again even when you've become a star on the heavenly sky"
CUBE 2
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Surprise gifts, this person could spoil you a lot with material gifts
"I will get it for you"
They would do many things to make your life easier without you knowing: take care of your routines, pack your lunch, iron your clothes, etc
Change the colour of the curtains and bed sheets to cheer you up,
Date nights
Take you to see the sunset, to somewhere dark and windy, surrounded by nature
"No problem "
"Let's me take care of it"
They comfort you in your dreams
Intuitively guess your thoughts
Whisper loving words when you are in public places
Be with you through every social events
"My greatest achievement is to be their partner"
Boast about you everywhere they go
"I command you to love me", then proceed to massage your feet
Holding you silently while you spill out your darkest secrets
Direct in displaying their desire for you
CUBE 3
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Act all tough and intimidating with other people but become a mushy romantic when they're with you, especially in private
Never fail to notice and compliment your effort at taking care and beautifying yourself
Getting heart eyes both when seeing you in leisurewear and in glamorous clothes
Try to sing for you even if they hate singing or not good at it
Love poems
When they find it hard to express their feelings through words, they express through material gifts and sensory pleasures instead
Just buying you stuffs and pretend to not know about it or act oblivious and nonchalant
Wrap you in softest blanket
"Let's go into the bathtub together"
Drying your hair
Take lots of pictures, of you alone, of you guys together, of your memories
"You're my best friend, let's me be your best friend"
"I love you "
CUBE 4
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"I've loved you before and I will love you again"
"See you in our next life together "
Appear right when you need them
Act more confident and tough
The heat of their body
Pull you into them
"Lean on me"
Witty jokes
Irrelevant stories to distract you from whatever negative feelings you're having
Hand holding
Lots of notes
Phone calls throughout the day
Try to talk in the softest voice when they're with you
"Let's play video game"
"Let's me draw your silly face"
"Let's take a day off and go to where nobody knows us"
The meadows, the sea, the mountains
Take your pleasure as their top priority
Love making
"I'm afraid that this is all a dream, but as I go to sleep and wake up everyday, you're still there"
"Your pain is my pain "
Warn anyone dares to come in between you two
CUBE 5
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"Nothing can stand between us"
"We can go anywhere we want"
"I believe in us"
"Hey, teach me how to do this"
Make plan for both of you
"Let's me read Tarot for you"
Always on time
Keep their promises, from smallest one to biggest one
Cakes and sweets
Warmth food
Hype you up
Eager to hear you talk
Patience
Try to be silly just to cheer you up even though they seem to be a pretty serious person
Laughter
Refer to you as "my love" when talking with other people
PDA
"I think I'd done good deeds in my past lives, that's why I met you"
Looking deep into your eyes
"I believe this relationship has changed us for the better"
Ride of die
"Till death do us apart "
CUBE 6
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/a0e17f0a4e7135b3928cfc86750ec7b3/7c832b294bb18b24-6c/s540x810/1dc89081a756ced1636576059ebe6fe336e3b905.jpg)
"You were alone, but now you have me"
Act childish and cute to get your attention
Also love it when you do the same to them
"Let's get married "/ "Let's get married every year"
Tell you about their childhood nightmares and how embarrassing they were
"I was told to wait for you when I was a kid"
Has no shame in acting embarrassing or silly just to make you laugh, even in public
"Do you want to date me" (even when you guys have been married for a long time)
Handmade gifts
Corny pickup lines
Genius at solving problems
Try to get you to debate about odd topics
Looking intimidating and professional in public but don't care about people's opinions, especially about you and your relationship
Will defend you in any conflicts
Take your side unconditionally
Willing to share everything with you
Honesty
Think of a new way to affirm their love everyday
"We make a great team"
#pick a card#pick a pile#tarot#tarotblr#witchblr#crystal reading#lithomancy#astrology#tarot community#tarot reading#pac#pac reading#astro community#astro#future spouse#witch community#astroblr#love reading#occult#crystals#divination
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જ⁀♡⊹。° i'd choose you and me...religiously
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/bbb743c8e86d1c545ca3c0065c8a3a91/35b0526eb7b07b03-4e/s250x250_c1/376279325d1c724b224c8362a63e428521510657.jpg)
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♡ a/n — for my new childhood friends to lovers series :)
♡ word count — 2.3k
♡ content — karasu tabito x fem! reader, fem! reader, childhood friends to lovers, reader is very normal and quiet, goes through 3rd grade to the U-20 vs Blue Lock game, reader doesn't understand soccer, cuddling, kissing, some cussing
♡ synopsis — Karasu Tabito has always been moved by the ordinary things in life. Your love, your laugh, just you, so ordinary because you just...fit in his life so perfectly.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/ed4349284a40ab2f550ed97f4fca70f7/35b0526eb7b07b03-0b/s540x810/f461823c7217664c2485cba5c8b4dda7d703863a.jpg)
Tabito Karasu had always been moved by ordinary things. The way rain left trails on windows, the sound of soccer cleats tapping against pavement, the smell of freshly cut grass on the field. Ordinary moments stayed with him long after they’d passed, as if they were somehow more precious than the extraordinary ones.
And then, there was you.
He noticed you before he ever talked to you, always quiet and off to the side, a book or sketchpad in your hands while the other kids played and shouted around you. You weren’t like the rest of them—you weren’t loud, flashy, or attention-seeking. To most, you might have seemed unremarkable.
But to Tabito, you were something special.
He just didn’t realize it until the day he saw you crying.
The afternoon sun was bright and unforgiving, casting sharp shadows on the concrete playground. Tabito was sitting on a bench, juggling a soccer ball between his feet, when he noticed the commotion.
A group of kids stood in a semi-circle around you, taunting you about being “too quiet” and “weird.” You didn’t say anything in return, but your teary eyes and the way you hugged your knees gave everything away.
Before he could think twice, Tabito was on his feet, marching over.
“Hey!” he barked, startling the group. He planted himself between you and them, his hands stuffed into his pockets as he glared them down. “Why don’t you piss off and leave her alone?”
The kids hesitated, their bravado faltering under his sharp gaze. Eventually, one muttered something under their breath before they all dispersed.
He turned back to you, his face softening. “You okay?”
You nodded but didn’t meet his eyes. “Thanks...”
He grinned, crouching beside you. “No problem. But you owe me big time. The teacher’s totally gonna yell at me for this one.”
Sure enough, he was called out for his language later, but he didn’t care. By then, the two of you had already cemented an unspoken bond.
From that day on, Tabito Karasu became your first—and only—friend.
By the time junior high rolled around, Tabito had become a name everyone knew. He was a rising soccer star, his talent and charisma drawing people to him like moths to a flame. But no matter how busy his life got, he always made time for you.
You, on the other hand, stayed much the same. You kept to yourself, stayed out of the spotlight, and quietly supported him from the sidelines. Every game he played, you were there, clapping and cheering along with the crowd—even if you didn’t fully understand the rules.
“You seriously don’t get it?” Tabito asked one evening, his breath visible in the crisp autumn air as the two of you walked home.
He had just finished explaining the mechanics of offside for the fifth time.
“I mean... I get that the ball should go in the net,” you said hesitantly. “But everything else is... kind of fuzzy.”
Tabito groaned dramatically, raking a hand through his hair. “It’s not that hard! Okay, think of it like chess—”
“Tabito, I don’t know how to play chess.”
He stopped dead in his tracks, staring at you with exaggerated disbelief. “You’re kidding me. You’ve been watching my games for years, and you don’t even know what’s happening?”
“I know you’re good,” you offered, laughing. “That’s all that matters, right?”
He sighed, shaking his head with a fond smile. “Hopeless. Absolutely hopeless.”
By high school, Tabito had become your anchor, and you had become his.
No matter how many people surrounded him or how many girls vied for his attention, he always found his way back to you. He walked you to your classes, saved you a spot at lunch, and invited you over to his house whenever your parents were working late.
One night, after a particularly heavy rainstorm, you ended up staying at his place again. His mom gave you a pillow and blanket for the floor in his room, but when you lay down, the hardwood felt unbearably cold.
“You seriously gonna sleep there?” Tabito asked from his bed, leaning over the edge to look at you.
“Where else would I sleep?”
He rolled his eyes. “Here. Come on.”
“Tabito, your mom said—”
“The floor’s freezing. Just get up here.”
You hesitated, but the warmth in his voice and the ease of his grin convinced you. Moments later, you were lying beside him, your head resting on his chest and his arm wrapped securely around your waist.
“This is too close,” you muttered, though you made no effort to move even though there was plenty of room on his bed.
“Shut up,” he replied, laughing softly.
After a long silence, you spoke again. “Someone asked me what my name was today. We’ve been going to school together since junior high, and they didn’t know my name.”
Tabito’s hand slipped under your shirt, his fingers tracing soothing circles on your back. “That’s their loss,” he murmured. “You’re unforgettable.”
You tilted your head to look up at him, your heart beating faster than it should have. “Tabito—”
Before you could ask what he meant, his lips were on yours.
When he pulled back, you opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off, his voice low and steady.
“I don’t care what happened. I’d never forget your name.” He kissed you again. “Your face.” Another kiss. “Your goddamn voice.”
You stared at him, your cheeks burning, and he grinned. “You’re mine, okay? Have been for a while.”
The next morning, sunlight streamed through the window as Tabito’s mom opened the door. She froze, her eyes widening at the sight of the two of you curled up together in his bed.
“Tabito Karasu!”
Breakfast was... awkward. Over toast and eggs, you and Tabito sheepishly explained your newly minted relationship, only to be rewarded with an impromptu birds-and-the-bees talk.
Tabito groaned, hiding his face in his hands while you tried—and failed—not to laugh.
The letter came during your senior year.
You sat under a tree in the park, the letter in your lap as Tabito leaned back on his hands, staring up at the sky.
“This is it,” he said softly. “This is how I make it big.”
You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I’m proud of you.”
His grin faltered when he looked at you. “You don’t look proud.”
“I am,” you insisted, forcing a smile. “I just... I’ll miss you.”
“Hey,” he said, reaching over to take your hand. “It’s not forever. Just until I make it. Then I’m coming back for you.”
You knew he would, because when Karasu set his mind on something, he would get to it, no matter what it took.
You just wished that he wouldn't have to leave for an uncertain amount of time, but you wouldn't say that. He was still yours, always would be, no matter how long you were apart.
When Tabito left for Blue Lock, he packed light—just the essentials. But tucked carefully at the bottom of his bag was something that wasn’t on any checklist: a collection of your letters.
Some were filled with words of encouragement, like the time you’d written after his first big loss, telling him that failure didn’t define him and that he’d always be a winner in your eyes. Others were playful, teasing him about his ego while reminding him to eat properly and not slack off during training. And then there were the ones you wrote late at night, when the ache of missing him felt too heavy to ignore. Those letters carried lipstick marks on the edges, small imprints of your love pressed onto the paper as if they could somehow close the distance between you.
He read those letters often. Whenever the loneliness crept in or the pressure of Blue Lock’s brutal competition threatened to overwhelm him, he would pull one out, smoothing the creases and letting your words fill the silence. Your voice, even through ink and paper, was his anchor.
One day, during a rare quiet moment in the dorms, Otoya noticed one of the letters poking out of Tabito’s duffel bag. Curiosity piqued, he reached over and grabbed one, holding it up with a mischievous grin. “What’s this?”
Tabito, who had been lounging on his bed, immediately sat up. His sharp glare shot across the room like a warning. “Put it down, Otoya.”
But Otoya, ever the instigator, was already opening it. “Aw, come on, don’t be so uptight—” His eyes scanned the first few lines before he froze, his smirk widening. “Oh-ho, what’s this? A girlfriend?”
Tabito was on his feet in an instant, snatching the letter back with a scowl. “None of your business.”
Otoya leaned back, hands raised in mock surrender, but his laughter rang out, echoing in the small dorm room. “Didn’t think you had it in you, Karasu. You’ve got that whole ‘too cool for relationships’ vibe going on, but here you are, all sentimental. Lipstick marks, too? Damn, she’s really got you wrapped around her finger, huh?”
Tabito stuffed the letter into his bag, his jaw tight. He didn’t bother responding to the teasing; it wasn’t worth his energy. Instead, he turned his back to Otoya, muttering under his breath, “Shut up.”
But as Otoya’s laughter died down, Tabito’s fingers brushed the edges of the letter. He could feel the faint ridges of your handwriting beneath the paper, the weight of your love in every stroke of the pen.
A small smile tugged at his lips, one he didn’t let Otoya see.
Because Otoya was wrong about one thing: you didn’t have him wrapped around your finger. No, it was deeper than that. You were his lifeline, his reminder of everything waiting for him back home.
The teasing didn’t matter. The competition didn’t matter. What mattered was the thought of you—always cheering him on, always believing in him.
One day, he promised himself. One day, he’d read those letters with you sitting beside him, not miles apart. And when that day came, he’d show you just how much your words, your love, had carried him through.
For now, though, he folded the letter and placed it carefully back in his bag, ready to fight his way to that future.
Watching the Blue Lock team play against the U-20 team almost put you into an early grave, you swear, Blue Lock won, of course. ( You totally weren't praying on some of the U-20 team's downfall during the game...not at all)
The crowd’s roar was deafening, a wave of cheers and chants reverberating through the stadium. You stood on the sidelines, heart pounding as the Blue Lock team celebrated their hard-fought victory on the field.
You had come all this way to watch him, to see for yourself just how much he’d grown. And yet, even after all these years of supporting him, nothing had prepared you for this moment.
Your eyes darted across the players, searching, until—suddenly—you felt arms wrap tightly around your waist. Your feet left the ground as you were spun around, a loud gasp escaping your lips.
“Tabito!” you exclaimed, laughter bubbling out of you.
When he finally set you back down, you turned to see his grinning face, his hair damp with sweat and a few stray blades of grass stuck to his jersey. He looked different—stronger, sharper, more determined—but when his eyes met yours, the warmth in them hadn’t changed one bit.
“You did it!” you said, reaching out to touch his face as if to make sure he was real. “You actually did it.”
“Of course I did,” he replied, his tone cocky, but his grin softened when his hand came up to cup yours. “I told you I would, didn’t I?”
You nodded, tears welling in your eyes as pride swelled in your chest. But before you could say anything else, the words you’d been holding back for years tumbled out:
“Tabito, I finally got it today!”
He blinked, caught off guard. “Got what?”
“Soccer!” you blurted, your voice trembling with excitement. “I mean, okay, maybe not all of it, but at the kickoff, I just... I got it! I understood why you love it so much. I felt it. When the game started, I was so excited I almost screamed! And when you got close to the goal, I was on the edge of my seat. I wanted you to score so badly.”
His eyes widened in surprise before his expression melted into something softer, something that made your heart ache in the best way. “You... really mean that?”
“Yes!” you said, gripping the front of his jersey like you’d never let him go. “I finally understood why you’ve worked so hard, why this means so much to you. It’s amazing, Tabito. You’re amazing.”
For a moment, he just stared at you, his mouth slightly open as if he couldn’t find the words. Then, with a sudden burst of energy, he pulled you into another spin, your laughter echoing above the noise of the crowd.
When he set you down again, he didn’t hesitate—his lips found yours, and the world fell away.
He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours. “You’re the one who’s amazing,” he whispered. “And you know what? That was the only goal I needed today—hearing you say that.”
You rolled your eyes, laughing softly as you wiped away a stray tear. “You’re so cheesy.”
“You love it.”
“I do,” you admitted, your voice barely audible over the roar of the stadium.
He glanced around, the chaos of victory still unfolding behind him, but all his focus was on you. “Hey,” he said, his tone suddenly serious. “Will you follow me? No matter where this takes me?”
You didn’t even have to think about it. “Anywhere. Always.”
His grin returned, wider than ever, and he kissed you again, as if sealing a promise. And as the stadium lights bathed you both in a golden glow, you knew you’d never stop cheering for him—on the field or off.
Karasu Tabito has always been moved by the ordinary things in life. Your love, your laugh, just you, so ordinary because you just...fit in his life so perfectly.
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i take him to my pent house and i FREAK IT
likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated
#★ · airybcbyy#bllk#bllk x reader#blue lock#blue lock x reader#airy posts#karasu x reader#karasu tabito#tabito karasu#tabito karasu x reader#tabito x reader#bllk karasu#bllk tabito karasu#blue lock karasu#blue lock tabito karasu
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Family Unit - Park Gyeong-Seok x Fem!Reader
Follow up piece to:
Loving You From Afar The Shape of You
Synopsis: You and Park Gyeong-Seok decide to take the next step in your relationship
You could feel Na-Yeon’s gaze on you, could hear her quietly giggling as she stood by your side of the bed. You sleepily opened one eye, then the other, smiling as you saw her waiting for you to wake up. The Disney Princess pyjamas you’d bought her were baggy on her thin little frame, but she looked so cute in them. “Good morning,” you whispered, pulling back the duvet so she could crawl into bed next to you. This had become your new morning routine; Na-Yeon would wake you up at the crack of dawn, you’d snuggle in bed, try to get a few more minutes of sleep, and then you’d get up and get ready for the day. On the days you didn’t work, you usually took Na-Yeon into her room to play, to give Gyeong-Seok space to sleep. He was a light sleeper though, and always heard you get up. sometimes he’d pretend to stay asleep though, just to give you and his daughter more time to bond.
You hadn’t left his apartment since the night you discovered the drawings. For six blissful weeks, you’d spent every day and night here, only returning home to fetch a new bagful of clothes or to do a load of laundry. You’d go to work during the day, while he stayed home with Na-Yeon. In the evening, he would head off to teach his night class (which he could now proudly say was a permanent job), and you would look after Na-Yeon. You didn’t get to spend much time together, your catch ups usually consisting of soft, sleep-hazed sex when Gyeong-Seok returned from work, followed by some whispered conversation before you fell asleep. Every moment you had together was precious, and you cherished every second.
You laid in bed with your eyes closed, listening as Na-Yeon chatted away. She never ran out of things to say, laughing and giggling. You weren’t always entirely sure what she was talking about, but it always made you smile.
Gyeong-Seok stirred next to you, yawning loudly as his arm came round to scoop you and his daughter into a hug. He loved his new family; and for the first time in years, he felt lighter than air. Na-Yeon was still sick, but he didn’t have to deal with the burden alone anymore. You’d slotted in so perfectly, treating his daughter like your own. Nothing was too much for you, and Gyeong-Seok didn’t think he’d ever be able to repay you for your kindness. You were still sleeping on the broken sofa bed, the springs digging into your backs each night. If you were uncomfortable, you never complained. His first paycheck from his new job would be arriving soon. Na-Yeon’s treatment would again take up most of the money he earned, but he was desperate to get a more comfortable bed for you to sleep on. He’d thought about asking you to move in permanently, to see if you could get a place together so you could have a proper bedroom, like a proper couple. He hated having to sneak around his own living room like a teenager, having whispered conversations with you so you didn’t take his daughter. He worried it was too soon though; life was so perfect at the moment, and he didn’t want to ruin it by moving too quickly.
The three of you lay there bed together, you and Gyeong-Seok listening to Na-Yeon babble away. His arms pulled you in closer, his lips pressing a tender kiss on your earlobe. He wished he could freeze time, wished he could bottle this moment and keep it forever. But you’d need to get up soon to get ready for work, and his daughter would need her breakfast.
“I need to do some laundry tonight,” you said, after you’d showered and gotten ready for work. “I’ll take Na-Yeon back to mine tonight, maybe get us a pizza as a little treat.” Gyeong-Seok looked at you over the rim of his coffee mug, eyes alight as he took in your silk shirt and burgundy pencil skirt. It still utterly baffled him that you loved him; that a poor, scruffy painter could be lucky enough to find someone like you. “I hate having to constantly go back and forth,” you sighed, taking a seat next to him at the kitchen table. “I’ve been thinking actually…” You smiled slyly, pulling something from your bag. “This place has just come up, in the same building we’re in now. It’s a 2-bed place, and it even has a small balcony. I was thinking, if we put our money together, we could just about afford it.”
You sat waiting for his answer, chewing the inside of your cheek nervously as you watched him look over the apartment. You knew it was hasty, but you’d never been more sure of anything in your life. Your little family unit needed a bigger place to grow. The apartment overlooked the playground, and you already knew you’d be out there with Na-Yeon each day. Money would be tight, but you’d make it work, and once Na-Yeon was better things would be easier. “I really like it,” he smiled, “are you sure you want to do this?” He didn’t want you to feel like you had to move in with him, like you had to somehow make life easier for him. “Of course I want to,” you smiled, leaning forward for a kiss. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
Later that day, Gyeong-Seok arranged a viewing, and two weeks later you had the keys. The first thing he did was throw away the old sofa bed, before proudly placing the bed from your apartment in your new room together. You finally had your own space, somewhere where you could be a proper couple. As the three of you sat down for dinner that night, surrounded by moving boxes and bubble wrap, Gyeong-Seok was sure he’d never been happier.
#squid game#squid game 2#squid game x reader#squid game fanfic#squid game x you#squid game season 2#park gyeong seok x you#park gyeong seok x reader#park gyeong seok#lee jin uk
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HI I STAYED UP WAY TOO LATE TO READ THIS PART !!!! :))
(also this might be my longest rb so far)
SIX UPON A TIME
"You weren’t sure what you wanted him to do, but it was fun to watch the time bomb tick." - let's kiss him on the mouth 🫶🏻
"A reason to get up in the morning." - SHUT. YOUR. MOUTH.
"But then you blink back into reality again when Bucky sits you down on the closed lid of your toilet and slowly makes you let go of his shirt, kneeling down in front of you. The blue of his eyes is devastating, even though you have to keep blinking to keep him in focus." - No I can't do this
"Maybe that’s the most terrifying thought of them all. You would die for him. Once, twice, however many times are necessary if that meant that he’s safe. " - Nika I'm fucking crying. I wish I was exaggerating but I'm actually fucking crying before 10pm.
"But it seems like you haven’t known it at all, because right now, you feel the knowledge of it, of him, surge through you with all its facets. You can’t even begin to put it into words, because where would you start? How do you explain what he makes you feel when he hasn’t been there himself, not in any way that matters or sticks? And if it’s never happened at all, if time keeps unraveling like this, how can it even be real? " - the woman that you are. Oh. My. God. You are completely unreal this is phenomenal.
"His breath hitches when they dip lower, almost reaching the place you’ve watched dimple when he laughs, but he doesn’t move away. He doesn’t laugh, either." - I have actual tears in my eyes you are so evil
"That day, he dies with your stupid nickname on his lips, twisted into something that looks strangely close to that earlier smile. This one doesn’t have time to reach his eyes, though." - Nika I'm fucking sick to my stomach what the fuck is wrong with you
Brief intermission bc I got too into it and read the rest twice before coming back to make notes (I was too immersed)
A crack in the sky you are insane I would FREAK
Where TF does bucky go during the day. As a naturally nosy gal the unknowns in this story make me ITCH I can't wait for everything to be revealed
"Why won’t you look at me? " - this is so hurtful why are you being so mean to me
HOW IS THE DELIVERY MAN EARLY IM LITERALLY IN SHOCK AND WE MOVED ON FROM THIS TOO FAST????????
"You take a sip of your tea and some feeling returns to your translucent fingers. Strange’s cloak draws itself around your shoulders." - hehe we have the cloak 🫶🏻
""I came to you," you realize. "Or, I will, once I get out of this." The relief that washes over you makes you want to sob. "So there is a way out?"" - why did this make ME relieved like I'm stuck in the loop too 😭 I literally have felt anxious for our dear reader like I'm sick and this has soothed my heart the smallest bit (I'm still scared of you)
"You can’t help but wonder when he’s last tried the bed." - Frick you for putting him in the floor what has my baby done to you let him be comfortable 😭😭
"No," Strange answers. "This is just when he wakes up." - this made me LAUGH I needed that
CAPS BDAY IM CRACKING UP THATS SUCH A FUN SILLY MOMENT
"He might has well have doused you in a bucket of ice water. You’re suddenly very aware of every single cell in your body, and you don’t like the challenge sparkling in his eyes." - THEY ARE SO IN LOVE MY GOD IM SICK
Why are we waking up to silence I'm gonna throw up Nika
What did the powers do
Alpine can see us that is both cute and scary 😅
"You lose a few hours here and there, time seemingly speeding up at random sometimes now. One morning, Bucky isn’t in the gym like he usually is, and you work yourself up over it so much you nearly have a panic attack. In the end, you almost crash into him outside of his room, and a rush of reassurance floods through you with such force you can’t even look at him." - what is wrong with you
"That time, Sam is there when Bucky gets shot, and it’s his cry that follows you into the next day. Your hands are clean this time, and somehow that feels worse." - how dare you write these 2 paragraphs and also put them so close together????????
"And then it’s you who’s speechless, because the shock on Peter Parker’s face is more than you bargained for." - FULL. BODY. CHILLS. WHAT A MIND YOU HAVE NIKA. I WILL NEVER GET OVER THIS.
"Sweat pearled on your forehead as you and the universe held your breath again. You could feel your hold slipping with every second that wasn’t allowed to pass. Time was impatient with you." - THE LAST LINE ?????? I'm speechless
"And with time stumbling and flailing around in confusion, you made it out of the building and into the waiting cab." - ok chapter 7 pls 🫶🏻
I'm kidding you are PERFECT I can't believe I missed out on this for as long as I did?!!!!!!! Thank you so much for sharing your incredible brain with me I want to kiss you on the mouth I love you!!!!!!!
time after time [6]
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series summary: After what starts out as a fairly normal mission, you find yourself stuck in a time loop. Which would already be bad enough in itself if it didn’t also mean having to watch Bucky die over and over again.
pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader
word count: 12.8k
chapter warnings: maybe reacquaint yourselves with the story premise, it's been a hot minute; characters refusing to be honest with themselves and each other; violence against side characters, minor injury descriptions; strange is still annoying
a/n: this is quite possibly the scariest fic update i've ever made. a lot has happened since the last chapter was posted, and i won't bore you with all of it. suffice it to say, i missed sharing this story. thank you for being patient with me.
series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3
six: butterfly effect
Working with Sam and Bucky was different than working with Natasha and Steve had been.
At the Compound, it had felt terrifyingly easy to find your place, to slip into the new role they granted you as if you were always meant to fill it. You’d felt that way before, and it hadn’t turned out quite so well. Maybe that was why you used to dread the end.
Now, however, for the first time in a while, you constantly had to prove yourself in order to not be left back in that dark place they’d found you in, alone and trying to make sense of any of it. And you liked that. The challenge was something you could live with, something you could enjoy more than the ever chilling anxiousness that things were simply too good to be true.
So when Sam called you on for a follow-up mission shortly after the first one, you jumped at the chance.
It didn’t matter that you barely talked about anything but work, even when you were hanging out in your spare time; in fact, you much preferred that to digging up the past. You even learned to find a wicked sort of enjoyment in provoking Bucky’s initial dislike of you to the point of where he would barely speak to you at all unless it was to snap at you.
You weren’t sure what you wanted him to do, but it was fun to watch the time bomb tick.
It wasn’t as easy to get under the new cap’s skin.
"You’re making us sound like we’re partners in a law firm," Sam said, a smile clearly audible in his voice even though his eyes didn’t betray it. Bucky didn’t even dignify you with a clench of his jaw.
"What?" you said, crossing your legs. "Every newspaper in the city calls you 'Wilson and Barnes'. Don’t you ever read the articles about yourselves?"
"Unlike some people, I don’t have all the time in the world," Sam said, leaning back on the couch with his eyes closed.
"Pity. The Bulletin called you the 'nation’s new dynamic duo' last week." You looked at Bucky, your eyebrows raised in amusement. "You’ve officially been downgraded to a sidekick, Barnes."
He answered with an empty glare of his own. "And what does that make you?" he said, but not like a question.
"Nothing at all," you still grinned. "Everything is right in the universe."
The reporters had yet to pick up on your addition to the team, which was proof enough that your powers still sufficed to fly under the radar. Combined with the fact that you were actually regularly talking to people again—and people who weren’t your therapist or your customers no less—, things almost felt like they were settling into a new kind of normal. Still somewhat weird, and still a struggle each day, but somewhat hopeful, nevertheless.
You’d almost forgotten what that could feel like.
“Right. You’d prefer people not knowing about your creepy powers.”
"Aww." You tilted your head to the side happily. "You think I’m creepy."
Bucky scoffed into his mug, refusing to look at you like he always did, and then he strolled off again.
In truth, you couldn’t blame him all that much. You’d lived with your powers all your life and still found them unsettling sometimes, particularly when they got away from you and left you trapped in a universe that refused to move.
That was none of his business, though.
Besides, Bucky had taken to moving around so quietly you could never tell he was there until he’d cough and you’d flinch, usually dropping whatever you were holding in your hands. You’d already cracked your phone screen twice.
Not that he’d know, or care if he did. It gave you great satisfaction to erase his amused smirk from existence.
"Give it time," Sam said without moving. "He doesn’t like new people."
"Neither do I," you murmured, and he snorted. "What?"
"Pretend with me all you want, but maybe do a bit of introspection there."
You crossed your arms with a pout. "You sound like my therapist."
"Mhm," Sam hummed, opening one eye to look at you. "You owe me fifty bucks for that."
"Fuck you."
"Oh, would you look at that, the price just went up."
He chuckled as you flipped him off and went to look for the coffee pot.
Of course, your way got blocked. The downsides of not hating having people around.
Bucky was leaning against the counter, considering you. "You go to therapy?"
"You should try it some time," you said distractedly, reaching around him to get your favorite mug. Bucky recoiled like he was afraid you’d burn him. You shook your head in annoyance. "Helps with the stink eye."
"Is that what they told you?"
"They told me I needed to process my grief, but I decided to focus on some more achievable goals." You took a sip of your coffee, sighing in comfort. "We came up with a compromise."
Bucky scoffed, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. He still hadn’t taken his gloves off around you.
"Sounds like a way to drag it out," he said.
You frowned into your cup. "It’s not a race, Barnes. There’s no finish line for this shit."
Something odd went over his face, but he went back to avoiding your gaze when you tried to make it out. You knew him well enough by then to get the hint, and so you left him alone.
What was it to you if he didn’t want to warm up to you. That had no bearing on the fact that overall, your situation wasn’t all too bad anymore.
It was something, you supposed as you curled up in your spot on the couch with your book later that day, slipping in and out of time to keep your company a little longer because deep down, you knew you were sick of being alone.
It was weird and different, yes, but it was still something anyway. Something to do with your afternoons again.
A reason to get up in the morning.
*****
"What are you talking about?" Bucky asks quietly, carefully, but he makes no attempt to pull back from your embrace. It allows you to take another shuddering breath, inhaling his scent until it makes you dizzy.
The fact that you probably won’t be this close to him again any time soon makes you press into his chest even harder, hard enough to feel his heart flutter against your forehead, the shock of the situation making it pick up speed.
For a split second, you slip into a sort of vacuum, your thoughts quieting as he keeps mumbling to you, and in that blissful moment, your situation doesn’t seem quite so dire anymore, more like a bad dream. You’re safe now, aren’t you? How could you not be?
But then you blink back into reality again when Bucky sits you down on the closed lid of your toilet and slowly makes you let go of his shirt, kneeling down in front of you. The blue of his eyes is devastating, even though you have to keep blinking to keep him in focus.
You don’t want to have to do this, you realize once your gasps for air start calming again. You’re not sure if you can bear it.
But nothing in this loop has been about what you wanted.
And so your resolve is made, with your heart sinking until it’s hidden away deep, deep inside of your chest. You ball your hands into fists to keep your fingers from twitching.
Two or three times he watches you inhale, start to say something, halt before you can, almost choking on it. Like your body is refusing to go through with it.
"How do you know when I’m lying?" you finally ask, and your voice sounds oddly clear in your small bathroom.
Bucky’s face goes from concern to confusion, his frown deepening. You want to smoothe it away with your thumb.
You close your eyes so maybe the temptation goes away.
"What?" he asks, and he still sounds so damn gentle.
"I’ve never been able to lie to you," you say. "What’s my tell?"
You can feel him move away from you and the ache of it makes you look again. His shirt and his hands are covered in his own blood, and you’re sure there’s some fucking metaphor in the way it stains the golden inlets of his vibranium arm crimson but for the most part, you can’t unsee the damn irony of it all.
Because you’ve pissed him off now.
"You scared the shit out of me, Y/N. And Sam, too." There’s the sharpness in his voice you know all too well. You haven’t heard it in a while. "What the hell is going on?"
"I’m trapped in a time loop," you say, squeezing your fists more tightly. "I’ve been reliving this day for weeks, my powers aren’t working, I’m the only one who can stop time from completely collapsing, I can’t do that without my powers, and you’re gonna die later today. Am I lying?"
It’s maybe the worst way you’ve ever told him, because watching Bucky’s face change is almost too much. This is exactly why you’re doing it, though; as long as you’re going through this loop with a giant guilty knot in your stomach, you’re not going to make any progress. And you need to put an end to all of it.
So you meet his gaze, almost unwavering, and you don’t blink.
His shock bursts free as an incredulous laugh. "What?"
"I’m stuck," you say again, slower, nodding at his hands, his blood, continuing to push, "and you keep dying."
Bucky looks down, then, before his gaze falls back onto you and he sits back on his heels. The pause lasts for way too long, heavy and smelling of iron, and you’re pretty sure you’re suffocating. He only says one word, and it sounds so defeated. "How?"
You swallow heavily. "You got shot on a mission," you say, but he shakes his head, the fire returning to his eyes.
"No. How did you get stuck?"
"I …" You blink, because you’re not prepared for this question, because you can never predict what he’s going to say, because he keeps doing that to you, because somehow, and not like you’ve expected, you feel like you’ve been here before.
How did it happen? That’s not … Okay.
"It was an accident," you finally say, helplessly, defensively.
There’s a flicker of something in Bucky’s eyes. "What happened?"
"You died. You died that first time and I didn’t—I couldn’t …" You swallow the sob that threatens to shake your voice again. Damnit, you’re supposed to push him away.
He moves his arm, then hesitates, as if he wants to reach out to you but changes his mind at the very last moment.
Right. He doesn’t normally do that.
Except he has.
He has held your hand and pulled you closer and written on your arm and let you lean on him with the full weight of your body, as if to him, you weighed nothing at all. He’s been offering to carry your load so many times, and he doesn’t remember a single one of them.
"Please don’t look at me like that," you say tonelessly, watching Bucky retreat.
"Like what?"
"Like I’m gonna fall apart at any moment. And yes," you add when his mouth opens, "I—I know I just did, I’m aware of the irony, but this is exactly why I can’t keep telling you, I don’t—I can’t stand it." You press your wrists against your temples, ignoring the buzz of the whirling time symbols against your skin, the stinging in your eyes. "You shouldn’t even—I mean, are you even the slightest bit worried about yourself? Because I feel like I’m the only one here, and I should’ve just—"
You stop yourself, shaking your head. Your hands are very clammy all of a sudden, and when you tug at your rings just to do something, one of them slips off your finger and clangs against the tiles as if to punctuate the silence.
When you reach down, you move your wrist in a way that makes you hiss in pain and flinch back. Bucky’s eyes flit between your own and your hand, his frown deepening in a strangely soft way. "Did you break it?" he asks quietly.
"I’m fine," you mumble, and he looks at you disapprovingly. "You’d grabbed my hand just before …"
His jaw twitches as the blame settles in again, and you would do fucking anything to finally make him understand that none of this is his fault. That you should be in pain for what you’re putting him through.
"It should’ve been me," you tell him, because it’s true.
Even earlier in the week, you would’ve taken great delight in seeing Bucky Barnes’ face fall at something you’d said. Hell, you’d have probably enjoyed it on Thursday, because there used to be this easy sort of gratification that came from riling him up, from catching him off guard.
Seeing it now, though?
It makes your fingers twitch.
"Don’t say that. Not even as a joke."
"I’m not joking." You can feel your pulse in your ears. "They aimed a shot at me, and you pushed me out of the way, and you died. So by all accounts, if your instincts weren’t so damn noble all the time, it should’ve been me, and if I weren’t such a fucking coward, I’d have gone back and switched places with you weeks ago."
The thought terrifies you, even though it’s true. No part of you wants to go through the things Bucky is, but if someone gave you the choice between either one of you right now, you wouldn’t even have to think about it.
Maybe that’s the most terrifying thought of them all. You would die for him. Once, twice, however many times are necessary if that meant that he’s safe.
"I’d like to see you try," Bucky says, and something slams into your chest as an old familiar shiver runs down your spine.
There’s a pained edge to his gaze, contemplative and heartbreaking and …
"You’re doing it again," you say, your voice barely above a whisper.
"What am I doing?" His hand brushes your knee, and your skin is left searing.
You swallow heavily. "Being noble."
Bucky chuckles softly, and his eyes leave yours for just a moment. "Don’t exactly feel like that."
He’s beautiful.
It’s a new thought, despite everything. Even when you’ve noticed it before, you’d roll your eyes at the fact and move on, because this was Bucky. So what if his face was delectably handsome?
But it seems like you haven’t known it at all, because right now, you feel the knowledge of it, of him, surge through you with all its facets. You can’t even begin to put it into words, because where would you start? How do you explain what he makes you feel when he hasn’t been there himself, not in any way that matters or sticks? And if it’s never happened at all, if time keeps unraveling like this, how can it even be real?
So it’s pure instinct that makes you move, like someone would pinch themselves to ensure they’re not asleep, even though you’re very aware that this isn’t just a dream. You need to confirm that Bucky is real, though.
The air stands still when your fingertips trace along his cheekbone, leaving a delicate flush behind in their trail, barely touching and yet …
And yet.
His breath hitches when they dip lower, almost reaching the place you’ve watched dimple when he laughs, but he doesn’t move away. He doesn’t laugh, either.
There’s a scraping sound at the closed bathroom door, followed by a short knock. You flinch backwards.
"I’m leaving the first aid kit on the bed," Sam calls from the other side. "Just … holler if you need me."
"Thanks, Sam," Bucky says coarsely, and you can hear steps receding. The scratching continues, though. That damn cat.
Finally, he breaks eye contact, clearing his throat.
"Do you want me to help you clean up?"
You shake your head. You’re not sure you could stomach more of this. "I’m good, don’t … Don’t worry about it."
Bucky drags a hand through his hair, muttering something to himself you can’t quite make out. Slowly, he gets to his feet again.
"We need to come up with a plan," he says, and you want to cry except … you’re tired. Tired and sick of this.
"I need to come up with a plan," you correct him. "We have been trying to do this as a team for weeks, and it doesn’t change anything except waste time and …" And hurt. "I can’t do it anymore, Buck."
There must be something in your voice that thaws his defiant glare a little. "So what’s the plan?"
And with a sigh, you fill him in on everything that’s been going on with Strange and your powers. Again. One last time.
You have to do this alone.
Bucky ignores your insistence that you can manage just fine and sets your wrist while you talk. Alpine, now free to roam wherever she pleases again, has decided the bathroom isn’t quite that interesting after a short look inside, and is now taking a nap in the spot of sunshine next to your bed.
"New deal," he says once you’re done, once he’s thought about it all, and you raise your eyebrows. "Don’t do anything stupid."
"You know me," you smile, checking the makeshift dressing around your hand. The green symbols are hidden by the layers of gauze.
Bucky doesn’t bite. "I’m serious, just—don’t."
"How would you know?"
"I wouldn’t," he says, snapping the first aid kit shut so vehemently Alpine’s tail twitches. "But I trust you."
Your head whips up at his words, even though his back is still turned to you. He doesn’t see your face as your heart is jostled into a new rhythm, so violently and unexpectedly that you lift your hand without thinking, pinkie outstretched.
"Promise."
He smiles when he notices, and you wish you could take a picture to carry with you through the rest of this nightmare.
That day, he dies with your stupid nickname on his lips, twisted into something that looks strangely close to that earlier smile. This one doesn’t have time to reach his eyes, though.
***
There’s been a change in the weather.
Not literally, no; of course not literally. Fuck, you long for a single cloud, a raindrop, a damn hailstorm to break the streak of endless perfectly sunny days that don’t fit your mood in the slightest.
But there’s a tinge to the sky that makes your stomach turn. It’s not very obvious to anyone who hasn’t looked at the exact same sunset for weeks on end, just a single strip of color across a storybook horizon. It looks like a crack.
"Do you see that?" you ask warily when you notice it for the first time, ominous and yet almost completely hidden by the trees and the buildings. Just dancing around the edge of your vision like another mockery.
"What?" Sam asks, eyes not leaving the path ahead.
"That … thing in the sky. What is that?"
Bucky stops and squints at where you’re pointing. "It’s called a cloud," he says dryly.
"With that color?" you murmur, but continue walking when he stops to turn to you, your wrist tingling. His stare is searing your neck, but you ignore that, too.
The best course of action, you’ve learned, is to shut your brain off as soon as you get out of the quinjet and just go through the motions, trying to ride out the mission like you’ve done dozens of times before. There’s a sort of autopilot you’ve fallen into after a couple of days, and it’s the only thing keeping you somewhat sane. Most days, it means it’s all over quickly, and you can’t help but feel glad about that.
You’ve given up trying to change your own actions to get him through the day.
But this …
It’s something new, and in all this monotony, that thought is both frightening and exciting. It distracts you enough to get you off script.
"Lovely interior design," Sam mumbles like he always does.
"Remember how this was supposed to be a day off?" You kick one of the pebbles in your path with a sigh. "What happened to 'don’t worry, Y/N, after training the day is all yours'?"
"Occupational hazard," Sam says, checking his map for the thousandth time.
"You know what I mean."
"Don’t you have tomorrow off?" Bucky says over the intercom.
Tomorrow. "Right." It comes out somewhat strained, your fingernails digging into the palm of your hand. "And why do you know that?"
Sam shakes his head and there’s a brief crackle of static in your ear. For a fraction of a second, you nearly dare to hope Bucky will give you an answer, even though you have no clue what it would be.
"They’re heading your way now," he says instead, "so get a move on."
And just like that, you’re back on track.
Quickly clearing your throat of the lump that has formed there, you say tonelessly, "I probably only have one reset left. Two, if we’re lucky and you two aren’t being stupid again."
It’s taken you a while to get used to it. To the constant lying.
You’ve worn fingerless gloves on missions before, so that’s not raised any questions from the others yet, and your rings stay hidden away. You’ve been more reluctant to take them off since the one you lost on your bathroom floor vanished into thin air.
The other thing you’ve picked up on while endlessly repeating this day is that Bucky is less likely to catch you in a lie if he can’t see your face.
So you’ve made an effort of spending as little time as possible with him.
It’s surprisingly easy to stay in your room for the majority of the day, because he doesn’t remember it ever being any other way. Even today’s little exchange will be lost to the loop soon enough, just like that little pause he made, just like the bullet through his heart.
Still, when you wake up with a start on Friday, July 4th, you look at the sky first. Its perfect blue doesn’t soothe the sinking feeling in your stomach at all.
You’ve been waiting for something to change for weeks, and now that it’s here, you don’t like it at all.
"What did you expect?" Strange says with an infuriating composure once you’ve nervously recounted your experience. "I told you, time isn’t supposed to get stuck in this way. Of course your reality was going to act up sooner or later."
"I really feel like you should be more concerned about this," you mutter, letting a ball of green energy pass from your left hand to the right. It’s about the size of a quarter now.
"Honestly," Strange answers, "I thought something like this would have happened a while ago." He taps his fingers together. "Again. Slower."
"So what am I supposed to do then, just ignore it?" The green ball pulses with your indignation, turns around itself once and then sinks into your palm again.
"In all likelihood, it’s a one time glitch. If everything is back to normal today, I wouldn’t worry about it."
Your thumb rubs across the empty space on your finger. "Easy for you to say if you’re not the one who’s stuck in an endless hellscape."
"Aren’t I?"
You both roll your eyes at each other, but then you bite the inside of your cheek again, unable to shake the feeling of a whole new shade of dread. "What if it’s not just a one time glitch?"
The corners of Strange’s cloak roll up on themselves, and he doesn’t meet your eye when he says, "We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it."
It’s still early when you return to the present, too early for Bucky to be back from wherever he’s always going, so you decide to venture out of your room again, stretching your tired limbs. You’re pretty sure at this point that waking up on the floor is never going to feel fun.
Sam is in the kitchen as always, reading something on his laptop. He’s still sitting down, which means that it’s even earlier than you expected. You miss these early parts of the day, the calm before the storm.
If today were only made up of these few hours, you suppose, it might not be half so bad.
You pull up a chair next to him and lean a cheek against your hand. "What’re you doing?"
"Research." Sam sighs, rubbing his temples. "Remember that ULTIMATUM group?"
"Never heard of them," you say with a small yawn. "Is that an acronym? What does it stand for?"
Sam gives you a glare and your mouth twitches slightly.
"Anyway," he continues, turning his laptop so you can see the article he’s reading. "They’ve been more active again lately. Acquired a couple thousand dollars’ worth of lab equipment through one of their contacts and then went underground again."
Of course, you know all this. You’ve been over it again and again, back when you were all still trading information like it could save Bucky’s life. Like there was a deeper meaning behind any of this damn loop other than the fact that you, and you alone, fucked up.
Useless.
You close the mental door on those thoughts and take a deep breath. You hate to admit it, but all of this sitting around with your thoughts bullshit you’ve been doing has actually helped you to clear your head somewhat—if only to make it through the parts of the day you can’t avoid.
"And now what?" you ask, pretending to just have reacquainted yourself with the topic.
"Now," Sam says, taking his laptop with him as he stands up and strolls over to the kitchen island, "I’m waiting for Torres to get back to me so we can decide our next steps once we’re all recovered." He gives you a meaningful look and you scowl.
Then, slowly, his words register in your brain, and you stare at his back as he stretches and then moves to make some coffee, wordlessly taking one of your mugs out of the cupboard as well as his own.
"You don’t seem too worried," you say hesitantly.
Sam shrugs. "Until we have a proper lead, there’s not much we can do. And I doubt they’ll be doing any actual damage any time soon. They’re a lot more covert than the Flag Smashers ever were."
"Right," you say, more to yourself than in response.
"Try that again, less convincing?"
"I don’t know," you mutter, slowly following him to lean against the fridge. "Just … what if Torres did find something? Should I be getting ready?"
Sam frowns. "Are you not telling me something again?"
You try to shake the thought, pulling your arms around you. "Forget it."
You don’t, though.
It keeps bugging you, because that day like any other day, he knocks on your door at 4:32 on the dot, and you go on that mission anyway. And even though this has been happening for weeks, you’re just starting to suspect that you are, in fact, still not getting the whole picture.
***
Catching a glimpse of Sam’s phone turns out to be more difficult than you first thought.
You’re still trying to get the timing exactly right a couple of days later, and you miscalculate enough to catch Bucky on his way upstairs.
"Hey," he says, his shoulders tense when he looks at you. There’s a restlessness to him that he’s not quick enough to hide; or maybe you’ve just grown more perceptive when it comes to him.
"Hi," you say, crossing your hands behind your back. "Where’ve you been?"
He shrugs. "For a walk."
You already know he won’t elaborate if you try poking, so you don’t. "Was it good?"
"Lotta people." He hesitates when you continue to not meet his eye, and then he says, "Do you want to talk about it?"
You swallow, ignoring the tingling sensation on your wrist. "Not particularly. Do you?"
Bucky’s jaw twitches. "Nah."
Somehow, you feel like that’s also a lie. Once again, you’re left wondering.
The silence between you stretches as you continue to not quite look at each other, until you finally clear your throat, nodding at the front door. "I’m getting coffee, do you want something?"
Honestly, it’s just an excuse as to why you need to leave before he notices something off again somehow, but Bucky tilts his head in amusement.
"Didn’t you just get some this morning?"
"So? I like coffee."
"Really. I never knew."
"Screw you."
You can hear him huff behind you, but thankfully the door falls shut before you can do anything stupid. Like turning around to face him, for example.
You miss his eyes.
Why won’t you look at me?
When the elevator doors open, you almost yelp into your delivery guy’s face. He stumbles a half-step backwards, somehow managing to keep a hold of the boxes precariously balanced on his arm while he’s reading something on his phone.
"Oh my god," he lets out, "I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I was just …"
"Early." You blink.
"Sorry?"
"Nothing," you say, frowning only a little. "Wait, let me get that."
You quickly sign for the delivery and open the door with your keycard, holding it open for him. You’re not exactly afraid of burglars these days, and besides; you know this guy by now.
"If you could just go straight ahead and to the right, that’s where the kitchen is."
"Sure thing," he shrugs. "Thanks—"
His mouth snaps shut and he blushes a little as if he wanted to say something else but thought better of it.
You’ve introduced him to Sam enough times you know he’s going to be fine, so you just smile and wave him in.
When you step out on the street, you instinctually look up at the sky. It’s outrageously blue, blatantly perfect for an endless Friday, and even when you squint, you can’t make out any irregularities.
It’s a tiny relief, but a relief nontheless.
Lucy is leaning against the wall just out of sight of the storefront, an unlit cigarette dangling between her lips as she rummages through her pockets. Her colorful makeup has begun to melt off in the sweltering heat, making the red-white-and-blue stars on her cheeks bleed into each other to look somewhat purplish.
"Are you off or on break?" you call over.
She lifts her head, the glare vanishing when she recognizes you. "Counting the seconds," she says. "Don’t you have anything better to do?"
You sidestep a couple of pedestrians hurrying to cross the street and join her. "Not really."
"I hate you." She finally fishes a lighter out of her back pocket, sighing contentedly as she takes her first drag. "I swear, this day just won’t pass."
Fine. Maybe your chuckle is a little shrill. "I’m sorry."
Lucy waves you off with a gesture crude enough to make a young dad with a stroller send the two of you a dirty look. "You without your shadow today?" she asks, inspecting her nails.
You blink. "My shadow."
"You know. Your friend who’s been in here eight thousand times and still gets confused when he orders." A cloud of smoke vanishes into thin air. "Kind of the lingering type, isn’t he?"
"He’s old," you say, because for some reason nothing else comes to mind.
"Not that old."
"No," you agree, "not that old."
For a moment, you’re afraid she’s going to ask you to pass her number along to him, and you’re already scrambling to find an answer somewhere in the depths of your brain, coming up empty. That’s the problem with being able to unhave entire conversations; you don’t usually really have to deal with reactions if you don’t want to.
Without your powers, though, you’re stuck, and it’s making you wish you hadn’t come here at all.
Instead of any of that, she pulls a flyer out of her other pocket. "Sorin and Cass are doing a gig in Brooklyn next week, do you wanna come with? They’re still terrible, but they got a new bassist who seems alright."
You take the flyer, staring at it. "I didn’t know they’re in a band," you admit.
The truth is, you’ve never paid that much close attention to the people you work with. Maybe that’s been a mistake.
Lucy shrugs. "You’re always doing your own thing." It stings, even though you’re pretty sure she doesn’t mean for it to. "It’d be fun if you came, though."
"I’ll think about it," you say, and your smile is a little unsure, but genuine.
So is hers.
"If you don’t want to hang with us all night, you can bring some friends, too." Her emphasis hangs in the air between you like a dare.
You snort. "I feel like this isn’t quite their scene."
"You feel like or you know?"
"Isn’t that the same thing?"
"No." She puts her cigarette out on the wall behind her. "Knowledge is based on experience. On memories. Your feelings don’t sit in your head. And so they don’t make sense and they’re not necessarily true." She winks.
"You’re weirdly smart," you say, shaking your head.
"I know. It’s a curse." Lucy sighs. "Anyway, think about it. I gotta get back to hell."
"You know," you say with a grin, "I could really do with a frappuccino right about now."
"You know what you could do?" she answers in her sweetest customer service voice, pointing you down the street. "Get in a trash can."
Damnit. You might actually grow to like Lucy.
She taps her fingers against her temple and then shuffles back inside, a hot rush of air blowing out of the AC as the door opens. You fold the flyer up to fit into your back pocket, hoping you’ll make it to that concert one day, and then you walk on, aimless again for the moment.
***
Time passes while it’s standing still.
The problem is, at least for the moment, that by all appearances you’ve reverted back to square one. Going through your day as though any of this is even remotely normal, counting the hours and minutes to reenter the astral plane and feel some semblance of control again.
It’s been nice, really, if you’re ignoring the constant underlying feeling of dread.
Which you’re getting better at.
You wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume.
Rinse and repeat.
You wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume.
Even on days when you’re sure you’re making progress with your powers, every reset makes it just a little harder to keep dragging yourself onwards.
You wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume.
"You look like shit."
Your head rolls to the side slowly, allowing yourself a glance while Bucky is still distracted with his arm. Concentration makes his brows knit, and something warm spreads in your chest.
"I’m so tired," you say, voice barely above a whisper.
He doesn’t look at you, but you’re grateful for it for once. Your eyes are stinging a little.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Yes. Yes. Yes.
"Not particularly."
"Do you want to talk about something else?"
You almost smile. "Like what?"
Bucky shrugs with one shoulder. "Like the fact that you just planted Sam into the mat head-first and yet made a face like you killed a puppy?"
Sometimes you wonder how he still manages to slip in without you noticing, no matter how many times he does it.
"Did I?"
"Did you kill a puppy? I’d hope not."
Your body’s been getting stronger, anticipating Sam’s every move. At this point, it’s not so much training as it is an exercise in muscle memory; but how would he know that?
It still isn’t enough. It’s never enough.
You pitiful, selfish, useless bastard.
"You’re doing it again," Bucky says and you blink.
"Doing what?"
"I don’t know, but I don’t like it."
Something inside you twinges uncomfortably and you wrap your arms around your knees, pulling them into your chest. "That might just be me, period."
Bucky huffs. "Take the towel on the right," he says. "I already used the other one."
So you do.
And then you wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume, and then you wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume, and then you wake up with blah, blah, blah.
"I can’t do this anymore."
Strange watches you, but you don’t get up from where you’re lying, blankly staring at the ceiling, feeling like your chest is about to explode.
You don’t want to feel like something is tearing you apart every single time, even though you know it’s not permanent. There’s always the tiniest glimmer of hope that this will all be over soon.
Or maybe it’s dread.
"Maybe you can’t," Strange answers.
You blink, sitting upright. "What?"
"Maybe you are actually incapable of cleaning up your own mess. You’ve never had any training before, after all. Maybe you’re too weak."
Useless. Not good enough. Waste of time.
"If this is reverse psychology, it’s not working," you say through gritted teeth, pressing your eyes shut so tightly they don’t burn anymore.
Strange ignores you. "Maybe you’re going to be stuck in this loop forever. If that’s the case, there’s no point to keep trying either. Maybe we should just call it a day."
You can feel your breaths coming in shorter.
"Maybe you’re just going to keep failing to save anyone for the rest of your life."
"Stop it!"
An explosion of power goes through your body, bouncing off the walls and bathing the room in a ghostly green light. You cough and curl into yourself as you watch it billow, still echoing the words back at you, "too weak", "stuck in this loop forever". Your bones are heavy with exhaustion.
Strange crouches down next to you and a cup of fragrant tea draws itself up to the side of your face.
"You’re drawing the bulk of your power from pain. From a desire to fix things that you think you alone are responsible for when the truth is that each and every one of us is constantly creating reality."
"Fuck you," you mumble. When you sit up, your head is still swimming.
"You cannot keep this up."
"If I’m such a lost case, then why do you bother?"
"I’m trying to tell you that you’re not." He points at the walls, still covered by that greenish fog. "This is the strongest display of your powers I’ve seen from you yet, and it only happened because you were lashing out. Pain is not a sustainable source of energy. Imagine what you could do if you could be in control."
Do as I tell you.
"There’s no way to control my powers on a larger scale. It’s impossible."
"You keep telling me that, and yet you keep coming back. Why?"
You push yourself up to your elbows, wiping at your face. "Because I have to hope, right?"
"And there it is."
You take a sip of your tea and some feeling returns to your translucent fingers. Strange’s cloak draws itself around your shoulders.
The wizard himself stays quiet for another minute or two, before he asks, "Why do you think I’m talking to you right now? Helping you, even, nevermind your constant whining and your insistence that this won’t work, after you’ve spent your whole life running away from anything resembling actual responsibilities."
"I didn’t—"
"Answer the question."
"Because I created a time loop?" you guess.
"But you already know that this loop is just one point on the timeline. A single day, repeated endlessly, but going exactly like it was always supposed to, once resolved. So, without the time stone and my privileges as the Sorcerer Supreme, and with your protections still in place, how would I have found you?"
He knew exactly where and when to look for you. But he’s right, that shouldn’t even have been possible unless …
"I came to you," you realize. "Or, I will, once I get out of this." The relief that washes over you makes you want to sob. "So there is a way out?"
"Of course there is," he says, surprisingly gently. "Time isn’t supposed to get stuck."
You sit with that for a minute, hiding your face in your hands as Strange stays silent. Finally, you take a deep breath and look at him again with newly sharp focus.
"So why don’t you just tell me how to do it?"
He raises an eyebrow. "You know that’s not how it works."
"Yes. It is. It’s literally what I do all the time."
"What you do is leaving realities you don’t like by turning backwards."
"That’s not true."
"Just because your motivations aren’t entirely selfish doesn’t mean you’re right."
You’re so damn exhausted. The frustration of this whole thing is really starting to scratch at your sanity, and there’s an ache in your chest as you stare at your own sleeping face, biting the inside of your cheek, thinking.
Strange snaps his fingers to get your attention back.
"I’m not a mind reader," he says. "Out with it."
"I want to see him," you say, getting up. The cloak flaps around you in a very satisfying way. "Bucky. It’s early this morning, right? Just before the loop starts again. That means he’s upstairs."
"And what’s seeing him going to do?"
You ignore him and walk towards the door, reaching for the handle. Your hand goes right through it. You try it several more times, to no avail.
"Heaven help me," Strange mutters behind you.
Shutting your eyes, you take a deep breath. The circle of green tingles around your wrist.
Then, you walk through the closed door.
You fully expect to crash into the wood head first, but instead you feel the door moving through your noncorporeal form, and then you’re standing on the other side.
With a startled hum, you turn left, not waiting to see if you’re being followed.
You only hesitate in front of Bucky’s bedroom door. You’ve never actually been inside his room since he’s moved in; well, apart from that time he patched up your feet and you woke up in the astral plane for the first time. It feels odd to consider entering without him actually being aware of it.
Then again, there’s quite a few things at this point that he’s unaware of.
Before you can make up your mind, the door swings open just a little, and you automatically take a step back. Alpine sleepily slinks through the gap and trots off in the direction you came from, probably to sit in the kitchen and mope until FRIDAY activates the food dispenser again. On the stairs, she passes Strange who raises an eyebrow at you.
"Changed your mind?"
You glance into the room.
At first, you can’t find him. The bedding looks untouched, and there’s a brief flurry of panic that makes you step inside before you can keep questioning yourself.
Bucky is lying on the floor next to the bed, his hands balled tightly into an old throw blanket. It’s haphazardly draped across his torso, like he’s been trying to wriggle free during the night. He grimaces in his sleep.
Try the floor.
You can’t help but wonder when he’s last tried the bed.
"Can he hear us?" you ask quietly, not needing to look over your shoulder as you sink to the floor next to Bucky.
"No," Strange says. "Not until you put in a lot more work."
"Would he remember if I did?"
"I don’t know."
You do look back at him, then. "You know, considering your position you don’t know a whole lot of things."
You concentrate on your own hand until you’re starting to feel cool metal underneath your fingertips, ignoring the throbbing of your head. Carefully, you touch the crease between his brows, smoothing it out tenderly.
Bucky sighs a little in his sleep, but doesn’t stir. Doesn’t stop quietly murmuring in his dreams.
"You feel better?" Strange asks.
"Not really." You’ve already reached out to him without it having any repercussions too many times. "But that wasn’t the point."
"What was?"
"Just …"
Comfort. He brings you comfort, even when he doesn’t know it. It’s the same reason you keep waiting for him to arrive in the gym in the mornings, even though you could probably hurry up and miss him.
Even if the loop never ends, it’s still good to see that it’s bringing him back like it’s supposed to.
How incredibly selfish, you think as you continue looking at Bucky and letting a quiet, hesitant wash of calm come over you.
And then, all of a sudden, his eyes open.
You flinch backwards, but even though you’re almost face to face, he seems to stare right through you, his breaths heavy.
"Did I do something?" you say quietly.
"No," Strange answers. "This is just when he wakes up."
You watch as Bucky drags a hand over his face and then gets up with a determined tick in his jaw, grabbing a notebook from the nightstand. He scribbles something down, hastily, like it’s threatening to get away from him if he doesn’t hurry. You don’t have to read it to know it has something to do with what he’s seen in his sleep.
When the words stop flowing, he sits on the edge of the bed for a minute longer, but the tension doesn’t leave his shoulders. Finally, he rolls his left arm a few times before pulling on a shirt and his running shoes.
He always goes for a run in the morning. You’ve made fun of him for it before, but you hadn’t put together that while Strange was trying to get you to clear your own head through sitting still, Bucky might be doing the exact opposite to get the same result.
The door clicks shut.
"Are we done with the spying, then?" Strange says.
"No need to get weird about it," you mumble and take his outstretched hand.
***
Something changes once you know that your situation actually has an end date, even though Strange either cannot or will not tell you how many more loops you’re going to have to go through until then. Even so, there’s a new assurance to your every step again, a determination grown from the knowledge that all this isn’t for nothing. That there is an out.
You can cling to that.
"What would you do if you were stuck in a time loop?" you ask, letting your legs dangle over the ledge of the roof.
"Ew, no," Lucy replies, shaking the few remaining ice cubes in her cup emphatically. "My shift was long enough as is, and I’ve been looking forward to my Sunday off all week."
"Fair point," you concede.
It’s early afternoon then, and you’ve found a quiet spot on the top of the Tower. If Lucy was at all confused why you’d shown up at the store right when she clocked out and asked her to hang out, she’s not showing it. Over the past couple of loops, you’ve learned that she really likes to go with the flow, and you appreciate that.
"If it’s not today, though," she continues, like she’s thinking aloud. "Imagine the books you could read. You could try out all that stuff that you say you want to do, and then you never have the time to actually do them."
It’s a good thought, but a lack of time has never really been an issue for you. "Nothing you do would really stick, though."
She squints against the sun. "You realize that’s a pro, right? No consequences whatsoever. I could cut my bangs again and they’d be gone the next day."
"You used to have bangs?"
"Never, and I’m willing to state that in a court of law."
You smile and lean back on your elbows. "If something good happened, that’d be gone, too, though. You don’t get to keep that, either."
"Yeah," Lucy says thoughtfully. "I’d still remember it though, right? It still happened. I could make it happen again."
"Maybe." Your thumb scratches the empty space on your pinkie. Even though you’ve turned your entire bathroom upside down, your ring is still gone, like it just up and disappeared from this reality. You can’t help but wonder if that rift in the sky from a few todays ago has anything to do with that.
"What about you?"
"Hm?"
Lucy takes another slurping sip from her almost empty cup. "What would you do in a time loop?"
You can’t help but laugh. "I’d try to keep making the good things happen, I guess."
"Sounds like a lot of work."
It is.
"Are you out of your damn mind?" someone shouts behind you. "It’s in the fricking nineties today and you’re baking?"
"Technically, we are baking," you say, nodding at Lucy and leaning back further so you can look at Sam upside down. "And we’re baking for you."
"Hi, cap," Lucy says, pulling her sunglasses off.
"Hey." Sam crosses his arms and fixes you with a very cap-like glare. "Why are you baking for me."
"Y/N said it’s for your birthday."
"My—" He cuts himself off, rubbing his temples. "My birthday’s in September."
"Whoops," you say, your grin just believable enough. "My bad, cap."
"You’re not funny," Sam says, "I hope you know that."
You know.
Of course, today isn’t actually his birthday, not even if time were allowed to pass normally. It is day forty-fucking-nine of the loop, though, which makes it your fiftieth time living through this crap and frankly, you all deserve some damn pie.
It’s not going to make a difference in the long run, of course, and yet you can’t help but feel like keeping count of those little markers of time helps to hold your head above water. Making the good things happen, even if they don’t change a thing and no one but you is going to remember.
So you simply say, "It’s turtle pie," because you know that it’s Sam’s favorite. "Hey, what’s the time?"
"Oh, it better be," he says, holding his phone up for you to read and then marching out of your field of vision.
Sadly, you’re just about a minute early.
"He could’ve stayed," Lucy says when you let out a frustrated huff.
"He has that thing at the Garden," you tell her distractedly, taking a mental note to stall Sam a little longer next time.
"There you are."
You flinch at the sound of Bucky’s voice, barely daring to move your head when he sits next to you, his back to the brink.
He never comes up here. That’s the whole point.
"Hi?" you say carefully, and a grin tugs at his mouth.
"Not you," he says, nodding to the ground in front of him.
You turn around fully to find Alpine taking a nap just a few feet behind you, her snowy tail wrapped around a flower pot.
You let out a relieved breath and ignore the small sting in your chest. Of course he’s not up here because of you. Why would he be?
"Gee, thanks," you murmur, quietly shifting around so your hands are hidden underneath your legs. "You sure know how to charm the ladies."
You glance back at Lucy, but she’s looking at her phone, her eyes once again indecipherable behind the large sunglasses.
Bucky raises an eyebrow. "Think you could handle my charm, Y/L/N?"
He might has well have doused you in a bucket of ice water. You’re suddenly very aware of every single cell in your body, and you don’t like the challenge sparkling in his eyes.
So you do what you always do and you block it out. Dismiss and distract.
"Does Alpine seem weird to you?"
He tilts his head, his jaw tight. "Weird how?"
"I don’t know," you say, staring at her. "She’s just been acting … odd, lately. Today, I mean."
And following you around in a way you’re pretty sure she’s never done before. Not before the loop, at least.
Bucky sighs. "Did you make her scratch you again? Because I’ve told you before that I’m not getting rid of her for enforcing her boundaries."
"First of all, I never make her scratch me, she does that well enough on her own."
"That’s victim blaming," Lucy says without looking up. Bucky snorts and you almost roll your eyes.
"Second of all, she’s up to something. I know it."
"Oh, yes," Bucky says dryly just as Alpine makes a small noise in her dreams, her nose twitching. "That’s the embodiment of evil right there."
"I don’t trust her," you mutter.
"And yet the cat’s the weird one."
"I hate you," you mumble, standing up. "I’m gonna go check on the pie."
"There’s pie?" Bucky says.
"Not for you!"
You turn at the door to see Lucy leaning in to show Bucky something on her phone; the frown has disappeared from his face, his shoulders relaxed. If he’d pull off his glove right now, it’d almost be like sitting in a park.
That’s good, you tell yourself as the door slams shut behind you with a bit too much gusto. Reminds you that there’s nothing special about you in particular, which is much needed, really.
Can’t wait to punch that one out of your system later.
Again and again and again and a—
"Whoa, whoa, you alright?"
You blink. Riff slumps to the ground in front of you, body limp.
Bucky stares at you in concern, his hand still on your shoulder. His lip has split open and there’s the usual bruise already forming on his cheekbone. You can’t help it. Your gaze is drawn down, your breathing shallow.
You screw your eyes shut to snap yourself out of it, but when you open them again, Bucky hasn’t moved an inch.
"Never better," you whisper, and for a split second, you almost believe it yourself.
Liar, liar, liar.
***
At least, you suppose, reality seems considerably less broken these days. No more cracks in the sky.
You get your wake-up call when you wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY …
"… FRIDAY?" you say into the silence of your room, your heart pounding wildly. This cannot be happening. Not now.
Not yet.
He got shot again yesterday.
A pleasant jingling sound rings out. "Good morning, Ms. Y/L/N."
You look at the clock on the wall. Ten to eight, just like every morning. "What day is it?"
"Today is Friday, July 4th."
You can taste bile in your mouth despite your relief. There’s an impatient thrum to the symbols around your wrist, like a noose that’s tightening.
What did you expect?
"Rise and shine, McFly! Time to get your ass kicked!"
"Didn’t you set FRIDAY to wake me?" you ask Sam as you’re climbing the stairs, nerves on edge.
He looks at you weirdly. "I did. You’re up, aren’t you?"
You bite the inside of your cheek. "Didn’t sleep well."
That much, at least, is still true. Full nights of sleep are a long distant memory from before constant back-to-back repetitions. The only time your body shuts off is when you manage to sleep for a little bit in between your astral visits and the mission call.
"I hope you don’t think that’s an excuse," Sam says, bumping your shoulder, and you manage a tired grin.
"You wish."
Today, you let him win, even though your ankle makes an odd crack when you land on the mat. You’ll take care of it later.
"You look like shit."
Grief and relief, you’ve learned, both taste like salt and iron, but the latter is so much easier to swallow.
"That makes two of us," you say, sitting up slowly. "How was your run?"
"Good," Bucky says, putting the cloth away and stretching his fingers out. They catch a ray of sunlight. "What’s wrong with you?"
Not this again.
"Later, okay?" you answer, because that’s not a lie. "Let’s just … not, right now?"
"Alright," he says.
And, oh, you want to tell him again. Because he doesn’t press it. Because you miss having someone to share things with. Because you miss telling him the whole truth. Because you’re scared, and tired, and sick of losing him.
But those are egotistic thoughts, and so you keep them all to yourself and take the towel on the right.
There’s one good thing about this today. You make it to the living room just in time to finally catch a glimpse of Sam’s phone right when it pings with Torres’ message.
I can check it out on Monday if you’d like.
That’s it. No urgency, weirdly proper spelling, not even an exclamation mark.
In other words, you’re not sure what you expected but you’re no closer to answers than before.
"What does it matter?" Strange sighs when you tell him all of this with a frown.
"It matters," you reply, "because if we hadn’t gone on the mission, Bucky wouldn’t have died that first time and none of this would’ve happened."
"So what?" he says. "It’s already done."
"But if I could prevent it—"
"It already happened."
"I can make it not happen."
"You and what powers?" Strange says sharply. "Even if you did that, it wouldn’t stop the loop."
"How do you know that?"
"Because you’ve already seen first-hand that it’s bound to you and your powers, not to whatever you do or don’t do during the day. Karma is a fairy tale for those who don’t want to take responsibility for their actions."
"Do you really still think this is me not taking responsibility?" There’s a green flare that goes through you, hot and seething and making goosebumps crawl down your arms.
Strange smiles at the sight. "Let’s find out."
He extends his arms and slowly opens his fists until orange symbols dance across his shaky fingers. The band around your wrist prickles at the weight of his magic flooding the air.
Strange’s cloak nudges you towards the center of the room and your heart gives a heavy thud. "What, right now?"
"Would you prefer being stuck for a couple weeks more?"
"Of course not it’s just—I don’t feel ready."
"No one ever feels ready until they try."
And maybe it’s because it reminds you of something Steve once said, but it makes you step up, falling into the stance you’ve practiced over and over again. You breathe in deeply and close your eyes.
The pull comes easier now. Your powers have just been resting, nestled somewhere deep inside your bones like glowing embers, waiting for you to call upon them.
When you look at your open palm, the green wisps of your powers have curled up to the size of a ping-pong ball. You take another steadying breath and let it glide to the tips of your fingers, carefully letting it balance itself out for a second before moving your other hand.
"Good," you can hear Strange say quietly.
Slowly, carefully, you let the threads untangle until they’re just about to touch the green band circling around your wrist. You can feel the electric tingle of it, the soft beat of each passing second contained within, and you push past it.
You’ve done this before, so you’re not surprised when you feel the energy drain from your body almost immediately. Up until now, though, it’s just been trial and error, not expecting anything to happen. This time, you have Strange’s magic feeding some of his strength into you as well, and so instead of hesitating, you press on, your heartbeat speeding up.
The band around your wrist does the same.
"Don’t lose your focus." Strange’s voice sounds very far away, almost warped.
Very funny, you might have said, but you’re too busy watching it all unfold.
The whirring inside of your head grows louder as the circlet of time keeps rotating with accelerating speed, faster and faster until your eyes start tearing up and there’s something that looks almost like a crack.
You gasp quietly. At first, you think you might have just imagined it, but then the split starts growing, the symbols growing farther and farther apart as the band itself keeps spinning. Your pulse is beating in your ears. Your wrist feels like it’s being set on fire.
There are voices, then, quiet and fast, like you’re watching a sped up movie, music and noises and chatter and birdsong and a whooshing sound like something flipping right past you. Then, something like distant shots.
I’m getting Bucky out of this, you think as the green band continues rotating until suddenly, there is a shockwave of green light that takes up your entire field of vision.
You close your stinging eyes, keeping your feet firmly planted on the floor as your powers rush through you once more and then, with a shudder, settle down again, exhausted. The glare subsides. Something like a trickle of sweat runs down your noncorporeal neck.
"Did it work?" you ask, your voice rough, not daring to look for yourself. There’s no answer, though. "Doc?"
Slowly, your eyes readjust to the gloomy darkness of your room in the astral realm. The only source of light is the glowing green band continuing to circle around your wrist, the rifts stabilizing again like it’s clicking back into place.
You swear under your breath and turn around to ask what went wrong, but Strange is no longer standing beside you.
You’re all alone.
***
Three, two, one—
"Iced grande extra whip caramel macchia—shit!"
You catch the plastic cup before it drops onto the suit of the business man standing in line in front of you. "Here you go, sir."
He grabs his drink with a grunt and hurries back outside. One of these days, you might ask him why he’s in such a hurry, but it’s not today.
You’ve grown to adore the noise of the pre-noon rush. The cacophany of the whirring machines, the AC and the people is just loud enough to make your head calm down a little. Besides, being alone in a crowd has never been easier than when you know for a fact they are not going to remember you.
The drinks are starting to pile up at the hand-out, and because you feel bad for your colleagues, you start handing them out to people. You’ve been here a lot, after all.
"Tall hazelnut latte for Misty!"
Plus, it helps to keep your mind from wandering back to everything that’s going wrong.
Strange still hasn’t returned.
The astral dimension feels different when you return the day after your experiment, like someone’s been pulling invisible strings to make everything just slightly more disordered and dark.
It’s cold, too. You watch your body shiver in her sleep as you wrap your arms around yourself. The books are still there, shimmering slightly with the magic they contain.
"Doc?" you call out, and the vibrations of this place hum it back at you. There’s no answer.
The book at the top of the pile is still opened to a page, as if it’d just been left a moment ago, and you pick it up. The words glide around like they are looking to jump back into an inkpot, and you have to squint to make out any of them.
Incursion, the section header reads. Result of a contraction in a universe’s timeline. Can cause premature disintegration or collapse of any one reality within the multiverse.
"Just great," you say, slapping the book shut again. "I get it, alright? You can come out now."
But there’s no sound apart from your own heartbeat.
Your noncorporeal head is swimming with pressure as you pass through the closed door and into the hallway. The walls seem larger than usual, the stairs warping ever so slightly underneath your feet so that you can’t look at them for too long without feeling seasick.
Upstairs, the air doesn’t feel quite as heavy. The silence follows you, though, lingering in the grayish morning shadows like the remnants of a nightmare.
Bucky still mumbles in his.
You can’t make out what he is saying, and you wouldn’t have understood the words, anyway, but there’s sweat on his brow again. His fingers are tightly clutching the thin throw blanket like it’s shielding him from whatever he’s seeing in his dreams.
You take a step closer to him, desperate to do something, anything, when you notice movement out of the corner of your eye.
Alpine is perched on top of the bed, complacently tucked into herself on one of the fluffed up white pillows like it’s really her room, not Bucky’s.
And she’s staring right at you.
You take a step to the side, then another. Alpine tilts her head, her large eyes fixed on you. They follow your gestures as you wave your hand.
A quick glance tells you that Bucky is still sleeping. You take a deep breath and conjure up a small dot of bright green light, letting it dance across your fingertips. Alpine uncurls herself in interest, her tail twitching.
"You can see me," you whisper, and the little spec of your power disappears.
The cat meows in disappointment.
Carefully, you move closer to the bed, reaching out your translucent hand until you place it on Alpine’s head.
She rubs against your palm.
You chuckle incredulously, scratching behind her ears. "You little devil."
Alpine seems particularly pleased with herself. She starts purring.
This is simply bizarre, you think as you continue petting her soft fur. You’re expecting a sarcastic comment from behind your shoulder any minute now, but it doesn’t come.
So, you lower yourself down on the floor next to Bucky, the tips of your fingers not quite grazing his arm as you swallow heavily.
And then you wait until he gets up.
It’s possible, you think as you watch him leave and then make yourself wake up too, that Strange is simply messing with you for the hell of it. You don’t like the timing of this, though. Your day still continues on and on and on, like it always does, but it seems just a little too pointed that this would happen right after you had your first hopes of getting out of here in a long time.
It doesn’t help that the reality glitches have decided to return with a vengeance.
Every day is still July 4th. You wake up with a start, you train, you get coffee, you fight over lunch, you take your astral visit, you go on that damn mission. It’s the details that start to get … fuzzy.
In the beginning, every single thing around you was the exact same every single day. Now, though, there are sometimes details that are just wrong. A different mug left on the drying rack. A mess all over the tables in the lab. Weird noises all over the Tower.
You don’t know what to make of any of it, and so in general, you follow Strange’s rule of thumb and simply ignore the things that are wrong one day and then right the next—which, thankfully, is all of them. You just go with it, telling yourself that this is simply reality malfunctioning a little, like a machine that needs oiling.
Weirdly enough, that doesn’t reassure you in the slightest.
But what else can you do?
You lose a few hours here and there, time seemingly speeding up at random sometimes now. One morning, Bucky isn’t in the gym like he usually is, and you work yourself up over it so much you nearly have a panic attack. In the end, you almost crash into him outside of his room, and a rush of reassurance floods through you with such force you can’t even look at him.
That time, Sam is there when Bucky gets shot, and it’s his cry that follows you into the next day. Your hands are clean this time, and somehow that feels worse.
Everyone’s back to their usual stuff again, and that’s that.
Another time, you’ve barely rolled out of bed and into your bathroom—"Rise and shine, McFly!"—when you’re suddenly jolted forwards and you wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume. Your stomach feels like it’s still turning, nauseous, as if you’d sat up too fast.
That feeling still leaves a bad taste in your mouth, sticking to the back of your mind like the blood you haven’t even had time to wash off.
The thing that demands most of your attention, though, is the pile of books waiting for you in the astral realm. Since you don’t have any control over the loop itself, you pour all of your energy into trying to understand the theory behind your powers. It’s giving you a constant headache, and it takes a lot longer than you would like to admit, but at least you feel like you’re doing something that’ll last.
Nothing else will.
There’s one last lonely cup sat on the counter next to your own, which signals that the rush is over for now. You can see Lucy wiping her forehead as you wave your goodbye, picking up both drinks on your way out and handing one of them to the guy just hurrying back downstairs.
"Here you go," you say without stopping, glancing at your phone. You haven’t stayed this late before.
"What the—" you hear behind you, just before the doors glide open and you’re greeted by the sound of traffic and a hot breeze of air.
If you’re lucky, you can make it back to your room without anyone seeing you. You’ve moved on to a particularly hefty tome about relativity, and you’d like to—
"Hey! Miss? Hold on a second!"
You look over your shoulder to see the delivery guy has run after you, cup still in his hand. His bike is leaned against a lamp post nearby, his cap dangling off one of the handles.
You found out a couple of weeks ago that he takes his break just after dropping off your order, but you don’t usually make eye contact anymore.
Now, he holds out his cup accusingly. "That’s my drink."
You smile. "Good for you."
"No. No, that’s not—I mean—how did you know it was my drink?"
And because nothing really matters and you really want to go home, you say, "It has your name on it, doesn’t it?"
You expect him to look at you with wide eyes, just like people normally do when you know things you’re not supposed to. His mouth will drop open, speechless, his frown will deepen, and you can wink at him and continue on your way so he can spend the next couple of hours wondering what just happened.
The cup falls out of his hand, but somehow he manages to catch it before it hits the sidewalk. When he looks up at you again, and his expression is unlike anything you’ve seen coming.
"But that’s not …" he says quietly. "Do you remember me?"
And then it’s you who’s speechless, because the shock on Peter Parker’s face is more than you bargained for.
*****
"Honestly, I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this," you said quietly, looking over the rim of your glass at the crowd.
"You complaining?" you heard Sam’s voice say over the little earpiece you were wearing.
"Not at all."
Apparently, people connected to terrorist organizations threw incredibly fancy parties.
You hadn’t felt this glamorous in a while, if ever, dressed up to the nines in a dark green jumpsuit with an incredibly flattering cut that you’d never had a reason to wear before. Despite your initial doubts about this whole thing, you felt great, for the first time in way too long.
"Are you gonna move any time soon?"
Well. Mostly.
At least Barnes cleaned up nice, you supposed; it almost made up for his grouchy demeanor.
With a sigh, you downed the rest of your drink and got back to work. You let the crowd swallow you up, seemingly on your way to the restrooms, and then you stopped it all to slip upstairs unnoticed by prying eyes and cameras.
You didn’t hold it for very long; you had to rattle some doors, after all, and despite your espresso martini, it was still hard to tell if you could manage several redos back to back. After all, you’d only been back in the game for a couple of weeks.
It took you a few tries to find the right office, and locating the files was comparatively easy with what you already had access to. There it was, proof that ULTIMATUM had managed to secure most of the Flag Smashers’ previous supporters as well as some high brow weapon dealers.
While you copied everything onto a flashdrive, your eyes caught one of the designs. You frowned.
Even though you couldn’t pinpoint what it was, exactly, something about it seemed just slightly too highbrow for an organization of the international bad egg committee that was supposedly still mostly underground. Your gaze started drifting through the rest of the office, noting the usual boring books and glass awards in the bookshelves on the far wall. You pulled open one of the desk drawers.
"You almost done in here?"
"Fuck!" You slammed the drawer shut again, getting your pinkie stuck in the process. "Damnit, where did you come from?"
Bucky pointed over his shoulder.
"Fuck me," you murmured, your eyes stinging at the pain.
Bucky looked nonplussed. "Can’t you just undo it?"
"Great input, thank you." The flashdrive beeped softly and you shut everything down again. At least you were definitely sober now. "What are you, anyway, my babysitter?"
"Wouldn’t have to be if you could check in on time," he answered, checking the corridors, then nodding for you to follow.
"Time’s a social construct," you murmured, but followed him, the flashdrive hidden in your fist.
You didn’t even make it to the staircase.
"Didn’t I tell you?" a voice said right before several triggers clicked and you both froze. "I knew I’d recognized that arm. And who do you have with you here, Winter Soldier?"
No one, you thought, and then you yanked time backwards so forcefully you stumbled into the desk, your heart still racing. The copy sat at 57%.
You felt almost seasick with the rewind, but there wasn’t any time. "Keep going upstairs," you said into your earpiece.
"What?" Bucky said.
"I’m fine. Don’t come get me. Just keep going," you gritted through your teeth, trying to calm your breaths. 70%.
"Exit plan C, then," Sam said.
Bucky didn’t answer. You looked at your hands. There was a slight tremor to them, but nothing too bad. If you could get the nausea under control, you could probably make it past the cameras one more time.
You should’ve eaten more.
As soon as the flashdrive was done, you ripped it out and forced everything to a halt again. Your palms were sweaty as you hurried out of the office and in the direction of the staircase, your lungs burning. This didn’t feel like a good sign.
You stumbled over your damn heels and the noise returned for that moment you lost your concentration.
Not good enough.
Sweat pearled on your forehead as you and the universe held your breath again. You could feel your hold slipping with every second that wasn’t allowed to pass. Time was impatient with you.
A small crowd had assembled at the bottom of the stairs. As you closed in on them, you felt a jolt go through you and suddenly found yourself surrounded by people as time attempted to right itself again. Your nails dug into the skin of your palm so hard you could feel yourself draw blood.
It went quiet again and you moved through them, almost blindly. Everything seemed to be spinning.
Behind your shoulder, you could hear several people talking, interrupted only by the world stopping around them every now and then.
"—d’you—see that—"
"—could’ve—sworn there—”
And with time stumbling and flailing around in confusion, you made it out of the building and into the waiting cab.
chapter seven
thank you for reading!! you can follow my library blog @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications 💚
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Tribute for the Dragon (15/18)
Pairing: Dragon|Sylus x Fem|Reader
Summary: With the rut drawing to a close, you and Sylus look to the future for what this means for you both.
Content Warnings: Adult language. Minor breeding kink. P in V.
Length: 3k
Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (16)
Read on AO3
You soon realized that dragon ruts were not for the faint of heart. The next week of your life was the most exhausted you had ever been. Every single day, multiple times a day, Sylus found you wherever you were and fucked you within an inch of your life. He had cooled off a little, able to push aside the lustful haze to offer you some respite the longer it went on.
But that first day had been the most feral he had gotten. You hadn’t left the hoard room until late into the evening and that was just because you absolutely needed more food than what he scrounged up from the kitchen between rounds. Thankfully the entire rut didn’t need to take place in the hoard room so you at least got the cushion of the bed back to make things a little more comfortable.
You were also shocked at how sweet he was during the whole thing. Despite how rough things got and how filthy he spoke, he would always be there to help ease you back down. And if you really didn’t want to have sex, if you were just too sore for anymore he didn’t push you.
In between rounds you’d lay together and talk about what your future child was going to be like. “And you’re sure I’m not going to end up laying an egg?”
Sylus chuckled. “Yes. You won’t lay an egg.”
“But the woman who birthed you--”
“Was cursed and her womb magically altered to be able to lay a dragon egg. You are not cursed and because I am at least half human you should have a normal live birth.” Sylus assured you, “Although, the state of the baby is uncertain.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, when I was born I looked almost entirely human except for my eyes and as I got older the scales and tail and horns grew in. The children will most likely be the same way. But I do not know what all they may grow. Some might have horns and tails and wings and scales, others may not. Maybe one grows horns and scales but no tail. Maybe another grows wings but no claws. I cannot say for sure.”
“At least I don’t have to worry about little claws or horns complicating things when they come out.” you touched your stomach. You looked back at him. “Do you want to try one more time?”
His smile sharpened. “You bounced back quick this time. Alright then, come here.” He sat up in the bed. He pulled you across his lap, your back pressed to his chest.
He receded the armor around his hands with a small groan. “Sylus, I know it hurts you don’t have to--”
“I want to be able to play with your pussy a little before hand. The pain is temporary and not important.” he dipped his now clawless hand between your legs, the soft pad of his fingers swirling over your clit.
You reclined your head back on his shoulder as little blips of pleasure heated your body. “That’s it,” he said, “Always so responsive to me.”
He removed his hand from your pussy and sucked the juices from his fingers. You whined at the loss but you only got a dark chuckle in response. “Do not worry, little bird. You’ll get my hand and much more back in a minute. But right now, I need you to do something.”
He caressed your arms and lifted them up and behind you before curling them around his horns. “Hold onto these while I play with you and do not let go. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” he sighed, feeling how tightly you were gripping his horns.
You thought he was going to go back to your pussy but instead he moved slowly, his hands gliding up and down your body at a lazy pace. He traced every dip and curve with his hands as if memorizing every inch of your body by touch alone. His mouth kissed down the column of your neck and to your shoulders. When his mouth landed on the faint mark of your mating bite he suck his teeth into your soft exposed skin. Arousal pooled between your legs as he continued to caress and tease you.
You could feel him getting hard underneath you. The hard ridge of flesh was hot and curved back to rest on your folds. You tried to grind against it but he pulled your hips back to keep them still. “Not yet.” his breath was hot in your ear, “I want you ready to burst when I put it in.”
He continued to strum your body, plucking at your most sensitive spots but without any of the relief you sought. It seemed wholly unfair that he could be so patient during a rut. Wasn’t he supposed to throw you to the bed and fuck you until you were screaming in a fit of lust filled rage? How come he was teasing you?
“Someone’s pouting.” he turned your face to his. “What do you want, little bird? What can I do to make that frown go away.”
“You can put your dick in me. That’d be a nice start.” you batted your eyelashes at him. “Please master?”
“Calling me master while I’m in rut,” he growled, biting your neck again. “Do you think that a wise decision?”
“I think it’ll get me what I want.” you smirked. “So please, will you put your dick in me and breed my pussy, master?”
“That dirty trick won’t work forever.” Sylus muttered angrily as he lifted your hips up.
“I just need it to work now.”
“Becoming my mate made you such a brat.” he hissed as he lowered you down onto his cock. “There, you have your precious dick snug in that tight little pussy. If you want it bred though, you have to work for it.”
“But--”
“You expect your master to do all the work? That’s what you’re here for. Now get moving but don’t move your hands. Keep them wrapped around my horns.” he cupped your breasts and pinched and pulled at your nipples.
You began shaking your hips, pulling yourself up and down on his lap. His cock slid against your walls, sending bursts of ecstasy into your brain while he played with your breasts. He had sufficiently worked you up enough that you felt like you could come right then.
“You feel so good, wildfire.” he moaned into your neck. “This is exactly where I want you forever. Fucking yourself on my cock, trying to make me come. Cause that’s what you want, right? You want me to come. You want me to come inside you and breed this pretty pussy of yours?”
“Yes!” you clamped down on him tighter. “Yes Sylus! I want it! I need it!”
“I know you do.” he groaned, drawing in a sharp breath as you sped up. “You make me wanna come, wildfire. Just keep bouncing yourself on my dick.”
One of his hands trailed down your stomach and found your clit, adding to the sensations that were already overloading your body. “I won’t come until you do.” he said. “So if you want my cum you have to come for me, wildfire. Come on you master’s cock and he’ll give you what you want. What you need.”
“Ha…ha…ah fuck!” you forced your hips to move faster, chasing a release so close yet just out of reach. Your hands were cramping holding onto Sylus’s horns. The tighter you held them the heavier his breathing got.
“Sylus…” you whimpered. You were so close. “Sylus please!”
“Right here. I’m right here.” he craned your head back to kiss you. “You can do it. Just come for me.” he rubbed your clit faster, his other hand squeezed your breast.
“Sylus!” you moaned against his lips as you both came. He smothered the moan with another kiss, panting against your lips.
“So good. You are so fucking good, wildfire.” he pressed a kiss to your jaw.
Your arms fell to your sides as you relaxed against him. He rubbed at your shoulders, relieving the ache that had grown there. He moved you back so you were laying side by side on the bed again.
You took several deep breaths to center yourself, grounding yourself by nuzzling into Sylus’s chest. “Hey, not that this hasn’t been a lot of fun but how much longer is this rut going to last? I’m getting exhausted.”
Sylus rolled his eyes. “You were the one that tackled me into bed this morning, not the other way around.” he reminded you. “I think you forget that your libido is just as bad, if not worse than mine can be.”
“Fine. I admit it. But really, do you think we’re any closer to knowing if I’m pregnant or not?” you stared up at him with wide eyes.
“Oh my sweet little bird,” he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “If you had let me speak this morning instead of dragging me back into bed I would have been able to tell you that you already are.”
“What?”
“You’re pregnant. I could smell the change this morning. That’s why I originally came in here. I was going to tell you after you had a chance to wake up a little more.” he was smiling the widest you had ever seen him.
“I’m really…” tears sprang to your eyes. “We’re going to have a baby?”
“Yes, we are.”
You wrapped your arms tight around his neck. It was happening! It was really happening!
Oh gods it was happening…you were…with a… You were going to give birth to a little dragon baby. Oh gods. This was actually happening! It wasn’t just a fun roleplay in bed. It was real. You had a little dragon growing in your womb.
“You look panicked. Are you alright?” Sylus asked. “I thought you’d be happy.”
“I am! I am ridiculously happy!” you assured him. “I’m also kinda terrified. In a few months we’re going to have a baby. We’re going to be parents and be in charge of another life. I mean, how do we even do that?”
“We’ll figure it out.”
With your pregnancy confirmed the rut wore off. You were thankful for the respite but now your mind was filled with nothing but preparations for the baby. You weren’t even showing yet and all you could do was make lists of things that needed done.
“Where is the baby going to sleep?” You asked Sylus one afternoon as you sat at the kitchen table, a list of things that needed done in front of you. At the top of the list was make a nursery.
“I suspect they’ll sleep in our room until they’re old enough to move them to their own room. There’s a lot of empty rooms in the mountain. We can fit a whole brood of hatchlings in here.” he kissed the top of your head and went about grabbing a bowl of stew from the large pot over the fire.
“A brood? Exactly how many kids do you want to pump into me?”
“I was thinking at least six or more.” he said with a shrug.
“Six!” you shouted.
“My ideal is nine since it’s a lucky number.” he took in your dumbstruck expression. “What?”
“You are insane if you think I’m going to birth nine kids.” you couldn’t even comprehend having a family that large. “I’ll give you three.”
“Seven.”
Was he haggling the number of kids you were going to have? Fine then. “Maybe four.”
“Five?”
“Four.”
“Alright, four.” he set another bowl of stew done for you. “Make sure to finish that. You’re eating for two now.”
“I know.” you set the list aside. “I need to go into town and do some shopping later, as well as tell my father and friends the news.”
“I’ll take you down whenever you’re ready. Are you nervous at all about telling them?”
“A little. It’s only recently that father came around to you and I’m not sure how he’s going to react. I hope he’ll be happy with the idea of being a grandfather at least.”
“You’re giving him his first grandchild, he’ll be thrilled no matter what.” Sylus assured you.
You grabbed some coins from the hoard room and left with Sylus for the village. Your first stop was to find your father and tell him the news. Sylus walked with you to the house but stayed in the background as you talked to your father. Your father was shocked at first but was soon smiling and congratulating you and Sylus both on your upcoming bundle of joy.
“I’ll have to get started working then.” he said, “I’m going to make a mobile for you to hang over the crib.”
“That sounds wonderful, father. Thank you.” you hugged him again. “I actually came into town to commission the woodworker for the cradle as well as buy some fabric and yarn to make baby clothes. I also need to find Tara and tell her. I know she’s going to be thrilled too.”
“That she will be. Congratulations, sweet pea. I can’t wait to meet them when they’re born.” he gave you a kiss on the cheek and you were on your way.
You left to run your other errands. Sylus was still by your side, looming in the corner wherever you went like a shadow. The village had really come to like him but he was still rather uncomfortable with the attention. He looked like he was going to fly away when you told Tara the news about your pregnancy and had given Sylus a huge hug in her excitement. She had promised to do a reading for your pregnancy as soon as possible and tell her mother so she could make you a perfect baby blanket for the little one.
Your last stop after the fabric shop was the woodworker to commission the cradle. There were some other people there that saw you come in with Sylus and froze. The woodworker looked up though and smiled. “Ah, what can I do for you today?”
“Hello, I came with a very special request. Mind you, I won’t need it for a couple months so take your time but what I really need is a cradle.”
“A cradle?” the woodworker smiled. “Oh my dear girl, you’re having a baby?”
“Yes. Yes I am.”
“Another mighty dragon in the village. What wonderful news.” the woodworker called to Sylus, “How big of a baby do we need to plan for?”
“A regular sized cradle should be fine.” Sylus said. “They shouldn’t be much different from a human baby.”
Sylus looked to his side where a man that had been waiting in the shop was staring at him. You didn’t recognize him immediately but it was a decent sized village, you didn’t have every face memorized. Sylus didn’t seem to appreciate the man’s staring and glared at him. “Do you have something to say to me?”
The man shook his head and took off. While most people in the village were used to Sylus there were some who still didn’t entirely trust him. It was an inevitability but hopefully in the years to come everyone would come to recognize him not as a threat but as a neighbor.
Once everything was done and finished you stopped by to say a final goodbye to your father and returned to the mountain.
You set what you had bought down and started getting preparations ready for dinner. While you were cooking you kept hearing Sylus walking back and forth past the kitchen. What was he doing now? While dinner simmered over the fire you went out to find him.
It was then that you noticed there was a carpet under your feet. That definitely hadn’t been there before. Where had it come from? And there were more carpets! They made a trail down the corridor and into your bedroom. Sylus was in there unrolling another carpet and layering it with the others.
“What are you doing? Where’d all the carpet come from?”
“Ah, yes,” he stood up, “I got to thinking that when the baby is born it’d be best if they had something soft to crawl around on so I’ve been finding whatever rugs I could from the hoard room and laid them out. I may also need to go around the walls and smooth them out so if they run into them they don’t get cut.”
It was endearing watching him worry and fret about how to make the mountain safer for your baby. You hadn’t even been pregnant a month and he was already doing so much. You walked up to him, your feet squishing against the plush carpet, and hugged him. “I’m so glad that our baby is going to have you as a father. I really am.”
His arms closed around you. “I’m the lucky one, really. To have a child with you. Knowing that this child is going to have you as their mother.” he knelt down, his face inches from your stomach. “Your mother is so good, little one. And I am going to love and protect you both for the rest of my life. I swear, nothing bad will ever happen to you so long as I draw breath.”
He kissed your stomach. You ran your hands through his hair, holding him there as he rested his head against you. “I can’t wait to meet our little one too.”
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rupert campbell-black
NS/FW Alphabet
trying something a lil different! 🫶🏽 18+ HEADCANONS. super smutty. reader character aged at 21.
A - Aftercare:
Rupert is an absolute sucker for aftercare. For the rest of the night, he’ll be stroking your hair & giving you gentle kisses on your forehead. And, of course, he’ll run you a hot, soapy bath afterwards to relax your muscles.
B - Body part:
His favourite body part of yours is most definitely your legs. He’s constantly caressing them or nestling in between your thighs for warmth. There isn’t a single night that goes by where he isn’t biting at your legs before you have sex.
C - Cum:
Rupert never pulls out. Unless you absolutely beg him to let you swallow it (on occasion), he will fill you up every single time.
D - Dirty secret:
His, and your, dirtiest secret is that you both popped upstairs at The Priory during one of Venturer’s boozy parties and fucked over the windowsill in Declan and Maud’s bedroom. Both incredibly drunk and relishing in the idea of being caught.
E - Experience:
We all know… he has it. Enough said.
F - Favourite position:
It would be very hard for him to pick a favourite, but if he absolutely had to, he’d pick the straddle position. He loves the way you whimper when it’s so deep inside you, and he loves to see your beautiful face as you cum.
G - Goofy (How serious is he during the act?):
Whilst Rupert loves a laugh, he takes your love-making very seriously. Almost as if it’s an act at the theatre, his performance of how much he loves you and your body.
H - Hair (How well groomed is he, and how does he prefer you?):
Rupert has the most fantastic bush, a mound of hair that holds the world’s best, and biggest, treat. You keep yours trimmed and neat, although he wouldn’t really care either way.
I - Intimacy:
Rupert is surprisingly intimate. The nights you spend in bed — candles lit, wine consumed & slowly making love to each other — are his favourite.
J - Jerking off:
Before he met you, nothing was stopping him from wanking two or three times a day. Now, he has no need. You’re there every time he needs you.
K - Kinks:
Rupert most definitely has a breeding kink. He loves to see his hot cum dripping out of your reddened cunt after a good session. Although, it just immediately turns him on again and he’s ready for Round 2.
L - Location:
He’s not particularly fussed where you do it when he’s in the mood, but his favourite place is the Bluebell Woods in Spring, when the floor is awash with that beautiful pale purple. The sight of you bent over on the crisp floor is a dream.
M- Motivation (What turns him on?):
When it comes to you, anything will turn him on. The way your arse looks when you’re in the shower, the way you flutter your wispy eyelashes at him, even the way you scrape your hair into a ponytail. But if he had to pick something that completely took him over the edge, it’s when you suck his dick with that scarlet red lipstick of yours, and it leaves prints over him. Guaranteed to make him cum.
N - No (Something he wouldn’t do):
There’s not much that Rupert wouldn’t do, but he draws the line at submission. He loves to be the dominant one, and has to be in control. There’s nothing that will make him go soft quicker than you trying to take the reigns, and that’s saying something.
O - Oral (Does he prefer giving or receiving?):
Whilst he will never turn down a blowjob, Rupert is a full-time MUNCH. You only have to take your pants off and he’ll be kneeling in front of you, licking at your clit like it was his last meal.
P - Pace
It depends on his mood, honestly. There’s some nights when you look so fucking good in that dress that he takes you home and fucks you hard enough to give you a migraine. But, there’s also some nights that start off slowly with passionate kissing and lead to a slow, intense session where every thrust is entwined with love.
Q - Quickie:
Of COURSE! He’s fucked in a toilet of the Concorde, don’t you know?
R - Risk:
True to his usual character, Rupert is a massive risk-taker. If he gets hard, it doesn’t matter where you are, he’s having you somewhere. Your list includes The Priory, the storeroom of the Bar Sinister, his Porsche and the Bluebell Woods.
S - Stamina:
He could keep going forever. Every time you have sex, you have to prepare yourself to be bent into numerous positions for at least 20 minutes at a time. You never leave the bed without having an orgasm.
T - Toys (Does he use them?):
Rupert has an aversion to any toy, except a vibrator. He wholeheartedly thinks that nothing else should be inside you except him, so best not to mention it.
U - Unfair (Does he tease you?):
He’s a huge tease! There’s nothing he loves more than handcuffing you to the bed and making you whimper with a vibrator, or rubbing himself against your entrance and making you beg for it mercifully.
V - Volume (How loud is he?):
Rupert doesn’t actually make too much noise — just a few grunts and the occasional moan when he’s climaxing. Other than that, he likes to keep quiet so he can hear you squeal frantically under his touch.
W - Wild card (Random!):
Rupert’s guilty pleasure is buying you incredibly expensive lingerie that he finds in your catalogue. It turns him on immensely to see you try them on for him, and it always ends in breaking the set in.
X - X-ray (How big is he?):
It comes as a surprise to nobody that Rupert has a particularly large appendage, that he’s very proud of. It’s thick, veiny & manages to hit the right spot. Every. Single. Time.
Y - Yearning
He has the most fervent sex drive imaginable. It doesn’t matter what time of day it is, if you’re down for it, Rupert will give it to you. You only have to do so much as brush past his leg and he will be rock hard.
Z - Zzz (How quickly does he fall asleep afterwards?)
As soon as he’s finished his aftercare, he is straight to sleep. Snoring & drooling, the whole lot. It takes you a little while longer, you always have to wait for your legs to stop shaking. But you can guarantee Rupert will be asleep the moment his head touches the pillow.
#rivals#rivals disney#rivals disney+#rivals hulu#rivals fanfic#rivals smut#rivals fanfiction#rupert campbell black fanfiction#rupert campbell black x reader#rupert campbell black fanfic#rupert campbell black#rupert campbell black smut#rupert campbell-black#alex hassell
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Sired (mini series)
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aemond x reader, aegon x reader
PT. 1
summary: you are elated at the celebration that awaits on your eight and tenth name day. little do you know, you brothers have an unexpected surprise for you.
warnings: vampires, canon-typical incest (its the targaryens love), dub-con, smut, blood-drinking, manipulation?, all hail king daemon, siring?, probably more but I can’t think of any.. oops
MDNI
Ten and eight.
Your name day.
Twas a highly awaited day for you and your family both. While you were giddy with excitement for the festivities celebrating your womanhood, you’d little thought as to what exactly would await you.
See, what your family so carefully evaded from you was that the Targaryen dynasty were bestowed gifts in more ways than one. The blood of the dragon coursed through their veins, but so did something else.
A hunger.
On a Targaryen’s eight and tenth name day, the gift of immortality is bestowed upon them.
The dynasty has long reigned as the most feared and most powerful lineage in Westeros from this unique endowment.
Your naivety could almost be pitied as you fussed about the lacing of the scarlet gown you would don on your special day. Grinning like a cheshire cat, your older siblings watched you and your servants pick out jewels and embroidery to stitch onto the neckline.
“Why are we forbidden from speaking of the ritual? Shouldn’t we enlighten our dear sister on the events to ensue on the morrow?”, your sister Helaena frowns as she fiddles with her ring.
Aegon hummed, “I agree, dear sister. But, we mustn't worry her. Look at how excited she is to-”
“The ritual is a rite of passage. Tis a gift given only to us. That in itself is worth celebrating,” your older brother Aemond interrupted, closely following every small movement of his beautiful sister.
Aegon hummed once again, this time in agreement.
Both of your brother's eyes fixed upon your form. Your supple breasts now filled in the bodice of your gown, the soft flesh spilling over. Hips curved and full, your body was ripe and ready for child bearing, which of course did not go unnoticed by your brothers.
No, not when their hands tugged at their weeping cocks to the sound of your voice, to the soft touch of your skin against theirs, the sweet smell oozing from beneath your skin, pumping through your veins.
Aemond’s member twitched eagerly as you pulled the final layer of your gown over your head, leaving you in nothing but your small clothes. His eyes quickly averted to his brother, who chewed into his bottom lip to the point of drawing blood.
Sharp canines poked through his plump lips, Helaena lightly slapped Aegon’s arm and hissed under her breath.
“Control yourself, brother.” His eyes remained glued to you as you bent down to grab your afternoon camise, lavender eyes filling with red as a low growl emitted from his throat.
Just as he went to take a step towards you, the commanding voice of your mother broke through his thoughts.
“Aegon. Come with me.” The queen dowager walked towards them.
“Mother!” Your eyes lit up as your mother graced you with a loving smile.
“Hello, my love. Are you excited for the morrow?” Alicent sauntered towards you and lightly took your chin into her hands.
You beamed. “Very, is there anything I may help with?”
“No, sweet girl,” your mother kissed your forehead.
She turned on her heels, and you missed the look she shot towards your siblings as they quietly followed her out of the room, no words spoken.
That was odd.
They followed her into the adjacent room where she ushered them inside.
Alicent’s eyes were stern as she took a step towards Aegon.
The back of her hand graced the side of his cheek, snapping his head to the side as a pink handprint bloomed onto his pale skin.
“What were you thinking! Losing control of yourself like that in front of her!” She fumed.
Eyes cast down, he murmured, “I wasn’t thinking mother, please, forgive me.”
Aemond couldn’t help but scoff at him, his brother never exhibiting an ounce of self-restraint when it came to you.
Alicent’s eyes shot to her other son. “Keep him in line until the ritual, for the sake of our house. Please Aemond,” who only wordlessly nodded as the queen dowager stormed from the room.
Every fiber in his body wanted nothing but to give you another visit, the only thing stopping Aegon from forsaking his mother’s words was his sire bond.
During the ritual, one must first be bitten by another Targaryen to begin the transition. A sire bond between them is then formed, creating an innate urge within the newly turned to please the one who helped bring them into the world of immortality.
In tradition of their house, the father performs the siring ritual to each of his children. However, as King Viserys met his sudden end several moons past, Alicent performed in his place for each of her three oldest children.
Upon his death, your family named his brother, Daemon Targaryen, as the new king of Seven Kingdoms, your half-sister Rhaenyra his queen.
Them, along with other members of your family all gathered to celebrate the eve of your anticipated celebration.
You were sat next to one of your childhood friends, Sylvia, whilst the rest of your family chattered and indulged themselves.
“Are you nervous?” Sylvia turned to you as you stuffed another biscuit in your mouth.
You giggled. “And whatever is there to be nervous about? It will be a joyous occasion!”
You and your friend missed the quick glances from others at the table, unaware of their eavesdropping.
She leaned in closer, a look of worry within her features.
“I heard whispers in the wind that a sacrifice is required for the ceremony.”
Your heart spiked momentarily.
Just as you were about to question your friend further, a presence behind you pulled you fron your conversation.
“May I steal my sister for a moment?” Aemond offered his hand which you reluctantly took, your friend quick to avert the steely gaze of your brother.
Joyous music rang through the dining room as friends and family danced and laughed together. Aemond pulled you into the throes of people and wrapped his hand around the small of your waist.
He began to sway the both of you as the sour smell of anxiety invaded his nose.
“Brother, is there something regarding the ritual I am not yet aware of?”
He pulled you closer, inhaling the vanilla and cherries on your skin.
“Everything will be just fine, dear sister.” He rubbed small circles in the small of your back as the sweet tang of your blood broke through the sweetness of your perfume.
His breath hitched.
You looked up at him.
Something didn’t feel right.
There was something he wasn’t telling you.
“Pardon me, brother. I must refresh myself in the washroom,” you gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before scurrying towards your friend, grabbing Sylvia’s hand before dragging her out of the room.
“Tell me what else you know,” your eyes frantically searched hers for answers after shutting the door behind the pair of you.
“I-I heard that the Targaryens possess a hunger inside of them. O-one of unholiness.”
Surely this was a jest?
You couldn’t shake the unease this warning brought upon you.
Your feet moved faster than your mind as you ran out and made a beeline towards your mother, desperate for some sort of explanation to ease your confusion.
Just as you were about to reach her, you were promptly swept off of your feet by your brother Aegon.
“There she is! The most important girl in the Seven Kingdoms!” You could smell the wine on his breath as he paraded you around the dance floor.
“Brother, please. Please set me down.” His eyes searched yours as an odd look of realization washed over his features.
Without explanation, he made quick work of whisking you out of the dining room and into the library across the hall.
The blood in your veins pumped loudly in your ears as he set you down.
“B-brother, please explain to me what is happening at the ceremony. I know there is something being withheld from me.”
He stopped abruptly in front of you, admiring how beautiful his dear sister looked in the light of the fire. A true Targaryen, he thought.
Perhaps it was the wine coursing through his veins, perhaps it was the desire to finally taste you that had the words tumbling from his lips.
“Have you ever wondered why our dear uncle, the king, has barely aged a day in decades?” He slowly circled behind you.
Vanillas and cherries. He inhaled you.
“I h-hadn’t thought of it, perhaps its-”
“Perhaps it’s because he is unlike a normal being. Perhaps none of us are,” he enjoyed watching the gears turning in your little head as his words filtered through your ears.
Poor, confused little girl, he smiled down at you.
He grasped the bottom of your chin and glazed over your soft features, your insatiably plump lips he so wished to devour.
All the while, you fiddled and picked at your nails beneath your skirts, a nasty habit you developed whenever you were anxious.
PIcking and picking, the unmistakeable scent of blood soon overtook his senses.
A low moan escaped him as he gently reached for your hand.
Trembling, you watched your brother inspect your bloodied nail bed.
“I am fine brother,” you tried to pull away but was effectively stopped as he brought your finger up to his lips and into his mouth.
You were so stunned by the queerness of his actions that you sat frozen in your seat.
Moaning louder, you were met with eyes filled with scarlet.
He looked other-worldly. You couldn’t seem to remove your eyes from your brother.
He smirked down at you as he released your fingers.
“You taste delicious, little zaldrīzes,” (dragon) his tone shot a shiver down your spine.
Cold fingers twirled through the strands of your hair. You couldn’t help but lean into it.
Aegon smiled at your pliancy. He was consumed by the urge to claim you, have you in every way imaginable.
And now he would take it.
Pushing your silver locks behind your ear, he absentmindedly traced circles into the skin of your neck.
“You’re just in time, brother,” Aegon finally acknowledged his brother who stood at the entrance of the door, observing the scene between the two of you.
As if hypnotized, your eyes remained locked on Aegons, your other brother taking his time as he waltzed over to the two of you.
“Well, what do we have here, hm?” His eyes immediately found purchase on your exposed neck, fidgeting in his place.
“Oh, I was just ensuring our dear sister was alright, it appears she cut herself. Look, brother.” He brought your fingers up to his lips and kissed them lightly, delighted to see how uncomfortable his younger brother looked.
You finally turned your gaze to Aemond, snapped out of the trance you were previously in.
“Aemond, I-I don’t understand what’s happening.”
His usual stoic demeanor cracked as the urge to taste you swallowed him whole.
He took the seat on the other side of Aegon and grasped your injured appendage.
“Shh. It’s alright. Allow me”, he began to lick up the droplets sliding down your finger, groaning as he finally got to taste you.
He needed more. They both did.
Watching his brother, a wicked thought popped into his brain.
“Would you like to know how we taste, mandia aesi?” (dear sister) Aegon ran his fingers through your tangled locks.
Mindlessly, you nodded as you watched your brother lapping at your finger. Not even registering what is what your brother was asking of you.
Aemond’s eyes shot up to his brother, wordlessly disapproving of what he had in mind.
Ignoring him, he pricked his finger and slowly brought it up to your lips.
“Jikagon, sylutegon issa mandia,” (go ahead, taste me sister).
Before your conscience could stop you, you savored the queer, coppery taste of your brothers blood.
You knew not of the sorcery that possessed you. All you knew was you wanted more.
Something inside of you snapped.
You wrapped your other hand around his arm, effectively locking him in place as you sucked harder, drawing more blood from his wound.
The pair of them watched, transfixed as their sister indulged.
A light yank of your hair pulled you from him, your other brother offering a taste from him which you happily obliged.
After a few minutes went by, you released his hand and licked your lips.
“More please,” your brother’s eyes darkened, something primal finally overtook any ounce of self-restraint remaining at your glossy eyes and blood dribbling down your chin.
“Now, don’t be greedy, dear sister. Let us have another turn.”
Leaning back in your chair, your brothers crowded each side of you and littered your neck with small kisses.
Nosing along your vein, your brother Aemond murmured, “Ao sytilībagon naejot īlva, mandia.” (you belong to us now, sister) before piercing into your soft flesh.
You groaned loudly as you felt a slight sting on either side of your neck, soon followed by an intense pleasuring shooting through every nerve in your body.
Gripping the arms of the chairs, your eyes rolled to back of your head as you brother continued to drink from you, their lust for you sending them into a frenzy.
Your body buzzed from the intensity, teetering on the precipice of an unknown pleasure you felt soon claim you as you lost control of your senses, spiralling into a black abyss.
Soon, your brothers broke away from you, maroon staining the skin around their mouths as they gazed upon your lifeless body.
“Fuck,” Aegon murmured as he wiped off and tasted the remains of you on his lips.
Aemond sighed. He stirred in his breaches as he reveled in the euphoria of the moment.
“She is insatiable,” Aemond grabbed a napkin and cleaned himself.
“Hmm, I already wish to taste her again,” Aegon smiled devilishly at his brother.
“Mother will be furious,” Aemond noted, following a rivulet of blood running down the valley of your breasts.
“Tis little matter now.”
The minutes dragged on before the doors of the library swung open, revealing a furious Alicent along with Daemon, Rhaenyra, and Helaena.
Taking in the scene before them, Alicent stormed toward the three of you.
“What have you done!” She shouted, rushing towards you lying limp in the chair, inspecting the puncture wounds on your neck.
Before either could reply, a small whimper left you which directed everyone’s attention.
Slowly lifting your eyelids, once lavender orbs were now tainted with red.
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authors note: already starting pt. 2 hehehe, let me know your thoughts!
#enjoy
- alie
#hotd#aemond targaryen#house of the dragon#prince aemond#aemond one eye#hotd aemond#aemond fic#hotd smut#aemond smut#aegon fic#aegon fanfic#aegon smut#aegon x reader#aemond apologist#hotd rhaenyra
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guard dog
i'm still very deep in the military outfit pit, so I was looking up reference pics for the official uniform of royal engineers, and found a lot of pictures where they carried each other like this... so i obviously had to draw this... then i realized that it sort of looks like the poster of The Bodyguard movie, and now i have 630 words written by AI summarizing this concept... (i'm also a little conflicted about using AI, but i am definitely not a writer, so... please dont hate me, my artwork is AI free!)
The Bodyguard AU under the cut, feel free to write this!
James is the son of an ambassador, raised in the United Kingdom. His life was turned upside down when his parents were stationed in a hostile country and an assassination attempt was carried out against them. James was also threatened, and for his own safety, he was placed under strict house arrest. Isolated from the world, his frustration grew. He felt trapped in a gilded cage, constantly under surveillance. His only escape was sneaking out when he could, desperate for even a fleeting sense of freedom. As a result of his repeated escapes and the increasing danger surrounding him, a bodyguard was hired to provide 24/7 protection: Sirius, an ex-soldier, now a top-tier security expert with a clear mission of keeping James safe at all costs. Strong, tall, and with striking good looks, Sirius exuded an air of danger, an impenetrable coolness that made him seem almost unapproachable. When James first laid eyes on him, the professional demeanor and intimidating presence were hard to ignore, and the idea of being constantly watched by such a man was hardly appealing. Sirius kept his distance both physically and emotionally, but as the days wore on, something unexpected began to happen: he proved himself to be not just an expert at protecting James, but someone who could be trusted. Sirius, though professional and distant at first, was not impervious to James’s charm. Despite his focus on the task at hand, there were moments when their eyes would meet, when James would catch a glimmer of something deeper in Sirius’s gaze. The heat between them was undeniable, though neither man spoke of it. Still, the chemistry simmered under the surface, growing stronger with every shared adventure, every close call, every moment where their lives were intertwined. The more time they spent together, the more Sirius’s tough, almost cold exterior began to crack. He started to show a side of himself that James hadn’t expected—gentle, caring, and protective in ways that went beyond the professional. James, for his part, found himself drawn to Sirius’s strength, his competence, and the tenderness that lay hidden beneath his stoic façade. It wasn’t just the physical attraction, though that was undeniable, but the way Sirius made him feel safe, cherished, even in the most dangerous moments. Despite the constant threats on James’s life, the bond between them grew—one built not just on trust and mutual respect, but also on the undeniable sexual tension that sparked between them. Their attraction was electric, their stolen glances and lingering touches all charged with the unspoken desire. But it wasn’t until one fateful night, when they found themselves caught in a perilous situation, that their feelings finally erupted. The close proximity, the adrenaline, the raw emotions they had kept locked away finally broke free in a passionate kiss that neither of them could deny any longer. What started as a professional arrangement became something far deeper and more complicated. They navigated their growing feelings amidst the ever-present danger surrounding James. Their relationship was a delicate balance—one that was often tested by their contrasting personalities and the constant threat to James’s life. But through it all, they found comfort in each other. James, once a prisoner of his own life, found freedom in Sirius’s arms, while Sirius, who had long buried his emotions beneath his soldier’s mask, allowed himself to love again. In the end, their connection became more than just a matter of protection—it was a bond forged through fire, a love that neither man had anticipated, but one that transformed their lives forever. Together, they faced whatever dangers the world threw at them, knowing that, despite everything, they had each other. And in a life filled with uncertainty, their love was the one thing that remained undeniable, unshakeable, and real.
#sirius black#james potter#james x sirius#prongsfoot#the bodyguard au#military au#fanart#art by lau#lau draws with a tablet#lau doesn't write because of reasons
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Heartache
Chapter Two (Read Chapter One HERE)
Pairing: BuckTommy - JonahTommy(past)
Rated: M
TRIGGER WARNINGS: Abusive relationship ; manipulation ; emotional trauma ; dom/sub undertone ; forced heart conditions ; attempted MCD (no actual MCD) ; this one gets very dark
One.
There is one chair in the room. Everything starts there.
Two.
There are two trash cans. One for trash… one for the bandages, and gloves, and medicine bottles, and syringes.
Three.
There are three medications placed on the bedside table: Sertraline, for his anxiety, Tylenol for his headache afterwards, and propofol.
Four.
There are four people on Tommy's phone to contact if it ever goes wrong… His father, although he likely won’t answer. His Nonna, for a copy of his advanced directive, and life insurance policies. His captain, to tell him the news. Howie, because other than Jonah… he is the closest thing Tommy has to a friend.
Five.
There are five things Tommy thinks about during their role plays… They keep him tethered to reality as his body literally slips free from it. His mom swinging with him on their porch swing. His last day in the army. His first day back in the air. His neighbors cat that hops balconies and sits with him while he recuperates afterwards. His life before he met Jonah…
Calm, peaceful… healthy… lonely. Who would have thought someone would miss being lonely.
Sometimes Jonah makes him feel lonely even when he’s right there with him. Sometimes Jonah gets distant and cruel. Pokes sharp painful fingers into the fragile exterior that is meant to be there for protection, but Tommy’s is weak and flawed and easily penetrable.
Jonah knows every insecurity, every self doubt, every regret and mistake and failure. He can take Tommy on his best days and play him like a fiddle until he’s reduced to a sniffling squabbling mess and then he draws him in close and kisses away the tears; tells him he cares about him and most importantly he wants him… even though no one else ever will. So Tommy should be thankful. Tommy should be willing to do anything to repay such a selfless act of generosity.
Absolutely anything.
And so, for two years, Tommy did anything… and everything… Jonah asked of him. He never complained. No matter how scared he felt everytime Jonah came home with that look in his eye… knowing he once again had that scratch that he needed to itch… that need he needed to fill— he needed Tommy to fill. For two years Tommy allowed himself to fill it. To be Jonah’s assistant, of sorts; his plaything, of sorts; his… experiment… of sorts.
Two years of letting Jonah play God.
Until it all— almost— went wrong.
“N- No more…” Tommy had said, once his heart stopped pounding like it was about to burst out of his chest. He’d wanted to call an ambulance… or at least go in to get checked out. Jonah convinced him not to.
“You want to lose your job? A heart attack? At thirty six? They’ll clip your wings so quickly…” Jonah glared at him, like he dared him to try to push back with logic— like the fact it took him shocking Tommy four times to get his heart beating again. Jonah eventually lets out an over dramatic sigh. “I mean if you’re that worried…” he said, putting on a pitiful pout. “If you think I know that little… and didn’t do a good job here… then fine. Here…” Tommy was already prepared to take it all back when his cell phone was slung directly at his face; he had no time to stop it or move before it smacked him right in the mouth “Call them.”
Tommy lifts a hand to his face, feels the sting of what he knows is a cut on his trembling bottom lip. “I- I won’t call…”
“No. Call them, Tommy. They can take better care of you… right? Right?!”
“N- No.”
“But you’re scared?” He crossed the room back to their bed, leaned down so he was right in Tommy’s face; Tommy could see his jaw clench, his nose flare… He is nearly half Tommy’s size. It would be so easy… so easy… to fight him off. Instead Tommy cowers as he shakes his head. “You think I’m not good at my job?” Another shake of his head. “You think I can’t save you?”
“I know you can…” Tommy cried— it made him sick how he cried… “You are amazing, and s- so skilled… you always take the best care of me… You- You’re my hero, Jonah…” The words— the lies— flow so easily because he’s trying to diffuse Jonah’s anger before it bubbles up too high. “It’s me, baby… I- I’m too weak…” and it’s true wasn’t it… he was so weak. So pathetic. “I just don't think I— m- my heart… can handle it anymore. I’m so sorry…”
He reached out and blindly grabbed Jonah's hand, keeping their eyes locked together as he brought it to his lips. Jonah moved the hand to his cheek, running his thumb roughly over the cut on Tommy’s lip. “I forgive you…” he said and kissed Tommy. Pushing him back down on the bed and climbing on top of him. Tommy went without a fight.
A month passed and Tommy waited, anxiously expecting each time he saw Jonah to be faced with that look again… that itch… that need… but it never came. Tommy thought maybe he was really free of their little game.
Then the dispatch fire happened.
Tommy sat on their couch and watched the news coverage as the fire raged on, the firefighters on scene working effortlessly to put it out. They announced Captain Bobby Nash was still inside. He mindlessly rubbed a hand over his chest as he stared at the screen and waited for each update. Finally they said Bobby was safe. Tommy sighed in relief. The reporter gave praise to the 118– Tommy couldn’t help the proud smile for his old team as the camera panned over to them standing united as they exited the building— and the 133…
And Tommy couldn’t help the sinking feeling of knowing Jonah was on such an intense call.
He spotted him on the TV, standing next to one of the victims, smiling down at her as they talked, and he dreaded the thought of Jonah coming home the next morning to tell him all about it. He turned the TV off, pulled out his phone and texted Howie, asked him to send updates on Bobby, and praised them for their work at the fire. He didn’t call, nor did he text Jonah. He just went to bed.
The next morning he woke up to a return text from Howie. Bobby was going to be fine, so was his step daughter. Again Tommy sighed in relief. Then he read the rest of the text and his heart began to race: we lost one though. One of the dispatchers went into cardiac arrest on the ambulance ride in. Firefighter Greenway did his best but he couldn’t save her. She was DOA.
Tommy ignored the other text in his phone from Jonah saying he was almost home. He ignored the key in the lock turning over… and the door pushing open. He ignored the initial call of his name as Jonah stepped inside. He already knew what was coming next.
Except it didn’t.
Jonah was a little stoic as he crossed the apartment to their room, pulling Tommy into his arms and kissing him. He asked if he heard about the fire, and Tommy lied and said he hadn’t. He said he wasn’t feeling too good and went to bed early; slept in late. Jonah actually seemed concerned. He said he would order them some breakfast, and they could just spend the rest of the morning in bed.
What was Tommy going to do, not take such an extremely rare offer?
He held Jonah after they ate; pulled him up against his chest, let him listen to the beat of his heart like he knew Jonah liked to do, and tried to push asking about the fire to the very last second. But after a few random dramatized sighs from his boyfriend, Tommy finally asked. “Is everything okay?”
There was a long pause. “I lost her,” Jonah finally said. Tommy felt like he’d been dunked in ice water, he shifted his body so Jonah’s head was no longer on his chest— so he could see him better (so he couldn’t hear his heart pick up speed).
“O- Oh… b- baby I’m so sorry.”
Jonah shook his head, brows pulled tightly together. “I just— it doesn’t make sense… I can’t believe I couldn’t save her…”
“I’m sure you did everything you could,” Tommy said.
Jonah jerked his head side to side. “No. No, I should have saved her. It should have been fine.” He all but leaps out of the bed, storming out of the room. Tommy startled at the slam of their bedroom door. He thought, maybe he should just let him cool off… alone. A glass shattered in the kitchen, and he thought, instead, that maybe he should attempt to calm him down.
He grabbed the broom and dustpan out of the hall closet first, and went straight to cleaning up the glass as Jonah paced the kitchen. He only just got all the shards up when he heard the contents on the counter table behind him get shoved off. It crashed to the floor, more glass breaking— the glass cake tray his Nonna gave him, with the entirety of a cake he’d bought himself the day before and hadn’t yet tried… he desperately tried to not react to the loss of either— another mess for Tommy to clean up; he went straight to it.
“I guess I really am just a piss poor paramedic,” Jonah said bitterly, his voice rising from a growl to a scream. “Can’t save anyone. Why am I even doing this fucking job?!”
Maybe it was because Tommy did want anything else broken… Maybe it was because he didn’t want their neighbors to hear the screaming and call the cops… Maybe it was because he was so conditioned to please…
He dropped the broom.
Clutched his chest.
And took in a sharp breath.
“J- Jonah…” Tommy said, looking up at him. “P- Please… Help…” It took less than a second for Jonah to catch on. Then he was kneeling at Tommy’s side, lifting Tommy’s face to look at him. There’s a glint in his eye, a flicker of something dark… and Tommy should be scared but instead he leans into the touch. In that moment Jonah’s full attention, devotion, love even (maybe), was on Tommy; in that moment it was really Tommy helping Jonah… because he just loved him so much— too much. “I need you… I’m scared.”
Oh, was he scared…
Jonah fed off of it. It was like a switch flipped over and he went full character: assuring Tommy he was in the best hands, helping him to his feet, leading him to their room… Jonah gently pushed him down to sit on the chair. Tommy put himself into autopilot while Jonah got him ready.
He checked Tommy’s vitals. “BP is good… heart rate is accelerating… you need to relax, Tommy…”
Tommy slowly nodded. And begins taking deep breaths. 5… 4… 3… 2… 1…
“There you go… That’s better…” Jonah smiled at him, and leaned down to kiss Tommy’s forehead. It should be comforting; it’s anything but comforting. “Okay go lie down… I’ll get everything set up.”
5… 4… 3… 2… 1…
Five memories. Four contacts. Three medications. Two trash cans. One chair.
Jonah pulled on his sterile gloves— Tommy only knew because he had to pop them to his wrist every time… he couldn’t actually watch him because of what he knew came next. Jonah went into his little medical bag and pulled out the Tylenol… and the propofol. He sat them on the table beside where Tommy kept his anxiety medication. Then he grabbed one of the syringes— slowly opening the sealed packaging and Tommy focused on any other sound of the paper peeling apart in the room to try to drown it out— then he drew up the propofol.
He tied the rubber band around Tommy’s bicep, waiting until his veins popped out nicely. “Big pinch,” he said and gripped Tommy’s wrist as he brought the needle to the vein.
“Wait…” Tommy gasped, trying to calm his breathing— trying to blink back against the rush of tears. “C- Can you hold my hand?” He asked.
Jonah looked at him and a flash of disappointment crossed his face before he, too, broke character. “Now Tommy… that would be a little too unprofessional. Don’t you think?”
Tommy swallowed around the lump lodged in his throat and nodded. “Y- Yeah. You’re right. S- Sorry…” He looked back to the ceiling fan spinning above him, and refocused on his breathing. The needle pressed into the vein, the medicine burned as it entered his body.
5… 4… 3… 2… 1…
Five memories. Four contacts. Three medications. Two trash cans. One chair.
5… 4… 3… 2… 1…
Five memories. Four contacts. Three medications. Two trash cans. One chair.
5… 4… 3… 2… 1…
Five cc of propofol. Four minutes to take effect. Three seconds to boot up the defibrillator. Two paddles pressed to his chest. One shock.
5… 4… 3… 2… 1…
He felt it as it happened. It made him feel sick knowing Jonah could see it as it happened, too. Tommy could feel his eyes, wide and maniacal, locked on him as he waited for Tommy’s breathing to slow and eventually stop. Tommy felt himself dying— felt how this was killing him. Not just in the moment— as it literally killed him— but in general.
He had flown so far from the person he had aspired to become when he finally came out and embraced who he was. This was not where things were supposed to end up. He hated that version of himself almost as much as the old. He wished he’d never met Jonah… never fallen in love with him… never become so dependent on him…
5… 4… 3… 2… 1…
Five things he always wanted to do: go skydiving, go deep sea fishing, go mountain climbing, go on a cross country road trip, take a walk down the aisle.
Four places he always wanted to travel: Italy (for Nonna), Paris (for Romance), New York (for Broadway), Alaska (for the Northern Lights), an altar (for love).
Three words he always wanted to hear: I love you— not just I love what you can do for me.
Two souls who are meant to be together— but it was never the two together in that room.
One more time… for Jonah.
Anything for Jonah.
His body surged up into an arch from the shock. Tommy collapsed back onto the bed, gasping for air, his heart pounding as it attempted to re-regulate itself. Jonah stared at him with this strange mix of awe and pity. “Shh…” he shushed softly, reaching out to wipe away tears as they fell down Tommy’s cheeks. “You’re okay. It’s okay. I saved you.” Tommy blinked, eyes feeling heavy. He grabbed on to Jonah’s wrist, clinging to it for some sense of comfort. “You did so well. You can rest now.” The hand on his cheek gently swiped over his eyes, closing them.
When he woke up, Jonah was there, like always. His mood was better, like always. His eyes were soft and inviting. His lips found their way to Tommy’s… kissing him deeply— passionately… hungrily. Tommy laid there and played along knowing this was only another part of the game; thinking, still, if he tried hard enough to believe it… it was almost like they were just making love.
*
His phone ringing woke him up.
Recovery this time took longer than his usual couple days… He had to call in sick to work… His captain was annoyed but understanding; Tommy rarely missed work, if he did it was serious.
The phone continued to ring, causing his headache to only get worse… and he was still an hour away from being able to take more Tylenol. He groaned and rolled over to grab it, bringing it up to his ear. “H’llo?”
“Hey Tommy…” Daryl, Jonah’s partner at the 133, said way too loudly into his ear; Tommy had to pull the phone away and put it on speaker. “How are you feeling? JG said you were a little under the weather.”
Tommy scoffed. “Uh, yeah… what- what’s up? Is everything okay?”
“About that,” Daryl continued, and the strain in his voice had Tommy up and out of the bed, starting a panicked pacing of their room. “Listen I- I overheard Cap talking to Jonah… something about Wilson and Han from the 118 reporting him… o- over that dispatcher's death, I think. It sounded like they dug up some crap from his past… heavy shit. I don’t know— but the conversation got pretty heated; he left very upset. Thought I’d give you a heads up…”
Daryl was one of the only people who knew about Tommy and Jonah. Jonah didn’t want the type of friends who came over to your house… he had too much to hide at home. Tommy was enough of a loner… so he never had anyone over either. He had Howie, but he knew Howie was a sore spot for Jonah since Hen took a while warming up to Jonah as Howie’s temporary replacement; and then he was moved off the 118 after he came back. Tommy could read a room enough to know he shouldn’t mention either of them.
Now they are— are what… out to get him?
He was rushing Daryl off the phone and scrolling through his contacts for Hen’s name before he even really knew what he was going to say. He didn’t even wait for a hello before he was going off. “What the hell are you digging around Jonah’s life for, Hen! What business is it of yours!”
“What the— what business is it of mine?” Hen repeated back to him, scoffed and added, “what business is any of this of yours!?”
“He’s my boyfriend, so you snooping around trying to find something on him to hurt him is my business,” Tommy blurted out.
Hen was quiet for a long time. “He's your— he’s hurt people, Tommy,” she said, a new— softer— tone to her voice.
“That’s a lie… he— he would never!” He promised. He said it was only ever Tommy. It was— It was their thing… “J- Jonah is a… g- good man…”
Another long pause. “You don’t sound too sure about that,” she said. “Listen… if you’re scared— if you feel like you have to—”
The sound of a key turning in the lock caught Tommy’s attention. “You need to let this go, Hen,” he said and ended the call.
The front door slammed open, and Jonah stormed in.
He came straight to the bedroom and stood in the doorway, eyes locked on Tommy. His breathing was heavy and slow… shoulders rising with each inhale, and falling on the exhale. “Get my bag,” he said, flat and emotionless.
Tommy should have fought, right then. He should have refused. He got up and walked to the closet instead, bringing the medical bag out and back over to the bed. He held it on his lap as Jonah crossed the room to him. Jonah didn't pick it up, just opened it where it sat on Tommy’s legs and began taking bottles of propofol out, IV tubing, syringes.
“You worked with them,” he said after a while. Tommy lifted his eyes slowly up to meet Jonah’s. “With Hen… and Chimney. You still call him Howie right? He’s your friend…”
Tommy quickly shook his head. “I- I would hardly call us—”
“Do you agree with them, Tommy?” Jonah said, and leaned down close to Tommy’s face. “Do you think I’m a horrible person, too?”
“No!”
“Do you think I hurt those people?”
“Of- Of course not…”
“You know I had it under control.”
“Ye— wait…” Tommy searched Jonah’s eyes, waiting for some explanation he knew wouldn’t come. Jonah didn’t blink. Hen was right… and maybe— maybe Tommy had thought that all along. But thinking and knowing are so vastly different in moments like these. “Jonah… you— you didn’t…” Jonah’s brow furrowed; Tommy chose his words carefully. “You didn’t m- mean to hurt them, I’m sure…” Jonah doesn’t react… “They— They were just… weak. You did your job… you would have saved them had they been stronger.”
“Exactly. They were just—”
“M- Mistakes?”
Jonah smiled; something so maniacal and evil shouldn’t have been a comfort… but he seemed to lose some of the tension in his shoulders, so Tommy did as well. “Mistakes… that’s it. They were mistakes.” He began to draw up doses of the propofol. One syringe after another. “Not even my fault, really… just weak people who didn’t want— no didn’t deserve to be saved. Now I’ll just have to show them what I’m capable of… then they will see…”
“Show who?”
“Hen and Chimney,” Jonah reiterated with a grin. “I’ll show them both just how good I am at what I do.”
“H- How…” the question rolled off his tongue before he could stop it. Jonah didn’t respond, just laid everything back in the back and walked to the closet for the defibrillator. “Jo- Jonah… w- what are you going to do…”
Jonah smiled, reached up and cupped Tommy’s cheek. He leaned in and kissed him. “I’m going to teach them a lesson, baby.” Tommy felt his eyes widen, a choked off sound escaping him as he shook his head. “It’ll be fine. They have to learn.”
“Jonah… please… don’t,” he begged, would beg on his knees if he had to. He couldn’t let Jonah hurt anyone else. He decided to be brave just a fraction of a second too late and felt a sharp pinch in his neck just as he was about to lunge at him.
He fell over on the bed, watching Jonah pull out his phone. “Heard you were talking about me,” he said.
Tommy barely heard Hen’s voice respond before he passed out. When he opened his eyes again the room was dark. Part of him thought maybe— just maybe— Jonah was gone. He tried to sit up and felt dizzy…
“Easy now…” he heard Jonah’s voice cut through the darkness. “You know better than to try to move around so quickly.”
“Mmhmm…” Tommy hummed.
He watched the silhouette of Jonah walk around the bed, sit down beside him; he took his hand and held it like one would a stranger. “I really thought you were the one, Tommy…” he said. “I thought you understood me. I thought you cared…”
“I- I do… care,” Tommy said, sluggishly.
The silhouette shook his head. “No… no you don’t. I’m really sorry, baby… but I have to get going. Things to do; old friends to visit.”
“J’nah… p- please…” Tommy tried once more. He felt the familiar sting of medicine entering in his vein, only then registering the needle that had been in it. He felt Jonah’s lips press to his in a chaste, emotionless, kiss. He felt the rise of the mattress as Jonah got up and walked out.
Four minutes.
Jonah said it took four minutes before the flatline. He waited until he heard the front door click shut and he rolled off the bed, falling heavily to the floor. His adrenaline spiked… that was a good thing… it would keep him alert longer. He rolled over towards the bed, sticking his arm under it and feeling around until his fingers brushed over the box. A panic induced purchase really… he’s glad he made it now— he’s knows Jonah took his with him.
Three minutes.
He hadn’t even opened it yet. Why hadn’t he ever opened it?! His fingers trembled clumsily as he tore the box apart and freed the equipment inside— a shiny, brand new, defibrillator. It felt like some kind of sick Christmas present… He struggled against his fading consciousness to get it set up… nearly busted his head as he toppled over to plug it in… he pulled himself back up with the bedside table and that’s when he saw his phone was still there where he left it after the call to Hen.
Two minutes.
He managed to do it in tandem; turn on the machine with one hand, call 9-1-1 with the other. “9-1-1 what’s the address of your location?” The dispatcher asked the question, then waited for Tommy’s response. Tommy peeled the first pad off, and carefully slid it under his shirt, sticking it to his left side. “Hello? 9-1-1… what is the address of your location?”
One minute.
1318 Brannon St Apartment G… 1318 Brannon St Apartment G… 1318 Brannon Street Apartment G!
“I- I’m actually not sure where he’s going,” Tommy said as he put the second pad on the right side of his chest. He turned the defibrillator on, holding the phone close to his mouth; his finger lingered over the button… he didn’t have much time to waste but— “But his name is Jonah… Green- Greenway. He drives a 2021 white Nissan Altima. License plate seven-delta… hotel-li-li-lima… nine… six… sev—”
He pressed the button and everything went dark.
“Sir. Sir, do you hear me?”
He had read… somewhere… that shocking your heart while still conscious felt like getting kicked in the chest by a horse.
Tommy fluttered his eyes, tried to open them against the blindingly bright light of the— the ambulance. He was in an ambulance.
“Alright! We got him back!”
Tommy took a deep breath through the oxygen mask over his face. Then another. Then another.
“That’s it, sir… in and out. Nice and slow. You’re going to be just fine… you’re safe now.”
Was he though? Was Hen? Was Howie?
He got his answer in the shape of the former— donning a matching hospital gown to his— sneaking in his room many hours later.
He was still barely conscious… having faded in and out multiple times. The only people to enter his room since his arrival had been doctors or nurses— none paying him much attention as he incoherently asked about Jonah and if he’d been caught— that’s the price you pay being a loner, he supposed. Hen stopped in his doorway, waiting until he opened his eyes and looked at her to enter.
“Hey…” she said with a smile, soft and friendly— neither things he deserved. “How are you feeling?”
Tommy waited for the other shoe to drop. For rage or some snarky comment… an I told you so. It didn’t come. “Like I was kicked in the chest by a horse…” he finally replied, letting his head loll towards her. “Are you— you and Howie…”
“We’re fine.”
“Jonah?”
“Going to prison… for a very long time.”
Tommy sighed, and nodded. “Good,” he said. That was good— something good to come from… all this. “How- How did you know I was here?”
“Karen called the cops when I called to warn her Jonah was up to something…” Hen explained, sitting down on the foot of Tommy’s bed. “They told her somebody had already called in, and there were already units out looking for him. I had Athena look into it. She said the person who called was found unconscious and admitted here… I pieced the rest together and asked the hospital if they had a Thomas Kinard.”
She reached for Tommy’s hand and he flinched, pulling it away. “I- I’m so- so sorry, Hen… I- I should’ve…”
“Hey, no. Don’t do that. We are all victims here.” She reached for his hand again and took it this time. “Some… a lot longer than others, I’m sure.”
She gave him a knowing look and he couldn't help but laugh… What else was there to do? “You have no idea…” he said tiredly.
*
Evan is quiet.
Tommy is… on edge— although he’s doing his best to be patient. He just dumped a lot of trauma, he would not be surprised if Buck turns and runs out the door, never to look back.
“So you— you told Hen everything?”
“Everything I just told you, yeah…”
Evan nods. He’s still holding Tommy’s hand… that’s a good sign, Tommy hopes. “And— And Athena? You— you told her, too?”
Tommy shakes his head. “She just asked around about the anonymous caller for Hen. She never knew it was me. I did talk to the cops who found me, though. But…” he sighs… this is the part he regrets the most. “I asked to be left anonymous. I— I didn’t know Jonah was doing this to other people… there was nothing that me testifying would add to the case, unless I wanted to press charges.” He breaks away from Evan’s eyes. “And I— I didn’t…”
“Tommy,” Evan gasps in disbelief. Here it comes, Tommy thinks. “Why- Why wouldn’t you… after— after everything he did to—”
“I know…” Tommy interjects, hanging his head. “He hurt Howie and Hen… and so— so many other people…”
“And you!” Evan all but shouts. “Tommy he— he hurt you too… so many times… and he— he shouldn’t be allowed to get away with that.”
That… was not what Tommy expected Evan to be upset about. He isn’t exactly sure how to respond to it. “He’s going to prison for life, Evan…” he says, as a start. “He didn’t get away.”
“That’s— that’s not good enough.” Evan shakes his head using his hold on Tommy’s hand to pull him into his arms.
Tommy is held tight to Evan’s chest and he feels— he feels many things, actually. Mostly he feels safe. Which is something he’s never really felt in a relationship. Safe to be himself. Safe to be vulnerable. “I’m sorry…” he says, trying to blink back tears. He thinks he’s cried enough in just this one day for his entire lifetime, and the next. “Jonah… he— he was all I had… I just— I- I couldn’t…and I know I should have but I couldn’t. I’m so sorry…”
“H- Hey…” Evan gently pushes him back, then gently cups his face. “You have absolutely nothing to apologize for. He is the one who should be sorry… I don’t blame you for wanting to bury those memories. I’ll— I’ll talk to Athena; maybe we can fight this summons.”
If only it could be that easy…
Even after Tommy re-explains his reasoning for not wanting to get on the stand in front of Jonah… the judge still decides she’ll allow it. “I’m so sorry,” Athena says somberly, and Evan’s hold around Tommy’s waist tightens. He presses a kiss to Tommy’s cheek.
They meet with the DA, discuss what he should expect, and Tommy schedules a session with Frank— recurring sessions, actually.
He knew this would come back into the light one day. He should have been prepared. He’d gotten too cozy with his life, that was his first mistake…
“Tommy there’s a call for you in Cap's office,” Lucy says, jogging up to where Tommy is under the hood of one of Harbor’s engines.
“For me?” Tommy grabs a rag and wipes the grease off his hands, so he can run his fingers through the loose curls falling down onto his forehead. “Who is it?”
Lucy shrugs. “He didn’t say.”
There is a sinking sense of dread Tommy can’t shake as he approaches the office, takes the phone, and puts it to his ear. “Hello?”
“Five… Four… Three… Two… One…” Tommy hates how he can hear the sinister grin in Jonah’s voice. He hates that he’s hearing Jonah’s voice at all. “You were always counting down. Sometimes you even did it out loud, did you know that?”
“How— How did you—”
“Do you know what day the trial starts?” Jonah continues, brushing over Tommy’s question… of course. Tommy doesn’t respond; Jonah chuckles. “Save the date, baby… it’s a good one. I can’t wait to see you.” Then the line cuts off.
“Who was that?” Lucy asks, but Tommy is too busy trying to get his phone’s calendar opened. “Tommy…” she says— repeats, maybe… She touches his arm. “You’re shaking… Are you okay?”
He is not.
Five years ago Tommy talked himself into meeting someone he matched with on some dating app Howie teasingly suggested he try.
Four days until he has to come face to face with that same person on the anniversary of that first date.
Three life sentences is what Jonah is looking at if found guilty… He will be found guilty. He has to be found guilty.
Two hours before Tommy is off shift… and Jonah probably knew that.
One almost— but not quite— forgotten nightmare Tommy has been thrown head first back into.
~~~~~~~~~
Tagging people who seemed interested (let me know if you want to be added for the last chapter or removed 🫶) : @sunnywithachanceofbi @weewookinard @xtarmanderx @racerchix21 @sad-girl-hours23 @laundryandtaxesworld @swagmaster9k @iphyslitterator @adian-ua 🫶🫶
#bucktommy#tommy kinard#evan buckley#jonah greenway#tw abuse#tw heart#tw manipulation#tw dark content#this one i knew would be heavy… then it got really heavy 🫣😮💨
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Day 100
One hundred fuckin’ days. God. Actually happened.
I spent 3/4ths of the year drawing more Junkan art than I think anyone else on the internet ever has. Which might be presumptuous of me, maybe i’m just looking in the wrong places y’know? I’m a solid second place bare minimum.
And like, that’s still pretty funny right? This whole event is something I’m gonna cherish forever, the memories, the art itself, the friends I made because of it. But like, c’mon. I drew 100 fucking pieces, learned new skills like digital painting, animation, all that shit, for a ship that I used to hate, and a ship that for the longest time I thought was gonna get me fuckin banished to the deepest depths of the internet just for drawing a poor sketch of them kissing. This ship has become more deeply entwined into who I am as a person that it’s passed up Tokomaru, the ship that literally made me realize I’m a woman.
It’s gotta be at least a little funny, right?
Ah but enough of that, I can talk more on that subject a bit later. For now I reckon I should focus on our art piece for today! Wouldn’t you agree?
Yeah it’s the Wedding. I’d say even before Day 60 I decided the final pic of the Project would be The Wedding, even before I decided to draw a comic of the proposal. Because like, c’mon, it’s basic but how the fuck else was I supposed to end of the project? With something that ISN’T a wedding????
And very shocking to hear after this entire project has gone by, but I did in fact scale back this pic massively. You wanna know what the original idea was?? 22 images, each one depicting different parts of the wedding and afterparty, including the kiss at the end. And the kiss at the end? I was gonna feature every character from the 3 main classes + Ruruka, Seiko, and Yasuke. Fucking why??? Because Excess is all I know people ITS ALL I KNOW.
However I had decided that I wanted this project finished and ready before October, because I wanted to do the Vampire Fic to coincide with Day 30. And again, say it with me here, “Jem was severely burnt out on the project!”
So it went from 22 images, to “However many I can get done in time + the big group shot” and then that became “Just the big group shot,” and then finally, i cracked and just drew The Kiss.
Speaking of which before I divulge some more info about the original plan, i’ll get all the fun things about the actual art I did go through with.
As you can tell I shaded this differently from anything in the project. I normally have two different ways of shading art, I don’t think these are the proper words but I call them Soft Shading and Hard Shading. If you need immediate examples, Day 95 was Soft Shaded, and Day 94 was Hard Shaded. Generally speaking I prefer to do Hard Shading, as I think it works better with the rest of my style, and also just looks better in general. Soft Shading is what I do for pics with like, a very specific tone and energy to them that I can’t really put to words. It’s also significantly easier to do compared to Hard Shading.
A few months back for a commission of Kaede and Marceline from Adventure Time hanging out (yes this is relevant) I was trying to capture a very specific aesthetic that I’m obsessed with called Frutiger Aero. This mostly was in the background, however when lighting the pic I needed a very specific aesthetic that I didn’t know how to capture with just one of my shading styles. So . . . I fuckin did both. And in my opinion (which is crazy because this requires I compliment myself) it looked fuckin great. That said it was significantly harder.
I think I’ve done it only one other time after this, but I don’t remember what the pic was if it exists at all. But obviously as you can see, I decided that to really commemorate the occasion I’d go all out and do both shading styles again. It was very worth it, but fun fact! Doing this style on Roses is a fucking pain in the ass and if I ever have to do it again I will fucking SCREAM!
Anyway, the pic was definitely a lot harder to work on because of that stylistic choice, but the end result makes up for it by a massive margin.
Hope ya’ll like the dresses because they were the hardest part of this! Fun fact, Val (She’s back!) did a chapter for her legendary Year of Love and Despair fic where the gals are in wedding dresses. And the designs she came up with are amazing! I still really wanna draw em when I get a chance! However! I woulda felt bad if I just yoinked em for this, so I had to do everything in my power to come up with completely different designs. And given that I am a perfectionist, that was significantly more difficult than it probably shoulda been. But I did it! I really like how Mikan’s dress turned out specifically, I thought giving her a fit that covered up more skin than a normal wedding dress would be fitting for her. Also I really like drawing Mikan’s hair in a bun, I never had a chance to say that so I’mma say that now.
Wow fuck I just realized there’s probably a lot of random details or thought processes I have on this ship that I just never got an opportunity to talk about, either because I had a different topic to cover on previous posts, or I just forgot, or I just didn’t have a good segway! Crazy right?
Also yes! Shading Junko’s hair was heavenly~
Okay i’ve run out of words on the art. Time to tell you about everything I cut! Now I’m sad to say but no, I didn’t actually cut 22 planned images. I never got far enough to actually figure out each individual pic. Only a small handful, which I almost speedily sketched out for this post, but I don’t have it in me, especially on my current schedule. So i’ll just do my best to describe what I had in mind!
First piece would have been Mukuro being on Security for the Wedding, because of course. She would have also enlisted the help of Mondo and his entire gang, because that combination in this context sounds funny. Don’t worry though they were well behaved.
Ruruka was gonna handle the Wedding Cake, with Teruteru on the rest of the food. Either Ruruka or Mukuro would have been giving him a death glare during the process of course.
Behind the scenes Mikan would be getting prepped for the Wedding. And by prepped I mean Seiko, Ibuki, and Sayaka would be trying very hard to keep Mikan from crying as a result of how happy and overwhelmed she is (Ruining her makeup). Seiko trying to blow air into her eyes to keep them dry while Sayaka and Ibuki desperately try to find an outlet to plug in a hairdryer in because that would be significantly more efficient.
On the reverse, Junko would be doing all of the work on prepping herself for the wedding, with Ruruka, Yasuke and Tsumugi standing in the background, questioning why they’re even there. Junko would yell at them that they’re morale support in this instance.
Warriors of Hope would of course be there being scamps of course, Kotoko would be the Flower Girl because I play favorites. Toko and Komaru would probably be there trying to keep them in line.
I didn’t have anything in mind with the afterparty but I more than likely would have drawn the drunkest Junko I possibly could. Maybe even Mikan too!
For the Bouquet Throwing I was gonna have Syo jumping at it like a feral animal, and thinking about it now I’d probably also have Tenko jumping for it with killing intent in her eyes.
And I think that’s it for ideas I had prior to cutting them. Which means it’s time for me to get sappy about the fact that the project is finally ending! Fuck! Usually when I write these I try to have a decent idea ahead of time of what I’m gonna fucking say, this time however I’m just gonna talk, and i’m gonna keep talking until I’m either struck down by nature or I run out of things to say. Sorry!
This is going to get silly, sappy, and maybe even a little venty, jump in at your own risk.
If you told me at the beginning of 2024 that I was going to draw 100 days worth of Junkan related art, including a gif and a music video, 2 comics, and also get back into writing to make gay fanfic, I’d be so god damn confused. Because what the fuck right? And that’s not even counting everything I drew AFTER I fuckin finished! Like hold on a minute i’m gonna count up how many times i’ve drawn these two, including the individual comic pages from the three i’ve made.
204.
Fucking, I. I didn’t even know we passed 200 by this point.
And that’s not counting the sketches I’ve drawn on paper in my sketchbook. It’s also not counting unfinished pics. It ain’t counting the art I might draw WHILE writing this! It’s not counting the stuff I probably forgot about while searching my files cause I suck at naming the aforementioned files!
AND I’M STILL NOT BURNED OUT EITHER?
I got burned out on the project sure but the moment I had the freedom to do whatever I wanted I fucking IMMEDIATELY drew a Junkan pic for Halloween. And then I kept going, and then I didn’t fucking stop, and I don’t think I CAN stop! I don’t even WANT to stop but you’d think by now I’d be like “Well I don’t have any ideas right now-” NO I HAVE TOO FUCKING MANY IDEAS! I KEEP FUCKING THINKING OF MORE IDEAS, AND THEN I COME UP WITH AN AU AND THAT COULD HAVE LIKE 10,000 MORE IDEAS. JUNKAN IS A MENTAL HYDRA YOU DRAW ONE PIC 2 MORE POP UP IN ITS PLACE!
I can draw these pieces in like a few hours if not shorter, because I don’t have to fucking sketch them properly anymore. I feel like I shouldn’t be able to do that! This ship has done unspeakable things to both my mind and body! And i’ve said it before but i’m not trying to complain here, as you’ll see when I start talking about this ship like it saved me from falling into the grand canyon. But it’s just, so, absurd???
Danganronpa is only like my third favorite piece of media behind Bo-bobo and Fairy Tail and yet I’ve drawn more art of JUST THIS SHIP than I have of just general art of those series! That’s not even counting all the other ship art I’ve done! Like Tokomaru! Remember Tokomaru? The ship that is responsible for me being a woman and being able to find the happiness of being my true self? I think i’ve drawn that and Syomaru a combined like, 20 times across my entire life as a DR fan. ALL OF THIS JUNKAN ART SAY FOR LIKE, 5 OF THEM WERE IN ONE YEAR.
And bare minimum for 2025, assuming I don’t make ANYTHING ELSE OF THEM (Which I will. You know I will.) I’m gonna draw 21 pics for Junkan Week, because you know I’m gonna just draw EVERY prompt from all three lists. And then 30 more for the Month of Junkan (Will try to have that prompt list up soon btw!). So that’s 51 I’m going to do. That’s over half of what I realistically was supposed to do bare minimum for this project. That’s so fucking much, and I’m gonna do it, because I love this ship, and also it sounds REALLY funny if I did that.
I think genuinely the only other ships I could fucking do this for are like, Toko/Syomaru or Flarelu. Maybe Togachako if I did a reread of MHA to get me back in the spirit for that series. And even then i’m not sure I physically have it in me to go that distance even for those ships. I certainly want to draw a lot of them, especially Flarelu because that’s a ship so rare that it makes Soft Junkan (before I fucking flooded the tag on tumblr) look like a bustling city.
Speaking of tags, I still think about sometimes how like, the Junkan Tag maybe got like, a post like, a few times every month. The normal amount for a ship of this general Rarity. And now it’s like, for so many pages, just half of it is me. Because I was asked to bring something to eat to the function for the buffet table and I fucking crashed a Food Truck through the wall. I feel bad about it sometimes, sometimes. I’m imagining the scenario in my head where someone who likes Junkan but didn’t check the tag super often because it wasn’t like, a super commonly updated one, and then pressing it for the first time in a year and being like “What the fuck happened here?” You know what still shocks me? Not once have I gotten hate for any of this. I was so fucking scared for like half of this projects creation that I was going to get bombarded with people angry at me for shipping this, and NOTHING. I’m not complaining I’m just confused. I have to at least have had a few people block me right? It’s just so eerily quiet. And it’d be one thing if it’s just a thing of like “Why would people who hate Junkan check the Junkan tag” because yeah, that makes sense. But also I’ve been putting at least one Junkan pic in both characters tags every day for 3 fucking months, there had to be at least one Mikan super fan who is eternally fed up with my antics. Like, awesome that I didn’t get harassed over a ship, that actually gives me a little hope that nature is healing, just. Crazy right???
So like. Fuck.
I guess I’ll get to the sappy shit now?? I think I ran out of things to be confused about in terms of what I did this year because of this ship. So I guess I’ll just start talking about how much it means to me, both the ship, and this project.
(trigger warning, mentions of abuse, nothing super graphic in my opinion but could be mildly uncomfortable. Either skim ahead or stop here)
2024 kinda, fuckin sucked for me to be honest?? I have like 2 good things I can speak for it in terms of major positive points (Obviously I had other good experiences but if I just said “Oh I read a I Love Amy and it was one of the greatest things ever” it lacks the same impact). Not counting getting this project to like, work, obviously.
I finished the 5 chapters of my webcomic that I wanted prepped so I could actually make a website and start posting (ignore how I didn’t make the fuckin website yet). And I started dating my darling Yves and Rivette. Who I cherish deeply. I made other friends this year, a lot of them in part cause of this ship. And I went through a lot of emotional change.
But to get that change it required I unpack a lot. And by a lot, I mean one bag that was filled to the brim. Gonna try real hard not to like, talk about this in excessive detail or turn this post into some woe is me bullshit, but I feel like I should at least make mention of it.
At the beginning of the year, I asked Yves (who I wasn’t dating yet) about my previous romantic relationship. And she confirmed to me that, based on everything I had told her about it overtime, that yes, it was abusive.
During 2021-2022 I was in a relationship with a girl I won’t name here, you wouldn’t know her of course, it was a completely different community. It started out as friends, I got a crush, jumped at it because I was still inexperienced with feelings, and it didn’t work out. And that’s the simple way of putting it, and that’s how I viewed it till Yves opened my eyes.
From the getgo it wasn’t healthy. She was manipulative, constantly had outbursts towards me, and yanked me around emotionally constantly. I would later find out that she had a previous history of just, generally being an awful person. Even after we broke up we still stuck around each other, mostly because I felt guilty for breaking up with her, and was also just generally terrified of her. The abuse was all mental of course, it was long distance so she couldn’t hurt me physically at all.
I of course, didn’t process any of that as me being abused, I even viewed myself as being at fault for a lot of it. The experience was so bad that I identified as Aromantic because just convinced I wasn’t able to feel proper romantic feelings for someone. It wasn’t till much later when I got another crush that I realized that I’m Panromantic, and me being Aro (and very briefly Aegoromantic) was basically just a coping mechanism to write off my trauma. I still feel guilty about that since it feels like I devalued the importance of people who do identify on the Aro spectrum, but that isn’t relevant here.
Point is, a lot of bad shit happened to me because of that woman, and even after a year and a half of us not talking because we both mutually decided it would be better for us to not stay in contact, she still found ways to worm her way back into my life. One conversation we had just by chance, to catch up, that’s all it took and I was thinking of her again. I never talked to her after that, and I have her blocked now, but I didn’t need to for shit to hit the fan.
So I asked Yves that question, she answered, and I now suddenly had to deal with the fact that I was abused, and that I was traumatized as a result. And like, I never really viewed myself as a traumatized person up till that point, I viewed myself as someone who wasn’t very smart but tried her best to do good by people who didn’t have too much baggage beyond some sucky school memories.
When I had to unpack what happened that kind of spiraled into severe Self Confidence Issues and even more Self Hate. I struggled to accept even the slightest compliment if it wasn’t directed at my art. The reason I even quit weed is because I used it almost exclusively to suppress all of the negative emotions I felt.
I’m in a somewhat better place now, I’m trying to give myself more breaks from artwork, rather than overworking myself constantly just to feel something (and being fully open, I realized near the end of december that I pretty much used Overworking as a form of self harm). I’m gonna really try this year to like, actually let people be nice to me, and in turn try to be nicer to myself. And I have goals to work towards for this year. But I wouldn’t have gotten to this point without two things. One, my girlfriend Yves, who even before we started dating helped me through multiple breakdowns and has helped/allowed me to grow into a (I hope) better, healthier person. And even after I got over most of my feelings related to my Ex, has continued to help me cope with my self hatred. I cherish every moment we share and wouldn’t trade her for anything.
And the other thing, which I know will sound silly right after I talked about my girlfriend, is well. Junkan.
Let me say this, I didn’t get into Junkan to cope with my abuse. I have toyed with the notion in my head before and the idea of it pisses me off to a quite frankly irrational degree. I was into Junkan before I realized my issues. If you want my coping mechanism it’s Alex from Minecraft and no I’m not explaining that right now.
That said, it, like all the yuri ships I like, was a source of comfort for me. Originally I read stuff like Tokomaru fics just to help me reduce stress, back when I dealt with really severe anger issues due to the online spaces I occupied. And to this day reading a nice, fluff fic can calm me down a bit. But now they can serve a much deeper sense of comfort, away from all the bullshit, and obviously, gave me a way to distract/calm myself from the storm of negative emotions and memories that filled the brain.
I see myself in Mikan more than I’d like to personally admit, obviously not to the extreme, but in aspects. So it’s just, nice to see a better timeline for her with Junko, ones where she gets to be happy and maybe even heal as well. It just so happens that I also think there’s a lot of genuinely good potential for the ship from either a canon or non-canon perspective, and Junko’s just a really enjoyable character.
Working on this project helped too. It gave me a way to dive deeper into my love for this ship, and gave me a sense of purpose and validation that helped me work through the rough. Whether it was the really bad mental health days, or just a shit streak of commission work that tore away at me because my job even if I love drawing can be a real drag at times, and i’m unfortunately a workaholic (Trying to work on it though).
I think i’ve said it before but even something simple as Val showing her excitement over the art pieces I was prepping could genuinely brighten my day even while I was at my lowest.
And then when I really started pursuing this as a project, rather than just a secret stash to satiate myself and one other person minimum, I realized I could do something good here. For the people like me who loved this ship but might have been too nervous about expressing it, the people who were just really craving it, and the people who had already made all of the fics and art that sent me into this spiral of obsessive passion in the first place! A gift to all of them, to make ya’ll happy.
In hindsight, may not like, the healthiest mindset for setting off this whole project. But hey it all kinda circled around into eventually helping my mental health recover. So like, win?
And i’ve already spoken on how Day 60 allowed me to feel a lot more emotionally free as an artist even if I still have my struggle days. I’ve gotten better just in general as an artist as I improve more at stuff like expressions, posing, linework, etc. And I’ve even managed to make friends with some of the people I used to look up to as idols and can finally just view em as normal people now. (Even if I might still be a bit excessive in my praise, I swear I’m normal about ya’ll besties I just don’t have like, a middleground for showing my appreciation and affection for my friends. It’s maxed out unless I’m tired as shit)
I find myself comedically terrified of how this ship has affected me over the course of 2024, and how it will likely continue to affect me through 2025 even as I try to move onto other projects not related to Junkan. I wanna show off my love for Fairy Tail on my main blog, and I really think that with a full years time and the first five chapters done I really can get my comic off the ground and focus on that for the foreseeable future.
But hey, 2025 at least we got two whole Junkan Events. And with Junkan Week I’d like to keep that going for as long as I can, unless someone else takes the reins way down the line. So this ol’ blog’ll keep going for a good while I imagine, even if it’s a lot smaller. Maybe I’ll find other ways to keep this place active, I’ve considered just making it a one stop shop for all things Junkan though I don’t think I’m really suited to manage that. Maybe someone’ll read this and try there hand at it down the line, maybe someone’ll do their own 100 Days of Junkan!
Oh hey did I ever tell ya’ll I was gonna make a comedic video just making a guideline for how one could make their own 100 Days Project. It was gonna be like, pretty obvious points just framed in a very exaggerated and comedic tone.
Alright anything else I should cover? Fun facts? Deep personal anecdotes? Sappy stuff?
Lemme check my files, maybe i got another dumb joke image-
. . .
Oh . . . Well there’s somethin.
Alright, don’t get to excited ya’ll, but just for a bit of fun, how about one last day in the project. I know 101 days doesn’t roll of the tongue as well, but I think this is vaguely interesting enough to make up for that! Tune in tomorrow. Same time, same place.
As always, Reblogs, Comments, and Little Notes in the Tags are appreciated!~ They always make my day!~
#danganronpa#junkan#junko enoshima#mikan tsumiki#junkomikan#enomiki#junko x mikan#enoshima junko#tsumiki mikan#shipping
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*✧・ 2024 blorbo awards *✧・
my love and light @forget-me-maybe tagged me in this and it's so fun and who doesn't want to talk about the blorbos? + my own categories, just for fun.
i'd like to invite @lizziemajestic and @faetouchedfool and @kimberbohwrites to the ball! if you want to, of course. i could sit in a circle with all of you and scream about these characters all day.
blorbo of the year (+ villain of the year)
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solas, dragon age: inquisition/veilguard. i know, i know. we're all shocked. my moots and irls all pray for the day i get over him so i can talk about literally anything else, send them art of anyone else, and act deranged about anyone else. since i picked up dragon age for the first time this summer, he has been on my mind to the point of psychotic obsession. love u pookie also he was right sorry world
bastard of the year
aradin beno jr., baldur's gate 3. oh brother this guy STINKS. he is perhaps my favourite wet, angry dog and he has been my first ever 5-minutes-of-screentime-and-never-left-my-mind. there is so much potential hiding behind those sad brown eyes in that angry pretty face. i especially enjoy him when he's being fucked by older men who don't give a shit about him (or do they?), kudos to @graysparrowao3.
aradin also brought me the beno babes, the sweetest group of equally feral people i have ever met and with whom @lizziemajestic and i have created a wonderful online space with. and of course he has brought me lizzie, who truly is the brightest star in my sky.
tear jerk(er) of the year
astarion ancunín, baldur's gate 3. yeah, yeah. fork found in kitchen. if i think about him too much or look at him for too long i start gagging on nothing and tearing up. solas may have won the battle this year, but astarion has won the war forever. he was the first fictional character i ever experienced this level of obsession with, and he singlehandedly caused me to pursue fandom spaces and got me back into writing fan fiction. my one true love i fear.
kiss of the year
solas' fade kiss, dragon age: inquisition. i actually screamed and almost threw up when i saw this. i think about it several times a day every single day. the head turn, the immediate open mouth, the shaking of the head like he just cannot help himself, the fact that they didn't bother to animate his hands correctly and yet still made sure to animate him making her grind on his thigh. i will never be over this or normal about it.
sex scene of the year
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lucanis dellamorte, dragon age: veilguard. RAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH lucanis was my first da:v romance and i've made several attempts at romancing the others, but i keep coming back. this scene was so beautiful and so sexy and full of so many delightful implications oh my GODDDDDDDAAAAAAMMMMMNNNNNNNN RAAAAAAAAAAH I'LL NEVER BE OKAY AGAIN
oc(s) of the year
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inquisitor lavellan, dragon age: inquisition/veilguard. and theus. my moots know better than to ask me about theus bc i genuinely cannot stop once i start, so i won't. just know that he is my son and i love him. my inky will probably one of my favourite player characters of all time and i draw/think/write about her every fucking day bro.
#fang#astarion#aradin#dragon age#solas#dragon age the veilguard#tag you're it#lavellan#dav spoilers#dragon age spoilers#lucanis#rookanis#dragon age lucanis#da:v#da:tv
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— Acxa asked me to remind you to set a course of flight, —Xasthur entered the cabin, smoothing his hair, slightly wet from the shower. He looked up without hearing a reply. Lotor with a sly smile stood in the middle of the room, his hands behind his back. — Hey… Why are you so mysterious? — Xas chuckled. — Come here, — the prince replied without changing his posture. Xasthur raised his eyebrows slightly, but obediently came closer. — Close your eyes and bend over. — Um… okay, — the man replied a little confused, closing his eyes. He heard Lotor come quite close, touching his neck, putting something on. — You can open your eyes now. Xas looked at him in bewilderment, then lowered his eyes down. There was a small pendant hanging on his chest, with a… — Whoah! It's so beautiful, — Xasthur said, mesmerised by the galaxies, stars and nebulae moving inside the glass ball. — It's… for me? Why all of a sudden? — Remember when you told me you couldn't remember when your birthday was? And then you said you wanted to count the day we first met as your birthday? — Y-Yes, — Xas looked at the prince in surprise, then at the pendant. — A year has passed since that day. I've been thinking for a long time about what I'd like to present you. I thought that… — Lotor blushed a little. — You love the sky, and now it's always with you. — I… I completely forgot about this day,— Xasthur said confused. He looked at Lotor, his heart pounding frantically in his chest. He felt his cheeks redden. — This is… my first gift ever. — Stay always like this — kind, bright…. the best in my life, — Lotor said quietly, finally embarrassed by Xasthur's gaze. He ran his hand over the man's cheek. Xas looked at the prince with such mad love, that a shiver ran through his body. — I love you. Happy birthday, Xas. — Gods… — Xasthur couldn't take it anymore. He grabbed Lotor, hugging him tightly. Xas kissed him frantically, burying his fingers in white hair, touching his soft cheeks. — Have I told you before that you are incredible? — I think you did, — Lotor threw back his head, smiling happily, gasping, as Xas opened his neck for kisses. — I guess we're not flying anywhere tonight, — Xasthur said hoarsely, nudging the prince towards the bed. I created Xasthur exactly one year ago, on the 10th of January. Voltron became a salvation for me then, at first I watched the series just for fun, a friend recommended it to me. The first two seasons flew by unnoticed, and then I saw the third. And I saw Lotor. And I lost my head completely. I wanted so much to give him someone who would sincerely love and care for him. I didn't even realise at first that I'd be so taken by it, Xas has been developing and growing as a character all this year and I'm literally happy drawing them. It's been a long time since I've wanted to draw every day and a long time since I've enjoyed the process. This couple has become my salvation and they have become each other's salvation. Happy birthday, Xas! <3
#voltron#lotor voltron#voltron legendary defender#vld#voltron oc#lotor#prince lotor#galra#galra oc#artists on tumblr#digital art#artwork#art#my art#illustration#drawing#vld lotor#vld oc#fake screenshot#lotor x oc
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Pure
Day Eight of the Seasons of Life Drabble Challenge
A Pero Tovar Fic
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MASTERLIST
We’ve been going over a week, we are now into Spring & the prompt of Blossom. I’ve never written for Pero before, so I’ve tried not to make him as grumpy as he actually is.
Synopsis:- The Cherry Blossom isn’t the only thing catching his eyes
Word count:-290
Warning:- Arranged Marriage
Thanks as always @lady-bess @berryispunk @fanfictionoverload I do have a question though. I have 2 short linked fics for the same day a bit further down the line, can I post them both? It will make sense I promise.
Also thanks for the support & for reading these peoples.
There you stand. Admiring the cherry blossoms. So free. So fresh. So at one with everything. A sheer sight of beauty. A sight you will never forget. You softly smile as you touch some of the blossom, some of it falling into your hand. A light dusting.
“It’s how ive always imagined” you say.
“Only the best for you my beautiful bride” Pero says. He is admiring your innocent beauty. Enjoying the view of the beautiful trees & blossoms but also you, in your white dress, your bare feet & the way you caress the flower. You softly turn around & face him.
“& I will only be the best wife for just my husband.” You are an arranged marriage to Pero but he selected you over four other ladies. You blushed as pink as the blossoms when he kissed you. Felt as light as a petal as he held your hand. & now here you stand. The light touching you, making the scene even more angelical, a beauty he has never seen before.
“& I…” he steps next to you & holds your hand “…promise to be the most loyal & loving husband. I promise to respect you & love you forever”
“Is that a smile?” You tease. Pero is well known for being very moody & grumpy. His moustache twitches & his eyes dance, draw into your glorious beauty.
“Like I said, my wife gets the best.” His head leans into your personal space. His large hand capturing your face, before those red plump lips embrace yours. You will get this smooth sensual kiss every day for the rest of your life with your charming husband, who’s only happy when he is with you, his beautiful bride.
#seasonsoflife#seasonsoflifechallenge#fanfictionoverload#pedro pascal#fanfic#my fics#smutt#no minors#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal cinematic universe#over18#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal character fanfiction#pedro pascal fan fic#pedro pascal fandom#pedro pascal fic#pedro pascal smut#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal universe#pero tovar#Pero Tovar fic#Pero Tovar fan Fic#pero tovar fanfiction#Pero Tovar smut
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julian doodle dump ???
im obsessed with him. so ive been working toward drawing julian in a way that does him justice, and i grow closer yet closer.
here's my latest drawing of the boy (left) next to the very first one (right), which i made over 2 years ago now (wow!)
vvv
im getting there.. i do love the improvement. the problem is just whether i can replicate this vibe or not. like if i draw him this way today, will i be able to do it again tomorrow? we'll see
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here's a random array of more doodles and unfinished drawings ive made between then and now. i doodle a lot, you'll notice. it's very much on display, how inconsistent my art style is 😭 though tbf some of these are considerably older compared to others.
i just want to get to a place where i can draw whatever i want and it actually looks decent a majority of the time. but im self-taught and have zero patience, so it's slow going
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that's it for now. i kind of want to post more art, so there may be more doodles here in the future. my lack of consistency is what keeps me from posting them most of the time. like don't even get me started on my backlog of esme sketches that don't even look alike
but maybe i don't even care at all (i do)
#art writes#one day i will be able to draw fr#and then i will draw them kissing... every day..#doodles#julian devorak fanart#julian devorak#the arcana
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he’s been down bad since the 50’s idk what to tell you
#hal jordan#barry allen#green lantern#the flash#halbarry#it’s been way too long i miss them every day 💔💔#my art lol#probably not a good idea to post this at 3 in the morning. but#ALWAYS draw shorts jordan. *blows a kiss to the sky* for soup
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There are two wolves that live inside of me.
One is a big aro Arthur headcannoner, and doesn’t think John and Arthur need to be in a romantic relationship, because it’s more interesting to see their relationship develop platonically while exploring emotional intimacy, and dealing with the hardships of such a close relationship, but still loving and caring for eachother in the end, without them needing to kiss.
The other was trying to find where the episode they kissed in was.
#I need to get off Ao3#I love both sides of the coin#I’ll draw them kissing anyways#malevolent#malevolent podcast#arthur lester#john malevolent#jarthur#private eyes#limb posting#The delusions are getting stronger every day that goes by
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