#angs!t! angst angst angst angst-
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leclerc-hs · 7 months ago
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do i wanna know? (pt.2) - cl16
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pairing: brother'sbff!charles x gasly!reader summary: in which you find yourself tangled in a web of emotions with your brother's best friend OR it was never just sex between you and your brother's best friend warnings: 18+, smut under the cut!, badly translated french (prob), angst!!!!, not proofread!! word count: ~2.3k author's note: SURPRISE SHAWTY!!!!!! i am here apologizing for being MIA for so long. if this is SHIT I apologize I just have been struggling with writer's block for months and have been very stressed and busy with work!!! I really tried my best so don't be too mean to me over this lmaooo. I love u all!!! there will be more of them to come ;) also since it's been so long since I've properly written this MIGHT be a little rusty so pls forgive me
✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦
THE TRANQUIL MELODY of the waves crashing against the shore is truly a captivating sight. You sat by the water in an oversized t-shirt and bikini bottoms, absorbed in the symphony of nature. So engrossed were you in the soothing sounds, the glistening water, and the caress of the breeze, that Charles’s approach caught you off guard.
“There you are,” his voice resonated like the ocean. You sensed the warmth of his presence as he settled beside you on the sand, propped up on his hands.
Though you didn’t turn to face him, you could feel his gaze fixed on your profile.
“Do you think we’re being stupid?” You couldn’t help but ask. 
“Quoi?” What?
“I just don’t want to hurt Pierre.” You finally turned your head to look at him. “Was it a mistake?”
You didn’t think it was. But the more you sat and thought about it, the more stressed over the situation you became. 
“No.”
You smiled softly, pulling your knees up and resting your head upon them as you truly took in the sight of him. 
“I think we should do it again.”
-
The two of you fell into a pattern quickly.
“Such a dirty fucking slut,” Charles groans out loud as he looked at the sight of you on your knees before him. His cock was heavy in your hand as you slowly start to pump him. Pre-cum leaking from the tip, oozing onto your fingertips. It was a gooey mess.
You stare up at him with a smirk on your lips as you take in his flushed cheeks and his pale knuckles from clenching the countertop so tightly.
“Mmm,” You moan as you bring him to your mouth, swirling your tongue around him slowly. You suck lightly before dragging him in and out of your mouth. 
You swore you could look at him for forever and never get tired of it. You were constantly in the depths of convincing yourself it was nothing but sex. 
“So fucking beautiful.”
“Could stare at you all day, mon ange.”
But is it really?
-
You’re not sure when it changed. But it did.
The gentle warmth of the morning sun seeped through the delicate curtains, causing you to let out a soft groan as you slowly awakened. Shifting in the bed, you squint against the bright light, and eventually force yourself to emerge from the cozy embrace of sleep.
As you turn your head, your attention was instantly met by the striking view of a broad, bare, and muscular back dominating your view. Instantly, a swarm of butterflies fill your stomach.
The early sunlight cast a soft glow on his smooth, tanned skin, accentuating the sculpted contours of his muscles. His breathing was steady and calm, a comforting rhythm that contrasted with the crisp morning air. His hair, slightly messy, fell against the nape of his neck.
The gentle upward curve of your lips was almost instinctive as you reached out toward him, running your fingers through the soft wisps of hair at his neck.
He lets out a small grumble as he shifts around, his face nestled in the pillows. Then, he turns to you, his gentle smile already in place before he opened his eyes. His arm drapes over you almost instantly, tugging you into the warmth of his body and immediately peppering soft kisses to your neck.
“Je pourrais rester ici pour toujours.” Could stay right here for forever. He whispers in between the soft kisses.
You feel the blush form on your cheeks almost instantly.
“Me too,” you respond softly.
“Do you think we could?”
The longing to say yes tugged at your heart, but you resisted, knowing the potential complications it could bring. Instead, you laughed, trying to shake off the heavy thoughts about the chaos and challenges that might follow. For now, it was just the two of you. Just two regular people.
No Pierre. No burdens of the outside world.
It’s been weeks of this. Whatever this was between you. You both found yourself too greedy to give it up. The sex was too good. He was too good.
-
Strong fingers intertwine with the strands of your hair, a delicate tug at the roots sends a tingling sensation cascading across your scalp, igniting a fiery yet exquisite sensation that dances on the edge of pleasure and exhilaration. 
“Nous devons faire attention.” We need to be careful. You softly groan as your bare back becomes flush against the contours of his chest, slightly dampened with sweat. The pace of his hips doesn’t falter as he brings his lips to the shell of your ear.
“Pourquoi?” Why? You know he’s teasing you. “Want me to stay hidden, hm?” The one hand that rests against the soft skin of your hips squeezes hard, as if he needed the reminder that you were here and, in his arms, and on his cock. “Ton petit secret sale?” Your dirty little secret?
The words wouldn’t come. Every time you tried to speak, they tangled in your throat, choked by the weight of the situation. You wanted to tell Charles that you didn’t see him that way, that he meant more to you than anyone else. But your brother…his best friend, loomed too large over whatever it was you two were.
You struggled to hide your wince as Charles places a quick but harsh squeeze to your throat. 
“Not even that will shut you up, hm?” He groans in between each thrust. “Pierre is in the room next over. It’s like you want to be caught.”
“Maybe I should just call him in here, hm?” 
You felt yourself pushing back against his thrusts, meeting him in the middle at a feverish pace, needing to remove the ache between your legs.
“Let him see how big of a cock slut you really are.”
You shook your head, soft moans escaping your dampened lips as his arm slips down and presses to your clit.
“No?” He eggs you on. “You’re just my little cockslut, right?”
You nod eagerly, your head lolled back against the crevice of his shoulder and neck for support. 
“Say it.” He demands, his fingers quickening on your clit. “Tell me you’re my little cockslut while you cum all over me.”
“I’m-“ You struggle to get the words out, too caught up in the way his cock slips in and out of you, his fingers rubbing your clit, and the groans escaping past his lips into your ear.
“C’mon mon ange,” He grits. “Make a fucking mess.”
“I’m yours.”
It happened so fast, it was almost a blur as Charles hurriedly pushes you face first into the mattress, hips slamming into you at such a speed, you both went soaring over the edge of your orgasms.
A few quiet minutes passed as you both caught your breath, little laughs and smiles as both of your bodies lie in a tangled mess.
-
“The Gala is coming up,” Charles spoke. His throat burning in anticipation as he waited for you to catch onto what he was implying. He wanted you by his side. Wanted you on his arm. Wanted no one to touch you but him.
“Nous avons déjà discuté de cela.” We’ve discussed this already.
Charles could slowly feel the annoyance building in his chest as he pushed himself up off the bed, dragging his body to the bathroom to retrieve a wet cloth to clean you up. He wasn’t used to this, to say the least. And he wanted you to himself so fucking badly.
It wasn’t until after his finished cleaning you up, that he spoke again. “Combien de temps?” How long?
You sat up, slipping on whatever article of clothing was closest to you. No doubt, one of Charles’ worn t-shirts that draped to your thighs.
You tilted your head to the side just slightly, encouraging him to continue.
“How long will you avoid telling Pierre?”
-
Giving Charles the silent treatment was probably the worst thing you could’ve done to him. But you didn’t know what else to do. 
Your back was turned to him, the burn of his eyes on the nape of your neck had you on high alert. You couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t meet his gaze.
The room felt colder with each passing second, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on you both. You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it impossible to speak. A part of you wanted to turn around, to meet his gaze and to find some way to fix whatever this was. But the fear of what you might see in his eyes—hurt, anger, hunger—kept you frozen in place. Well, as frozen as you could be while dancing with another man.
He was proper cute. Tan skin, chocolate eyes, scruffy hair. His name, however, slipped past your mind. You think it was Rob. Or was his name Ryan? Something with an R. You think.
It didn’t help in the slightest bit that Pierre is the entire reason you’re in this situation to begin with. He practically forced you into the arms of Rob. Or is it Ryan?
“You look beautiful tonight,” The man looked down upon you, a small grin on his face as he twirled you around the dance floor. A small blush crept up on your cheeks.
“Merci.” You thanked him. “How do you know my brother?” You needed to keep the conversation going. Anything to take your mind off the stare burning your skin from afar.
He opened his mouth to begin a response but was instantly interrupted as soon as the voice of another was by your side.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Charles began, but he was clearly anything but sorry. His voice was stoic, void of any emotion but annoyance. “I need a word with you.” And before you could put up any argument, his fingers clasped onto your wrist, dragging you away from the dance floor and out of the ballroom.
Despite your protests for him to slow down, he continued at his unrelenting pace, tagging you along without regard to your inability to keep up. Charles then ushered you, if one could call it that, into what appeared to be a cramped coat closet.
The dim lighting obscured the usual green hue of his eyes, leaving you uncertain whether it really was the poor illumination or his evident anger that caused this change.
“Are you crazy?” You half-shout, waving your arms in the air in frustration once you pull your wrist from his grip. “You just made an absolute scene in there!” 
“I made a scene?” He raises his voice in frustration. Like he can’t believe that you have an issue with his behavior when you were the one dancing with another man. “You might as well just go fuck that guy on the dance floor!” 
He knew he was talking in fits of jealousy, and he knows that it’s wrong. But he couldn’t contain it. Couldn’t help but have an outburst over this situation. You didn’t even look at him the entire night.
“It was one dance!”
“I don’t care if it’s just one. It may as well be five hundred!” He sneered while his fists clenched at his sides. “Je ne partage pas.” I don’t share.
“I can’t do this right now.” You pleaded softly.
“Do what, exactly?”
“This.” You silently begged for him not to continue questioning. To not go there.
“And what is this?” or what he really meant is ‘what are we?’.
You both fell into a silence as the weight of the question weighed down on you both. You didn’t want to reach this point. You both knew what it was, but you weren’t ready for the answer. It was supposed to be fun and just sex. Something Pierre would never need to know about.
Charles took your silence as an answer. But he refused to accept it. He made a small step towards you, his green eyes locked onto yours, to which you retreated one back.
“Please don’t come closer,” You begged with a small quiver of your lip. “I need you to stand a step away from me.” You knew the moment he was closer; you were done for. Your resolve would be over.
“I can’t.” He emphasized. “I can’t stay away. Not from you.” He was distraught. Why didn’t you understand? 
“Charles, please.” Your lip quivered just slightly as your hands fell at your sides, your fingers playing with the fabric of your dress.
“Do you think I want to be like this?” He pushed. “Do you think I want to be thinking about my best friend’s sister 24/7?” He could feel his resolve slipping the longer he stared at you. You were beautiful, one of the easiest people to talk to, and he couldn’t not love you.
It was so quick. One second you both were feet apart, the next his lips were pressed against yours as your hands grabbed onto his biceps pulling him closer to you. The feel of his muscles underneath his suit were prominent against your fingertips as you moaned softly into his mouth.
Both hands enveloped your jawline, sprawling onto your neck in a feverish rush. It was a clash of tongue and teeth, and neither of you wanted to stop.
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blackypanther9 · 11 months ago
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Very first Period – Teen!Daughter!Reader x Father!Alastor
WARNING!: Mention of blood, cursing, slight bit of angst, talking about how babies are made, talking about why the period is happening and what happens AND MORE ! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED !!! I MEAN IT ! DO NOT READ THIS IF THE BABY MAKING MAKES YOU UNCOMFY !! I tortured Alastor...
A/N: Lol Alastor had to educate himself and teach you what was happening and all the shtick. RIP Alastor Hazbin, guys. I think he died five times before he even explained anything to you and then another 10 times as he educated you. (Pic belongs to rightful owner)
Words: 4 726
TAGLIST: @meg-giry1 @wen01203
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You felt like shit, utter shit. Your lower belly was hurting and you didn’t understand why. You didn’t tell your Father, Alastor, anything about this, not wanting him to worry too much about you. A few days ago, you had a massive headache and now this. For crying out loud you were only 14 years old !
You decided to sleep a bit more, but then your Father, Alastor Hazbin, the Radio Host, barged into your room.
“Rise and shine, Darling~!”, he happily said.
“Daaaad...! Just five more minutes, please...”, you whined.
The Radio Host looked at you in confusion and looked at the time. You already slept in two hours more than usual and that on your and his free day too !
“Cher, you slept two hours longer in than usual, and that on our day off too. Are you alright ?”
You turned to him and looked out from underneath your blanket.
“My lower stomach hurts...”, you admitted, knowing it was no use to lie to him.
Alastor looked at you in worry.
“Oh dear...”, he muttered and left the room in a hurry.
It didn’t take long for your Father to return with a cup of a hot drink. He put it down on the night table.
“Here you go, Cher. My Mother taught me how to make this. She said if a woman has lower stomach pains, this will help the pains to subside.”, he said.
You looked at him and smiled softly.
“Thank you, Papa.”
“You’re welcome, my little doe. Now...do you want to cuddle and stay in bed until you feel better ?”
You nodded gently and made grabby hands towards him. Alastor chuckled and got into your bed in front of you. You immediately crawled over to him, put your head on his chest and smiled happily, snuggling into your Father. The Radio Host wrapped his arms around you and held you, while you enjoyed the comfort he gave you.
As the tea was cooled down, Alastor handed it to you and you drank the cup empty, then fell asleep on your Papa, who didn’t mind it at all.
It was afternoon when you woke up again and needed the bathroom. You carefully got up from your sleeping Father’s chest, crawled to the edge of the bed and then got up, making your way to the bathroom. After you were done emptying your bladder and washing your hands, you returned to your Father and weirdly enough, fell quickly asleep again. This never happened before, were you sick ?
As Alastor woke up, he grimaced. He felt something wet and sticky on his upper right thigh, it seemed to have soaked through his pants. He tried to move carefully, to not wake you up, but it seemed to have been fruitless. You woke up and made a noise of disgust and discomfort.
“What’s wrong, Cher ?”, the Father asked gently.
“I feel wet and sticky between my legs, Dad...”
“Did you perhaps wet yourself ?”
You gave him an offended look.
“Ewww ! Papa ! No !”
He lifted his hands in mock offence.
“I was just trying to make sure, Cher.”
As he moved you and himself, he felt that the mattress was also wet.
“What in the...”, Alastor said in confusion, disgust and worry.
“Papa...is it just me, or does the mattress feel....wet too ?”
“I feel it too, mon ange (My Angel).”
Then you froze and Alastor could feel you clench your legs.
“What is it, Cher ?”
“P-Papa...I-I’m scared...”
“Why are you scared ?”
“I...I think I am causing the sticky mess, b-but it doesn’t feel like I am wetting myself. I-I can’t stop it either. Papa, what is this ?”, you asked scared out of your mind.
Alastor hated that you were scared, because he was scared and worried too. Just what was happening ?! He took a deep breath, held you close to his chest and then tore the blanket off of both of you. His eyes went wide in horror, while you screamed.
The wet, sticky patch was blood. A pool of blood and it came from you.
“Fuck !”, Alastor cursed in a small panic.
He got quickly out of the bed and looked at his brown pants, his right pant leg was colored blood red too on his thigh. Your blood red.
“P-Papa, d-don’t leave me ! I’m scared !”
He looked at you, his daughter. He knew he couldn’t stay. He had to call a doctor. His house doctor.
“I-I’ll be right back. I need to call a doctor. Don’t panic and don’t move. P-Papa will be right back, Ch-Cher !”
Then he rushed off, while you started to sob and stare at the mess you made in bed. He sprinted to the house phone and quickly called his doctor.
“Doctor Thomas Hugo, how can I help you ?”, Alastor’s house doctor answered the call.
“Mr. Hugo ! It’s my daughter, she is bleeding out !”, the Radio Host panicked.
“Mr. Hazbin, please calm down. How old is your daughter ?”
“Fourteen !”
“Where is she bleeding out ?”
“Her woman parts I assume ! Her pants are all red and so is the mattress !”
“Has it ever happened before ?”
“No, never !”
“So this is the first time. I see...”
“How are you so calm about this ?! My kid is dying !”, Alastor panicked.
The doctor chuckled in amusement.
“She isn’t dying, Mr. Hazbin. Your daughter is having her menstruation week. It is normal.”
Alastor was confused and worried sick.
“A what now ?”
“Ah...I suppose you never heard about menstruation week before...Every month, for a whole week, a grown woman is going through it. It is normal. If you need further information, you need to seek out a library and get a biology book about woman and their menstruation week.”
After a bit more of convincing, Alastor hung up, changed his clothes and rushed out of the house and quickly drove to a library. As he arrived he went to the exact section, his doctor told him the education book would be at. He found it quickly and went to the register. The librarian gave Alastor a strange look.
“My doctor recommended it to me for my daughter. I am a single parent.”, he said as he noticed her look.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were a pervert.”, she said softly and checked the book out.
It confused the Radio Host, why he would be considered a pervert for purchasing the book ? He hurried back home, checked on his daughter, who passed out and then quickly started to read the book. As soon as he started to learn what was actually happening he got embarrassed and uncomfortable. So she wasn’t dying, her body was just growing up even more.
He looked at you and sighed gently.
‘This will be very uncomfortable to explain to her...’
He knew he was in for a long explanation...
-Time skip-
As soon as you woke up and saw more blood oozing out of your womanly part, you whimpered. Alastor heard and came into your vision, by kneeling over you and blocking your sight from all the blood you lost.
“Cher...we need to talk...”
“H-Huh ?”
“Listen...this is difficult to talk about...but I’ve called Doctor Hugo and explained your situation and he recommended me a book to educate myself and you in this. He claimed it was normal and...I know what is happening to you now, mon petit (My little one).”
“W-what IS happening to me, Papa ?”
“Your body is growing up, that’s what’s happening. You have your menstruation week.”
“What...is that ?”
“Well...every month you have a menstruation week. In that week you will bleed out, but it is never harmful. I...never wanted to explain to you where babies come from, but now...I have no choice but to tell you, so this makes sense to you. So are you ready for the most uncomfortable explanation you will, hopefully, ever have ?”
All you could do was nod and your Father sighed, sitting down to your right side and running his left hand through your hair, to calm you down.
“Well...when two people love each other, a man and a woman, they get wed. After they married they usually start to want a family, which means they want a child and...”, Alastor swallowed thickly, “...they go and sleep together, but not in the sense that you think. They kiss and all that and at some point they get undressed. A woman and a man always have different...tools between their legs. That’s why we are referred to man and woman, we have different genitals. These genitals have to...connect deeply and after a while of doing the deed, the woman ends up pregnant with a baby in her belly. This whole baby making progress is called: Sex or, as I rather like to call it: sexual intercourse. Can you follow my words ?”, Alastor asked, very uncomfortable.
“Kind of ? I mean...how do these genitals connect ? How does a baby go inside ?”
“Ah...”, he swallowed thickly again, “Well, you see, my Dear... The man’s genital is inserted into the woman’s genital and they move around until the man has something, called an orgasm. In that orgasm he can make the woman pregnant and she has the tool to carry a baby inside her. It is called a womb. You can’t make a baby without the other part either, besides you adopt a child. You, my beloved daughter, have a womb and something called egg cells. Every month your womb prepares to have a baby and if it doesn’t happen in that month, everything will start to...expire, practically. To get it all out, the dead egg cells and the preparations your womb made, you will bleed out. There are many words for this event. Menstruation week, shark week, period, strawberry week and so on. It usually goes a whole week and then it is over and you are perfectly fine again. It is practically just a cleanse.”
You scrunched your nose up in disgust.
“Eww...I never want to have intercourse with a man. Yuck.”, you said with your tongue sticking out of your mouth.
Then you looked at your Father again.
“So...I’m not dying. I am just having my womb cleansed and it will take a whole week ?”
“Exactly. The blood loss is also supposed to be healthy for you. You have an exchange of blood, which is good. But a period is always different.”
“What do you mean ?”
“You can have more than one egg cell and if that happens, you will lose more blood. And at some point too much blood loss can make you feel dizzy. You can also experience cramps and they can vary from moment to moment. Sometimes they aren’t there, other times they just make you feel uncomfortable in your own skin and other times they actually hurt. Your lower belly pains might have been cramps setting in, my Dear.”
Alastor could tell you already hated this new development of your body.
“Great, so I will also be in pain when I am bleeding out. It isn’t bad enough that it feels like I am wetting myself without any control about it. Not to forget what a mess I am making...”, you groaned annoyed.
Your Father chuckled uncomfortably.
“You will also have cravings for different kinds of food and you will be extremely moody.”
You groaned again.
“Dad...please end me. I don’t want this.”, you begged.
“Sorry, Cher. But I can’t take this off of your shoulders. I already made a list of what I should get you. You will need some more hygienic utensils, like pads, for your underwear. We will need wet wipes, a few more washcloths, some bleach, Blood Thinner Tablets to clean the sheets and clothes, sweets, chocolate and some spices. Get washed up, as long as I am shopping. Don’t worry about the bed or the mess you will be making on your way to the bathroom, I will clean it all up when I return.”
“Okay, Papa...I love you.”
The Radio Host smiled at you and gave you a kiss on your forehead.
“I love you too, mon ange.”
Then he got up and left the room, not long later he also left the house and drove off. You got up and out of bed, entered the bathroom and let some warm water into your bathtub. You will take a long, warm, relaxing bath...
-Time skip-
You were just done with washing up, as you heard your Father return. Yet you were too afraid to get out of the tub, the water slowly turning cold. You couldn’t stop the blood flow and you had tears of frustration in your eyes. Why won’t this damn nightmare stop for at least a few minutes ?!
“Cher ! I’m back !”, your Father called and you heard his footsteps.
Soon enough he was in your room with the things he knew, you needed. You were nowhere to be seen.
“Cher ?”
“Bathroom, Papa.”, you replied with a sob.
Alastor’s smile dropped and he put everything down on your desk, then knocked on your Bathroom door.
“Cher, are you still in the tub ?”
“Yes.”, he answered with a sniffle.
“Do you...want me to come in and talk what upsets you so ?”, he asked gently.
A hiccup and water was moving.
“Y-yes...”, you stuttered out.
Your Father took a deep breath, closed his eyes and then opened the door.
“I’m not seeing anything, Darling.”, he said, trying to not be a pervert.
“Pa, you saw me naked at least twice already. There is nothing new to it.”, you giggled softly.
“So you want me to look ?”
“Dad, I know that you aren’t like other men. So stop being silly and open your eyes, before you fall into the tub or stump your toe.”
“Alright, Cher.”, he said gently and opened his eyes.
He looked at you in worry and confusion.
“So, why are you still in the tub, with lukewarm water none the less, Cher ?”
Your smile dropped and you glared at your body.
“The flow won’t stop. New clothes would be stupid to put on at this rate. Pa, it feels nasty. It feels like I am peeing even though I am not. I hate it. Make it stop, please.”, you begged him.
Your Father gave you a sympathetic look and left the Bathroom, returning with a small package. He sat down on the edge of the tub and held it up to your vision.
“These are Tampons, Cher. They are a piece of fabric and at the end is a string attached. I got from each different thickness two packages. This one is supposed to be the average size and thickness.”, he explained, feeling uncomfortable.
Oh, how he wished his Mother was here now, she would have had no issues teaching you this. He had to read in a damn biology book about this and now he has to teach you. He is VERY uncomfortable, but for you, his sweet daughter, he would do anything. Even leave his comfort zone to help you. You two were in this together.
You tilted your head to your left in confusion and looked at your Father.
“Why is a string attached to it ?”, you asked.
Alastor gave you a gently, yet wobbly, smile. He opened the package, carefully pulled one Tampon out and unwrapped it, then showed you the whole thing. You were confused, but ready to listen.
“The string here is there so you can pull it out. The whole piece of cotton fabric has to go inside you, where the blood comes out. It won’t hurt, don’t worry. It will stop the blood from flowing out of you and soak it up instead. When it is full, you will know, then you pull it out and replace it with a new one. Also, each time you go to the bathroom to relief your bladder, make sure to change your Tampon. It is hygienic and you will have a longer time before you have to change it again.”, he explained gently.
You looked at the small thing in wonder, yet in uncertainty too.
“Where does it go and....will it even fit ?”, you asked.
Alastor gave an uncomfortable chuckle and nodded.
“It will fit, don’t worry, as for where...the book I read in, has a very good description as a picture, I will go get it and show you.”
“Okay !”
Your Father got up and left the Bathroom, soon enough entering again with the biology book. He opened it and turned the pages until he had the side, then he turned the book around and showed it to you. Your eyes widened and you blushed deeply.
“Oh my stars...”, you muttered.
He lowered the book again and gave you and awkward nod.
“Indeed...”
“Okay then...Can I have one now ? So I can get out of the tub ?”, you asked gently.
Alastor nodded, took out a new packaged one, while you stood up in the tub, opened it for you and gave you the Tampon. You took it out of the Package, pulled on the string to make sure it was connected correctly, spread your legs and then gently inserted the Tampon. It felt weird...but you almost forgot about it after it was fully inserted.
Your Father looked away in respect, not wishing to make it any more awkward as it already was. Then you carefully got out and tapped his shoulder as you were wrapped in your towel. He turned around and looked at you.
“All done ?”, he asked.
You nodded gently with a small smile.
“Feeling better too, Cher ?”
“A bit, yes.”
“Good. Get dressed, I still have to show you another useful thing you will need to wear.”
“Alright, Papa.”
With that Alastor collected the open package of Tampons, the book too and left the Bathroom, letting you get dressed. After you were all dressed up, you entered your Bedroom and saw your Father taking off the soiled bed sheets. He stopped in his tracks when he saw you.
“Can I help ?”, you asked him, feeling guilty that you ruined the sheets.
“No, no, Cher.”, your Father quickly denied.
Then he finished tearing off the dressing of the mattress, seeing the damage it took. A huge red stain. The blanket also had a red stain.
“This will be taken care of easy enough ! Now ! Sit down at the foot of the bed, mon petit !”, your Father said, chirpy.
You did as told and Alastor sat down next to you soon enough, another box in his hands. He opened it and pulled out a white, long slip looking thing.
“This is a pad. The underside has a piece of paper on it, you tear it off and it is sticky. You put it into your underwear for extra measures to not soil your clothes. There are short ones and long ones. I bought from each length 2 packages. You tell me which ones were the most useful and I will stock up on it. Understood ?”
You nodded your head, close to crying. Your Papa went above and beyond to help you. He gave you the pad he was holding.
“Fasten it into your underwear now, mon ange. I will clean the sheets in the bathroom in the meantime.”, your Father said and then took the soiled sheets, entering your bathroom to wash them.
You quickly did as he instructed and were happy that the pad stayed stuck in your panties. Then you entered the bathroom and saw Alastor already trying to get the blood out of the sheets. The water was cold and it was already pink. He seemed to have no issues to get the stains out. He stopped and looked at you.
“Go to my bedroom and lay down, Cher. Your menstruation must take a tool on you. It is your first time after all ! You might feel sleepy again. It is normal to feel drowsy the first time it happens.”
“Are you sure, you don’t need my help, Papa ?”, you asked unsure.
“I am very sure, mon petit. Go lay down.”, your Father assured you.
You nodded gently and then left for your Father’s bedroom, laid down in his bed, cuddled into his blanket and fell back asleep.
-Time skip-
You were woken up by your Father and the sun started to set.
“Cher, what do you feel like eating right now ?”, he asked you gently.
You were in thoughts. As much as you wanted to say it was Jambalaya...it wasn’t. You had no appetite for it. You wanted something sweet.
“I crave something sweet...which is bad..you don’t like sweets...”, you sighed saddened.
“Cher, it’s alright. You have cravings now, you can’t control that. However ! I might be able to eat ONE sweet dish with you, but that will be for dessert !”
“What will that be, Papa ?”
“Beignets of course !”
Your eyes flashed in happiness.
“You can make them ?!”
“I sure can ! Hahaha !”
You hugged your Dad quickly, but winced in pain as your cramps have returned. Alastor noticed.
“What is it, Cher ?”
“Cramps...I moved too fast...”
“No worries, my Dear ! I will make you the tea again and you will be just dandy !”, your Father tried to cheer you up.
You smiled happily and nodded.
“I would love that, Papa.”
“Now...how about I make us some Crawfish Étouffée, as main course ?”
You nodded quickly. It had been a while since you had that dish !
“Yes, yes ! Please Papa !”, you said happily.
Alastor chuckled and rubbed your back.
“Alrighty then !”
You yelped as your Father lifted you up and carried you, bridal style, out of his room, down the stairs and into the living room. He put you down on the couch and then left for the kitchen. He returned a bit after, with a cup of tea and set it in front of you. It was still steaming.
“Here you are, mon ange.”
“Thank you, Dad.”
“My pleasure, Dear.”
Then he left the room again and started to prepare everything to make Crawfish Étouffée as main meal and Beignets as dessert. You pouted that you weren’t supposed to help, otherwise he wouldn’t have put you on the couch.
Your Father turned on the Gramophone and to life sprang a Jazz song, called “Broadway Rose”. You hummed a bit along, while your Father moved a bit to the tune. After some minutes you drank your tea and the next song came on, which was “Do just as I say”.
“Do we have only Victor’s songs playing right now, Papa ?”
“We do, Cher ! Is it not to your liking ?”
“No, no ! I love it ! I was just wondering.”
“Alright, Cher.”
As soon as your pain subsided, you stood up and entered the kitchen.
“Can I help, Papa ?”
Your Father looked at you.
“Only if you feel better, Cher.”
“I do.”
“Well then, you can ! Can you chop the onion, green bell pepper, parsley and the celery, while I prepare the crawfishes ?”, he asked and pulled out some crawfishes.
Some were dirty, so you nodded.
“I can !”, you chirped.
You quickly got everything ready, washed all the ingredients and then got to chopping, while Alastor took over the sink and washed the crawfishes. After he was done with washing the crawfishes, you were done chopping and he turned on the stove.
He made a roux first until it was a caramel brown, then he added your chopped ingredients.
“Can you get out the minced garlic, Cher ?”
“I will.”, you answered and retrieved it.
You gave him a teaspoon and as your chopped ingredients looked tender enough, to Alastor’s liking, he added two teaspoons of garlic to it.
“In the upper cupboard is Chicken stock, Cher. Can you please go and retrieve it ?”
You did as asked and he soon added slowly four cups of it. After all, they needed a serving for two. Everything was doubled, BUT the garlic. You weren’t a big fan of it. Alastor then added salt, pepper and more seasonings.
As soon as the mixture was boiling, he reduced the heat and put a cover over the pot, letting it simmer and only stirred it from time to time. While it will take for the next step a bit over 15 minutes, your Father started to prepare the rice already, by washing it and then adding it into another pot. He cooked the rice, knowing it will take a while anyways.
Then he waited a bit, while he smiled at you and instructed you how to make the beignets.
By the time the Crawfish Étouffée was finished, the beignets were in the oven, baking. Your Father quickly finished up the Crawfish Étouffée on both of your plates and then you both went into the Dining area. You both sat down and started to eat it, carefully, as to not burn yourselves. You hummed as the flavors exploded in your mouth and you felt happy.
As you were almost finished with consuming the dish, the beignets were ready, so your Father left to get them out of the Oven. He put over them some powdered sugar and then plated some of them, bringing them into the dining area.
“There are more in the kitchen.”, he informed you gently.
You nodded your head, as you two continued to finish your dish.
“I really missed your Crawfish Étouffée, Papa.”
Alastor chuckled gently.
“So did I, Cher. So did I.”
You gave your Father a gently smile after you finished your plate. You waited for him to finish too, no matter how much you were dying to try the beignets. After he finished he gently took a beignet and tasted it, humming in delight. You took one too and gently bit into it. Sweetness and flavor exploded in your mouth, but it wasn’t too sweet. You hummed and leaned back in your chair.
“These are delicious, Papa !”, you said after you swallowed.
He chuckled.
“They truly are, mon ange.”, he agreed and ate another one.
After you finished eating, cleaned the table, the dishes and your Father put away the leftovers of the beignets, he turned to you.
“Your bed is still wet, so I suppose you can sleep with me tonight, Cher.”
You nodded your head and left the kitchen, changed into your sleeping attire and then entered your Father’s Bedroom. You crawled into his bed and waited for him to arrive too. He did so quickly, changed in his bedroom, got ready for the night and then joined you in his bed. He hugged you close to his chest, which gave you comfort, you didn’t even know you needed.
You turned around and he laid on his back, while you put your head on his chest, curling up on him.
“You are the best Papa in the world, you know that ?”, you asked sleepily.
Alastor was shocked as you said that, but then smiled warmly and hugged you a bit tighter.
“Now I know for certain, mon petit. Sleep well.”, he replied and kissed the top of your head.
You smiled happily.
“Good night, Pa.”
Together the both of you fell asleep, exhausted.
Alastor was exhausted from the rollercoaster of emotions he had, the trips he made and practically ran around town to not leave you alone for too long, with the cleaning he did and the immense relief that you were not dying.
You were exhausted from the whole fiasco the two of you had when your period started, the blood loss and from the bit of work you did. Your first day with your first period, was anything BUT easy.
But together...you and your Papa pulled through.
Masterlist HERE !
336 notes · View notes
amourcheol · 2 years ago
Text
paris (teaser)
❝You and Jeonghan, jazz-filled corners, hidden history, and the city of love.❞
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historical! au | exes to lovers! au | angst, fluff, smut | approx. 45k words (teaser wc. 1.4k words)
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s u m m a r y : disgraced by hollywood for the last time, you, a once superstar-turned-alcoholic, escape to the city of love to seek sanctuary from the ruthless tabloids. your sanctuary comes in the form of film noir superstar yoon jeonghan, the enigmatic man who taught you the art of acting, lust and love before your fame. when he asks to meet you once, just like old times, you cannot refuse. what is meant to be a simple date turns into a path of passion, pain and everything that comes with fooling around with your ex in the jazz-filled corners of paris.
c o n t e n t s : actor! mc, actor! jeonghan, mc is incredibly bitter and makes bad decisions, agent! seungkwan who is tired of fixing them, jeonghan is the suavest, sultriest mf, mentions of parisian landmarks in this fic, also a bit of french peppered throughout, greek mythology art references, tons of fluff which is also layered with angst, this will be very hurt-comfort, hella ansgty but will have a happy ending mature warnings -> alcohol consumption and abuse, smoking, this is basically sexual tension with plot, slightly drunk making out, oral sex (f. receiving) unprotected sex (refer point to bad decisions), very soft angsty sex, body worshipping, petnames (chérie, mon ange, darling, angel), overall emotional rollercoaster, more tba!
p l a y l i s t : here!
t a g l i s t : @hyuckworld​ @sysymei @alaypsy23 @belladaises @jjeongddol @sparklyshuji @forcoups @ilovesungjun @wonwoo24 @scandal-in-bohemia @hopefulchick @superbbananananana @onedumbho3 @fragmentof-indifference @cuntycheol @rubywonu @if-i-like-i-reblog @yoonzinoooo @jungwoos-luvr @crookedwolfruins @leclercloverbot​ @alexai (let me know if y’all want to be tagged!)
a u t h o r ’ s  n o t e : after three years ... four rewritings later... she may finally see the light ... i am releasing the teaser now but will post the fic when i’m back from holiday! i hope you all enjoy the lil extract <3
read this fic here!
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SHIT. YOU COULD NOT DO THIS TODAY.
Suddenly, you wished he was a mere figment of your imagination, because then he would not have to see you in your drunken, disordered state, looking for art that was not there, looking for the past in the present.
But then he began to move.
This very real presence walked closer to you, and you felt your entire body constricting, because Yoon Jeonghan was in front of you, the greatest star in the world was approaching you, the man of your distant memories was coming too close.
“Wait,” he then said, and your throat was closing up, you were blinking rapidly, chest growing heavy, and you needed him to get away. He came closer, and you knew then and there you were going to die on the cold floor of the Louvre, marble eyes on you—
And then your own gaze was glistening, and when he noticed it became harder to contain yourself. “_____, are you all right?”
“Yes!” you got out, but then you proved yourself wrong when a few tears slipped out, staining your cheeks.
The man wasted no time, closing the last space between the two of you as he reached out. Instantly, you repelled from his touch, almost flinching from his surprise. “No!” you rasped out, bringing out your own hands to create distance, taking a step back. “No, you don’t need to do that…I’m fine.” 
You breathed sharply through your nose. “I am fine.”
Hastily you turned to the empty space where he last was, before you followed him like a madwoman around the hall. He watched you, your back almost to him. “What…what are you…” you paused, trying to normalise your shaking voice. “What are you doing here?”
You could feel his inquisitive stare upon you. “I could ask you the same thing.”
That question was not being answered. “I asked you first.”
Because you could not see him, you were not aware of his reaction. Still, it was enough for him to answer, “Well, in the Louvre, or in Paris?”
You gritted your teeth at that. “I think everyone knows why you’re in Paris at the moment.”
“Do they, now?”
You could not help it.
Casting a momentary glance at him, you were taken aback to find his gaze upon you. “Are you aware, at least?” he asked you.
Despite his simple questions, your impending headache, you had to clamp down on your remarks. “Of course I’m aware,” you muttered. “The papers are all over the press tours you’ve been doing.”
A perfectly groomed brow arched at your comment. “I’m surprised you follow the papers at the moment.” 
You knew exactly what he meant. “One must keep check of the stories they gossip about,” you only said, focusing back on the empty space. “Those journalists cannot be trusted.”
“Hmm…” you heard shuffling amongst his clothes—no doubt crossing his arms. “I have read the stories.”
A scoff. “I suppose you believe them, don’t you?”
He noted the cruelty in your response. The actor did not take it to heart.
“I have always believed in the stories you told me, chérie.”
This time, curiosity controlled your movement.
Curiosity had you turning back, forcing you to observe his expression, catch his lie. 
But you found no deception.
No, there was only sincerity—pure as the moonlight shining on the two of you.
Chérie.
The last time someone had called you such a sweet name was too long ago.
How ironic, that it was the same man beside you who had bestowed you this very endearment.
A shuddered breath left you. 
You could not do this now.
You were going to say as much when Jeonghan interrupted you.
“Were you looking for something in here?”
Your furrowed brows had him humming. “I thought as much.” Gently, he jerked his head beyond your figure. “Strangely enough, I was looking for it as well.”
Confused, you glanced back at the empty space, where that certain, mysterious sculpture was supposed to be. “That is why I came to the Louvre,” you heard him say.
There was still suspicion laced in your features. “How do you know that we are thinking of the same piece?”
That ghost of a smile crept up again. “You act as if you don’t remember.”
Your sigh was a little sheepish. “I do,” you said, reminiscing on the memories. “But the name…”
No matter how hard you endeavoured, your memory of the sculpture was too hazy for your half-drunk mind. 
You searched him for an answer. “I’m sure you have not forgotten.”
“No…I have not.”
You waited. His silence had you insisting, “Well?”
When you saw a slight glimmer in his whimsical gaze, you knew that he had something else in mind. The implications had you biting your lower lip, anxiety blooming.
The nerves grew when Jeonghan spoke.
“I will tell you if you see me tomorrow.”
You blinked back.
“There’s an exhibition opening here tomorrow afternoon,” he continued, taking a step towards you, careful not to startle you again. “It’s centred on the sculpture we both wanted to see, but it’s been moved to another hall.”
He confused you a great amount. “How do you know that?”
His stare went beyond you, to the wall. “It says on the plaque.”
Sure enough—when you looked back, there was the notice. Because your French was adequate at best, you did not understand it fully. You simply had to trust his linguistic abilities.
That you could do—you were aware of Jeonghan’s fluency in the language of love. 
He cocked his head, a few strays cascading the side of his face. “You and I could see it there.”
The offer had shaken you. “Why?”
“Why?”
You knitted your brows suspiciously. “Why do you want to go with me?”
The film noir star watched you then, you shuffling uncomfortably under his scrutiny. God, you forgot how intense his eyes were—in fairness, you had not been the subject of his stares for a few years. 
He locked his gloved hands behind his back. “Because you need a break, _____. From everything.”
He offered you a smile. “Let me be the one to give you that. If only for the day.”
You could have crumbled before him.
It was at this stage you cursed yourself for being in such a state. Perhaps if you were sober, you would have carried on this conversation in a more respectable manner, taken more caution.
It was incredibly difficult, composing yourself around the man.
“I can’t…” you inhaled sharply, trying to form the words. “I cannot do midday…too many people, you know…staring, judging…”
“Ah.” He nodded, parting his mouth in thought. “Then tomorrow night?”
Stretching your mouth, unsure, he assured, “They will not follow you here at this hour.”
“How are you so sure of that?”
This time, he sighed, surprised at your anxiousness. “I see you’ve not changed, then.”
You narrowed your gaze. “What is that supposed to mean?”
But the actor did not seem like he was going to elaborate. 
He instead took another step towards you, a mere two feet left. 
“Do you trust me?”
You tilted your head back. 
What kind of question was that?
Do you trust me?
You did not trust anyone. Not after this whole debacle back home, when almost all your friends within the industry had contributed to your downfall. Hollywood was filled with traitors, the worst being the people who haunted the journey of your disgrace at every moment.
It was impossible to place any ounce of faith in another.
As you watched his eyes settle on you, you noticed an emotion you had not witnessed in forever.
Tenderness.
Tenderness with no ulterior motive—gentle acceptance, as if he recognised your position. As if he recognised your change, the apprehensive nature of your questions, your pauses. It physically hurt being stained with such compassion, when you had been begging for it from the world all those weeks ago.
It hurt, having someone who understood you.
You, however, should not have been surprised.
Yoon Jeonghan had always been like this. Especially when you both were together.
You could have smiled. 
What a time that was.
As if he could read your mind, the film noir star began, “You remember, don’t you? That I’ve never let you down?”
You decided to let yourself slip—you could always blame it on the alcohol. 
“What time do you want me here tomorrow?”
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869 notes · View notes
dkniade · 6 months ago
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Some misc fic recommendations!
-
Teyvat scholar, Venti (ft. Traveler)
“Excerpt from the book ‘Brand New Verses From The Bard of Bards’” by threading_in_dreams (@/a-yarn-of-purple-prose)
G, 838 words.
canon-typical fragmented publication, Teyvat scholars have fun but also suffer, Poetry, pretend this is a book you picked up in-game, Traveler/Venti if you squint
Pages from a book in which a historian ponders about scraps of poetry found buried under Windrise, and argues they're part of Barbatos canon.
Very fun if you like Venti’s Archon/human personas, poetry, and piecing together information from in-game books!
-
Aether & Paimon (ft. Zhongli)
“Those who share the memories” by liminalpsych (@/liminalpsych-in-teyvat)
G, 3225 words. Fluff and light angst.
Aether POV, scrapbooks, memories, canon complimant, Pre-4.0 update, Liyue Harbor
Stone erodes beneath the fickle breeze and relentless river. Plants wither to be born anew. A flame burns to smoke and ash, and water changes form so often that it forgets even itself. The wind tries hardest of all to forget, fleeing into the far corners of the world to outrun the sands of time.
In the void above, the stars bear lonely witness to mortal memory.
Or: Paimon gets Aether to help her make a scrapbook of their travels. Aether reflects on the weight of witnessing.
Scrapbooking summarizes experiences with many NPCs from World Quests and Archon Quests. This one is kind of structured like an in-game world quest!
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Cyno, Diluc, Rosaria, Kaeya
“It’s Time To Duel!” by StrangeDiamond
G, 6,688 words, humour.
Genius Invokation TCG, misunderstandings
When Sumeru’s General Mahamatra shows up in Mondstadt, announcing his intention to duel the Cavalry Captain, misunderstandings ensue.
Humour from knights and vigilantes taking things too seriously
-
Childe/Lumine
“A meteor” by blood_orange_juice (@/blood-orange-juice)
G, 350 words, fluff, character study/analysis.
Childe POV, First Meetings, morbid fluff, morbid fluff should be a genre with these two
A white-clad figure carefully threads her way through the crowd below. She moves like flecks of sunlight on water, without bothering anyone. A sign of someone who is fun to fight and it draws his attention for a while.
Childe and Lumine's first meeting from Childe's POV. No plot, only vibes.
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Shenhe & Xiao, Cloud Retainer & Shenhe
“Like a Pair of Hunting Birds” by yelp
T, 5881 words, hurt/comfort, character study.
found family, trauma, feral child Shenhe, feral ancient Xiao, good and bad ways to manage emotions
"These were granted to me by Cloud Retainer," Shenhe explains, touching the ropes that he appears to be studying. "They bind away my murderous tendencies, as well as human emotion. Two dangerous traits for an adeptus, or for one who walks among them."
Xiao comes a little closer, and circles her. Obligingly, she lifts her hair aside, so he can see the intricate knotwork on her back, and he exhales a sigh or a scoff.
"Shall I unbind you?"
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Xiao/Lumine
“Skin Hunger” by Mythicamagic
T, 2635 words, hurt/comfort, romance.
insecurity, intrusive and self-deprecating thoughts, some descriptions of violence and gore, body worship, established relationship, non-sexual nudity
When immortals fall in love with each other, they have all the time in the world to explore their relationship; but first comes the insecurities. Xiaolumi oneshot.
Has fun parallels with their wings
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familial Diluc & Kaeya, Adelinde, Klee, Lisa, Jean
“blinded by love” by li2
G, 6481 words, hurt/comfort, angst with happy ending.
Kaeya POV, unreliable narrator, misunderstandings, temporary invisibility, familial kiss, fluff, skinship & physical touch, sharing a bed
Diluc suddenly becomes unable to see Kaeya. Thinking it’s just Diluc’s usual hatred for him, Kaeya doesn't suspect anything wrong.
Kaeya’s POV for the first half hurts so much but the second half is sweet😭
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Lumine, Paimon, familial Diluc & Kaeya
“Lamp Grass Guides You Home” by StrangeDiamond
Gen, 6387 words, fluff, light angst.
souvenirs. Chapter 2 has brief mentions of pain, starvation, and violence
After scrambling to cobble together a gift before their Jade Chamber visit, Lumine gets the idea to start collecting small gifts and souvenirs, so she'll always have something to give if she needs to.
Kaeya is the first one she goes to for advice, and he has a lot of good ideas for things she can collect and make, using Mondstadt's regional specialties. He even tells her about a certain souvenir he was once gifted - a charm made of Small Lamp Grass, encased in resin, that he unfortunately lost when he moved. There's a bit more to the story, Lumine learns, when she sets out to make one for him to replace it. There's history linked to the charm Kaeya lost . . . but there are also new memories to be made going forward.
A sweet one about making and receiving gifts
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Zhongli/Venti, Venti & Diluc (ft. misc adventurers)
“I need to tell him (I can’t tell him)” by asingleqingxin
T, 1949 words, angst, major character death.
Venti POV, mentions Istaroth, set during Chapter 1 Act I’s Rite of Descension, Venti doesn’t know Zhongli faked his death, misunderstanding played for drama, grief, dissociation, Venti loses grip on time period briefly
Oh, that's not good news.
He needs to tell Morax.
...he can't tell Morax.
OR
When the rumors about the Rite of Descension hit Mondstadt.
Angst and misunderstanding from the canon event written from Venti’s POV in Mondstadt
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pjohoo-reclists · 9 months ago
Note
hi! do you have any percico fic recommendations? i’m sure you do but i couldn’t find them, lol
Actually I dont have any posted yet!! Here you go. Thanks for the request. Enjoy!!
Percy Jackson/Nico di Angelo Fic Recs
A list of fics featuring the romantic relationship between Percy Jackson and Nico di Angelo.
Dog Sled Racing by robindrake93
T | 600 words | Complete
Percy Jackson/Nico di Angelo
Puppies, Fluff, Short One Shot
Percy and Nico try to train Mrs. O'Leary's puppies.
To Give Yourself To Someone by cabin13 (friendlypeach) 
T | 1.0k | Complete
Percy Jackson/Nico di Angelo, Nico di Angelo & Grover Underwood, Percy Jackson & Grover Underwood
Wedding Fluff, Speeches, Married Couple
Percy laughs, watching one of his closest friends stand up, almost bringing the tablecloth with him. “You’re being ridiculous!” Nico yells as Grover runs to the centre of the room. Eyes alight, slightly shadowed by black curls, a smile pushing insistently at his lips even as he tries to tamp it down – Nico is glowing with happiness. They’ve come a long way. And there's longer to go, still. Percy grabs his husband’s hand, warmth blooming in his chest.
a well-known fact about feelings by nlieco (madin456)
G | 1.3k | Complete
Percy Jackson/Nico di Angelo
Angst with a Happy Ending, Internalized Homophobia
The thing about being a boy and liking another boy is: it’s not supposed to happen.
A Happy Ending by HK44
G | 1.5k | Complete
Percy Jackson/Nico di Angelo
Fluff, Happy Ending, Domesticity
People make jokes that Percy would never handle domesticity. That he attracts danger like Hazel attracts cursed metals. He laughs along because they’re not wrong.
Something Bitter by sulucandles
G | 1.9k | Complete
Percy Jackson/Nico di Angelo
Canon Compliant, One sided, Coming Out
Percy's not as oblivious as everyone thinks he is. Or an examination into Nico and Percy's relationship through PJO and HoO
It's a Seal! by Takara_Phoenix
G | 1.9k | Complete
Percy Jackson/Nico di Angelo
AU - No gods, Merman Percy, Selkie Percy
Nico loves the aquarium, especially the turles and one marine biologist in particular.
My College Boyfriend by Takara_Phoenix
T | 3.0k | Complete
Percy Jackson/Nico di Angelo
Good boyfriend Percy Jackson, Fluff, Age Difference
Nico is seventeen and the best damn thing that has ever happened to him is his five years older boyfriend, Percy Jackson. Now if only Nico's friends would believe him that gloomy, anti-social Nico could land a gorgeous college student... Something always came up when Nico wanted to introduce them and at this point, Percy is known as Nico's imaginary boyfriend. Good thing Percy is awesome and knows how to change that though.
Pass the Eggs by DancingInTheSliverGlow
G | 3.1k | Complete
Percy Jackson & Nico di Angelo, Percy Jackson/Nico di Angelo
Canon Compliant, Protective Percy Jackson, Gay disaster Nico di Angelo
“Yes.” Percy says. “You don’t have to befriend everyone in Camp Half Blood. I just want you to have somewhere you feel safe and welcome. Okay?” A lump forms in his throat, and Nico looks away. It’s been a long time since anyone has looked out for him, the way Percy is doing now. He nods. “Great!” Percy grins, ear to ear, and Nico thinks that it’s a bit like looking in the sun. Beautiful in small quantities, but overwhelming and blinding in too much. Percy speeds off to his room to get changed and to get his skateboards, and Nico leans back against the wall in the hallway, head in his hands. He’s so, so far in over his head. Aka. Post BotL Nico visits Percy. They talk about how Nico's powers are perceived, and about how camp half blood treats children of the big three.
Perspective by chiiyo86
T | 6.0k | Complete
Percy Jackson/Nico di Angelo, Percy Jackson & Sally Jackson
AU - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Outsider POV
Sally knows her son, knows that something isn't right. She just isn't sure what he could be hiding from her.
A Bat in the Hand by Takara_Phoenix 
G | 8.9k | Complete
Percy Jackson/Nico di Angelo
Fluff, AU - Supernatural Elements, Vet Percy
Percy is a hard-working student, on his way to become a vet, because he loves animals. And then a cute, little bat crash-lands on his balcony. Of course he has to take the little guy in and nurse him back to health. Nico is a dangerous and powerful vampire lord. And then he has a run-in with vampire hunters and, in his bat-form, loses conscience and crashes on a balcony.
Some of Them by betsib
M | 11k | Complete
Percy Jackson/Nico di Angelo
Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Abuse
Percy haven't seen Nico di Angelo in five years, then he suddenly turns up in Percy's living room in the middle of the night, injured and asking for help. At first Percy thinks it's a fight gone wrong, but he soon realizes the truth is far worse than that.
you're never lost at sea by kat777
M | 20k | Complete
Percy Jackson/Nico di Angelo
Angst with a Happy Ending, Self-Acceptance, Suicidal Thoughts
The second time he tries to kill himself, Percy doesn’t talk his ear off, just gives him an ultimatum—he can either come live with Percy and Annabeth in their apartment in New Rome, or Percy will tell Hazel what he’s done. Nico pictures the devastated look on her face, the tears welling up in her eyes, her lips trembling and pressed in a thin line. Percy says he has a choice, and it makes Nico laugh for the first time since the battle at the House of Hades, because it’s no choice at all. OR, Nico attempts suicide, Percy saves him, and years pass before either of them are even remotely all right.
Kiss a Boy in Tokyo Town by antistar_e (kaikamahine)
T | 57k | Complete
Percy Jackson/Nico di Angelo, Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase
Novella, Infidelity
You know what they say, Percy Jackson. If you can't stand the heat, get out of hell.
Enriched By Envy by HK44
M | 63k | Complete
Percy Jackson/Nico di Angelo
Magic, Protectiveness, Dark Percy Jackson
Waking up at the bottom of the ocean was not on Nico's bucket list. Trying to figure out why Percy was suddenly so clingy and possessive of him wasn't on there either.
The Case of the Dying Flower by chiiyo86
E | 72k | Complete
Percy Jackson/Nico di Angelo
Murder Mystery, Slow burn, Soul Bond
It's not that Nico has been avoiding Percy for the past two years, of course not. It's just that he doesn't like to be reminded of the stupid crush he had on him when he was younger. So when Percy seeks him out with the message that the goddess Aphrodite wants to see both of them, Nico is less than enthusiastic. Before he knows it, he finds himself forcibly bonded to Percy and they're sent on a strange quest: solving a murder that happened thousands of years ago and whose primary suspects are gods.
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wangxianficfinder · 1 year ago
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Junior Centric
~*~
to make an arbitrary wager by moonsteps (G, 9k, Junior Quartet, JL & LSZ, WangXian, Post Canon, Junior Quartet Dynamics, Friendship, sizhui and the mortifying ordeal of being the gusu lan heir)
Not Yet (There As Needed) by sunrise_and_death (T, 13k, wangxian, WWX & LSZ, LSZ & JL, post-canon, family bonding, dramatic revelations)  
无别无离 | Without Farewells, Without Parting by dragongirlG (M, 30k, Junior Quartet, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Fix-It of Sorts, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, POV Alternating, Jin Ling's Hundredth Day Celebration, qiongqi path, Family Feels, Hopeful Ending)
Would You Come Home? by s6115 (Not rated, 46k, WangXian, Junior Quartet Centric, Time Travel Fix-It, Canon Divergence, Junior Quartet Dynamics)
❤️ kick at the darkness ‘til it bleeds daylight by AlfAlfAlfAlfAlf, tardigradeschool (T, 75k, WangXian, Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Eventual Happy Ending, Getting Together, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Inspired by The Parent Trap (1998), Kid Fic, teen shenanigans, two a-yuans, Fluff and Angst, [Podfic] kick at the darkness 'til it bleeds daylight by contributor-sky (deepestbluesky), esbielle was also here (esbielle), glittercracker, GodOfLaundryBaskets, jellyfishfire, kisahawklin, Koontyme, Rionaa, semperfiona)
❤️ grow by cafecliche (T, 14k, WangXian, Age Regression/De-Aging, Character Study, Post-Canon)
home is where we are by halfdemonvash (T, 17k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Twin Prides of Yúnmèng are Bad at Communicating, JC & WWX Reconciliation, Age Regression/De-Aging, Angst and Feels, Hijinks & Shenanigans, accidental baby acquisition, but it's actually your older brother, references to wwx's past being homeless, and also his past food insecurity, Post-Canon, Yúnmèng Siblings Feels, Junior Trio Shenanigans)
You Bring the Colour by fuddy_duddy (rainier_day) (G, 11k, WangXian, Modern AU, Art School, Art Restoration)
a symbol to remind you that there's more to see by paperminds (T, 9k, WangXian, canon-compliant(ish), post-canon(ish), Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Mild/Moderate Angs, tangst with happy ending, Yunmeng Shuangjie, Twin Idiots, Reconciliation) - Jin Ling & WWX focused, with a healthy side of Yunmeng bros
Anonymous Hero by NeverEnoughWangxian (T, 5k, WangXian, Modern AU, Modern Cultivators, Inventor WWX, POV LSZ, Inadvertently Reuniting Your Boss With His Old Crush/Best Friend, Reunions, Handwavy Detective Work, Handwavy Talismans)
keeping score by hauntedotamatone (T, 6k, LSZ & WWX, Background WangXian, the opposite of reconciliation, Protective WWX, Duelling, Grief/Mourning, not for jc fans, Swordfighting, Resentment, LSZ centric, No JC & WWX Reconciliation)
Lan Jingyi's Sixth Sense by bluesloth (M, 120k, LJY & WQ, LJY & LSZ, LJY-centric, Ghosts, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Explicit Language, Friendship, Drama, Humor, Action/Adventure, Family Feels, POV LJY, Canon Era, Minor Wangxian)
Tragedy is Not the End by Hobbsy3 (T, 358k, wangxian, JYL/JZX, graphic depictions of violence, major character death, People die but they (mostly) get better, Time Travel, Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Golden Core Reveal, Canon Divergence from Qiongqi Pass, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Because JGS and JZN suck, JC is doing his best, JYL fixes everything with soup and a baby, JZX gets it together, Yunmeng sibling bonding, good dad WWX, good dad LWJ, JZX Lives, JYL Lives, Wēn Remnants Live, Junior Quartet Dynamics)
Important Distinctions by nagi_blue (T, 5k, Background Relationships, Fluff and Crack, Podfic Available)
🧡 Lan Sizhui Sees Dead People Series by darkbrokenreaper (T, 30k, WIP, WangXian, LWJ & LSZ, JC & LSZ, Canon Divergence, Fluff, Kid Fic, Hurt/Comfort, lsz sees dead people, Paranormal)
🔒 Lan Sizhui's Got a Crush! by Theladyofravenclaw (T, 46k, JL & LSZ & LJY & OYZZ, LSZ/OFC, Humor, Fluff and Crack, Case Fic, Gūsū Lán Juniors Dynamics, Junior Quartet Dynamics, Body Horror, Mild Gore, technically there are two cases in this fic, as a treat, the juniors acting as wingmen for LSZ, or more like they're trying to be good matchmakers, Post-Canon)
🔒 Grim Grinning Ghosts by Theladyofravenclaw (G, 3k, JL & LSZ & LJY & OYZZ, Ghost City, mxtx crossover, WWX's Birthday, the juniors shenanigans, Gambling, slight mention of gore once they enter the city, but nothing very graphic)
🔒 How to Seduce the Yiling Patriarch by Theladyofravenclaw (T, 8k, wangxian, post-canon, temporary amnesia, case fic, fluff & humor, crack treated seriously, angst, jealous WWX, YLLZ WWX, gusu lan junior dynamics, mild gore)
🔒 blue flies buzzing by RoseThorne (T, 2k, Junior Quartet, WangXian, Gossip, Rumors, Mentioned Wēn Remnants, Sect Leader Yáo Bashing, Yunmeng bros Reconciliation, NHS Is A Little Shit, POV LJY, POV Third Person, Threats, Justice, Cultivation Discussion Conferences, LWJ is LSZ’s Parent, LJY Being LJY)
~*~
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spectrallydistracted · 2 months ago
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Count Your Blessings: Chapters 6 & 7
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FINAL TWO CHAPTERS: COMPLETE!
RATING: T
TW/CW: Mild angst
STORY SUMMARY: It’s been more than two years since they averted the Second Coming, and nearly a year since Crowley last contacted him. Aziraphale has respected Crowley’s wishes and left him alone—not a call, not a text, not a visit. But he can’t stop worrying about him. He is a Guardian, after all. He’s taken to visiting him in secret, watching out for him unseen.
Aziraphale is starting to wonder if Crowley is truly satisfied with his solitary existence. He remembers back when they’d saved Job’s children. Crowley had admitted then that being a demon who went along with Hell as far as he could was quite lonely indeed.
Finally Aziraphale comes to a decision. One night, while Crowley sleeps, he blesses him. “May someone come into your life who will help you find your happily ever after,” he says with a shaky breath and a small pull of heavenly power. He chokes back a sob. While he knows it is right and good to help Crowley find someone to share this life he has built, it breaks his heart to know he is planting the seeds of his own destruction.
CHAPTER SUMMARY:
Okay, here we go, Crowley thinks bitterly. But if they were going to put an end to Eve’s emotional kidnapping, they were going to have to get into it, no matter how painful it might be. “That’s really the problem, innit?” Crowley says. “Because I’m a demon and I’m unforgivable and along with that, you just assume I can’t feel love and I don’t get hurt when you reject me. Well, think again, ang—Aziraphale.” Aziraphale looks at him sadly, then shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant, Crowley. I’ve always known you were too good for Hell. Or Heaven, for that matter. You’re the best of Her creations.” Crowley looks stunned, but before he can think of anything to say, Aziraphale goes on. “What I was going to say was I never thought you felt that way about me. I certainly don’t deserve it.”
Continue reading on AO3
Or start from the beginning
Thanks to my excellent betas: @adverbian and @missunderstoodlyrics
@goodomensafterdark
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little-watcher · 7 months ago
Note
Ellery, what happened are you alright? What’s going on?
-@not-qualified-for-your-bull
(Ooc: I just wanted him to expirience angst and another panic attack lol don’t mind me)
i’m- i ts m y fau lt. i go t ang ry, i wa nted t o be angr y s o ba d. it- hu rts. a l ot. i’d s ay ill b e okay, b ut i try no t to li e as mu ch anymore.
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amberscriminalmind · 2 days ago
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panic room (alt ending) 💔🫶
pairing : bau team x platonic!fem ssa reader
summary : what if supervisory special agent alaia saint angelis survived peter saint angelis' torture chamber?
warnings : normal criminal minds warnings, torture, angst, loads of tears 
a/n : whilst i do love the original fic, i of course had to write an alternate ending of her surviving.
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ssa alaia saint angelis knew she couldn't stand quietly and let this unsub get away with his crimes. however, with that, she really should have been more thought out with her decision-making skills. most especially as an fbi agent with the behavioural analysis unit.
yet, if agent saint angelis' decision was later questioned, it would be 100% defended by her team and say that whilst it could have absolutely been more thought out, her plan was still the most logical idea as well as the only way in which the unsub was going to meet his end as a serial killer.
now, in her almost ten years with the bau, alaia has been through many a torture chamber but none were as horrific as the one that currently had her hanging by her wrists which was attached to the top of the ceiling of an old warehouse. refusing to show the fear that she didn't have, she put her life on the line so many times at this point that it almost becomes something of a dark joke within the bau that acted like therapy and to make light of all the times the thirty-year-old had been kidnapped and tortured whilst on a case.
however, this torture was the one case that wouldn't ever be a laughable one, even in the far-off future. this was for sure the one case that alaia knew she wasn't going to come out of alive. this warehouse was the panic room that haunted alaia's dreams every single night. and this was with the constant denial to her fellow agents as well as herself regarding the nightmares she'd have about this warehouse.
the unsub that alaia and dr spencer reid, who was also her boyfriend, were tasked to capture was a 60-year-old male, just shy of 6ft tall with shaggy brown hair and dirty brown eyes that looked black at the right angle with the stench of a garbage collector. the unsub's name was peter saint angelis meaning he was related to the bau's youngest agent, alaia's paternal uncle.
it was this reason that had her throwing herself into the danger zone over the rest of her team. but, that didn't mean that alaia threw herself into that warehouse on her own, she had her boyfriend spencer with her as her second. she made a promise to her whole family that even if it killed her, it would be her that would disolve her uncle's 30-odd year reign of terror as a serial killer. restoring the safety to the wider state of virginia and country of united states of america.
"...why is it that you always have to sacrifice yourself for your team, alaia? is this something that gives you a buzz? an excitement?" the gruff voice of alaia's uncle peter made the girl's entire body shiver as she grunted, really showing off her body strength as she held herself up
"now i get it when non-american's tell us we're stupid. this is my job, of course it doesn't give me excitement!" the 30-year-old spat back, not wanting the niceties to be much longer, the man understanding that almost straight away
"how could i forget, alaia! you've always wanted to prove to the family that you could catch me and throw me away for my crimes. only taken thirty years to have anyone to match my intelligence clearly since you don't seem to mind that you'll be my final victory before getting locked up for good!" the man snarled as alaia dryly chuckled at her uncle, reminding her once again of his insanity
"i don't want to nor do i need to prove anything to anyone! i promised my family years ago, even before i joined the academy that i would find you and i would be the one to arrest you. and now that it's finally happening, i'm just happy that you're finally getting locked away for good! i was 19 then when i first joined and now i'm 30 and only one small thing has changed about that statement" alaia huffed out, her attitude really testing her uncle's patience, just like it did when she was younger as the older, grotesque man crossed his arms over, daring to challenge his fed niece
"okay then, enlighten me my dear niece, what's changed in the last 10 years, alaia saint angelis?" peter teased as alaia chuckled to herself, always up for the fun that was challenging her dad's older brother
"the fact i no longer care knowing that you'll kill me tonight before my team lock you away for the rest of your life. as long as the rest of my family are alive to see you be thrown into that dirty and unkept prision cell and finally have their chance to be heard and have justice brought to then, it doesn't bother me that i'll have died. because it'll mean that i died a hero and not for nothing, they'll know that it was me that saved our family and helped them get their justice for the crimes you've commited for 30 long years. a decision you made because you couldn't shut those little voices up in your head any longer, the voices getting so loud that you couldn't handle it any longer, unable to deal with them so you began to murder and torture people just for the fun of it because you are sick!" alaia spat, not caring at all that she was already covered in blood, blood that was dripping from her forehead and feet
the only thing she cared about was her family and all the other families finally getting the justice they deserved years ago. this was the moment when alaia wished that she had eidetic memory since she couldn't even remember that her own boyfriend had come with her into the warehouse, also getting caught by her uncle. though spencer was only restrained to a metal chair in front of her as he opened his eyes, making eye contact with the woman he loved.
a flash of memory then came across alaia as she moved to make eye contact with him. she knew he'd be just as terrified as she would be. wordlessly, without peter realising since he was distracted, alaia comforted spencer, letting him know that whilst it looked like it hurt from the way she was hanging by her hands, she was completely fine and that she was able to handle it. the moment that she got the confirmation head nod from spencer, she focused back to peter, who had seemed to suddenly remember also, that he had kept spencer restrained to a chair sitting right in front of alaia, whilst he had stood slightly off to the side.
"...huh, seems like you hadn't forgotten about spencer like i would have thought you did, i mean, i forgot about him for a second because of how quiet he is..." peter trailed off in a taunting voice as alaia rolled her eyes
when all of a sudden the sounds of the warehouse lights sounded, the burst of light making both agents turn away due to how bright it was and how their eyes still needed adjustment.
"...of course, i didn't, you douchebag! now, what are you going to do to him, peter?" alaia started to slightly panic but didn't show it, hoping the team, whilst wired and connected, were still close by
as well as able to have the opportunity and chance of rescuing spencer, her worry not even about her.
"absolutely nothing, alaia. i mean, it's not like i've forgotten, nor has spencer, the speech you screeched to me and anyone who cares to watch this live feed at the beginning of this whole ordeal..."
"...but in case you have forgotten, let me remind you. you screamed for spencer not to be hurt nor touched and i haven't. i haven't laid a single finger on dr reid and i won't because i'll be too focused on disfiguring you to the point you're unidentifiable to even think about giving that squib a second look..." peter trailed off, spencer letting out a wrangled cry which made the uncle and niece snap their heads
peter moving closer to his niece to move a strang of her hair behind her ear. alaia immediately trying to console spencer. even the most experienced law enforcement officers and fbi agents got scared.
"..ssh, spence, please, it's okay! i'm okay, i promise, he hasn't hurt me!" alaia tries to convince her boyfriend that the torture wasn't painful at all as spencer could only trust her since she hadn't screamed once
"she's right pipe cleaner, she hasn't screamed. not once, not since she begged on her knees for me to hurt her instead of you..." peter's voice was no longer a snicker but monotone which was even worse
spencer's mind relaying that moment back in his head. he had never seen his girlfriend beg like that in their entire time at the bau together and neither had the rest of the team. they were watching this happen via the live feed that penelope hacked into after getting the link by peter since he knew they'd try to hack into it anyway.
🚨
"...please, peter, i beg of you, take me instead and leave spencer alone! torture me, whatever it is you want, do it to me cause i can take it! spencer and the rest of my team have done nothing wrong to deserve this, keep your hands off of all of them, not just spencer!" she begged, tears almost welling in her eyes as she fought against them
she had never sounded so sure but pained at the same time as she saw her uncle drift closer to her boyfriend as though a taunt to his niece. in her almost decade of serving as a federal agent with the fbi's behavioural analysis unit, ssa alaia saint angelis had never begged an unsub for anything. let alone for her boyfriend ssa dr spencer reid to be spared by the unsub.
the rest of spencer and alaia's team; derek morgan, emily prentiss, jennifer (jj) jareau, penelope garcia, david rossi and aaron hotchner watched the security camera live footage with anxiety and uncertainty for their two youngest members. the team was usually so fearless so whenever something bad happened to either spencer or alaia, the team was always at their most vulnerable. the girls had tears blurring their vision and the guys held their tears and their anger as the team sat in silence. none of them making a sound as they watched the live feed that had been sent to penelope for this very reason. making the team's blood boil.
peter was still not budging on his niece's pleas to leave spencer alone. neither spencer nor alaia had been restrained as yet as they had just arrived but peter had already thrown things at them and given both of them minor concussions.
if it took alaia begging on her knees to get peter away from spencer, she would do anything to make sure he stayed safe. and that's what she did. getting down to her knees, alaia raised her hands in the air and placed her gun from its holster and discarded it to the floor. begging her uncle to leave her boyfriend alone and to take her as his hostage, torturing her so that her boyfriend would be safe and sound. having more of a chance of making it out alive even if it meant alaia losing her life.
"come on peter, please! stay away from spencer, don't even think of going near him. torture me and use all your toys because you'll have so much more fun hurting me then you would hurting spencer. please, let me take spencer's place, he has so much more life left to live and new things to research and find out about life. he...he has to take care of his mom, he has to find a cure for her! please, leave him alone!" alaia begged again, this time on her knees as peter finally caved, his mind changed as alaia eased
however, that didn't stop peter from shoving and tying spencer into a chair, right in front of the chains that were about to suspend alaina into the air.
spencer had never felt or seen such fear in his life until this moment in front of him. it wasn't even him being tied up to the chair that terrified him. the thing that scared him the most was having to watch the love of his life, the girl he wanted to marry be tortured and killed right in front of him with a front row seat to the show. their team also helplessly watching, their fellow agent being killed by someone who once loved her and who once would do anything in his means to protect her.
"alaia, what are you doing?" spencer whimpered, his voice unable to mask just how afraid he was, alaia smiling softly
"i'm saving your life, spence. i can't let you die, you mean way too much to me. you've been through so much and it's time i received some pain, i'm lessening the load," alaia smiled, keeping up her strength as peter drew ever so closer to his niece so he could start assembling the torture machine
peter then grabbing her and chucking her against a wall. spencer and the team flinching as they watched, the noise alaia's body made as it connected with the wall wasn't good at all. more blood beginning to pool at the back of her head, matching the blood that now trickled down her forehead from the force of the push.
the metal chains loudly clasped her hands above her head as she hung with her feet no longer touching the ground beneath her as she remained tough and unafraid. a smile suddenly formed on the young agent's face as she suddenly giggled at how unflattering this pose must have looked to spencer and the team at the angle they were watching it at. saying it in a way to make the horrific situation more comedic, however, it of course didn't land as well as she wanted it to land.
"this pose must look very unflattering to you guys right now..." alaia giggled suddenly as she then looked down, the mortified look of her boyfriend, spencer, as well as her team who she couldn't see, didn't find it as comedic as she thought they would have
halting her laughter, alaia quietly gulped, not knowing what else she could say to fill the suddenly eerie silence that fell throughout the abandoned warehouse. peter ignoring the exchange as he continued to set up his torture chamber.
🚨
alaia's begs to save spencer in replacement for her was working. she smiled to herself that her boyfriend was safe, though he was having to watch his girlfriend be tortured right in front of him whilst restrained, he was safe.
no more than a second longer did peter wait before his homemade torture equipment was powered up before it started to tear into and shock alaia's body. the equipment varied from kitchen appliances like knives and screwdrivers and forks to none kitchen appliances like ice picks, and a baseball bat.
an electric wire would end up being bound around alaia's legs as well as other things that burnt into the agent's skin. alaia's entire body was being torn into and was on fire however that gorgeous, loving, caring, bright smile remained etched on her face. not once letting it falter or letting herself scream out in pain for her uncle to switch the torture equipment off.
alaia knew that it bothered her uncle immensely that she wasn't reacting to the torture. she knew he always thrived off the pain of his victims. yet she'd always been known to have the physical and mental strength from the beginning of her life to be able to withstand whatever he tortured her with. so, alaia could tell that her uncle was a firecracker about to explode and about set the whole warehouse ablaze because he wasn't getting the reaction he wanted from his victim.
however, peter wasn't stupid. he was still smart enough to figure out the possible weakness of his niece and that was seeing her boyfriend weak and freak out. alaia's kryptonite was seeing her boyfriend or anyone she loved in pain. whether it was seeing them cry, sick or in pain, seeing anyone but spencer especially in some sort of pain made alaia vulnerable.
it was most definitely her biggest weakness but it was never something to worry about. this was the first time an unsub had a personal connection to one of the agents. so, that was when peter decided to use it against his niece to see how she'd react by turning up the level of pain on the equipment that she was hooked up to. which of course effectively made spencer thrash around in his seat, crying out for peter to stop.
the rest of the team barely able to continue watching as peter turned up the dial on the power grid and they heard it. spencer's screeches for peter to stop. the worst part of all of it was that penelope and the rest of the team were still nowhere near close enough to finding the goddamn adandoned warehouse in downtown virginia.
"alaia! peter, stop it...please, leave her alone! you've done enough, you've hurt her enough! she's bleeding, peter! please, peter....put...put her down! you're hurting her! please...stop...peter!" spencer sobbed, the hot tears streaming down his face as he thrashed around in the restrains that were stopping him from saving her himself
"spence, please, it's okay! it doesn't hurt, i promise, i can't even feel a single thing!" alaia attempted to comfort her devastated boyfriend as peter groaned
both his plans of inflicting the most pain on his niece and making her scream and cry weren't working and it pissed him off. so, that was when he decided he needed to go a step further and bring out the big guns
"is it bad that she can't feel it, hotch?" jj questioned, the tears she had fought hard to keep at bay streamed her cheeks
her head turned away, no longer looking at the screen but at her unit chief, aaron hotchner, the man not knowing how to respond.
"i...i don't know jj but, just trust alania. trust that she knows what she's doing," hotch gulped nervously, only praying that his not-so full proof statement was correct
unable to know how he'd react if one of his beloved agents didn't make it out of this dangeorus situation alive. let alone if she was safe, especially after he promised that he would keep her safe.
whilst hotch was correct that alaia knew what she was doing, it still didn't mean that the hope for alaia to come out of this torture alive was a strong hope. it looked as though in the small slither of alaia making it out alive, she'd be fighting for life in a hospital bed for at least a couple of weeks. then suddenly it seemed, out of nowhere, everything happened so quickly.
it was as though the team and spencer had just blinked before they heard a gunshot ring through the warehouse. spencer's heartwrenching screams from his gut followed shortly after as he helplessly tried tried to free himself from his restraints to shoot peter.
from the time it had taken the rest of the team to locate the banged up industrial warehouse that peter was commiting his murders in, it felt like time had slowed down. it literally felt as though spencer had only blinked before one more shot rang out. derek and emily had rushed in within seconds, derek delivering the shot that shattered peter's leg, slowing the aging man so the arrest would be easier.
emily then quickly rushed over to spencer to untie him from the restraints. however the only thing that accomplished was spencer collapsing to his knees as more sobs and screams left his mouth. derek moved to see if he could discover a pulse from alaia. in his desolate world, spencer thought the worst and that peter's quick and sneaky gunshot trick had killed alaia. emily tried her best to console spencer and it seemed as though the only thing that could console him was the possibility of a miracle. a miracle for alaia to have survived.
it was as though the angels, saints and gods had heard the cries and pleads because morgan did find alaia's pulse. whilst it was weak, it was still a pulse and alaia still had a chance of survival meaning that peter had not won. pulling out of the hug with spencer, prentiss had figured it out from morgan's relieved smile whilst he spoke to the medics on the scene about how they needed to be careful in releasing alaia from her restraints. alaia had a pulse and still had a chance and immediately, prentiss knew she had to tell spencer. knowing that even the weakest pulse would be the best news for spencer to hear.
"...spence, i need you to look at me. derek is with alaia right now with the medics, a pulse was found. alaia is still alive, she still has a chance of recovering, okay?" emily whispers to her distraught agent who perks up slightly
"wait...what? she...she's alive?" spencer stammered, his voice scared and hoarse from his screaming and crying as emily smiles small and nods her head
pulling spencer in for another hug, she reassures him, "yes, spence but she does need to be transported to a nearby hospital for treatment. what peter put her through isn't just something that's a quick healer," emily whispers as spencer nodded his head, sniffling softly as he tried to wipe the tears off of his cheeks 
the rest of the bau had been called into the scene now that peter had been seized and taken into police custody to then be later interviewed. rossi and hotch rushed over to spencer, to take him to safety, which was the awaiting ambulance that was going to patch up the lesions and lacerations on his wrists, and ankles from being tied up to the chair and the cut on his forehead from the concussion he had received. 
emily, jj and derek then had the worst task of all and that was having to turn off every single piece of equipment used by peter over his 30-year reign of torturous terror. including on his own niece in his victim pool. the agents having to wait a couple of minutes so they wouldn't blow themselves up or the entire rusting building. then, after everything had cooled down, derek who was the strongest out of the three agents was able to release the agent from the ceiling restraints. derek also carrying her out to the ambulance to then be transprted to the hospital. and that was where they hoped they could keep her alive and heal her.
aaron and david, with spencer in tow, were now walking over to the second ambulance. managing to successfully coerce the boy genius into getting properly checked out by the medics. making sure his superficial injuries were purely just that and weren't at the risk of infection. usually in a situation like this, spencer would be fighting tooth and nail to be by his girlfriend's side. however, this time, he was way too weak to even scream anymore. let alone even try to fight or cry to be placed into the same ambulance, which had now already taken off to the nearest hospital anyway. aaron and david carefully walking with spencer out of the warehouse and to the ambulance. watching as the other one that carried alaia sped down the street with lights flashing and sirens screeching for the entire block to hear.
"...reid, are you alright?" hotch questions his fellow agent, the younger paying the chief no attention, the only thing he could think about was alaia and whether or not she would stay alive
"hmm?" the younger agent hums as he finally faces hotch's worried look before responding for a second time
"i...i'm just...i hope alaia's okay," spencer sighed tearfully as he meddled with his fingers to keep himself occupied as hotch sighed softly as he sat down next to the boy genius
"we all wish the same thing, reid. but, she's a strong girl, she'll be able to recover and she'll be back on the field with us in no time," hotch smiled softly, placing his hand on the upset boy's shoulder to provide some form of comfort that wasn't too invasive 
"i just...why...why did she have to throw herself in the middle of peter's torture over me? i...i could have handled it too..." spencer trailed off, even though he knew he was lying due to how he reacted watching alaia go through it
he knew there was truly no way he could have handled that torture any better if it was him hanging by his hands and, hotch knew that as well.
"...reid, she put herself in danger because of how much she loves you. i know that you two have said those words to each other and this is why she knew she had to throw herself in danger. because she loves you and she also didn't want anyone, even if the person was related to her, to cause you any harm. she'd rather get hurt by her own family than let them hurt you. she'd always put herself above you because she loves you and would do anything to protect you from the horrors that those in her family can show," the unit chief explains to the boy wonder who sniffled as tears still streamed his cheeks
nodding his head, spencer finally understood why alaia did what she did in place of him and it was all thanks to hotch's explanation.
"oh..." spencer sniffled before looking down at his pair of converse that was now very dirty and needed cleaning 
"we're about to take the suvs to the hospital, do you wanna come with us, spencer?" hotch then asks, spencer's head shoots right up, a hint of a smile on his lips as he nods his head
hotch then smiles at the way spencer stands up to walk back to their fbi issued sport issued vehicles so they could drive to the hospital. whilst he didn't have his pep in his step like normal, he was still able to carry himself without his feet coming from underneath him like they were moments earlier. which, was a very good sign not just for the medics but also for the rest of the team to see that spencer no longer needed someone to help him walk. 
🚨
from the outside, spencer looked as calm as you could look in a hospital waiting room. however, you didn't have to be a profiler to see that his body language was completely different to the calm look on his face. his right leg was bouncing, he was twiddling his fingers and his eyes couldn't stay in the same spot for more than a couple of seconds.
he would also slightly flinch whenever a doctor walked past the group and he stayed silent and didn't want to talk to anybody. he was absolutely losing his mind on the inside which was identifiable by small idiosyncrasies in spencer's body language that he couldn't ever hide from anyone on the outside. 
"family of supervisory special agent alaia saint angelis?" a nurse calls out, spencer immediately standing up alongside the rest of the team, all of them just hoping that she was okay 
"i...i'm her boyfriend, umm, her parents are out of state but her siblings are on a plane as we speak right now to virginia. so...is...is she okay?" spencer stammered out, the nurse smiling softly, for it wasn't her first rodeo dealing with federal agents and their families 
"due to all of her injuries, theoretically, she shouldn't be alive right now..." the experienced nurse trailed off which made the group absolutely terrified, tears building in spencer's eyes yet again after he had only just managed to cease the crying 
"...however, defying all of my team's odds, agent saint angelis is completely fine. she'll need a few more blood transfusions due to how much blood she lost from the two head injuries and the gunshot wound but other than that, all her injuries have been tended to and stitched up..."
"...she is, however, asleep and a bit high on some pain medication but you guys are more than welcome to visit her. she has full recollection of who she is, her job, what happened to her, where she is and you guys. not that amnesia was anything that worried us but, just in case it worried you guys due to her head injuries, i'd thought it'd be something worth mentioning," the nurse explained, a small smile covering her face as everyone exhaled as tears streamed down spencer's cheeks out of pure relief that his girlfriend was okay and that she had, in fact, survived  
the nurse had started walking back to alaia's room when hotch ushered for spencer to follow her, "go, spencer, we'll visit alaia later!" nodding his head, spencer sniffled before following the nurse as she led the two of them to alaia's hospital room 
it was as if he could feel his heart drop to the floor. he hadn't ever seen his girlfriend look so peaceful yet in so much pain at the same time. no matter how many times she had told spencer that she wasn't in pain, they both knew it was due to the adrenaline pumping through her veins. at the time whilst she didn't feel anything, she knew she would eventually begin to feel it since it wasn't her first rodeo on the torture train.
sniffling as quietly as he could, he hesitantly walked over to the hospital bed, "hello sweetheart," spencer couldn't help but feel bad as though his heart had been stomped on 
without thinking, spencer grabbed alaia's hand that laid backside down, palm up, against her hospital bed and just started muttering apology after apology repeatedly until he had found himself falling exhausted and then shortly thereafter, asleep. 
🚨
mumbling and slightly restless, alaia found her eyes fluttering open and looking around as she tried to recognise the surroundings of the hospital room and the person who was loosely holding her hand.
she couldn't hide the smile that formed on her face at seeing her boyfriend sleeping and looking so flustered and adorable. spencer's hair was messy, his hand was holding alaia's and his head and some of his body was resting on the empty part of the slightly large bed that alaia was laying in.
with a slight squeeze of his hand from alaia, spencer's head shot right up. his eyes widening and his pupils dilating, loose tears still trickling down his cheeks.
"al..alaia? sweetheart, you're...you're awake!" spencer whispered frantically as she smiled small and pouted as she watched the new and old tears that littered her boyfriend's face 
she smiled with a small groan, prompting spencer to get up to get the nurse. erratically wiping his face of the tears he'd seemed to be crying all night, he went to get the nurse. 
"i'm just going to grab the nurse and tell them you're awake. i love you lia," spencer whispered as alaia nodded her head, a small smile on her lips as she watched spencer leave the room with the slightest pep in his step
no less than a minute later, the nurse came in and after the rest of the blood transfusions, and some visits from the team, alaia was cleared to be discharged from the hospital. with the exception of returning in a week's time to remove her stitches, it seemed like alaia made herself and the rest of her team promise to each other to steer clear of hospitals now...
at least for a little while. 
🚨
a month had quickly passed since peter saint angelis' trial wrapping up and he was now serving 25-life sentences. that along with the possibility of being placed on death row due to the consideration of him possibly being extradiated back to his original hometown outside of virgina. where the death penalty was legalised.
it haunted the minds of the bau team to think about the fact that they nearly lost alaia during that case. and it was all due to how unstable and sick her serial killer uncle actually was. they're usually prepared for everything and anything but they were not prepared for how erratic and unstabled that man was. especially since he was so different to the rest of alaia's family, meeting them throughout alaia's service with the team.
yet no one was more haunted by that case than spencer. he couldn't control nor help it when his mind would go back to that day. the trial date especially when his girlfriend had to take the stand. testifying against the serial killer that was once her loving and happy uncle on the things he did to her. all in the hopes that he would kill her and come out with one last final victim before his 30-year reign of terror was finished.
spencer wept that day as he listened as his girlfriend took the stand and testified. spencer wasn't the only one, derek cried, aaron cried. as did emily, jj and penelope. but for spencer, this was something that would haunt his nightmares for years to come.
"...agent saint angelis, what did peter saint angelis do to you?" the high judge questioned, a worried look planted on his face as the young agent gulped
still not able to mentally comprehend that she was having to say it out loud. she knew she wasn't ready, when would anyone ever be ready to testify against their abuser? but alaia knew this was her only chance to finally have that man locked up forever.
"peter had me suspended in the air, by my wrists that were tied together by rope, at that point my legs weren't at all tied up but i guess they were at some point as they were very red...and itchy. as though they had been burnt by something or lacerated. i...um, i was struck by a baseball bat, stabbed with an ice pick and a couple of butchers knives. i recall there being an eletric wire at some stage that electrocuted me which i think is what my feet ended up being bound by at one point. which is why i think explained the red and itchiness of my feet as though they'd been burnt..." alaia felt ashamed as she testified, all of these things making her feel like she wasn't able to save herself
"...and then...he shot me in the stomach, not so much at point blank range but not that far from it. and this was something when my team and i were discussing in our victimology and his modus operandi, we never came to the realisation that after he had tortured his victims that he would shoot them and that being their cause of death. the other police departments that were put on this case before my fbi team hadn't seemed to make the connection about the gunshot wounds to the stomach either. that was until i was placed into that situation and my partner, ssa dr spencer reid had watched it happen that we finally realised it was this fatal and final torture device, a single gunshot wound to the stomach that was the main cause of death for the victims...i...i think..." alaia suddenly trailed off, she had been doing brilliant until something or someone caught her attention
this someone scaring her, making her unable to continue as she suddenly felt the burning eyes of her uncle watching her from his locked up defendant box.
"...you can continue agent, mr saint angelis cannot do anything to harm you. he is locked in his box, all he can do is stare at you and try to scare you. he is only trying to elicit a reaction, it's a scare tactic that all criminals do which you would be very familiar with. you can continue, darling," the judge spoke calmly, letting alaia know she could continue and was safe to continue, reminding her that she was safe 
"thanks your honour...um, what i was going to say was, i think from the differences in equipment that he used in this specfic case over his 30 years of terror, this wasn't the first time i had been exposed to it..." alaia paused, this was a new piece of evidence that could further peter saint angelis' guilt and crimes
the rest of her team gave her looks of shock. this was the first time they were hearing anything about the possibility of this torture happening to her before.
the judge swallowed, his eyes wide before speaking, "what else has your uncle done to you, sweetheart?" completely disregarding alaia's professional title and any sort of court ruling, the judge was worried for the young agent 
"when...when i was a teenager and still allowed to visit him, i would stay over at his house. i'd have my own room, my own bed. my own wardrobe. heck, i had a whole section of the house to myself everytime i visited him. it was why i loved him so much and why i claimed to everyone in the family that he was my favourite uncle growing up..." she trailed off before continuing as the judge listened
"...it was late one night and it was just me and uncle peter at his house. we were watching a movie together, can't remember which one but, he was so immersed in it and i wasn't that i got up and walked away because i hated it. it had taken me until that moment that i realised the movie was very gross and almost pornographic. i was on my way back to my room when i caught a glimpse of uncle peter's basement..."
"...and that was when i saw it...the bloody clothes of his last victim before it almost became me. i don't even know why i was visiting uncle peter since i'm an adult and no longer feel the need to stay over at the houses of my relatives unless they require their kids being babysat and need a safe person. of course, because of my job, everyone in my family with kids straight away thinks of me. but, i don't know why uncle peter invited me over that night or why i even accepted his offer. i'd been having suspicions for years since maybe high school and the beginning of FBI academy that maybe uncle peter wasn't who he said he was. however, i always brushed it off thinking i was going insane until that day that i saw those bloody clothes in his basement..."
"...what did you do after you noticed those clothes in the basement, agent saint angelis?" the judge questioned as alaia's eyes widened as though it scared her all over again
"...i...i tried to run...i tried to explain to uncle peter that i had forgot that i had invited my team over for a movie night but, he stopped me before i even had the chance to escape..." alaia's voice came out numb as she froze as the judge sucked in a breath before asking his next question
"...what happened after that, agent? did the defendant hurt you physically or sexually?" he questioned as alaia's lip shook as tears began to well in her eyes
"for years, uncle peter would touch me in...in places that made me feel gross and uncomfortable. even in adulthood, even after joining the fbi and bau, he would find his way into my house after i stopped visiting him...even when i moved and changed the locks he still found a way..." alaia's voice shook as the judge was shocked, this man had a whole web of things that he did, more than just the tortures and killings
"...that was how he figured out that me and my team had caught him and were actively searching for him. i had provided some samples of my own clothes as well as the bloodied clothes of the victim i found in his basement..."
"...and what were the results, agent?" the judge dared to ask as alaia shut her eyes and turned her head away
"...the fibers on my clothes and the clothes of the victim i found were a match that led us straight to uncle peter..."
"...were these fibers the same fibers that were found on the door knobs of all the houses you moved to whilst you were running away from the defendant?" the judge asks as alaia nods her head
"yes your honour...his...his fibers were also found on...on me..." alaia's breath was shaky as she revealed that as the judge hated the next question he had to ask
"...did he ever rape you, agent saint angelis?" the judge questioned, hating it since it had been alluded to the entire time alaia had been testifying
"yes...your honour..." alaia was quiet and ashamed as her head looked down to the floor as tears spilled down her cheeks
"...was it over the course of your childhood and adulthood or just once?" the judge asked again as alaia sniffled before responding
"as a kid, it was very regular since i'd visit him up to three to four times a week but as i got older, one day, he just stopped..." alaia struggled to explain as the judge was afraid to ask
"when did the raping end, agent saint angelis?" spencer closed his eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks as he heard the judge ask another question
"the day i joined the bau, your honour," alaia whispered as she couldn't bare to look anyone in the eyes as her team all cried silently
"did you ever find out why he stopped or were you just grateful that he had finally stopped and was no longer hurting you, especially knowing that you were now a federal agent at that point?" the judge almost cried as he asked that question as alaia finally had the courage to look into the eyes of her team, her unit chief and spencer specifically
"i...i didn't think to ask because i knew i wouldn't see him again for years after and i...i was just so relieved that it was finally over. i no longer had to rub my skin raw and red to feel clean again that i just didn't ask him why. and i just didn't tell anyone because...because i knew i couldn't tell my team since reid and i had only just started and they'd straight away start asking questions. my family...if i told my family, they'd know straight away that uncle peter had something to do with it..." alaia's voice wobbled a little but refused to let herself cry again as the judge nodded his head
"...agent saint angelis, even though he's taken away your childhood, your adulthood and further tortured and abused you and those you love, you still refer to him as your uncle. why would you degrade yourself like that all for a man that wasn't your uncle in the first place but a serial killer and torturer?" the judge felt sick to his stomach, why did alaia degrade herself so low for her uncle? at this stage, he didn't even deserve that title and hadn't for years
alaia smiled sadly as she huffed, finally having the courage to face her uncle, staring straight into his souls. tears no longer filling her eyes as she just hoped what she would say next would just get through to the man who caused so much pain and trauma to so many people.
"because...as much as he doesn't deserve it, he is still my uncle. and there is still that little 3-year-old alaia somewhere in me who loves her uncle peter. and somwhere, inside of that horrible man, there is the uncle peter who loved his niece and did everything in his power to protect her from people like him..."
despite the pain and heartbreak peter saint angelis had caused to so many people, his own family included, alaia couldn't help it. she couldn't help it but still find that little girl that still lived inside of adult alaia saint angelis who loved her uncle.
whilst he caused so much pain, hurt and trauma for the abuse, murders and tortures over 30-years, he was still a man who was once a family man. a man who once truly cared and loved his family, putting his life on the line to protect them. but, that also ended up being his downfall as that was the whole reason he turned into the monster that became him. and why he was now in jail for the rest of his life or until his death row sentence. and this was something that comforted the bau, the saint angelis family and every other family who had been affected by peter's crimes.
fin
part two is now completed! wowzers that was a lot but once again, very proud of this rewrite for tumblr and i hope you guys also enjoy it. especially after part one took ages to finish.
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©⠀amberscriminalmind's original work. do not translate or steal any of my fics. 2025
4 notes · View notes
angeart · 1 year ago
Note
ask game 12 &13!
yayy more questions! okay i'll start with 13 because it's simpler:
13.Any segment of your work that made you cry while writing it? (because it moved you deeply)
so. i cry easily. but i don't tend to cry while writing, i think? i don't have the greatest memory, so i can't be sure. i remember one time i cried while writing hmtb, but it wasn't because i was moved deeply jcnbjk (it was actually a mellow scene and i just. unexpectedly triggered an unpleasant memory, oops.)
in a way, i think it's easier to get emotional while working on RPs, actually. i might've cried at those in the past, mmh.
now, if you asked me when did i get anxious while writing. that's a whole another thing. i do deal with a lot of heavy emotions in writing, and, yeah. anyway, the answer is yesterday. (hmtb grian is doing perfectly well wdym-) (i had to stop writing after 8 sentences and take a break everything's fine-)
12.Funniest comment you've ever gotten in a piece of work?
this is a fun one! i don't think i have a favourite, i'm not the best with putting things on a scale and deciding that's the most this or that. add my bad memory into the mix, and about a year of writing a multichapter fic, and- well. but! i dug through and made a small collection of comments that amuse me! (there were many more, but i'm trying not to swarm you completely.)
i cannot tell you how much i appreciate and value the comments i get. i read every single one, and they matter a lot! they help me immensely and i am insanely grateful for them. <33
anyway, the collection of comments that make me giggle is under the line!
♥ please, consider this a love letter to all the commenters. ♥
Chocolate_Cake_Enthusiast on Chapter 3 of Elegy: ANGE UOU ARE THE SINGULAR SOURCE OF MY ANGST AND DEPRESSION (…) POOR GRIAN HE BETTER BE ALRIGHT OTHERWISE I WILL CHUCK A TENNIS BALL AT MY TOE
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ghostpi on Chapter 7 of hmtb: TIS BUT A FLESH WOUND.
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Eucalypta on Chapter 18 of hmtb: I forgot this had a ship tag so I was reading all previous chapters like: "what deep soulmates they are! Wait … Thats a bit gay. Well sometimes platonic love goes very dee- No thats definitely gay… What were the tags again?"
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Tiand on Chapter 21 of hmtb: So- uh- Where can I send my therapy bill?
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wimrow on Chapter 26 of hmtb: WOOOOO I DONT FEWL LIKE SOBBING WITJ THIS CHAPTER!!!!!! (this will absolutely change later on won’t it)
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genderfluid_bitch on Chapter 29: *does a little jig* THE BABIES ARE HURTING AGAIN
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Amabsis on Chapter 30 of hmtb: “Grian, are you okay?” NOBODY IS OKAY IMPULSESV!!!
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Chat on Chapter 31 of hmtb: THATS A BRILLIANT WAY TO END A CHAPTER BUT OH MY FUCKERY ARE YOU CRUEL FOR IT.
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peskytimes on Chapter 39 of hmtb: everytime i read this fic my mental state gets worse <33 /pos
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Alcea_42 on Chapter 42 of hmtb: so sometimes 42 doesn't solve everything-
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Holly_Loves_Reading on Chapter 46 of hmtb: Oh my god they’re so cute! Not even a little bit healthy, but so cute!
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Pidgey05 on Chapter 47 of hmtb: Omg 200k words of pain and now finnally some fluff T^T it was so beautiful thank you author, for this gift 🤣
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SongbirdQuela on Chapter 48 of hmtb: Everything’s going so well! Oh jee wiz I hope nothing goes incredibly wrong, boy would that be a rollercoaster, oh golly I can’t wait to see absolutely none of the characters doing anything self destructive!
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Heartpaw on Chapter 48 of hmtb: “Did you two have a romp?” Says you. Your the one not wearing you own pants. Are you sure YOU didn’t have a romp
--
also have a kiss collection of you guys going insane <33
The_Pesky_Crow on Chapter 28 of hmtb: 12 Chapters from now, in a land far far away, the Grain kisses the Scar
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Linkito on Chapter 41 of hmtb: I absolutely cannot believe that I binged this FORTY ONE chapter fic of A HUNDRED AND SIXTY THOUSAND WORDS and these idiots haven't kissed. Unbelievable. You're taking slow burn to a whole new level bless you and also I hate you LMAO
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Bones_exe on Chapter 44 of hmtb: I'm going to be a crinkly old man by the time these two smooch huh?
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Chocolate_Cake_Enthusiast on Chapter 44 of hmtb: JUST KISS ALREADY. PLEASE. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. PLEASE JUST KISS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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Xanadu:Wynter on Chapter 45 of hmtb: PLEASE JUST ONE KISS
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Bioluminescence on Chapter 45 of hmtb: I THOUGHT THEY WERE GOING TO KISS I WAS HOLDING MY BREATH AND THEN THEY DIDN'T this is honestly so predictable of you though smh
--
and some bonus screenshot stuff <3 (first two from elegy, the rest is hmtb)
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(in the one below you can see a beautiful duality of comments /pos)
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i hope that was fun. i had fun putting this together <3
love you guys!!
----- questions from >>this ask game<<
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marie-swriting · 2 years ago
Text
Magnifique - Derek Morgan
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Masterlist
Résumé : Tu as du mal à aimer ton corps.
Warnings : problème lié à l'image de soi (⚠️s'il vous plaît, ne lisez pas, si c'est un sujet sensible pour vous), Trouble du Comportement Alimentaire sous-entendu (⚠️s'il vous plaît, ne lisez pas, si c'est un sujet sensible pour vous), angst, hurt/comfort, whump, dites-moi si j'en ai loupés d'autres.
Nombre de mots : 3.3k
Version anglaise
Chanson qui m'a inspiré : Body par Julia Michaels
Dans une cabine d’essayage, tu regardes le reflet de ton corps dans une robe rouge. Tu te regardes sous toutes les coutures et tu vois seulement les défauts. Pour toi, la robe ne flatte pas ta silhouette alors que Derek t’a assuré que ça serait le cas. Tu n’aimes pas le décolleté, il ne met pas ta poitrine en valeur. Tu n'aimes pas la façon dont ton ventre est visible à travers le tissu. Et enfin, tu n’aimes pas la façon dont on peut voir tes jambes à cause de la petite taille de la robe. Tu tires un peu sur le bas de la robe, espérant la rendre plus longue alors qu’une remarque d’un ex résonne dans ta tête. Tu continues à examiner chaque centimètre de ton corps dans le miroir jusqu’à ce que te tordre. Tu finis par soupirer, comprenant que ton corps n’est pas fait pour cette robe. Tu as l’impression que ton corps n’est pas fait pour beaucoup de vêtements et ça a le don de te faire souffrir. 
-Tu es prête, mon ange ? questionne Derek, à l’extérieur de la cabine.
-Euh, oui. 
Avec appréhension, tu ouvres le rideau et Derek ne dit rien pendant une seconde, te regardant de haut en bas. Son silence te rend un peu plus nerveuse et te convainc que tu devrais enlever cette robe tout de suite. 
-Tu es magnifique, Y/N, complimente-t-il avec un sourire.
-Je ne trouve pas, secoues-tu la tête en regardant à nouveau ton reflet. 
-Tu rigoles ? Tu es super belle.
-Je ne sais pas. Regarde mon ventre ! t’exclames-tu en montrant la partie de ton corps. Et la robe ne met pas mes jambes en valeur non plus. Et puis, je la trouve courte. 
-Elle est à peine à mi-cuisse. Et elle te va parfaitement bien.
-Je ne sais pas… 
Comme pour te rassurer, Derek pose ses mains sur tes épaules et embrasse ton front.
-Je te promets que tu es incroyable dans cette robe, t’assure-t-il et tu forces un sourire. Tu devrais la prendre et si vraiment tu trouves qu’elle ne te plait pas, tu peux toujours la changer. Allez, je te l’offre, annonce Derek, content.
-Derek, tu n’as pas…
-Ha, ha…, t’interrompt-il en bougeant son index de gauche à droite. Je te l’offre, ça fera pour notre restaurant de la semaine prochaine. Et puis, on a pas pu être souvent ensemble ces derniers temps, je te dois bien ça.
-Tu sais que tu n’as pas à te faire pardonner pour ton travail, affirmes-tu en prenant sa main.
-Alors, vois ça comme un cadeau parce que je t’aime. Tu veux essayer autre chose ?
-Non, déclares-tu sans perdre une seconde. Je vais me changer.
Tu refermes le rideau et commences à te déshabiller sans trop t’attarder sur ton reflet. Quand tu as fini, tu sors de la cabine et vois une femme légèrement plus jeune que toi dans la même robe. Malgré toi, tu penses qu’elle lui va mieux. La robe épouse parfaitement ces courbes et tu trouves la femme magnifique. En la regardant, tu te dis que tu aimerais être comme elle. 
Après avoir payé la robe, vous retournez dans ton appartement. Tout le chemin, tu restes silencieuse, perdue dans tes pensées nourries par les différentes remarques que tu as pu entendre au cours de ta vie. Derek remarque ton mutisme tout de suite. Il ne te questionne pas, sachant que tu risques de te braquer. Malgré le fait que vous êtes ensemble depuis un an, tu as encore du mal à venir vers lui quand tu en as besoin. C’est une des choses sur laquelle vous travaillez. Tu fais des efforts depuis votre rencontre, mais parfois, tu continues à t’isoler.
Quand vous arrivez chez toi, tu poses tes affaires avant d’informer que tu souhaites être dans une tenue plus confortable. Derek s’installe sur ton lit pendant que tu te changes. 
Dans ta salle de bain, tu regardes ton reflet alors que tu es en sous-vêtements. Quand tu sens tes pensées négatives devenir un peu plus fortes, tu tournes le dos à ton miroir et continues de te changer. Même pour enlever ton maquillage, tu ne te regardes pas. 
Une fois finie, tu t’allonges à côté de Derek. Instantanément, il te prend dans ses bras avant d’embrasser le haut de ton crâne.
-Tout va bien ?
-Oui. Je suis juste un peu fatiguée, mens-tu en écoutant les battements de son coeur. 
-Tu es sûre ?
-Promis, affirmes-tu en l’embrassant chastement. Tu peux dormir ici ce soir ? J’aimerais rester dans tes bras.
-Bien sûr.
Ta demande est tout ce dont Derek a besoin pour savoir que tu ne vas pas bien. Derek a beau encore ignorer la raison, ce n'est qu'une question de temps avant qu'il la trouve. Il te connait assez bien pour savoir la façon dont tu agis quand tu ne vas pas bien sans que tu aies besoin de prononcer un mot. Toutefois, à cet instant, il préfère te serrer un peu plus contre lui, voulant t’apporter le réconfort dont tu as secrètement besoin.
Tu pensais que dans quelques jours, tu irais mieux. Tu as souvent des phases où tu détestes ton corps plus que d’habitude, mais celle-ci est tenace. Tu n’es à l’aise dans aucun de tes vêtements, tu te sens moche et tu n’arrives pas à apprécier ce que tu manges. Tout est horrible et tu veux juste te morfondre dans ton lit et ne plus jamais sortir. 
Malheureusement pour toi, tu dois aller à ton rendez-vous avec Derek. Avec le peu de force que tu as, tu arrives à sortir de ton lit. 
Après avoir pris une douche, tu ouvres ton placard. Tu fais défiler les différents vêtements, sans grande volonté. Quand tu tombes sur la robe que Derek t’a offerte, tu hésites entre la porter ou la brûler. Tu sais que ça lui ferait plaisir de te voir avec, mais tu n’es toujours pas convaincue. À contrecoeur, tu prends le cintre avant d’enfiler la robe, espérant que cette fois, tu vois ce que Derek a vu. 
Tu ajustes la robe comme il faut et tu te regardes dans le miroir de ta chambre. Tu as toujours la même vision : seulement des défauts. En continuant à examiner ton reflet, tes yeux se remplissent de larmes alors que dans ta tête, les phrases telles que  : “tu n’es pas belle”, “tu ressembles à rien” et autre horreur ne cessent de tourner. 
Les larmes te montent de plus en plus aux yeux et tu te refuses de pleurer. Tu ne peux pas craquer ce soir. Tu dois passer la soirée avec Derek. Tes démons doivent attendre un peu plus longtemps. Tu prends de profondes inspirations et quand tu es sûre que tu n’es plus sur le point de pleurer, tu prends ton maquillage. Tu as espoir qu’embellir ton visage t’aidera. Peut-être que ça peut rattraper ta tenue. De plus, le fait de te pomponner t’aide parfois à te sentir un peu mieux - même si ce n’est pas une solution miracle. Cependant, cette fois, ton humeur s’empire. Les cernes sous tes yeux se moquent de toi alors que tu essayes de les couvrir et les quelques boutons sur ton visage n’arrangent pas la situation.
Tu essayes de camoufler tes défauts un maximum en te disant que ceux-là, tu peux t’en débarrasser pendant au moins quelques heures. Quand tu es plus ou moins satisfaite du résultat, tu retournes vers ton miroir pour vérifier que tu es à peu près présentable. 
Malgré ton maquillage, tu ne trouves pas mieux. Ta robe est toujours ridicule et tu as beau essayer de rajouter des accessoires, tu ne te trouves toujours pas belle. Agacée, tu finis par enlever la robe et tu retournes dans ton placard. Tu es dans la même situation qu’au début.
En regardant à nouveau tes robes, tu réalises qu’il n’y a pas ta robe blanche. C’est une robe simpliste mais dans laquelle tu te sens à l’aise. Tu as une idée d’où elle pourrait être alors tu vas dans ta buanderie, en te maudissant. Quand tu découvres que ta robe est bien dans la machine qui est en train de tourner, tu t’assoies par terre en étouffant un cri. Tu n’as plus de solution de repli et il est hors de question que tu mettes ta nouvelle robe. Te sentant dans une impasse, tes larmes reviennent tout aussitôt. Cette fois, tu n’as pas la force de les retenir. Elles coulent librement sur tes joues, ruinant ton maquillage par la même occasion. Tu pleures pendant une dizaine de minutes, tu n’oses même pas imaginer ce à quoi tu dois ressembler. Quand tu es un peu plus calme, même si quelques larmes continuent de couler, tu retournes dans ta chambre et prends ton téléphone.
Message de toi à Derek, 18h58 : 
Je viens d’avoir mes règles, je ne me sens pas d’aller au restaurant. Ça te dérange si on annule ?
Message de Derek à toi, 18h59 : 
Pas de soucis. Tu as besoin que je t’apporte quelque chose ? Je peux rester avec toi, si tu veux. 
Message de toi à Derek, 19h01 : 
Pas besoin. J’ai tout ce qu’il faut. Désolée de t’avoir prévenu à la dernière minute.
Message de Derek à toi, 19h02 : 
Ne t’excuse pas, repose toi. Je t’aime ❤️
Tu réponds à son “je t’aime” avant de poser ton téléphone sur ta table de nuit. Tu enfiles rapidement un jogging et ton sweat préféré puis, tu quittes ta chambre. 
Dans ta cuisine, tu prends plusieurs snacks et tu t’installes dans ton salon. Tu lances la première série que Netflix te propose. Tu regardes les épisodes sans y prêter attention pendant que tu manges des chips. Sans surprise, tu as l’impression de t’enfoncer un peu plus dans ta spirale. Tu pourrais être dans un restaurant chic avec ton petit ami et tu es dans ton salon en sweat à grignoter. 
La culpabilité te ronge quand tu penses à Derek. Tu t’en veux de lui avoir menti, surtout quand il fait autant attention à toi, mais tu n’as pas la force morale de quitter ton appartement. 
Tu finis par fondre en larmes à nouveau, détestant la phase dans laquelle tu es. Tu te sens somber et au lieu d’essayer de remonter à la surface, tu te laisses couler dans ce sentiment de vide. 
Trois semaines plus tard, tu es toujours misérable et tu n’as toujours pas osé en parler à Derek. Une partie de toi aimerait lui parler de tout ce que tu ressens et une autre veut pouvoir réussir à t’en sortir sans son aide. Tu peux le faire, tu y arrivais bien avant de le rencontrer. Tu peux le refaire. Par conséquent, quand Derek rentre d’une enquête, tu fais tout ton possible pour ne pas montrer ton mal être. Tu sais que c’est un jeu compliqué, ses capacités de profiler vont te battre en un rien de temps, mais tu ne veux pas l’embarraser avec tes démons. 
Bien évidemment, Derek sait ce qu’il se passe. Ses sens sont en alerte depuis l’achat de la robe et il n’a pas besoin d’être un profiler pour savoir que tu ne vas pas bien. Il te connait par coeur. Il attend juste le bon moment pour t’en parler, malheureusement avec son travail, ce moment a été repoussé plusieurs fois. 
Cependant, ce soir-là, il est décidé : il va te parler. Il ne peut pas continuer à rester silencieux en sachant très bien que tu n’es pas près de venir vers lui. Avant de t’inviter à te confier à lui, il veut te mettre à l’aise en te proposant une sortie agréable. Il a prévu un cinéma puis un repas à emporter chez toi. Il préfère finir la soirée chez toi, voulant s’assurer que tu sois dans un environnement où tu te sens bien.
Quand Derek arrive chez toi, tu es en train de finir ton maquillage. Il te lance un compliment que tu ne prends pas au sérieux. Il te regarde te préparer depuis ton lit. Il voit tes mouvements hésitants quand tu regardes avec plus d’attention ton reflet. Enfin, ton silence lui donne un indice en plus. En temps normal, vous n’arrêtez pas de discuter, surtout quand vous n’avez pas pu vous voir pendant plus d’une semaine à cause d’une enquête. 
Tu ouvres ton placard et commences à faire défiler les vêtements. Quand tu ne t’es toujours pas décidée cinq minutes plus tard, Derek se lève et te rejoint. 
-Pourquoi tu ne mets pas la robe rouge ? demande-t-il en pointant le vêtement en question. 
-C’est pas un peu trop habillé pour un cinéma ? 
-Pas forcément. 
-Je pensais mettre ma robe blanche, dévoiles-tu en la prenant.
-Mon ange, tu es magnifique dans cette robe, mais tu la mets souvent. Tu as plein de vêtements qui te vont très bien. Tu devrais changer.  
Tu pèses rapidement le pour et le contre, te rappelant très bien de ta réaction la dernière fois que tu as voulu mettre ta nouvelle robe. Finalement, tu forces un sourire et la prends.
-C’est vrai. Je vais mettre la rouge. 
Au même moment où tu es sur le point de te changer, le téléphone de Derek sonne. Il sort de ta chambre pour aller le chercher dans l���entrée. Pendant ce temps, tu sors la robe du cintre et tu l’enfiles. Tu lisses ta robe de tes mains puis, tu jetes un coup d'œil au miroir. Instantanément, les larmes te montent de nouveau aux yeux.
Contrairement à la dernière fois, tu te retiens de pleurer. Derek est juste dans la pièce à côté, il ne peut pas te voir dans cet état. Toutefois, tu n’as pas le temps de calmer tes émotions que Derek revient dans ta chambre. En te voyant pleurer, Derek te prend tout de suite dans ses bras. Tu sanglotes pendant plusieurs minutes alors que Derek caresse ton dos, espérant calmer tes pleurs. Quand il juge que tu es apte à parler, il pose ses mains de part et d’autre de ton visage pour pouvoir te regarder.
-Parle-moi. Qu’est-ce qui ne va pas ?
-Je…, bégayes-tu avant de secouer la tête, c’est ridicule.
-Tu sais très bien que si ça te met dans cet état, ce n’est pas ridicule. Parle-moi, répète Derek sur un ton doux et tu pousses un soupir. 
-C’est juste que je n’aime pas ma tenue. Je t’ai dit, c’est ridicule de pleurer pour ça, te lamentes-tu en le voyant froncer les sourcils. Je n’arrive pas à me sentir bien cette robe hideuse. Je me trouve moche dans cette robe, avoues-tu en évitant ses yeux.
-Pourquoi tu parles de toi comme ça ?
-Je ne sais pas. J’arrive juste pas à me sentir bien dans cette robe, répètes-tu d’une voix plus faible. Je ne comprends pas comment tu peux me trouver belle avec. 
-Ce n’est pas qu’à propos de la robe, n’est-ce pas ? s’enquiert-il, connaissant la réponse.
-Ma relation avec mon corps a toujours été compliquée, tu le sais, mais ces derniers temps, je me sens vraiment comme une merde, confesses-tu, tes lèvres tremblant. Je ne me sens pas bien dans mon corps, aucun de mes vêtements ne me va, je peux à peine me regarder dans le miroir et je me sens moche. 
Au fil de tes phrases, ta respiration devient de plus en plus saccadée. Derek essuie les quelques larmes qui ont coulé sur tes joues. Tu n’avais même pas senti que tu avais commencé à pleurer. Derek est sur le point de te répondre quand tu le devances : 
-Je sais que tu vas me dire le contraire, que tu vas me dire que tout ça, c’est dans ma tête, mais je ne peux m’en empêcher. Je te jure que j’aimerais me regarder dans le miroir et dire que je suis belle comme tu le fais, mais je ne vois pas ce que tu vois. Je veux aimer mon corps comme toi tu l’aimes, je te jure, je veux réellement m’aimer, mais ça semble impossible. Je ne peux pas penser une chose positive sur moi, murmures-tu, ta voix se brisant. À chaque fois que je pense que je vais un peu mieux, je me rappelle de toutes les remarques qu’on a pu me faire, que ce soit des exs, des amis ou même ma famille, et c’est retour à la case départ, informes-tu en tentant de sécher tes larmes, en vain. Et peu importe le nombre de fois où tu me complimentes, j’arrive pas à te croire. Je sais que tu es sincère, mais je n’y arrive pas. J’ai juste l’impression que tous les mots que tu me dis sont des mensonges pour essayer de me faire sentir mieux. Ce n’est pas la vérité, et d’une certaine façon, j’en suis consciente, c’est juste plus fort que moi. J’ai l’impression que je suis vouée à toujours détester mon corps et…, continues-tu en prenant une grande inspiration, ça me fait peur. Je ne veux pas continuer à ressentir tout ça. Je ne sais pas quoi faire.
Les gestes étant plus forts que les mots, Derek te serre de nouveau contre lui. Ce n’est pas la première fois que tu fonds en larmes devant lui, cela n’empêche pas que son cœur se fend en t’écoutant déverser tout ton mal être. Tu caches ton visage dans le creux de son cou, te sentant honteuse d’être aussi vulnérable.
-Je suis désolée, on est en retard pour le film à cause de moi, articules-tu contre son torse. 
-On peut toujours aller le voir un autre jour. Ce n’est pas grave, t’assure Derek en embrassant ton crâne.
-Le fait est que ce n'est pas la soirée que tu avais en tête. Désolée. 
-Tu n’as pas à t’excuser parce que tu ne te sens pas bien.
- Je sais, mais c’est la deuxième fois qu’on annule nos plans à cause de moi. 
-Tu parles du restau ? Tu avais tes règles, ce n'est pas de ta faute.
Suite à la phrase de Derek, la culpabilité vient s’ajouter à tes autres émotions. Tu te sépares de lui et tu poses ton regard sur tes mains, jouant avec tes ongles nerveusement. 
-Je t’ai menti, en fait. J’avais mis cette robe pour te faire plaisir et j’ai fini dans le même état. J’ai préféré annuler plutôt que te parler. Je suis désolée, je t’avais promis que je ferais des efforts, dis-tu en relevant les yeux sur lui. J’ai juste tellement peur d’être un fardeau pour toi. Je ne veux pas que tu te lasses de moi parce que je ne vais pas bien mentalement. Je sais toujours pas comment j’ai fait pour t’avoir et je ne veux pas te perdre à cause de ça. Et puis, je veux pouvoir me débrouiller seule… Enfin, on voit comment ça marche ! t’exclames-tu en roulant des yeux. Je comprendrais si tu voulais partir.
-Hey, je ne vais pas te laisser alors que tu as besoin de moi, affirme Derek en posant une main sur ta joue. Écoute, je ne peux pas imaginer tout ce que tu ressens, mais je resterai toujours à tes côtés, surtout quand ça va mal. Et s’il faut que je te répète chaque seconde que tu es magnifique jusqu’à ce que tu me croies, je le ferai. Toutefois, je pense que ça pourrait t’aider si tu en parlais avec un professionnel. 
-Probablement, finis-tu par concéder. Tu m’accompagnerais ? Au moins à la première séance, j’aurai besoin de soutien.
-Avec plaisir. Je viendrai avec toi à autant de séances que tu veux, accepte Derek avec un sourire réconfortant. 
Tu es consciente de tout le chemin qu’il te reste à faire avant de pouvoir t’aimer, mais tu as réussi à faire le premier pas. 
Pour la première fois depuis plusieurs semaines, tu lâches un soupir de soulagement. Tu embrasses chastement Derek puis, tu t’appuyes à nouveau contre son corps, ses bras te protégeant de tes démons.
Masterlist
{Ceci est mon blog secondaire donc je répondrai aux commentaires sous le pseudo @marie-sworld}
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writers-ex · 2 years ago
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hi you're back!! idk what happened, i don't wanna know as well but i'm sending you a huuug 💗 and hopefully you saw my ask about how to deal with nosy anons and found it helpful for you 💗
in celebration of me getting closer to finishing my backlogs (and claiming that I get all of it done today whew): a request! the one with the song stuff hihihi although i'll let you choose between two because i have lss from a lot of songs these days 🤧
A. Fluff!
song: I Feel Good by BINI
lyrics: *those in bold aren't sung in English*
"I feel good everytime that I'm with you, my eyes won't stray from you oh, oh, don't ever wanna part, even if I'll have to wait for you forever. Oh wait! turns out I can't wait anymore, I'm so eager for your love, and all emotions start to get real oh boy I love how you make me feel. It feels unbelievable, Cupid shot me, whenever you're there everything feels lighter yeah yeah"
idk but this song (and mv phew - it's a feast for my eyes lmao) is so colorful and fun it makes me feel like i'm also in love 😅
B. Angst :(
songs: Maharani (Great Queen)by Alamat and Hanggang Sa Huli (Until the End) by SB19
lyrics:
Maharani - "he doesn't understand what he's wasting, while I'm over here just waiting, like your numerous other suitors by the sides, I promise I'm not going crazy, you're my only Great Queen - will you give me a chance, if ever I might attain your love? Queen, let me be your King, I swear to god I'll never get tired of you, Great Queen"
Hanggang Sa Huli - "if our paths cross, then we're meant to be. Had I said everything then, would things be different now? With every breath, I pray that I could be with you. And if this is our last moment together, I want you to know that I love you, I love you, I love you"
okii I'm leaving it in your hands, hope you feel the vibe of the songs and get those creative juices flowing ang and and have fun with whichever prompt you wanna do!! don't forget to eat well todayyy 💗
- 😚
ok the girls in the MV are so cute and this at home arts and crafts vibe is so cute uwu so i thought of doing domestic things with lia bc yes like its a rainy day and you're both stuck at home so what better thing to do than use the paint set you bought a while ago and paint your jeans together to match each other while lia attempts to bake some cupcakes to watch a movie together however you panic and almost spill paint on the couch when you hear her cry out, running to the kitchen yuo see her sucking her finger that she managed to burn taking out the cupcake pan from the oven without gloves T_T so you kiss and wrap her boo-boo and start scolding her when she cheers and points out the window to show that the rain has stopped and a rainbow graces your window making you look at your shy girlfriend smiling before pulling each other into a soft kiss whispering how much you loved each other
the angst- its a bit dark for even my standards the mv actually made me think of arriving too late to stop yeji from leaving the office after your heated argument about a project you were both working on, she storms out furious and heads home but turns around to hear you calling out to her and…fails to notice the car turning the corner and hitting her, screaming you rush over to her bleeding body her face frozen in shock as the color drains from her face as she stares into your eyes, you plead and beg for her to hang on but its too late she can't hear your apologizes and i love yous as her body goes limp leaving you at the crossroad while the ambulance drives over too late T^T damn now im sad
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commanderquinn · 2 years ago
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Good Space Chapter 2: Man On The Moon
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! i dont! keep these posts! updated! like i do! ao3!
that means you're going to find typos and shit (and possibly minor detail changes) that don't match the ao3 version! that's because im not going to bother fixing the tumblr posts until i finish good space as a whole. im only uploading them here as a backup tbh
master list / ao3 chapter link
warnings: lotta swearing and usual heavy pstd bucky stuff. also!! im giving sam's story a little bit of author bias/culture venting. this wont read like canon FATWS sam, though i am trying to honor their show where i dont hate it. i love sam's journey to cap, even if ken doll was nauseating (whats funny is i didnt know his actor's name is wyatt until halfway through THIS chapter when i googled something. oh well lmao im sure he's a perfectly nice dude. the wyatt in this fic is My Baby) plus the trump era commentary was completely toothless imo. and the fact that james buchanan barnes acknowledged in episODE T H R E E of the series that he'd take the shield before letting it fall???? even through all his self-hatred?????? get the fuck out of here that desTROYED ME i hate this fictional man with a passion
song: this one's by kid cudi!! 🥰
its time for the l o n g i n g to start ❤️ grab tissues!! first biggie angst so i had to put it behind our resident teddy bear's pov 🥺 you KNOOOOW i had to finish up this update in time for stevie’s birthday 🥰
October 3rd, 2015
Samuel Wilson was not disillusioned when he walked into his first recruitment office. There were no patriotic stars in his eyes, no lotto number clutched painfully between nervous fingers to drive his feet up to that kiosk. He wasn’t foaming at the mouth to earn career-establishing stripes in a timely fashion. All he had to his name was a high school diploma and twenty-three bucks in his pocket. He didn’t have any big dreams for the desert rocks to tear a hole through. 
Sam was a kid back then. One who wanted to build a life, and the GI Bill offered to make that happen. A solid, steady income with the vision of a college education somewhere on the horizon. Not a lot of other options for someone like him, no matter which familiar corner of the country he looked at.
It took a long time and the right partner for the Air Force to talk him out of his combat objections once the ANG got wind of him. He turned the experimental program down flat twice; Pararescue was his focus for a reason. They had to bribe him with cutting-edge tech and the authority to refuse an assignment just to get him to agree to a first flight. The words never found their way onto an official record, at least none he knows of, but Sam had relentlessly insisted that he wouldn’t be volunteering as the next Indianapolis. Getting pushback on that assertion was when the anger first set in. The first crack in the armor of his career.
There were a lot of better angels within the service; it took most of them to get him home, tape-free, after Riley’s death. By the end of it all, it felt like every last one of them was outnumbered fifty to one. Nothing felt right anymore, including the idea of leaving the family he found in the sand to fend for themselves. The only thing that felt survivable after the world finally stopped tilting was dedicating himself to the VA.
Living for the memory of the ones he lost helped him find other reasons to want to be a person again. From there, it was mostly helping other people find reasons of their own that drove him forward.
It’s why he’s willing to delve into some shithole facility in the middle of nowhere Russia for a guy like Steve Rogers. And, on some levels, he supposes, if he absolutely has to, for a guy like Bucky Barnes. Even if he is the grouchiest motherfucker on the face of the Earth.
The lumbering moron hasn’t said a word all morning, no matter what small talk Steve tries to open with. And he’s tried everything, ever since they landed. Sam’s responded to a few of the openings himself just to try to fill the silence. He hopes it’s helping. It’s been hard to get a detailed read on the other push-pop’s triggers so far. Steve hasn’t signaled for him to stop, so.
“Cryo is through here,” Bucky rumbles under his breath. They’re the first words he’s spoken since the Quinjet.
“How many should we be expecting?” Steve asks almost as quietly.
“How many people am I asking you to put a bullet through, you mean.”
Steve stops halfway through the door Bucky’s directed them to. “We haven’t decided if that’s what we��re going to—”
“Maybe you haven’t decided. I’ll do it if you won’t.” The former sergeant doesn’t turn around. He keeps walking, getting closer to the stocky metal pods.
Sam already hates this. He already hates this a whole fucking lot. Captain America coming to him with a request to take the headcase to Russia was always going to get weird; he knew that. But he’s been very clear on what he’s down for, and now they’re in murder and war crime weird. He’d like to start slowing down the crazy train—
Steve holds up his hand. “Bucky, listen, it doesn’t have to—”
“Fuck off. You have no idea what it’s like to sit in this hell. You two can wait outside if you’re so uncomfortable. I’ve got it from here.”
Mmm. That’s the voice of a guilt-ridden survivor. Sam recognizes it well. At least it’s giving him a bead on where today’s drive is coming from. “You mean the hell we pulled you from?”
Steve’s head whips around, with righteous, territorial anger in his eyes. “You’re right, Buck; we don’t. But—”
“But you don’t know what they want,” Sam forcefully finishes, staring back at Steve. He banks on the fact that, technically, they’re not really disagreeing. Steve’s trying to back him down, too, in his own way. “Taking away their chance at the same new life you’re getting isn’t—”
Bucky’s cybernetic fist comes crashing down on one of the corroded desks, making the rusted metal whine in protest, deforming to the shape of his fingers. “You two don’t fucking get it.” He turns, angrily tugging his hand back to his side. The assassin doesn’t advance, but his posture is more than ready for it as he glares at them with pure contempt. “You think you’re going to find people in those tanks—humans, with hearts and minds and hopes and dreams. There might as well be skeletons getting freezer-burned in those goddamn caskets because that’s the only salvageable thing you’ll find. You fucking—”
He laughs, the sound empty, and turns back around to send his fist into the side of the table, knocking it across the room. He doesn’t face them again. “You fuckers! You take a fucking look at me. Take a good, long look. I am half alive. I had a radiation-free knockoff keeping me upright through their bullshit. You wanna know what they had? Something that might as well have been piss mixed in some fucking snow. Worthless trash those Nazi bastards bottled up and stuck in a needle.”
“Bucky—” Steve tries to calm his best friend as the man’s voice breaks. Sam could tell him from first-hand experience how well that’s going to go over.
There was a lot of screaming in that desert. A lot of grief disguised as anger. A lot of old ideals leaving newly-shattered men one seething tear at a time.
“They were zombies by the time HYDRA was done injecting them. Do you get that? Are you two grasping the concept? They were rabid dogs I trained to respond to whistles. Rotting corpses that I taught how to aim. And that was before their brains shorted out on them. I looked into every single one of their eyes. I saw what looked back. Fuck species—what was in there was not fucking alive. Fuck you—fuck you so fucking much for even fucking suggesting I should leave them like that—like animated fucking cadavers—hooked up to some fucking machine just to breathe—”
“James.”
Bucky’s flood of words finally cuts off, and Sam isn’t sure if it’s because of the use of his first name or the way he swallows as if he’s choking. His flesh hand comes down on the back of the chair that started out tucked under the table. It keeps the guy upright while he pulls in a few breaths that look painful, even through the curtain of dark brown hair.
“Let’s see what’s what first,” Sam suggests as diplomatically as he can manage. He doesn’t take a step forward, mostly because he doesn’t see Steve take one. “Then we go from there.”
“You’re going to hate what you see.” Bucky scoffs bitterly. “You think you know, but you don’t. You’re going to hate me for bringing you here. For the rest of your lives.”
Steve moves forward, finally, but he stays a few feet to Bucky’s seven o’clock. “I’m not dumb enough to make you any promises about not hating what I see here. I haven’t even looked in one, and I already know you’re right on the money when it comes to that. But I can promise that you’ll always be wrong about me hating you for any of this.”
“So can I,” Sam assures. There’s not a doubt in his mind now that he understands where they’re at.
Bucky’s up at 0500. 
He hasn’t slept a minute later than that since the first night his body adjusted to New York’s timezone, no matter what hour he falls asleep. He doesn’t attempt more than upright power naps on away missions. They’re the only thing that gets him any rest outside of his room in the tower. 
It’s the same every morning. First, he works on his back, popping away the stiffness one awkward bend of his limbs at a time. From there, the extra thick comforter gets picked up off the floor, then the blanket and the lopsided pillow. They always get tossed on top of the bed he’s never used. Except on Saturdays, when he does his laundry. That’s when they get put in a basket to be taken to Natasha’s room. She won’t let him have his own washing machine until he starts using the bed.
So, every Saturday, he shows up with his little pile at 0800 because Natasha won’t unlock the door until then. A pillowcase. A blanket and matching comforter. Two shirts, usually henleys, five black tanks, and two different tactical pants. One pair of gloves. His singular monkey suit gets taken to the cleaners whenever he’s forced to wear it, which thankfully isn’t often.
His dress uniform hasn’t come out of the box Steve dropped it off in after getting it pulled from the goddamn Smithsonian. Bucky hasn’t laid eyes on it since 1943.
While he’s working his hair up into a serviceable bun, he thinks about Natasha’s recommendation to start braiding it before he sleeps. He doesn’t like the idea of something that tight sitting against his head, especially at night. Maybe if he lets his hair grow out a little more. He wants to keep the shoulder length it’s at now, though. It looks good on him. He wants to know what asking someone to pull on it feels like. Eventually. 
Online dating has been… overwhelming, to say the least.
He’s reaching for the medkit in the drawer under his bathroom sink when the mental image of Ava creeps in. He isn’t trying to blow off the hippie’s orders. Honestly, the thought of their deal hadn’t crossed his mind until he got to this part of his day. Resisting the urge yesterday had been difficult. He knew ahead of time that today was going to be much worse. It means pushing through a repeated break in his pattern.
That voice, the one that insists he should tell Steve to fuck off much more, rears its head. His flesh hand twitches with the reflex to finish his usual routine. To show up late to her office with some blase excuse about doing it out of habit. He could sell the lie without even trying. Entire countries have fallen thanks to his expertise with it. She wouldn’t have a shot in hell at knowing the difference.
He could work his way out of this with ease. Steve already feels guilty about making him pull a hard stop during his first visit, even if he won’t say the words. It’s the perfect opening to establish a line and push it away to give himself some room, one step at a time.
With a decisive flick of his wrist, Bucky shuts the drawer holding his medkit. For the second time since he was allowed to travel without a handler, he walks away from his morning routine without treating the cybernetics on the back of his neck.
It makes his skin feel wrong—off, unsettled—as he gets his standard gear on. He’s still grounded, thanks to Steve, so it’s the version he’s got closest to fatigues. He hopes the doctor doesn’t mind rolling down a polyester turtleneck to get at his brain port. He almost skips going to the gym for his workout, but that would worsen the off feeling. And he’d have to sit around with nothing to do for hours waiting for their first scheduled maintenance. 
He slides his phone into his back pocket, intent on heading to his standard morning haunt. A few hours of going through his paces in the gym will help his nerves. When his mind offers up the suggestion that a workout before seeing the cute doctor could be—advantageous, he tries not to linger in it. 
The idea certainly doesn’t make him feel bad. It’s even sort of... motivating in its own way. It... contributes to his reasons for doing a few extra sets on the bench. And adding a quick rock wall climb. There are others, of course. Being chained to the tower like a toddler in timeout because his best friend is an asshole is certainly one of them. He tacks on more time at the reinforced, Super-Soldier-proof punching bag to ease that particular frustration.
Even with the additions to his cardio, he’s still got an hour to kill before their appointment. He fills it by heading for the roof of the tower. It’s not even 0900, so no one but a few graveyard stragglers are out in the open space. SHIELD agents like him that are married to the job, catching a glimpse of the sun and a few puffs of nicotine before going to crash. Bucky stops to help one of them struggling with her lighter, offering up his spare Bic. The other agent smiles at him in tired appreciation before hovering the end of her cigarette over the flame. He counts it as contributing to his social life. He’ll figure out how to phrase it to get his therapist off his ass later. 
The brain trust’s space is, unsurprisingly, effortless to find. Ava wasn’t kidding; it’s actually tucked away in one corner of the roof, hidden along the wall that extends up to the tower’s executive launch bay. Bucky had expected them to claim a spot overlooking the Avenger’s balcony. Then again, he’s heard she’s pretty close friends with Tony, so maybe he shouldn’t have. She probably knows better by now. 
There’s another collection of gargantuan chairs, this time made out of wicker and upholstery that feels soft when he runs his fingers over it. A tapestry rivaling the paint swatches at Steve’s supply store is mounted to the wall behind them. Two poles hold it at the opposite corners, keeping it blowing slightly in the wind as it hangs over the collected seating. The coffee table in the middle has a lockbox sitting on it, with SHEILDs insignia embossed on the lid. 
He’s got level seven clearance these days. He could still easily get through that lock, even if he didn’t. It’s going to drive him batshit, not knowing what’s in it before she takes him up here herself. 
Bucky turns around and gets halfway back to the door to the stairwell before the buzzing in his neck builds too much for comfort. He grinds his teeth through the sensation. He even manages to force himself another few steps forward. But, ultimately, the buzzing wins out, and he spins again with a vicious curse. 
The confirmation chime of his clearance override feels too loud, even out here in the open. The top of the lockbox rolls back, revealing a set of playing cards, a jumbled collection of stress toys, a SHEILD standard medkit, and some candles. He almost leaves without checking the medkit. He’s so close to being able to stomach the idea. 
Almost. 
There’s nothing sinister to be found in it once it’s open. It’s stock issue. Not one of the item counts is off, but the lot numbers don’t match, meaning she maintains it regularly. Knowing that information feels invasive, despite being convinced she wouldn’t mind how he got it.
This. Isn’t. Siberia. Ava Ryder is not going to put a gun in his hand. She is not a risk to him. 
Bucky leaves the roof, headed for her lab. He’s going to tell her he went snooping. He can do that, at least—a bare minimum level of respect to offer her. 
She’s not in her office when he gets through the painted door at 0857. Only one of the doctors is behind the glass today. It’s the other woman—the American-born German. Hannah. Her head is down, focused on a tablet under her hands, with wireless earbuds peaking out from her dirty blonde hair. A hologram of a brain Bucky doesn’t recognize is running next to her. It’s not his; there’s no spider webbing. One of their other patients then. 
He takes a seat in the same chair he used during his last visit. “JARVIS?”
“Good morning, Sergeant Barnes,” the AI responds with nothing but tranquility. “Something you need?”
“Can you tell the doc I’m ready when she is?”
“Of course. Dr. Ryder has not yet entered the building. I’ll let her know you’ve arrived.”
Bucky frowns. “Ah—cancel that. Is she—“ Don’t ask him to track her, you dumbfuck. That’s weird. “Never mind. I’ll wait.”
This is New York. He’s not even sure what part of the city she lives in. For all he knows, she could be stuck in a cab uptown. He can pull the stick out of his ass long enough to give her room to be human. 
He sits there in silence, sunken into pillows with his leg bouncing rapidly, and talks himself up in his head. He’s not uncomfortable. He’s not going to bullshit his way out of this. This is good; it’s going to help him. Bucky is happy about that. It’s a relief to be facing this after a lifetime of running. 
By 0901, he wants to leave. The urge is nearly overwhelming. He makes it to 0904 before he stands up. It takes until 0906 to convince himself to sit back down. 
“I have an incoming message from Dr. Ryder if you wish to hear it, Sergeant Barnes,” JARVIS tells him eleven minutes after the appointment was supposed to start. 
Thank god. “Play it.”
“Morning, JAR!” Her voice is muffled in the recording. She’s got something in her mouth. She’s also in the most broken-down piece of shit in the city by the sounds of it, so not a cab. The subway, maybe? It should be a lot louder than that. “Tell Bucky I’m about fifteen minutes behind and that I’m very sorry. Oh—and tell him to pick the candle!”
His eyebrows lift in confused surprise. “I’m picking a candle?”
“Choosing a candle to burn is part of the daily routine of lab 5923. Dr. Ryder and I usually decide on one, but the option is left open for patients. You will find a box behind her desk; there is a wide array to select from.”
“You pick it together?” Bucky prods, the corner of his lips twitching as he gets back up to check for said box. 
“She enjoys having someone to banter with about them. Dr. Schuster doesn’t usually have anything to contribute to the topic. Dr. Combs only has so many opinions on the matter. He is not overly particular about the olfactory state of the lab.”
“Is Ava?” It’s getting easier to refer to her by her first name alone. It helps that it’s made her smile the handful of times he’s done it. 
“Not especially. I would call her enthusiastic. She finds the options comforting, and there are very few that she doesn’t enjoy.”
“No kidding,” Bucky mutters as he pulls open the top of a very large box. He smelled the thing long before he picked it up, and looking at what’s inside confirms everything the AI’s telling him. There are dozens of them in here, and most of them are unburned. Various shapes and gimmicky scent names stare back at him. Not a lot of Bath & Bodyworks, he’s noticing. 
The hippie is a small business aficionado. How utterly shocking. 
He pushes around the amassed jars for a few minutes. His mind files away a few options he wants to try for later if they don’t get used up on the days he won’t be here. Definitely before he finishes talking her out of demanding these appointments. He picks up one that claims to smell like cranberries and peppermint for a test sniff. 
Thanks to the combination, the barest hint of the ghost of a memory comes over him. One that whispers the name of his mother. This happens sometimes. A fragment that’s still hanging on by a thread will float by. They never have much context, not anything he can typically extrapolate on, infuriatingly enough. Just his mind taunting him that something should be there, but it isn’t. 
He picks that candle, and it doesn’t make him sad as he lights it. None of his pieced-together memories of the life he never got to finish do anymore. He takes them in stride and tries to enjoy what he can. 
That’s what Ma would have wanted.
Ava hip-checks the door to her office somewhere around 9:30. 
This is already shaping up to be a terrible second impression. All that grief she gave Bucky about leaving things in her capable hands, and now here she is, showing up late and half-showered to the appointment that’s supposed to finish acclimating him. 
“I am so sorry,” she rushes out, dumping her bag on the closest available surface. It ends up being one of the novelty end tables tucked between the consultation chairs. At least she finally took the one shaped like a leg home. “I completely overslept, and then I wanted to grab you something from my favorite bagel place—do you want one, by the way?” She waves a finger at her bag, then at Bucky, who watches her as she walks and talks her way to her desk. “They’re in that side pouch, the ones that have cream cheese are wrapped up separately. I didn’t know if you were a plain butter kind of New Yorker. Anyways, there was this mouth-breathing dickhead who—” 
She stops and takes a deep breath in when her over-taxed mind finally registers the smell around her. 
“Good morning,” he says from the chairs, amusement coloring his tone. 
She spins on her heel, her glasses jostling with the motion, chuckling softly. “Good morning, Sergeant. Sorry. This is what happens when you talk to me before the coffee finishes evening out in my bloodstream. Fantastic choice, by the way. What is that? It’s peppermint—something.”
“Peppermint and cranberries.” His lips pull up into a half-smile that absolutely sells her on the idea of him being a serial heartstopper in the 30s. “Advertised in what looked like a mushroom cloud.”
Ava’s chuckling turns into an outright bark of laughter as she pulls her work tablet from behind her keyboard. “Yeah. That sounds about right. One of the candle makers I buy from is an anarchist working out of a garage. Great stuff, even if you do have to listen to the most ass backwards view of free trade to get the guy to send you his stock. Good morning to you, too, JARVIS, now that I’m not babbling around a mouthful of food.”
“No need to worry; I’ve become very fluent in your language of scarfing,” JARVIS assures. 
“My mother would keel over if she heard you say that.” Ava waddles over to her latest patient, tablet in one hand and medkit in the other. She puts the kit down on the arm of his chair, in the same spot she put the scanner case last time. He looks much less nervous now, and she gives him a warm smile to encourage that. “I know you don’t want me talking your ear off, and the breakfast offer can wait until we’re done, so let’s get down to this.”
Bucky’s mouth opens. There’s a moment of hesitation before he says anything. She doesn’t try to rush him through it. “What’s the plan, doc?”
“Paige won’t be back from the field until later today at the earliest, so I don’t have anything new for you to test. I passed along your request for the field kit dimensions. She says making something that portable shouldn’t be a problem.” Ava taps on the black sleeve of his shirt. “How comfortable are you with the idea of using nanotech?”
“As in the tiny robots Tony’s always testing?”
“Mhmm.”
“For what? My neck?” He raises his hand to the general area of the port, and she hears him scratching at the fabric over it. “I don’t think it’s—I thought this kind of opening couldn’t be—”
“I don’t mean for closing it off,” she corrects quickly, wanting to avoid a misunderstanding that might get his hopes up. “I want to program a batch specifically for daily care of your implants. The port and your shoulder. Something you can keep in safe housing for use in the field. Now—I want to make sure you understand something upfront. This won’t change my professional opinion; you need to have a specialist looking at this on an extremely frequent basis. However, I would prefer it if you had the nanotech as a safety net. The more of this that we can automate for you, the better.”
“I can agree to that. I’m guessing the bug bots don’t come with a manual.”
Ava moves behind him, mostly to hide how the grumpy old man routine is making her grin from ear to ear. “They usually don’t need one. I’ll be making you a checklist to go over if that makes you feel better.”
“You don’t—that’s—” He hesitates again, making her stop before she can make contact with his neck. “You don’t have to keep... doing stuff. Like that. I’m alright with trusting the bug bots.”
Another piece of Ava Ryder’s heart breaks for Bucky Barnes. “That's great to hear. But, just so you know, I’m going to hand you a checklist anyways.”
“Alright.” His head barely nods; she’s guessing because he can feel her fingers hovering. The evaluations of his senses were so off the charts it set a new testing standard for SHIELD. “That’s—appreciated.”
“You don’t have to worry so much about the manners.” Pressing down with a disinfectant, she circles her thumb around the port, wanting to get it done before moving to his shoulder. That’s going to need a shirt removal. She leans down and shifts to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’m not reporting them back to Steve.”
“Don’t worry; my work wife will come to weasel it out of you or JARVIS all on his own.”
Ava giggles quietly, her eyes honed in on clearing the excess buildup. “You’re not having fun being married to Captain America?”
“Oodles,” he deadpans, making her giggles worsen.
She gives him a break from the small talk while she finishes working on his neck. At some point, she’ll need to put together a specialized blend for loosening up the scar tissue; the skin around it is dried to hell and back from years of sterile wipes. She doubts comfort has been much of a concern, and she’s not about to recommend putting generic lotion over it, but this is ridiculous. There’s no reason for him to live with pain like that.
“I don’t suppose a man from the 30s is going to appreciate being given a moisturizing routine.”
“Nat’s going to be thrilled.”
“She’s your work husband, I’m guessing?”
“She likes to act like it.” Bucky turns his head to glance back for a split second just as she leans forward to swap out for an ointment. The way his head jerks back into place lets her know he got an eyeful of cleavage on the journey. It perfectly mirrors how his eyes snapped up from her chest when he first walked in. She’s not exactly embarrassed about it, but she does feel bad watching him shift around nervously. “But I’m not dumb enough to argue. About that. With her.”
The awkward charm is starting to make her cheeks hurt. “Sounds like a reasonable choice. I hear arguing with Russian women isn’t a smart idea in general.”
“Not if you want to keep your limbs attached.”
“Is it too early for me to start asking for state secrets? Like, say, if the Winter Soldier happened to get his ass handed to him by a former commie?”
“I’m pretty sure she was still a commie the first time.”
“The first time?” Ava asks with excited delight, her hand pausing on his shoulder.
“There were a few run-ins. She’ll remember more of them.” Bucky grimaces with annoyance. “Worse, she’ll be willing to tell them to you.”
“Would you be willing to let me hear them?” she goads.
His shoulders lift with a strained sigh. “Sure, let’s call it willing.”
“You’ll have to remind me if I’m lucky enough to meet her.” She drums her finger on his mechanical shoulder. “Gonna need you to take this shirt off, superstar.”
“Off? Wait, what did you just—” Bucky shakes his head with a quiet huff of laughter. “I’ve got the arm covered.”
“I know, that’s the problem.”
“Alright, smartass. You know damn well what I meant. I took care of it before I came here; it wasn’t part of our deal.”
“Does gross puss leak out of it?”
She can see his eyes roll, even with his head only partially turned. “You know it does.”
“And is it attached to your brain?”
“Ava—really, I’ve got this.” His head turns all the way, and the smile comes back, in full force this time, and oh. Oh, she can absolutely believe that he broke half the hearts in Brooklyn during his reign of terror.
She leans down into his space, letting her arms rest on the back of his chair. “You know what I’ve got?”
His lips purse in resigned amusement. “Multiple medical degrees?”
“You betcha. They were stupid hard to earn, too, so I’d appreciate it if you could start taking that into account.”
“I’m not trying to dismiss them—”
“Just the expertise that they gave me.” When his smile turns guilty, she shifts her weight as naturally as she can to push her chest against her arms in compensation. She doesn’t miss the way he blinks a split second later. Such a gentleman. It almost makes her feel bad. “I don’t mind you arguing the point of your independence. I’m glad for it, Bucky. It tells me that you really want this to work. I hope you can start trusting that when I suggest against it, I’m doing it with your health in mind. Nothing more. You can tell me what you’re comfortable with from there.”
He stares at her like he’s in pain. For an almost uncomfortably long time. “I broke into your lockbox.”
Ava blinks at the sudden shift. “Okay. Wait—my what? Are you talking about the candle box? That doesn’t even have a lock—”
“Your stuff on the roof. You keep a SHEILD issue safe up there. On the table. I used my override.”
It takes a moment to piece together what he’s getting at. She’s been running late since she woke up on Paige’s couch at 7:50 something. The only thing in her bloodstream right now is caffeine; there was no time for a wake-and-bake. “Oh. Oh, oh, that’s just... it’s not locked locked; we don’t really care if anyone uses the stuff in it. We just needed something to put it in that the weather can’t get to.” She smiles at him as his shoulders relax. “You went to see our little corner?”
Bucky shrugs. “I was around.”
“Mhmm, I’m sure. And bouncing off the walls with Steve’s lockdown, no doubt. The faster you get that shirt off, the faster you and I can iron out a plan to get you back in the field. Work with me here, Barnes.”
Bucky stands up with a sigh, and his hands move to his shirt. He pauses while they cling to the bottom of it, his arms crossed. Once again, she doesn’t push him through his hesitation. “I don’t mind if you talk about things. Steve only said that shit about being direct to keep me from stalling my way out of this.”
Ava’s eyebrows pull in while she thinks over the words. “Is that the only thing he’s lied about? I don’t care if you two keep secrets, but you can’t bullshit about your mental health with me. I need to know what makes you uncomfortable; otherwise, I can’t do my job.”
“That’s all I can think of,” he assures her, and she believes him despite the wording. 
“In that case, you’re kind of stupid, full offense.”
It’s Bucky’s turn with the blinking. “Excuse me?”
“You signed yourself up for morning appointments, and you just gave me permission to talk your ear off. You’re an absolute moron; now take off that shirt so I can make sure your brain doesn’t melt.”
She has a pet cat named Oreo, of all fucking things. 
It’s hairless. And dumb as a box of rocks, according to her. The name comes from the huge black spots in its—pattern. He can’t exactly use the word fur. She was highly offended when he called the cat a ballsack while she was showing him her lock screen. He got smacked on the arm for the comment.
It’s not her first pet. She got it partly to mourn the snake she adopted in college, a rosy boa called Sayer that finally died at 32. She used the reptile as companionship and motivation to push through her first PhD. The one letting her work on his brain now. It was named after the lead character from her favorite medical movie, Awakenings. When Bucky mentioned that he’s never seen it, she made him swear up and down that he’ll text her his honest reactions if he ever dares to rip his own heart out with questionable ethics.
So now he’s got her number saved in his phone. It’s the 11th one he’s added. Two of them are therapists. None of the others are people outside of SHIELD. He’s pretty sure one of the therapists is a plant from Natasha, so maybe he should start counting them toward the SHIELD column.
There were only nine others over the course of his online dating attempts. None of them stayed on his phone for more than a month before getting deleted. He wasn’t about to let his therapist catch their names on his contact list.
Bucky switches the grape-flavored lollipop in his mouth over to his right cheek. Ava gave it to him. Bopped him right on the nose with one and then let him pick from an array of five like the blatant bribery it is. The good doctor smiled at him while she did it, too.
May it bring you back in good spirits and better health.
It’s the nicest way he’s ever been told to fuck off for being a grouch. It made him smile. Him. James Buchanan Barnes, in the year of 2018.
She’s.… Christ, calling the woman a handful in this day and age feels insulting. He’s not put off by it. Overwhelmed a little, maybe, but he gets the feeling she’s alright with him taking time to warm up to it. Hell, he gets the feeling that not much bothers her at all. It makes him envious. 
He likes the way she speaks. Not just the crazy and the swearing, though that’s its own comfort. There’s a—it sounds so stupid, but there’s a kind of music to it. She always talks in the same calm rhythm, despite the chaos usually found in her words. He didn’t notice the way it makes his foot stop bouncing until halfway through the appointment.
Bucky scowls. “Davis. Why am I looking at a lost signal?”
The level four analyst Steve’s been telling him to ease up on lately freezes in his swivel chair. His head turns, nervously searching the wall of security feeds. Bucky doesn’t offer up any help. “Sorry, sir, I can’t seem to spot which—”
“Third row from the top, eighth from the left. The one I’m supposed to be monitoring for an illegal exchange of nuclear materials, so if you wouldn’t mind—”
“Yes, sorry, restoring connection now. Apologies, Sergeant, I’ll—keep a closer eye on it.” The agent starts mumbling the rest of his intended sentence, mostly about how many he’s keeping track of, when he cuts himself off. His shoulders pull in a bit, almost chastised. It always takes people a minute to remember the super hearing.
He could let it hang. The feed is fixed; he can go back to staring at an empty lot without interruption.
“You’re doing fine.” Bucky feels bad because he’s having an unordinarily good day. That’s all it is. Nothing more. “Restructure your feed priorities. You can hand most of these off to JARVIS; that’s what he’s patched in for. Focus on the ones your gut doesn’t like.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll start on that now.” The words don’t even sound spiteful.
Bucky sits back against the executive bench of the Datacrux. The stiff leather creaks with the motion, the rigid frame under it keeping him grounded. He tilts his head from side to side, letting it crack and readjust incrementally. His neck doesn’t feel as tight as it should. When he touched it in Ava’s lab, the skin felt even softer than it did after her first round on him. He’s trying not to touch it now. He doesn’t want to irritate it. This is the best it’s felt in—
He doesn’t have a year, he realizes. He can’t remember the one he woke up to cybernetics in. He has no idea when his first taste of cyborg life was. There’s a vague lead, a number written out on paper to fill in the blanks of what’s been destroyed. An estimation anchored around the last day of his former life. But he doesn’t know.
At least you’re still breathing, the better angel in his mind coaxes.
Switching which leg is balanced on which knee, Bucky settles back into his work. It’s been six months since the last lead on his responsibility. There’s been no chatter from the known HYDRA cells, no underground protection contracts with suspiciously good track records hitting Natasha’s web, no suspicious Black Market transfers that scream safe house establishment, nothing. Wherever the Soldats are, they’re being kept under wraps. 
His hounds wouldn’t be able to be contained for anywhere near this long. They’re dead or sedated, no matter where they were smuggled. Otherwise, they’d have surfaced already.
Bucky tries not to think about what a life of not knowing will feel like. He doesn’t know if that’s worse than the idea of burying them. They’re certainly not staring down the barrel of a happy ending at this point. How do you mourn—a situation like that? He can’t even figure out how the hell he’s supposed to be fixing it.
Somewhere out there are the last ravaged pieces of a serum that never should have been made. It’s floating, cobbled together and left to rot, in the veins of men and women who didn’t know what they were signing up for. He remembers having to hold their shoulders down whenever the survival instinct kicked in during the first few injections. He remembers watching their faces as they screamed for a mercy no one in that facility was ever going to grant them. He remembers carrying the bodies of the ones that died in the night, over and over for months, all the way to the incinerator.
Bucky tosses the tablet in his lap off to a spot next to his leg out of disgust. His eyes shut, and his hands come up to rub them hard enough to hurt. He needs sleep. Good, honest to god, medication-induced sleep. He hates relying on those damn pills—it’s not as if they help the other half of his problem, anyhow. Falling asleep is only the start of it. The real kicker is staying unconscious, and nothing he can find, even behind the counter, is going to work on his system for that long.
He needs it, though. It’s been weeks since he got more than a handful of hours at a time. Months since he slept for longer than eight. Steve always talks about crashing for ten at a time after an extended mission, and it makes him want to punch his best friend’s lights out. He’ll never say that out loud, of course, but god. If fucking only.
None of his anger toward Steve ever feels fair. The guy had the world’s worst life before the serum, and he’ll bare his teeth at anyone who tries guilting the captain out of the notion. None of them understand what kind of fresh hell it was being Steve Rogers, and all his undying spirit, while trapped in a body with ten billion health issues. If ever there was someone who earned the responsibility of that serum, it’s him, and Bucky’s damn proud of him for it. He spends his days trying to live up to it himself.
He looks over at the back of the analyst with a guilty expression. People used to dismiss Steve the same way he dismisses people now, whenever the anger simmers. 
“Davis, pull up your priority flags.”
The level four glances back nervously, then clears his throat and refocuses on his terminal. “It’s alright, sir, I’m working on sorting them now—”
“I know. That’s what we’ll be going over.”
“I—” Davis hesitates for a long moment. Bucky stares at the back of his head. “Sergeant Barnes, I’m very sorry about the—”
“This isn’t a reprimand.” Bucky clears his own throat, trying to knock the aggression out of his tone. It’s. A lot more difficult than he was expecting. “You’re new here, so I’m gonna give you the crash course. I’m in here a lot, at all hours. You won’t get a heads-up about it; I’m just going to show up. When I do, there are certain hotspots I’m going to need you to keep focused on. They’re not going to be tied to any active case. You’re not going to be able to tell which ones I need. I’m going to tell you what’s already on my radar, and you can establish your own categories from there. I’ll tell you what else I need you to add as it comes up.”
“Oh.” A little hope is entering the analyst’s tone. “Yeah, that—you know, that sounds like what I do for Romanoff already.”
Bucky frowns. The hell it does. She has exactly three people on the face of this Earth that she trusts to handle something like this for her. He’s willing to do it for convenience, and because he doesn’t give a shit what SHEILD sees him prioritize. He worked very hard to not give a shit about it, too. But Natasha doesn’t work like that; she’s very particular about her web of information—
His face goes completely slack as the connection finally happens in his mind. He’s going to kill her. No—actually. He’s never going to bring it up, ever, and they’re both going to die before a word ever gets said about it.
That’s just how their brand of family works.
“Yeah. Exactly like how Romanoff has you do it. Pull up her file structure; let’s go over what I’ll need you to change for my end.”
“Bitch! It feels like I haven’t hugged you in a year!”
It’s the only warning Ava gets before she’s tackled from behind. She braces her hands on the engineering bench in front of her, barely catching herself from crashing into it. “Two weeks and three days, but who’s counting? How was the flight home, whore?”
Paige leaves a loud, sloppy smooch on her left temple before backing away to let her up from the attack. “That part was fine—it was the team I got paired with, ugh. You’d have hated the guy runnin’ it.”
“How bad are we talking?”
“Eh, your typical good’ ol boy. Mister my way or the highway, with an ego the size’a the fuckin’ Potomac to match. You know the type. Spent the whole mission criticizin’ my tech.”
She looks over at her in surprised confusion. Paige taking shit from other agents is nothing new; that comes with the territory of her personality and most people’s assumptions. Her work is usually the one thing they leave alone. “How critical are we talking?”
“That was the thing—it was the dumb kind. The kind that could’a been avoided if he’d maybe RTFM.”
“And he made it your problem?”
“Over and over. Every ten minutes, it was—” Paige shimmies her upper body dramatically, her voice going low and gravelly. “Why can’t my AIO do this? How do I make it do that? Rogers’ team gets the reliable gear; why are we always stuck with the second rate?”
“He said that to your face?” Ava’s about ready to march through the tower to find the prick herself.
“Not that last one. That was to his buddy when the dipstick thought his comm was off. I got a half-baked publicist apology over it, and I’m pretty sure he only did it to save face in front of the team for leavin’ the mic open.”
“Report his ass.”
Paige waves a hand dismissively, then dumps her go-bag unceremoniously on the workbench. “I ain’t gon’ waste my time. I’ll let him hang his own noose; I’m sure he’ll get around to it with that attitude. Oh! I’ve got a mock-up for your pretty boy.”
Ava smiles, tossing one of her best friend’s rolls of duct tape between her hands. “I didn’t say he was pretty.”
“Puh-lease. You texted about his hair.”
“With the amount of shit man-buns have taken, it was surprising to see on a guy from a less than accepting decade.”
“You only notice stuff like that when you’re lookin’.” Paige tips her head forward, letting her heart-shaped sunglasses fall to the end of her nose. Her eyebrows waggle enthusiastically. “Is he as big as Rogers? I can never tell in the press photos with him always loomin’ like a gargoyle.”
The smile turns deviously smug. “He’s a little smaller than your not-so-secret admirer. You gotta figure that’s expected without the Vita Radiation.”
Paige reaches out to shove at her shoulder. “I don’t think Rogers has really nailed down what modern flirtin’ is yet. Ain’t fair to pin that on the guy. He’s so sweet! And I give him art projects! And anyhow, he rushes outta here like his ass is on fire most of the time—”
“It’s so weird how that happens whenever your dad shows up to hang out.”
She gets a very unimpressed look in response. “You’re readin’ int’a things.”
Leaning in close, Ava squints and whispers, “You’re being oblivious.” She backs up, her smugness returning. “So, I take it our friendship never comes up while you’re giving the captain art projects.”
“I... hmm. Not that I can remember. Why?” Paige looks over suddenly, then back at the bag she’s unloading with more than her usual level of interest. “Did he bring me up durin’ the visit?”
The glitter-sniffing demon not being allowed to communicate with her has been utter hell for two weeks and three days. But it comes with the upside of getting to drop this bomb on her all at once. “No, but I brought you up during Bucky’s first visit. That’s when Rogers realized he’d read your best friend the riot act the week before.”
Paige’s eyes go saucer wide. “You’re kiddin’. You got chewed out by America’s Sweetheart?”
“Funny enough, I called him the same thing while he was huffing and puffing in my office.”
“What the hell happened while I was gone? Did—” Her head swivels around, checking who’s around them. “Did? Y’know?”
Ava shakes her head, then hikes herself up to sit on the workbench next to the bag. “Nothing like that. Turns out he was going for a trial run, trying to see how well I hold up against a bad episode. Stormed into my office, playing up the asshole captain routine just to see what I’d do. Apparently, Tony set him up for it by not telling him about my VA work. He let out the hot air the second I called him on it. He’s pretty cute when he’s blushing, by the way.”
“Oh, tell me about it,” Paige mumbles happily, proving the accusation of obliviousness entirely right.
“The blush or the huffing?”
“I already know about the blushin’, even if I am ready to hear it again. But over dinner tonight. What’re we thinkin’?”
“You’re the one who’s been living off MREs for two weeks. What are you in the mood for?”
“Fuck, that’s a great question. Indian, definitely. No—wait! Sc-ratch that! I want Vietnamese. Actually, I want both.”
“Take-out picnic, got it.”
“And Italian donuts.”
“Okay, but I’m bringing half the order to work tomorrow. They’ll get stale if you pull an all-nighter to catch up.”
“Fiiine. Take my victory donuts to the masses, y’dirty Marxist. Lemme show ya what I worked on for Barnes before I forget.”
The field case she’s designed is cylindrical and shorter than the phones SHEILD issues most of their agents. Definitely something he’s going to be able to carry around with ease. The applicators that hook to the interior are simplistic and utilitarian. They’re entirely mechanical, with no chance of an EMP being able to disable them—a request from the Sergeant himself. 
“Tony says I can requisition some nannies whenever—I just gotta get your signature on the form since they’re medical grade.”
Ava tosses an olive from the jar she keeps stashed in Paige’s mini-fridge into the air. She catches it in her mouth on the first try for once. “You have one filled out already? I can sign it now; I know you like putzing around with them for a few days ahead of time.”
“Eh, it’s a standard cleaner tag; I’m not gon’ sweat it. I know you’re all worried about his brainstem and whatnot—”
“That’s usually part of my job description, yeah.”
“—but I feel like sterile’s sterile. Ain’t no way I can make the man cleaner than clean, y’know? Now, if you wanna talk settin’ ’em up for emergency maintenance, that’s a different story—”
“Your not-crush just walked into engineering,” Ava interrupts lowly, wanting to avoid the enhanced hearing even from way the hell over here.
In the most conspicuous way imaginable, Paige whips her head around to stare directly at the bay’s front entrance. In a rival amount of obviousness, Captain Rogers slowly works his way through the amassed benches, his gaze landing everywhere but Paige’s station. 
Ava’s eyes roll so hard it’s physically painful. It’s been one thing hearing Paige talk about getting drop-in visits from the super soldier who just so happens to enjoy the blueprints framed over her workbench. It’s another to see it play out in person. 
“He’s prob’ly here to check on the kit for Barnes,” Paige whispers back, tugging off her novelty shades.
“Yeah, that’s definitely why he won’t look at you right now—”
“He’s takin’ in the work goin’ on. He’s a curious guy, you know that—”
“And why he’s walking slow enough to trip over his own feet.”
“He’s admirin’ the—”
“He’s working up the nerve—”
“If you don’t fuck off with that, you lunatic—”
“Alright, now you’re being hopeless on purpose—”
“Good afternoon, Ms. Findley. I hope the trip was—oh.” Steve stops dead in his tracks, three feet from Paige’s farthest desk, his eyes finally landing on Ava. He smiles sheepishly. “Hi there, Dr. Ryder.”
Her grin feels positively carnivorous. “Hello, Steve. Come to welcome home our resident space cadet?”
“Hiya, Rogers,” Paige responds, turning with a smile almost as bashful as the captains. She spins back around, busying herself with the mess of wiring she’s pulled from her bag. “Don’t pay her any mind; she’s in a mood.”
“Something happen with the appointment today?” The concern that immediately surfaces knocks some of the teasing out of Ava. 
Some.
“No, Bucky played nice, I promise. I even brought him bagels to make up for being a half-hour late. Come to think of it, that’s probably what made me a half-hour late.”
Steve’s eyes go a bit wider, his smile softening. “You two had breakfast together?”
“I ate mine in the car. He took his with him. But I like to think we did so in spirit.” Her head tilts to the side innocently, refusing to let him off the hook. “So. What brings you to engineering?”
His hand comes up to the back of his neck, his expression getting… close to nonchalant. “I had some time on my hands—don’t wanna run off on a mission with Buck being a grump about medical orders; he might sneak out. Take your time with that, by the way. It’s impossible to convince the guy to take a day off. You’d be doing him a favor if you dragged your feet a little more.”
Using a best friend for deflection is a social skill Ava mastered years ago. He’s going to have to try a lot harder. “Who wouldn’t want to kill time in engineering? The wrench monkeys get to have all the fun. Maybe you should bring Bucky next time—”
“Oh, that’s—you know, I don’t think that’d be a real—he’s very particular about where he—I think maybe—”
“I think the sergeant would love to meet you,” Ava tells Paige, who’s biting back a grin with her head pointed firmly down at her workbench. “I was telling him some stories about you this morning. I think he might share a few of his own with some time.”
“I wouldn’t mind that,” Paige offers, still not looking up.
Steve lets out a nervous chuckle. “That’s—yeah, it’d—it could help out with his attempts to be social, and—you know. Hey, how was the mission, by the way? I forgot to finish asking.”
“It went just fine.” Paige shrugs, and that’s when it clicks for Ava why she was willing to jump topics so fast. Agent Dickhead really did hurt her feelings.
“Towanda,” Ava says plainly, calmly.
Her best friend’s eyes lift to hers. They stare at each other for a long moment. Paige goes through a silent argument that it’s not worth it; Ava silently insists that it very much is. It all happens through shifting eyebrows.
After a moment, Paige’s shoulders deflate, and she looks back at her work with a sigh. “You do it.”
Looking back up at a confused Steve, Ava crosses her arms over her chest. “You’ve got a real cunt running one of your away teams.”
“Oh, sweet lord,” Paige groans, her head falling into her hands with her elbows braced on the workbench. 
The captain’s eyebrows go for his hairline. “I’m sorry—I have a—I’m going to need a few more details.” He shifts his attention to Paige’s back, and his expression gets worried. “Did something happen? Who was your lead? JARVIS, can you grab me the associated reports on Ms. Findley’s latest away mission—”
“You don’t have’ta do that—“she tries to assure, her head coming up with blazing red cheeks. She hates confrontation. Absolutely despises it. 
Ava used to avoid it. She doesn’t bother much these days. “Actually, your name got thrown into the mix, Captain.” 
“Heeere we go.” Paige takes a deep breath in.
“Thrown into the mix of what?” Steve’s tone is shifting into the sub-zero range. 
“I’m not sure what Agent Fuckwad’s name is, but apparently, the guy thinks it’s not his job to understand his equipment. He also thinks it’s super cool to talk shit about the engineer that designed what he can’t wrap his head around. On an open comm. With her on the other end.”
“I have the mission data ready for transfer to your private feed, Captain Rogers,” JARVIS reports in. Ava doesn’t miss the smugness sitting in his tone, making her smile. She’s betting the AI has been fuming over this in his own way. He’s been protective of Paige ever since her first all-nighters in engineering.
There’s a boiling rage sitting in Steve’s eyes, one that’s rising by the second. When he steps up to tap the side of Paige’s arm with the back of his hand, it’s entirely held back from his voice. “Are you alright with me handling this?”
It’s Ava’s turn to raise her eyebrows in surprise. Extremely pleasant surprise.
“I—oh, fuck me runnin’.” Paige lifts her hand to scrub at her face. “Look, Rogers, I’m not tryin’ to get anyone in trouble here—”
“There are ways to go about this without leaving you holding the bag from a reputation standpoint. If the guy’s a—a... I tried, I’m sorry, I can’t get the word out—the point is, I can handle this in a way that doesn’t blow back on you.”
“Let him do it for the other people the dickwad is going to end up being a cunt to,” Ava suggests helpfully. 
“Exactly,” Steve agrees easily. 
Paige groans, shifting her weight back and forth. Finally, she nods with an uneasy sigh. “Alright. But—maybe just have it be somethin’ found from the logs? I really don’t wanna write up a—”
“Your name won’t come up. I’ll take care of it.”
Ava smiles, tossing another olive to catch in her mouth.
September 20th, 2015
Sam balances the plate of sliced sough dough and fresh fruit on top of a can of grape Fanta. He keeps his eyes locked on the way it wobbles back and forth as he makes his way down the hallway of the rented house. Propping the bundle of still-warm linens on his hip, he shimmies his hand off them enough to grab at the handle to Sergeant Miserable’s room.
The sack of personified despair is exactly where they last left him, hunched in on himself in the corner of the room. The pile of blankets under him used to be on the perfectly nice bed sitting in front of the window. The one with an unbelievable view of Finland’s countryside hidden behind tightly drawn curtains.
Their resident vampire, un-fucking-surprisingly, fled from it as fast as he could. Steve’s been grumbling about stealing the curtains while he’s asleep just to force the guy to look out the window on the way to the john.
Sam’s decided to start handling the food deliveries alone. It’s time to start pushing, even if Steve’s not entirely ready for it.
Bucky watches him move through the room, never saying a word. Not even when the plate of food gets put on the nightstand next to the bed, where they always leave it. He leaves them empty outside the door at night, so they know he’s actually eating. Poor bastard never looks angry, more just anguished. 
Sam sits on the side of the bed slowly, as gently as he can. He keeps his posture relaxed, his expression passive, and looks up at the newly freed prisoner of war. “You and I gotta come to an understanding on somethin’.”
Bucky’s eyes start out mostly hidden, thanks to the angle of his head. The shadows consume them entirely as his eyebrows come down. “What.”
One-word answer. That’s good. It’s a verbal day. “We gotta figure out where we’re at. Steve is too close. You’re gonna need someone pushing you on things he can’t. Things you need help with.” 
It’s not a subject he’s brought up with Steve. Being blunt feels like the better option here. He’s guessing the captain’s appeasement is starting to grate on nerves going through this much culture shock. Plus, there’s no pep-talk like a military pep-talk. 
“Do I strike you as an invalid?”
“You might not wanna—we’ll work on that. Point is, you need to start gettin’ comfortable with the new reality. Suck it up, Buttercup, the sky didn’t actually fall. The world’s still spinnin’. None of the big baddies who still know about you have the juice to catch you—”
“No, they don’t,” he confirms aggressively.
Sam rolls his eyes. “Yeah, whatever, you’re huge and scary. You’re also an idiot sitting around wasting a full pardon. No one’s expecting you to start doing a press circuit. If you wanna walk off into the sunset and go find a picket fence to park your Transylvania routine behind, we’ll help you pack and send you postcards. If you wanna do what Steve did and pick up a life in SHEILD, let’s get you fitted in some Kevlar and find you a therapist. But let’s get you outta this fuckin’ room.”
Bucky’s eyebrows stay firmly set, keeping his eyes shrouded. “Why.”
“Oh my god, could you be more dramatic? Like, shit, if you really tried?” He stands up from the bed, headed for the door, his eyes rolling again. “You wanna know why? Because that’s what people do, Bucky. They hit the ground, they figure out if they’re still breathing, and then they get back up to fix what broke. You keep going for the ones who didn’t survive the landing; because they’d hate your guts if you laid down and died over them. Your friend Steve can tell you all about that if you ever feel like giving the man the time of day. No one’s asking you to do this alone.” 
Sam stops at the door, raising one finger and pointing it back accusingly. “You know what— I’m asking you to go outside long enough for a beer in three days. Besides that, it’s up to you how slow you wanna take this.”
“What’s in three days?” The comment is thrown out on a grumble, right when Sam’s nearly got the door closed.
“My birthday, asshole. I’d like to spend it somewhere outside of this house. And, believe it or not, I’d like you to be there.”
—author end notes—
idk abt other ppls trauma foods, but man when im Goin Through Shit all i can ever stomach is bread and bubbles so, for sure inflicted that on bucko. plums i feel like are His to pick up, y'know?
im putting the idiots in my own couples counseling since im robbing bucky of his best FATWS moment so far (yes it is the wrong about me line ty for asking). i also want it on record that grammarly tried to get me to change "the 30s" to "his 30s" and i had to be like no actually i just jacked our leading man from the restricted section of the smithsonian, thanks tho babe
and now you've met paige!! the storm in a bottle herself!! she gonna smooch the shit outta stevie. gonna try to do our babe peggy proud and have her knock that dweeb off his toes at every turn (not hard). still no clue if ill do a spin-off series for them since they're just background here, but i do know im doing some kinktober stuff for them. they get 10 of the days so far (yeah. yeah, its gonna be 4some territory in the last few days, but have no fear, the main fic((s? series maybe? look man im makin a plan as we go. all i know right now is good space and kinktober)) will stay monogamy focused). so, fans of super mega dirty steve, might wanna Check Back Later for those posts 🥰
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gedankenzerdenken · 3 months ago
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T. schreibt mir auf meine verweinte Nachricht zurück:
"du fragst dich, warum es dich so mitnimmt, denn dieser mann war für dich da, aber er hat dir nur das bare minimum gegeben und du fragst dich warum es dich dennoch so mitnimmt:
ich verstehe total was du mit diesem bare minimum meinst. ich denke aber dass das "lediglich" in bezug auf das commitment zutrifft. was das anging, hatte er ne schraube locker und konnte dir wirklich kaum mehr als das minimum geben. ABER seine taten sprachen ja eine komplett andere sprache. er hat dir naemlich in deinem leben nicht nur das bare minimum gegeben, sondern auch recht viel: stabilität, sicherheit, du musstest keine angst haben, er war verlaesslich, hat dich zum lachen gebracht, hat viele kleine und grosse aufgaben uebernommen (wie reparaturen, einrichtungen etc.). und vieles vieles mehr
und das ist nicht das bare minimum
das ist das, was bei den meisten personen nur die engsten freunde oder der partner tut. bei manchen auch die eltern, aber you get my point
also wenn ich mal so zurueckblicke, hatte mir damals keine einzige situationship (j. oder p.), geschweige denn meine beziehung zu a., nicht annaehernd diese dinge erfüllt. niemand dieser personen war in so einem ausmaß fuer mich da, wie b. fuer dich. bei mir waren das zu dem zeitpunkt immer nur meine freundinnen, die diese aufgaben uebernommen habe
um den kreis also zu schließen:
ES IST VOELLIG NORMAL DASS ES DICH SO MITNIMMT
wie sollte es nicht???? selbst wenn du deinen alltag, deine routinen etc hast. das ist ein sehr grosser teil deines lebens gewesen. selbst wenn er nicht anwesend war, war er ja wie dein Backup. du wusstest dass er da ist. nur halt nicht bis zum aeussersten mit dir gehen wird und darueber hatten wir dann ja auch gesprochen, als ich bei dir war. dass das ein ziemlicher einschnitt werden wird, und dass er schmerzhafter werden wird, je laenger das zwischen euch geht. wobei es wahrscheinluch keinen unterschied mehr gemacht haette, ob ihr euch jetzt oder vor 7 monaten oder whatever getrennt haettet
warum er keine beziehung will: das werden wir wahrscheinlich nie verstehen, weil wir einfach komplett anders ticken. wir haben keine bindungsaengste, sogar eher im gegenteil. klar sind wir auch vorsichtig. aber wenn wir jemanden moegen und uns das vorstellen koennen, haben wir ja gar kein problem bindungen einzugehen. er muss sich wahrscheinlich auch fragen, ob die beziehung zu b. vielleicht auch aufgrund seiner fehlenden bindungsfaehigkeit so distanziert war. das was er nun bei dir zugelassen hat, war wahrscheinlich schon viel mehr, als er ertragen konnte. aber letztendlich schafft er es dennoch nicht, den letzten schritt zu gehen. Ich finde gut, dass er nochmal genaustens beschrieben hat, dass es nicht an dir liegt und ich finde auch, dass du dir das merken solltest. es lag nicht an dir. es liegt nicht an dir als person. b. hat ein problem. naemlich eine bindungsANGST. und diese angst kann ihm niemand nehmen. ganz egal wie toll man ist. er ist selbst komplett gefangen. und er wird irgendwann zurueckschauen und sich aergern, dass er dieses problem nicht fruehzeitig angegangen ist
hast du zufaellig die derzeitige bachelorette staffel geguckt? da gab es einen, der es nach seiner ersten großen beziehung nicht mehr geschafft hat, naehe und bindung zuzulassen. obwohl er total beduerftig nach liebe war und sich auch verlieben WOLLTE. aber er hat sofort immer panik bekommen, obwohl seine erste beziehung total toll und nicht schlimm oder schaedlich war. ich glaube uns wird es fuer immer schwer fallen, so etwas nachvollziehen zu koennen, oder? einfach weil wir da wirklich anders ticken und TOTAL bindungsfaehig sind. und auch die tatsache, dass du aufhoeren konntest zu weinen, als er dann endlich anfing, find ich total nachvollziehbar. er hat sich und dir dann endlich eingestanden, dass er lost und am arsch ist und dir eine emotionale regung gezeigt, die dich beruhigt hat und dir gezeigt hat, dass du nicht loco bist! seine traenen waren deine validierung, dass das was ihr hattet schoen war und er das problem war und ist. das hat dich in dem moment wahrscheinlich einfach in irgendeiner form erleichtert. gerade wenn du auch sagst, dass das gespraech davor davon gepraegt war, dass du dich gedemuetigt gefuehlt hast, weil du scheinbar generell mehr gefuehlt hast als er
er hat glaub ich einfach jetzt gecheckt (und da bin ich gespannt wie es ihm in den naechsten tagen ergehen wird) dass dieses "ich liebe dich, aber ich will keine beziehung mit dir" AUCH IHM WEH TUN WIRD. dass er dir damit weh tut, dass wusste er ja schon lange, deshalb war er dir ja immer so strange "entgegen gekommen" etc... aber jetzt wird er merken: der groeßte verlierer in der sache wird er sein. wir hatten ja beide im gefuehl, als wir in ms gesprochen haben, dass das demnaechst anstehen wird. weil es irgendwann zwischen dir und r. und zwischen dir und b. stehen wird. und ich glaube, so beschissen die situation sich jetzt auch anfuehlt, letztendlich ist es ja ne trennung, so gut ist es dennoch, dass es bereits jetzt passsiert ist und nicht noch später. bzw glaube ich nicht, dass b. in naher zukunft mit einer anderen gluecklich werden wird. wie soll das gehen? ehrlich mal
du hast ihm ja die groesste grundlage fuer eine beziehung gegeben und er hat sie nicht ergriffen. j. ist auch bis heute single. es gibt einfach bindungsprobleme, die sind real
und deine maennerauswahl war nicht random. also nur weil sich maenner nicht direkt aehnlich sind, sind sie ja nicht direkt random. du hast geschaut, wo du dich wohl fuehlst und wo sich gefuehle entwickeln."
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the-exes-lore · 10 months ago
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Lore Part 4
Part 10 - Father and Son(rp between @king--of--ducks and @bigdoginthesky )
Part 11 - Careful(rp with @penguinmaster9999 )
Part 12 -Lies
Part 13 - Trust?(Rp with @penguinmaster9999 )
Part 14 - A Princess Comfort (rp with @penguinmaster9999 )
Part 15- Visit From an Engineer (rp with @penguinmaster9999 )
Part 16 - A secret deal (rp with @penguinmaster9999 )
Part 17 - Alone
Part 18 -Not Enough
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serenaew · 1 year ago
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20 questions for fic writers!
Thanks for the tag @danpuff-ao3, @bintemuhammad, @trueliarose, @sanctuary-angel!
Tagging (no pressure): @renee561, @somnwritessometimes... you're the only ones I'm pretty sure I haven't seen on the tag lists, but feel free to reblog with your own answers even if I didn't tag you!
Answers under the cut.
1. How many works do you have on AO3?
68 plus some anon stuff, plus quite a few drafts XD
2. What’s your total AO3 word count?
151,217 words. If I disregard the about 26k of collabs where I did less writing and more podfic or support work, that amounts to about 125k.
3. What fandoms do you write for?
Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling 
Original Work and the like (more poetry and filk but :shrug:)
Doctor Who (2005)
Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms in the sense that I use a lot of tunes from POTO.
Classical music (as POTO)
4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?
The Fateweaver (Snarry)
Blooming Heart (Snarry)
A small step for a boy (Severitus)
Curatio (Snarry)
Flight of Dreams (Snarry)
5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?
I do. I'm always so happy to receive the (more than 99% lovely) comments, and, well, you all know that I really like talking about my stuff, so I'm always glad to have someone reaching out to me.
6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?
I think it's a toss-up between: Repertum (M, Snarry) for the life-threatening attack on Harry - it ends on two cliffhangers over the course of the story, actually - and Ouroboros in Tribute (T, Severitus) and the adjacent series for the angst of missed chances, of regret, as is Late Reflections (T, canon-compliant), with the exact opposite perspective, but similar premise.
7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?
Um. Again, a toss-up, I guess. Promises, promises… (G, Snarry), Fidelitas (T, Snarry) and A small step for a boy (G, Severitus).
8. Do you get hate on fics?
Not yet, and I'm really glad about that!
9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?
I don't. I might think of changing that - I even opened an ALT account (EleanorPhoenix) for that.
10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?
Okay. How shall I answer this... If filk to the tune of a song from another fandom counts, then, yes, quite a few - POTO filk, Dracula filk, Children's songs filk, but the lyrics being from another fandom (HP, original, meta-fandom, the like) If not... I've had the idea of a Snape & 13th Doctor's fic for AGES, but, well.
11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?
not quite? it was re-archived on some random website from ffn without my permission, but it was taken down before I knew about it.
12. Have you ever had a fic translated?
Not yet! But I do have a blanket permission for translations, if anyone wants to. I'd be especially curious if someone wanted to re-translate my English fics to German or Chinese, how I'd sound in my two mother tongues if re-translated.
13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?
I have! (Pssssst....)
14. What’s your all time favourite ship?
There is no all-time favourite, IMO. I am currently obssessed with Snape and Harry positive relationships, however. I suspect that tide might change in a few months, years, whatever.
15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?
Oh God. Too many. Shall I list? Mostly, it's an unposted self-insert anthology for Doctor Who the Unspeakable Mysteries Verse (Snarry) and the the Fateweaver Verse (Snarry) that have been lying around for ages, but there are a ton of Severitus ideas I've also been struggling with, like: the Forget Me Not verse and the Christmas in Limbo verse For my full list of WIPs, see this post.
16. What are your writing strengths?
AAAANGST. I really like torturing both my characters and my readers.
17. What are your writing weaknesses?
I have yet to actually write anything resembling action that isn't cringe; I'm deeply reluctant to move out of my comfort zone that consists of angst, angst and more angst, with quite a bit of introspection.
18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?
If apporpriate to the setting, definitely! -> Latin for spells and chants -> various English dialects - if only I could! -> conlangs and original languages for a certain world - a thousand times yes! -> uhhh. I have yet to encounter a situation where I put my characters anywhere they'd need German or Chinese, but if there is a chance, I'll jump!
19. First fandom you wrote for?
Doctor Who.
20. Favourite fic you’ve written?
uuuuh. I've had a hard time deciding on five fics, never mind one.
Thanks for reading!
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