#even with everything she has gone through

[mameillieureennemie]

i had been thinking about this all day at work.

fwb!vi x f!reader - 1

summary: looks say far more than words can.

when you and vi first started this arrangement, the way she looked at you was different.

it was a look of hunger; a look that a mountain lion would possess as it laid its eyes on an innocent lamb. to say she wanted to eat you was too kind—she wanted to devour you, tear into your flesh with sharp, and wet her gullet with your blood.

it was possession that drove her to throw you on the bed before mounting you. the desperate urge to keep as she swallowed you whole, bones and all, until there was nothing left of you.

that was months ago, when the arrangement was still fresh. when you firmly stated that this was nothing but downright filthy sex, and vi agreed.

but everything has changed.

vi doesn't look at you the same.

except she does, but it's worse somehow.

while she still pins you down with that gaze of raw possession, it's...softened.

no longer is it harsh and jagged, slicing through your flesh with serrated edges. now, it cradles you, like gentle hands holding the delicate body of a baby bird. cautious, easy...

fond.

it terrifies you.

vi's nestled in the cradle of your thighs, hiding her face in the plush of your stomach. her arms are locked around your waist, tight and assured, and she's humming a tune. it's muffled, but it's familiar; a song that she lets loose when she's happy.

when she's happy with you.

there's a heavy rock in your stomach, pulling you down towards the ground. it may drag you through the earth, suffocating you in the terrifying heat of the earth's mantle. maybe the heat will kill you first, but you'll be killed nonetheless.

this is what your fear feels like. this is what you were afraid of.

vi's shifting on your lap momentarily draws you away from your inevitable breakdown. she's now lying on her back, baring her face back to the world—back to you.

the smile on her face is tender; it's what some might even call loving. the rock in your stomach gains five pounds, nausea pooling at the back of your throat.

no.

"hey, pretty girl," vi murmurs, low and slow, as if those words are her secrets. "what's going on in that head of yours?"

the words sit at the tip of your tongue, scrambling for freedom. they seep into your taste buds, leaving behind the most sour of tastes.

we need to stop this, is what yells to be said. we said no feelings. this was supposed to be about sex and nothing else. so why does it feel like you're in love with me?

why does it feel like i'm in love with you, too?

"nothing," you say instead, mimicking the low and slow, like you're also telling secrets. "just wondering about what i should do tonight."

you stress the i a little too harshly, but vi doesn't notice. or maybe she does and refuses to care. maybe she's acting on her own will, doing what feels right by her standards.

which is unfair; she isn't allowed to do this to you.

"well, if you don't anything in mind," vi says easily. "we could go catch a movie or something? maybe go and grab something to eat from jericho's?" the way she says we is too simple, as if it's always been we and not you and her.

you stare down at her for a moment, really take her in. the slope of her nose, the scar on her upper lip. the soft pinks of her cheeks, and her eyes. wide and power blue and far too expressive of their own good because she's looking at you with that look again.

that look that means way too much.

when you open your mouth, all that falls out is a lie.

"actually, i have to wake up early in the morning." you lie through your teeth because you need to get away from this—from her.

the look in vi's eyes changes, slips into something foreign; something unknown. you've never seen this look before, but you can't find it in yourself to worry about it.

when vi leaves, she presses a lingering kiss upon your lips. her hands grasp at you a bit too tightly, as if feeling you for the last time. then she's gone without a word, and a part of you wonders what that could have meant.

but as the weeks go by and vi goes unheard of, you suddenly realise on a deathly cold morning.

vi was saying goodbye.

[cjjohansson]

i remember.

natasha romanoff x reader - angst, fluff - 6.2k

You don’t know what’s happening. That’s the first thing you think of when you wake up in an alley, gloved hands covered in blood. Confusion filters through your head. 

What happened?

Where are you?

You stand up slowly, your body swaying as you look down at what you’re wearing. You’re in a pair of black jeans, with rips throughout both legs and as you look closer you only notice how the rips have been made from slashes of a knife as your blood is dry underneath them. Your hoodie is soaking wet, your hands going into the pocket to be met with a gun and a knife. 

None of this makes sense. 

Standing there confused you try your hardest to remember anything. Anything at all. 

Red hair. Piercing green eyes. 

Death. Destruction. Pain. Loss. 

Memories whip through your brain as soon as your hand wraps around your gun. But still, none of it makes sense. 

What year is it?

You stumble down the alley, hand still wrapped around the gun resting in your pocket. You stare up at the buildings surrounding you. New York. You’re in New York. 

You watch as people pass by, words fading in and out of people’s conversations. You feel a pull, your body trying to get you to move in a certain direction but you have no clue why. 

You decide to give in, allowing your body to move. You stumble into someone muttering a sorry as they tell you to watch where you’re going. 

“What year is it?” You ask them, panic and confusion filling your voice.  “2018…” Panic feels you all over again. No that doesn’t make any sense. That’s not the year. 

Red hair. Piercing green eyes. 

A name to match the features. It echoes around your head in confusion. You know her. You can feel it. You can feel it with everything inside of you. 

Your breathing picks up, and you need to hide. You rush down another alley, hiding behind a dumpster as your head falls into your hands. 

It hurts. Your brain hurts. 

Everything is rushing through you. A place called SHEILD, the Avengers. Red hair and piercing green eyes. 

But then that stops. 

Memories of your hands hurting people now rush through you. People hurting you.

Cold. Dark. Wet. Pain. Agony.��

Then it all hits you at once. You can remember it so clearly. 

The mission, your arm getting trapped under rubble, telling her to leave. The building exploding. All you can remember after that was black and then it’s the pain. 

5 years. How, how has it been 5 years? 

Natasha? 

Natasha. Red hair, piercing green eyes. 

Her face is now so clear in your head. 

You’ve been gone 5 years. You need to find her. 

You stand up again. Walking out of the alley, taking in your surroundings as you try to get your memory to cooperate with how to get to the tower. 

She will be at the tower. 

She is the only person who makes sense. 

Everyone else is a blur. 

You find yourself walking so fast down the street, people staring at you as you practically start running. The route becomes clear in your head as you finally stop outside. 

Your hand grips your gun, you can’t be too careful, not until you find her. They could still be looking for you. 

As you walk in, alarms go off behind you as you pass through the door. Confusion fills you as you hurry to the desk. 

“Natasha. Where is Natasha?” Your hand is gripping your gun so tight.  “We need you to step back.” Voices surround you. You turn slowly, people with guns ready and raised. Your hand now lifting out of your hoodie, gun in hand like it would even match theirs. 

“NATASHA. WHERE IS NATASHA!” You shout, frustration coursing through you, why won’t people answer you?  “PUT THE GUN DOWN!” You don’t. You move closer towards the man who is shouting. Before you can reach him he shoots. 

You feel the bullet lodge into your shoulder. But you don’t stop, no pain registers. 

“I need Natasha! Listen to me!!!” You beg, you plead. Why won’t they listen?  “Natasha, who?” You wrack your brain for an answer, you try so hard, your hands finding your head as you start to hit it to try and remember. 

“Red hair, piercing green eyes!” The men around you turn to each other, murmuring as they continue to look at you.  “Come with us.” Sirens go off in your head. You aren’t leaving unless it’s with her.  “No. No. You bring her here to me, NOW!” You raise your gun again. Everyone raises theirs to face you, matching your stance. 

“We need you to drop the gun.”

“Not until she is here.” You don’t give up. If you’re leaving it’s with her. 

She is the only thing clear in your head. Your body calms with the thought of her. Memories of whispered confessions, secret nights lying beside one another, her laugh, the way your body reacted to hers, and vice versa. She is the only thing clear. You need her here now. 

“Y/n?” A man’s voice has you turning around. Your gun now facing him. His face seems familiar but you can’t place a name. It’s so frustrating, having that familiarity, but none of it makes any sense. “I don’t, I need Natasha.” You stumble over your words, tears filling your eyes at the pain going through your head. 

“Okay, okay. Do you remember me?” The man asks you, you close your eyes, trying so fucking hard to remember but you can’t. You shake your head at his question, opening your eyes to see him moving closer. 

“No, stay back! Don’t, don’t come closer!” You shout at him. His movement instantly stopped at your words. “Ok, I’m sorry. I’ll stay right here. Everyone clear the room!” He shouts his last sentence your body tensing as you watch everyone start moving around you, hurrying to the doors. You’re left in the lobby of the tower, just you and this man standing opposite each other. 

“Natasha.” Is all you can get out of your mouth once everyone has left. “She is coming, ok. How about we lower the gun and take a seat?” You shake your head no. You can’t sit down. Your hands find your head again. Your gun hits the side of your head as your frustration builds. You’re pacing around now. Even more, memories spiral around. 

The man with you, his face shows in some of the memories, but his name is still so far away. It frustrates you to no end. All of this is so confusing and you’re becoming tired. 

“Clint? What’s going on?” You turn around at the voice. Your arm lowers as your body sags in relief. Her voice is the same, she is the same. 

“Y/n?” She asks in shock, your body shaking as tears build in your eyes. She is real, you remember her. She starts rushing towards you and you hate how your body’s reaction is to raise your gun again. But she doesn’t stop moving. She keeps coming closer. 

“Stop, stop.” 

“Y/n, it’s okay. I’m here.” No, no. This could be a trap. 

“Tell me something only you would know.” Her eyes widen, you can see her wracking her brain for anything. 

“You have a birthmark that looks like a giraffe on the inside of your left thigh.” She smiles shyly at you but it only breaks you more. 

“No, no, they…they’d know that now!” You shout at her, gun gripping so tight as you move your aim to her head. If you pulled the trigger it would hit right in between her eyes. 

“Ok. Ok. Let’s calm down. It’s fine. Your favorite time of the year is winter, and it’s because it means we have longer nights in bed where we can just cuddle and be us. We can make hot chocolates and watch films in the comfort of each other arms. With no one else annoying us because they know it’s our time. Your favorite color is green, but not any green but the green in a forest when the sun hits it just right, it’s your favorite because you always said it reminded you of me. You only like marshmallows when they're toasted over a fire, other than that you hate them, they have to be gooey. You only like peanut butter with apples, anything else and you hate it. You used to hum songs in the shower no matter your mood. You would always wake before me and pull me closer to you and let me sleep for a little while longer before we had to get up to train-”

“Natasha…” You sob out, dropping the gun as you fall to your knees. Natasha finally approaches you properly now. Her arms surround you as she brings you so tightly into her. You hesitate to put your arms around her, but you grip her thighs so tightly you’re afraid you’ll leave bruises. 

“I remembered you. Only you. It’s taken me too long. I’ve been gone. I got taken. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Five years. Natasha. Red hair, piercing green eyes. I remember you. I only remember you.” You can’t stop crying, your face pushing harder into her neck and finally, you allow your arms to surround her as you take in the scent of her shampoo. 

“You’re ok. You’re here now. I’ve got you. You’re safe.” Natasha whispers into your ear. Her hand comes up to the back of your head, holding you where you are, not letting you out of her arms. It’s like your body reacts to her now exaggerated breathing, her silently telling you that you need to calm down, you need to breathe. You take yourself out of her neck, your forehead finally resting on hers as you stare into her eyes. 

“I remember you.” You mutter. A smile and tears grace her face as she cups your cheek. 

“I’m glad you did. Let’s get you home, okay?” Confusion fills your face. Moving back and looking around you. “This is home?” You’re confused and rightfully so, it has been 5 years. 

“We moved a few years ago, somewhere bigger, more private. Come on, let me and Clint take you home.” She starts to stand up, her hand reaching out for yours. “Who’s Clint?” You whisper, holding her hand gently as she starts to walk towards the guy who called your name earlier. “This is Clint.” She points to him, he offers you a gentle smile, your face staying straight as you take him in. You know his face is familiar and you know that you do know him, the earlier memories of him popping up but everything else is blank. You hate it.

You stay silent the whole car journey, your hand fiddling with Natashas as she sits in the back with you. You keep trying to remember, but nothing is coming through, memories rifle through your head but they're all silent. Only she is clear, her voice is clear, her laugh. Nothing else. You can feel Natasha's eyes on you, moving between your bloodied gloved hands that she hasn’t said anything about, to your face, and then the blood seeping from your wounded shoulder. 

You pull up to the ‘compound’ as Nat called it, people rushing out of the doors have your body tensing, your hand instantly going into your pocket to grab your gun but come up empty remembering that you dropped it at the tower, but your hand wraps around the knife still present in the pocket. 

“Hey, it’s okay. They’re good, they’re safe. You know all of them but 3, it’s okay.” Natasha turns to you, her hand finding your cheek as she tries to reassure you. 

You step out of the car slowly, Natasha staying close to you as you finally approach the people standing in front of you. 

“Y/n?!” You meet eyes with another tall man with blonde hair and blue eyes. He was in your memories. He seems shocked, relieved, and also kind of scared. But you’re not shocked, they must have thought you were dead for the past 5 years. You go to reply but stop short when you take in the person coming up behind him. That’s another face in your memories but they’re not good. 

You take a glance at Natasha, her gun in a holster on her side, you reach towards it before anyone can see what you're doing, aiming the gun at him. Everyone stands still, no one talks, no one breathes as you stare at him. 

“You said it was safe.” You say out loud, your words aimed at Natasha, but you can’t look at her, you can’t take your eyes off of him. “It is. Put the gun down.” Natasha steps in front of the gun but you aim it higher, moving your body a fraction so if you shoot it will still hit him. 

“It’s not safe if he is here!” You try to tell her but she shakes her head. “He is good, whatever memories you're thinking right now, he is good. He was taken too. He was brainwashed, he is Steve's best friend, think back more, before the Avengers, think!” You close your eyes when you feel Natasha’s hand touch your chest, your arm lowering as you allow her to take the gun. You try to think, pushing away the bad, you try to think of anything and then it happens. The guy's face coming up next to the blonde man, both wearing army uniforms. It hurts, it’s confusing, and nothing makes sense.

“You’re safe here, I wouldn’t lie to you. Would I lie to you?” Natasha whispers between you both, your eyes opening and meeting hers, your body relaxes again as you shake your head no. She wouldn’t lie to you, she never would. She sends you a small smile as her hand finds yours again, walking you towards the compound, towards the people who move out of the way for Natasha and you. Only one person goes to speak, but Natasha shakes her head and pulls me along with her, the person instantly silencing themselves. 

You take in your surroundings. Counting every step you take, remembering the way to where Natasha is taking you. She places her thumb on a doorknob, the door clicking open, and she takes you into what looks like an apartment. You walk through yourself stopping just after the door not knowing what to do with yourself.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, then we can talk, okay?” You nod your head, words seeming like they can’t come to you right now, the confusion lingers, and nothing makes sense. Everything is so quiet. 

A knock at the door has you gripping your knife again, Natasha pauses and moves back towards it being met with the guy called Clint. He hands some clothes to Natasha, sending her a smile before she closes the door again and meets you back in the middle of the room. She walks you through into a bedroom until she opens another door and you're suddenly in a bathroom. 

“Do, do you want or need help cleaning up?” You stare back at her, you don’t want her to leave, she is the only thing that makes sense. You nod, accepting her help as she places the clothes onto the side, moving to another cupboard taking some towels out, and placing them onto the same side. She stands opposite you, her eyes still filled with tears as she takes a deep breath. Her hand moves slowly to your jacket, peeling it off of your body gently, her hands then go to the bottom of your hoodie, lifting it over her head. When it hits the floor she steps away from you, her tears falling, her mouth hanging open as she stares at you. 

You don’t understand why until you look down on yourself. Your left arm is…it’s metal? Shock feels your face as you take off the gloves covering your hands, your flesh arm moves to touch the metal, it’s freezing. You spot a mirror on the wall moving quickly to stand in front of it, you try your hardest to ignore Natasha's gasp as you stand with your back to her. You take yourself in, your metal arm, scars littering your whole torso. 

You close your eyes again. 

Your left side was trapped in the explosion. You open your eyes suddenly, more memories coming to you as you hurry to take off your trousers pushing them down your legs. Your left leg is metal too… You suppose it makes sense, you were trapped, they were probably ruined, and whoever got to you knew you’d be useless to them without anything replacing them. You flinch slightly when you feel hands slowly gliding up you're back. You look into the mirror your eyes spotting Natashas as she looks back at you through the mirror. 

“You were trapped…” 

“I know.” 

“I shouldn’t have left.”

“I told you to.”

“I shouldn’t have listened.” 

“You’d be dead if you stayed.” 

She doesn't say anything to that, because she knows it’s true.

Her hands surround your waist as she buries her head in between your shoulder blades. 

“I missed you, every day, I missed you so much.” You hear her mumble. Your back starting to get wet from her tears. You don’t know what to say, the past 5 years don’t make any sense, you can’t tell her you missed her too when you don’t even know if, in those 5 years, you even remembered her. And it breaks your heart when your silence makes her sobs echo within the bathroom. 

You don’t move, allowing her to get out what she needs to. This can’t be easy for her either. She thought you were dead for 5 years just to show up all over again. The years of bent-up anger and grief spilled out of her. 

You only then move when you feel her arms losing their grip and her sobs only seeming to get louder, if that was even possible. You turn around just in time to catch her, her body giving out to her emotional turmoil. Bringing her head to your chest, while holding her so tightly just so she can feel that you're real, feel like you are truly here after all this time. And secretly to remind yourself of the same things. She is still here too, she is also real, she isn’t something your mind has conjured up in your state. 

It isn’t long before she pulls away again, turning her back to you as she subtly wipes her eyes and cheeks before moving towards her shower. She doesn’t say a word, she doesn’t make a single sound while she focuses on her task at hand. And when she is done, she stays with her back to you and leaves the room before you can even utter any more words to her. 

You let the water completely engulf you as you try to focus on everything flowing through your head. You need to remember everything, every single moment, every single name and memory. The bad, the good, the ugly, you don't care. You lean over to grab some body wash on the side and the smell seems to trigger everything. 

Memories flood through you, names, faces, voices, everything. Your whole life flashes before your eyes and it should overwhelm you. But all you feel is relief. Relief of remembering, regardless of the bad you remember after being taken, that somehow fades away when Natasha’s face sits at the front of your mind. 

You're drawn from your thoughts when you can hear shouting echoing through the sound of the water hitting the sides of the shower, rushing out and throwing on the clothes Natasha left you before stepping out of the bathroom. 

Natasha is standing with the door wide open as Fury stands opposite her. They both stop talking when you slam the bathroom door to draw their attention away from one another.

“Nicholas.” You say clearly, shock filling Natasha's face as you move closer to them. 

“Y/n.” He echos right back, a smirk filling his face when you finally approach him, your arm winding around Natasha's waist to bring her closer to you, needing to feel her body heat against your cold skin. 

“Why are you both shouting, I could hear you both in the shower.” Natasha stays silent, her eyes furrowing as she looks up at Fury, his face having the same expression as hers. He doesn’t answer you and neither does she, he simply looks between you both and then speaks to Natasha, “10 minutes, meeting room.” And then he walks away. 

Natasha gets out of your grip, closing the door when Fury moves away. She stays quiet again, her back facing you as she stays with her back to you. The coldness confuses you, it hurts just as much. 

“We should head to the meeting room.” She finally says, her back still to you. “Nat, what’s, what’s wrong?” You whisper, placing your hand on her shoulder but you're met with her shrugging it off and moving away from you. 

“You were dead, for 5 years, to me, to all of us, you were dead. I grieved you, I put flowers on your empty grave every week. Every week since your funeral. For a whole year, I couldn’t go on missions, I couldn’t work. I didn’t leave the tower until your funeral, and then after that, I didn’t leave my room for 3 months. I then didn't go on missions for 6 months either, because you were dead. And I, I hated you for that, I hated that you made me leave, I hated that you radioed Tony to come and get me and I hated that we were forced to leave without even looking for your body. I hated that when I finally found the strength to pack your stuff away, I found a ring in your shoes. And right now, god I am so fucking happy and relieved you're alive but…” She breathes, she wipes her eyes and she meets your eyes, and the look in them breaks you. 

“But, I have now lived 5 long years without you and I’m not the ‘me’ you remember or know, Y/n. I’m not.” 

“I remembered you, Natasha, I woke up in an alley not even knowing what year it was and all I could remember was you. I remember YOU. I can- let me get to know who you are now, let me, let me remember you for who you are now.” You beg her, you need her. Especially now.

“You remembered the old me, Y/n. I’m not someone who you can love anymore. I’m not, that’s gone, that person died the day that you died.”

“Natasha…”

“We need to go to the meeting room.” She tries to deflect.

“I want to talk to you more than talking to Fury.”

“I can’t do this right now, please. Just please, let me take this in, you're here and you're alive and I don’t, I can’t process this right now.” She opens the door and walks out, the conversation over with. 

She leads you down to the meeting room, walking in front of you the whole time, every time you try to match her pace she only walks faster to get further away from you. You hate the distance between you both but you do understand it, as much as it hurts. She needs to process this, you’ve been gone, a lot has happened in those years and you can’t force her to stay if she doesn’t want to. So you’re not shocked when she walks you into the meeting room and leaves immediately after. 

---------------------------

You tell Fury everything. How you somehow survived the explosion, and how you remember your body being pulled from the rubble, thinking it was SHEILD but it wasn't. You tell him about the months of tests completed on you, the super soldier serum that now floods through your veins. You tell him every mission you remember, the dates, the countries, the kills. He takes you to the med bay next, and more blood is taken from you as you show them your new leg and arm, they pay close attention to the scars covering your body and you try not to cower away at that. After he is done with that he takes you to the gym, making you run the fastest you can, lifting the heaviest weights you can. You ignore the looks of shock on his and Marias faces as they write everything down. 

When you finally land back in the meeting room, you all sit in silence. Fury and Maria, continuously look at each other and then back to you. You sit back twirling your thumbs as you wait for them to say anything. And Maria is the first one to choke. 

“How do you feel? You couldn't remember anything but Natasha 5 hours ago.” I shrug my shoulders trying to find the right words to say. 

“Honestly, I feel okay. At first, it was overwhelming not remembering anything, but then when everything hit me, I was just relieved, relieved that I could actually remember. Yeah, my time at Hydra was shit, but it happened, and I’m here now. And there is only one Hydra base left which I just gave you the location too and within days that will be gone too. So I feel relieved because I won’t go back there. Because I am here, with people I know and remember. I may be different now, I know I’m different and in a week I could be feeling completely different, so if and when I do feel different, I will come straight to Maria. I promise, I am here and I am present.” I lay my hands on the table as I finish talking, Fury and Maria nodding their heads at my words. 

“I’ll sort out your death certificate. I’ll sort out your bank account and ID, all of that stuff. You’ll have it within a day. Oh, and all of your pension that we owed you for being dead I guess.” Fury tells you, standing up and leaving, but not without placing his hand on your shoulder and saying, “I’m glad you're back Y/n.”

Maria stays sitting for longer, her hands fiddling with paperwork as she gets it all together. You know she wants to say something, but you know she won’t. “So, Natasha kind of hates me, I guess.” You try to break the silence, but Maria's sighing makes her stop her movements. 

“It was rough. She wasn’t Natasha anymore, any trace of her was gone and it took a while to try and bring her back but she didn't, not really anyway. I’ve seen Natasha be so many different people, around different people but around you, that was Natasha. How she was with the guys, it wasn't how she was when you were here. But no one could do or say anything because we all knew it wouldn’t matter. Because you were gone and because of that, she wasn't ever going to come back. Especially after she found the ring. She used to wear it you know. All the time, no one said anything, worried about how she would react and then one day she stopped, and we all just thought, she had accepted it. That you were gone and wasn't coming back. She doesn’t hate you, I know she doesn’t, but right now, those 5 years of grief and loss, she is hating herself for giving up when you were out there all along, alive.” Maria, sits herself down next to you, leaning against the table as you furrow your brows, trying to process her words. You get it, like you already said, you understand. You can’t even begin to imagine what it would be like if the roles were the other way. Honestly, you would probably react the same way she is. 

“It wasn’t her fault.” You whisper, tears building in your eyes.

“To her, it is, was her fault. So what are you going to do about it, super soldier?”

------------------------------

You had been at the compound for a week now. It had been good, fun even. You knew most people, that is the original 6 of the Avengers. It was nice to be with them again, joking and laughing like you did all those years ago. It also helped that some new additions to the team were also nice.

It would have only been perfect if Natasha was there too but she wasn't. She had disappeared when you finally came out of your meeting with Fury and Maria, and it didn't surprise you when Clint was also gone. You knew where they were, at Clint’s farm. She needed space, you understood that but you wished she at least told you she had left, but you had to realize she didn't owe you that at all. 

It was by the second week at the compound that it then started to feel like you were now intruding into Natasha's life without you. She still hadn't come home. The constant thoughts of just leaving so she could come back were always floating around your head but another part also kept telling you that she just needs to process this and then she will be home, she will be back and it will all be okay. 

It was so conflicting, the constant back and forth. You wanted, no needed to call her but knew you shouldn’t. It kept you up most nights, resulting in you ending up falling asleep on the couch instead of in your cozy new bedroom, courtesy of Tony, it felt weird sleeping in a bed without her. It might have been 5 years, but in those 5 years, you hadn't even slept in a bed. It just never felt right, you didn't know what to do with your arms, and you didn't know how to lay. It was as if you could only exist with your arms surrounding her and it was tearing you apart.

By the third week, you were begging Maria for permission to use a jet. Natasha hadn’t answered any of your calls, texts, or even emails. Neither had Clint. Everyone could see it was affecting you, they all kept trying to tell you she would be back when she was ready but at this point, it didn't feel like she was coming back. Clint showed up in the middle of the third week, you tried speaking to him about Natasha but he wouldn’t budge. He wouldn’t answer any of your questions, but he could hear and see the distress. You felt erratic, you didn’t feel like yourself and it was making it all worse. He wouldn’t let you see her or speak to her, he wouldn’t even say her name. He wouldn’t even tell you if she was safe, and that’s when you lost it. 

You had him pinned against a way, Bucky and Steve on either side of you trying to pry you off of him but even with their strength, you didn't move a muscle. And finally, when Clint realized you weren’t going to let go that’s when he muttered that Natasha was safe, something he could have done 30 minutes ago when you had asked in the first place. But you continued to hold him. Maria walked into the room then, coming up by your side and telling you to let him go. You could hear it in her voice that she wasn't going to ask again and you dropped him, walking away and out of the door without turning round. 

It got to the point where the weeks turned into months. Still no sign of her, still no word from her. It was breaking you apart. You completely distanced yourself from everyone, only coming out of your room in the middle of the night to go to the gym and then taking as much food and drink as you could back up to your room. You hadn't slept, and the bed still didn’t feel right. It was exhausting. 

And that’s when it suddenly felt like you were being punished. 

That this was only a fraction of what Natasha felt. And that she was doing this on purpose.

It all turned to anger. 

You didn’t expect to get taken. You thought you were going to die. It wasn’t your fault you lived, it wasn’t your fault you didn’t look for her. You didn't remember anything until waking up all over again in an alley 5 years later. 

She was punishing you, even if she didn't realize it. 

You called her again. Her answerphone breaks you. You cried down the phone, begging for her to come home, to talk to you. To stop acting like you had died. That you have both already lost 5 years, you don’t need to lose more. 

---------------

Tony was having a party, you don't know what for. Something about it had ‘been a while’. You wanted nothing more than to stay in your bedroom, but Bucky and Steve wouldn’t let you. They forced you up, made you shower and get dressed. 

The party was boring, Thor had gone back to Asgard so in turn had taken his mead, which was the only thing that could even get you the slightest bit drunk. It felt pointless drinking when it didn’t do anything. 

The night seemed to go too slow, people coming and going as they pleased. People greet you for one minute and then say goodbye. It felt pointless. It felt like maybe 5 years ago you should have died instead. It felt like life didn’t have a meaning anymore. 

Everyone tried to get you to stay, the party still in full swing but you felt so dejected and so far from everyone it just seemed so pointless. All of it seemed pointless. They could see it too, the light in your eyes was gone, the lingering thoughts of Natasha affecting how you carried yourself every day. They saw the similarities from when Natasha lost you. It started to feel like Natasha definitely wasn’t coming back and everyone else finally started to agree. 

The party had been over for a few hours now, the clock reading 3:23 am. The room was still a mess but it felt fitting that it was the only place that would stop your thoughts from flying all over the place. You were no longer in the clothes you wore to the party but were now sporting an oversized hoodie and sweats. You got yourself comfortable on the couch. Throwing the rubbish on top of it onto the floor, someone else will deal with it tomorrow. 

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. You needed to sleep. It had been days since you last slept, you were well and truly exhausted. You just needed to sleep to get your head straight again. 

----------------

You felt a weight on your chest, your body going tense instantly, wanting to sit up. But a hand on your cheeks stops you. You keep your eyes closed, afraid that if you open them it won’t be real. That the familiar touch and smell isn’t Natasha, that she is a fragment of your exhausted and emotional mind. Her whole body lay on top of your own. Her head is tucked into your neck. Her hand tangled in the hair on the side of your head. 

“I know you're awake.” She whispers, her breath tickling your neck. 

“You’re real.” You sigh out, opening your eyes and wrapping your arms around her back. Holding her tightly against you. Her body fits perfectly with your own.

“So are you.” She whispers again, not wanting to ruin the quietness that surrounds you both. 

“I’m sorry, I left, I just…”

“I know, I’m sorry too.” You move your body to lay on its side, Natasha's body falling beside you, trapping her between yourself and the back of the couch. You move your hand slowly to run through her hair, her breathing slow and gentle. She stares at you so intensely, and you can’t help but stare back. 

“You remembered me.” She whispers, moving closer despite the very little space between you both anyway, resting her forehead on yours. 

“I think I will always remember you, Natasha.” You breathe out, a small smile gracing her lips as she opens her eyes after taking a deep breath. 

You feel her head moving again, so slowly and subtly but you know her, even if it has been so many years, you know her. Her lips meet yours slowly, and your body starts to shiver from the action. 

The kiss is slow, but hard, every unspoken word flowing between you. 

“I will always love you, whether I am dead or missing, or simply just alive, I will always love and remember you, Natasha Romanoff, that will never change, I promise you that.” You whisper against her lips as you both pull away, a smirk now lying on her lips. She presses her lips against yours again, short and sweet just like her. 

“I will always love you too.”

You remembered her, and you always will. 

[imsofreakingtired]

sevika gets drunk and ends up forgetting about her own wife and ends up in the brothel, and reader end up knowing all, but dont have courage enough to confront her, but she noticed the changes on your behavior like, dont wanting kisses often, dont wanting to cudlle at nigh or worried when she tells you that she have to work and etc.

(I am obsseeeed how you write angst, mwah mwah)

- 🧸

ohh absolutely. i love that idea<3 also tysmm!

leave you with nothing

content warning(s): idiot lesbians (slight angst) (not too bad i swear)

"are you sick of me? would you like to be? i'm trying to tell you something something that i've already said"

~~~

i think she would get drunk only when work was really stressing her out. or if her sense of self-worth is just at an all-time low (i’m thinking of the time silco dead up ordered her to help with a dead body, which was shocking even to renni, who was literally the mother of the victim.) when she feels trapped, hopeless, powerless, like the enterprise isn’t getting zaun anywhere closer to its ultimate goal. she doesn’t want to confide in you about this, she wants to keep up a front of stoic confidence to you, because she’s afraid if she reveals herself to be vulnerable you will leave her. 

so she drinks her troubles away and tells herself she’ll clear everything up to you in the morning if you ask why she came home late, she tells herself she’ll just play a round of cards or two with her drinking mates, that you’ll never know the difference (never thinks she’s more sober than when she’s stinking drunk.) 

one drink leads to another and she’s vaguely aware of her desire for something else that night - a woman’s touch, a woman’s voice, someone to hold her and tell her she is doing alright. she’s too drunk to remember where she’s felt this before, who has held her like this, and all she is aware of is an all-consuming loneliness that threatens to devour her alive. she’s thrown back into the old days before she met you, when all that awaited her after a hard day’s work was an empty apartment strewn with emptier liquor bottles. she doesn’t want to go back to this home. 

so she makes her way to babette’s, incredibly calm and collected—she’s good at playing sober when she wants to, and babette is surprised to see her check in— isn’t she married? — but she asks no questions and Sevika sees a woman who kind of looks like you. the eyes. the shape of the face. the hips, the way she moves in the dusky light. she picks her immediately. 

she’s too drunk to care about how it might look, asking the woman if it’s alright if she just lay with her head in the woman’s lap. telling her to stroke her hair and let her sleep for a while. even on the walk here she was hot with desire, but now she just wants to rest and hear the pretty words you would whisper in her ear when you thought she was asleep. 

she comes home at around 4 in the morning and promptly passes out on the couch, not even bothering to change. smelling of someone else’s perfume. you find her there in the morning and she doesn’t remember a single thing except that the coins in her pocket are gone. 

you know the signs; you’re not stupid, but you don’t want to think the worst. until you overhear Chuck talking to some of the patrons at the last drop. 

“yeah, Sevika was here, swept the table and then left in the middle of the round talking about Babette’s.” “Babette’s?? doesn’t she have a wife?” 

you wander through the rooms in a daze for the rest of the day as you wait for Sevika to come home. you’re furious at first, then you’re cold with dread. was it you? had you done something wrong to make her want something else, someone else? 

you don’t want to confront her, you’ve convinced yourself by now that whatever it was, it must have been something you did wrong, and even though you can’t think of a single time Sevika seemed angry or even unhappy with you, you can’t bring yourself to start the conversation. 

she comes home tired and her eyes light up when she sees you. when she tries to kiss you, you turn your face away. her hand reaches for your waist, you dodge her touch. 

“baby, what’s with you?” she asks. “i smell funny or what?”

yeah, you smell of babette’s. you smell of liquor. you smell of lies. 

“nothing. i’m tired. you want dinner?” 

“i ate already,” she says. “i’m going to bed.” 

okay, so we’re playing ignorant, you think. two can play at that game. 

as the days go on you avoid her more and more. you still clean up after her in the apartment, cook her meals, wash and mend her clothes as usual. but you don’t stay up waiting for her to come home, and you don’t let her kiss you in bed. Sevika’s at a complete loss—she’s never seen you this way before. unlike you, she’d never wonder if maybe she were at fault. if she feels she hasn’t done wrong, she’d stick to that conviction to the bitter end. but it exasperates her, the way you elude her touches, answer her with monosyllables, stare at her with a strange apprehension in your eyes when you think she isn’t looking. 

“i’m working late tonight,” she tells you one day. “don’t wait up.” 

you feel your heart drop. she’s already a regular for someone at babette’s, you know it. 

“what time do you think you’ll be back?” you ask, a little too quickly. 

she looks at you oddly. you’ve never asked her this before. “i’ll be back when i’m back.” her brows furrow in concern. “why, is something wrong?” 

“no,” you say. 

after she leaves you pace the apartment for about an hour before making up your mind and running out into the street. hood over your face so you won’t be recognized, you run straight to Babette’s and burst through the doors, ignoring the strange looks you receive. no one deters you—you were also a frequent patron before you met Sevika, but you see the workers look at you and whisper to one another. it only confirms your suspicions. you reach Babette’s office and she looks up at you in surprise. 

“can i help you, hon?” 

“Sevika,” you say breathlessly. “how many times has she checked in here?” 

her brows lift. she checks her records. “i don’t do this for anyone, you know - confidential information. but since you’re her wife…”

“how many times, please?” 

she looks up at you. “just once. a month ago. she seemed inebriated. stayed only for two hours.” 

just once? and drunk? Sevika, drunk? you couldn’t imagine it if you tried.

you walk back out of the brothel, barely thinking of where you’re going, barely thinking at all, when you hear a familiar voice call out your name. 

Sevika’s walking swiftly down the street towards you, her eyes dark. 

“what are you doing here?” she asks, grabbing your wrist. 

“what am I doing here?” you shoot back. “i’m here finding out what you were doing here!” 

she looks up at the sign of Babette’s place, as if she can’t understand what you mean. “i haven’t stepped foot in this place,” she growls. 

“Babette’s records say otherwise.” your voice is cold. 

then it all comes back to her at once. Sevika’s lips part slightly as she recalls that night, the desperation, the way she had lain in another woman’s lap. 

“baby,” she says. “listen.” 

“i’m done listening,” you snap, and turn on your heel. you walk away from her, leaving her behind on the street outside Babette’s.  

~~~

note: idk why this idea struck me as so funny i think i'm sleep deprived lol. obviously she will explain herself as best as she can and you'll forgive her. she sleeps on the couch tonight though.

~~~

taglist~ @notlores @demothers-empty-blog @theyluvbix @archangeldyke-all @prettyinpink69 @beatdariceee @sevikaaaalover @intrnetrbl @00valentina-writes00 @zelluna @mamas-evil-hag @sevikassluttywaist @justhereforsubsevika

[theweewooshow]

the truth is i can't say goodbye

@bucktommywinterfest prompt: accidental texts | rated: M

God I know I'm a broken fucking record, but I'm baking again so I don’t text him. I’ll bring by some more scones later.

Buck shoots the text off to Eddie because he’s feeling pathetic and lonely and he’s been wallowing and baking all day again instead of doing his laundry like he’s supposed to and everything feels overwhelming even though it shouldn't.

Eddie doesn't text back and his phone doesn't vibrate for a long while so Buck just closes his eyes and grits his teeth.

It really shouldn't be this hard, right?

He’s gotten over people before.

He held onto Abby even when she was gone, but that was so murky and he was still living at her place, thinking they were still going to be together when she got back. But when he realized it was over, he moved on. He left her place and tried to leave most of the baggage and emotion he felt for her there.

And yeah, he didn't get real closure for a while, but he was over her probably before he ever left that note for her in her apartment. He didn't think about her much after he left her place because there wasn't anything to think about. He’d done his mourning of that relationship while he was waiting for her. So when he was out of her place, there wasn't anything left to think about.

That’s the most comparable relationship he has to Tommy so he doesn't know why he can't get his brain to catch up with the facts. It's over. It's done. So he should move on and Tommy should stop taking up so much real estate in his mind.

But it's easier said than done. Because he thinks about Tommy all the time. He wants to talk to him all the time.

There’s so much of him everywhere he looks.

He sees the blanket Tommy used to wrap himself up when he slept on his uncomfortable couch so he could be steps away in case Buck needed him when he dislocated his shoulder.

His ghost is in Buck’s kitchen, puttering around, trying to find a spoon to taste the sauce he cooked the first time he made Buck dinner.

Tommy’s side of the bed is empty when he gets into bed every night. The pillow on that side of the bed has lost the scent of Tommy’s shampoo.

There’s a memory of him in Buck’s shower—on his knees, hands and mouth worshiping him—that Buck can't get out of his head when he showers, his dick stubbornly hard even though he refuses to jerk himself off to the memory of Tommy.

The second coffee mug Buck pulled out before his brain woke up the morning after he was dumped that he hasn't been able to bring himself to put away sits empty on his counter, mocking him, every single morning.

Beyond that, Tommy’s ghost is at Eddie’s house and at the station and in his Jeep and at the fucking grocery store, so everywhere Buck goes, he can’t help but think about him, can't help but want to text him every little thing like he did when they were still together.

And when he thinks about him, he pines, according to Eddie. And when he thinks about texting him or calling him, he bakes just to give himself something to do with his hands that isn't scrolling through their text thread and pouting.

No matter what he does, he can't get him out of his head though.

He unlocks his phone to call Eddie to complain out loud since he won't validate him over text, but when he sees the name at the top of the screen, his heart stops.

Because he didn't send that text about Tommy to Eddie.

He sent it to Tommy, whose text thread he was looking at earlier before he sent off that embarrassing text.

He swallows, but it feels like his heart is stuck in his throat because Tommy’s bubbling him again. Tommy’s seen the text and he’s bubbling him.

Buck looks at the screen in abject horror as he watches the bubble disappear and reappear, wondering what Tommy’s thinking right now, if he’s thinking that Buck is kind of pathetic to still be thinking about him over a month after he broke up with him.

He sets his phone down and drops his head into his hands because he can't believe this is his life.

He’s contemplating how difficult it would be to just mysteriously disappear when his phone pings with a message and his heart stops again.

He already knows whose name he’s going to see when he looks down at his phone, but he still feels oddly taken aback seeing the message notification that says he has a text from Tommy ❤️.

He unlocks his phone and the message reads: I know this text was meant for someone else, but can I still have a scone?

Buck jumps up and rushes over to his fridge to take a picture of the loaves he baked over the weekend. He sends the picture along with the message You can have whatever you want.

Maybe it’s a little on the nose, a little too close to how he feels about everything with him, but it somehow works because Tommy texts him back right away.

I wouldn't say no to banana bread or some scones

Before Buck can even think of responding, the bubble is popping up again, letting him know Tommy’s typing again. He holds his breath as he waits for the text to appear. Tommy doesn't make him wait long.

If you wanted to drop it off at my place, I’d let you in so you can tell me all about what you’ve been wanting to text me.

With his heart pounding in his chest for an entirely different reason from when he first realized he accidentally texted Tommy, Buck’s fingers clumsily type out his message.

When are you free?

drop a kudos or comment on ao3

[parker-artio]

I have a large family. A very large family.

My mother fosters and she has 8 children, but has a waiver for up to having 10 kids in her house.

But finding out Bruce Wayne is an emergency foster parent made me think: Is it as hectic at his place as it is here? Does he have a case worker come inspect the house once a month? In case of any kids coming in? How many caseworkers has he actually gone through? He’s got how many kids.

So here’s a few things that have happened at our place that I think would’ve have happened with Bruce’s emergency foster kids/ his actual kids.

So the kids he fosters and adopt probably don’t have to do chores as much as the kids in my house do, since he’s a literal billionaire with a mansion, but it’s the sense of helping make responsibilities. So a kid- let’s say Dick- was working in the kitchen next to the fire extinguisher. (Did you know all foster homes have to have one that’s easy to access?) But then he saw smoke coming from the oven when Alfred opens it, which is normal, but he just had fire safety week in school, the fire fighters came in and showed everyone how to use an extinguisher in case of an emergency.

So what does Dick do?

Well he obviously grabs the extinguisher and pulls the pin and squeezes the handle. He forgets to point and aim the nozzle though.

The entire kitchen, the hallway, and a few surrounding rooms all get doused in the powder. Thankfully it wasn’t the foam. Or else everything would need to get thrown out.

Dick is covered in it so he’s sent to the shower to wash up while Alfred and Bruce clean everything. They can still open the closet and move a small thing and see small traces of white powder laying around- even a decade later.

(This has happened in my house. No one was happy. Covered the entire hallway that circled around our whole house, went the first four feet into our kitchen, by our front door, into all of the rooms in the hallway, and covered half of the bathroom. From ceilings to the roof. So much stuff was thrown out. 5 hours of cleaning.)

This is a lot longer than I expected it to be… I don’t wanna write anymore now.

[aventurineswife]

HII AUTHOR! ARE YOU HAVING A GOOD DAY? I HAVE A QUESTION. How would the SAHSRAU react if you suddenly got bored with HSR and switched to genshin?

Oh boy... The jealousy and the angst are sure burning up...

At first, they don’t notice.

Everything is normal. The Museum of Divinity still stands. Your artworks are still there. Your music still echoes through the stars.

But then… something changes.

The paintings stop appearing. The music stops playing. The museum doors remain shut.

The characters wait for your next command. It never comes.

The Galaxy is silent.

And that’s when they realize.

“There must be an explanation.”

Welt starts running calculations, probability theories, even dimensional travel theories—anything to explain your sudden disappearance.

Himeko sips her coffee, trying to stay calm, but her hands are shaking. “They’ll be back. They always come back.”

(You in fact did not come back.)

March 7th: "Uh, guys? You might wanna look at this..."

She holds up a blurry, pixelated screenshot she managed to capture—a screenshot of Teyvat.

Himeko’s mug shatters. (Like her heart ahem)

Blade stops moving entirely. His entire reason for existing has just left him behind.

Stares blankly at the sky, gripping his sword. If you are no longer here, then what purpose does he have?

Dan Heng acts calm, but he's already in crisis mode. He's scrolling through files, trying to find any clue as to why you left.

When he sees the Teyvat screenshot, his grip tightens on his spear.

Dan Heng: “…We’ve been abandoned.” (yeah no shit, Sherlock-)

Aventurine immediately plays it cool. "Well, well, well. Looks like our dear Creator has found another plaything."

Sunday is not calm.

"BETRAYAL! TREACHERY! ABANDONMENT! I HAVE BEEN CAST ASIDE!"

He dramatically collapses on the museum floor. Aventurine just watches with amusement.

But the second he sees the Teyvat screenshot—

Aventurine: “…Oh, you’ve got to be joking.”

They both hate the idea of you playing another game more than they hate each other.

Kafka smirks, but there’s a sharp edge to it. "So, you’ve moved on, huh?"

Black Swan looks at the fading murals of your art, her expression unreadable. “All things fade… but I never expected our Creator’s gaze to turn elsewhere.”

Deep down, they wonder—were they not enough?

Luocha: "I suppose even gods grow tired of their creations."

Jing Yuan: "Hah… It seems we have been cast aside for another world."

They act philosophical about it, but they’re both lowkey miserable.

Jing Yuan tries to joke about it, but even Yanqing notices something’s off.

Luocha stares at a fading portrait of you, quietly wondering if he will ever see your light again. (Probably not but ahem)

March 7th is the first to start coping.

"It’s fine, it’s fine! Maybe they’re just… on a vacation! Yeah! They’ll be back! Right?"

Sparkle is already scheming. "If our dear Painter has found another world… then perhaps it’s time we follow them there."

(They are actively looking for ways to break into Teyvat.)

Sighs, so the list goes on...

Blade stops fighting entirely. (What's the point if you're not watching?)

Dan Heng avoids everyone. (He refuses to believe it.)

Kafka and Black Swan start theorizing. (Will you return, or is this the end?)

Sunday begins plotting. (If they cannot bring you back, they will find a way to make you remember them.)

March 7th, Sparkle, and Aventurine?

They're looking for a way to invade Genshin. (Yeah, with Silver Wolf's help)

Days turn into weeks. Weeks turn into months.

They wait.

And wait.

And then—

One day—

A new painting appears.

It's… different.

A familiar signature, but a different style.

A mural of Teyvat.

And on that day, the last hope shatters.

You are gone.

Their Creator has truly moved on.

But that doesn’t mean they’ll stop searching for you. Not ever.

My back hurts... I'm taking away your guys' SAHSRAU privilege. I need someone to write this as a fic or expand it and I'm not gonna write it, that's for you. 🫶

[arcadia-smith]

He doesn't remember you.

But.

You stay.

Of course, you stay.

Because Bucky is still here, alive in the flesh, and somewhere—deep inside him, hidden beneath the layers of fractured memories—he must know you. He must remember.

It’s just a matter of time.

That’s what Sam says. What the doctors say.

Give it time.

So you do.

Days bleed into weeks, weeks into months.

And still, you stay.

You tell him stories—soft and steady, like a balm for the ache between you. You show him pictures, snapshots of the life you once shared, the love that stitched you two together.

You speak of your first date—how his nerves made him fidget like a storm on the horizon, pacing outside your apartment for what felt like an eternity before he finally knocked, all shaky hands and warm, unsure eyes.

You tell him about that rainy night, when he kissed you under the storm, his laughter a low hum against your lips as he whispered, “This only happens in the movies.”

You tell him about you—the version of yourself that once fit perfectly against his side.

And you wait.

You wait for the spark—the brief, flickering recognition that he once knew the rhythm of your heartbeat, the warmth of your touch.

You wait for those blue eyes to soften again, to look at you the way they used to—tender, loving, yours.

But they never do.

And then, one day, after all the days, weeks, and months spent watching and hoping—

You find him in the common room, grinning at something on his phone.

Someone.

A woman.

She’s bright, beautiful—her laughter a melody you don’t recognize.

And before you even open your mouth, you know.

But still, you ask.

“Who’s that?” Your voice is light, fragile, like a leaf trembling in the wind.

He looks up, then back at the screen, that faint, soft smile still lingering.

“Her name’s Kate.”

It’s a gut-punch. The kind that steals the air from your lungs and leaves you gasping.

“Oh,” you whisper, trying to swallow the burning sorrow that claws its way up your throat. “She’s... she’s pretty.”

He grins—wide, unbothered, as though this is just another casual conversation, nothing more.

“Yeah. I think I might ask her out.”

And in that moment, everything inside you fractures.

Not just the silence between the two of you, but the world itself.

Because Bucky doesn’t remember you.

No. Worse.

He’s moving on.

Without you.

And you can’t stop it.

You can’t tear through his shattered mind and fix what they took from him.

You can’t scream, You love me. You chose me. We were supposed to have forever.

You can’t do a single thing.

So you smile.

You nod.

You pretend that you’re not being swallowed whole by the hollow ache inside you.

And that night, when the house falls silent and empty, you don’t leave the porch light on.

Because Bucky isn’t coming back.

He already has.

And he’s not yours anymore.

You leave.

You have to.

Because staying, watching him laugh with someone else—someone new, someone with a love untouched by the scars of time—it would be like breathing in glass shards. It would tear through you, piece by piece, until nothing remained. You would cease to exist.

So you gather your things in silence, each item a memory you can’t afford to carry anymore.

You say goodbye to Sam, but there is no promise in your words. No hope. Just the hollow echo of a love you can’t save. You don’t tell Bucky. What would be the point? He’s already gone. The man you once knew is somewhere behind the locked door of his memories, and there is no key.

You leave.

And time doesn’t care.

It moves on, cruel and indifferent. Days stretch into weeks, weeks bleed into months, and the seasons change in ways that mean nothing. You rebuild, slowly. The edges of your broken heart are sealed with the soft, fragile thread of survival. You learn to exist without him. You learn to wake up without him beside you, without his breath against your neck, without the weight of his love settling around you like a warm blanket. You learn to live with the dull ache, the phantom throb in the places where he used to be.

But there are moments.

There are mornings when your fingers twitch toward the space where he should be, when your heart stutters, trapped in a fleeting memory, a touch, a whisper. And you wonder, just for a second, if he’s still there—if you’re still there. But then, the thought fades. Because he’s not yours. Not anymore.

And then—

Then you get the call.

Sam's voice is a tightrope, fraying at the edges.

"I need you to come back."

You hesitate, your breath a jagged thing. You don’t want to. You can’t go back to that place, to those ghosts. The last time you left, you left your soul in the hollow of his chest, and it never returned.

But Sam's voice cracks in a way that makes your insides twist. And you can’t ignore it. Not this time.

So you go.

And when you step into the room, you’re not ready for it. You’re never ready.

Sam stands in the doorway, his face pale and drawn, like he hasn’t slept, hasn’t eaten. His hands tremble at his sides, and there’s something in his eyes that says everything you don’t want to hear.

"It’s happening again."

At first, the words make no sense.

And then, they do.

Because Bucky is in the med bay, his body tethered to the bed, his arms thrashing against the restraints. His breath comes in ragged gasps, the panic clear in every movement. His eyes are wide, full of something deep—something more terrible than fear.

You run to him, despite everything, despite the emptiness he left behind. You run because he is still your Bucky, the man you loved with everything you had. You run because that’s all you’ve ever known how to do.

“Bucky,” you whisper, your voice a breathless plea. Your hand reaches for his, but he pulls away like your touch is a thing that burns.

And then—

He says your name.

And the world stops.

The earth cracks beneath you, and you feel yourself falling into a place where nothing makes sense. The thing you wanted most, the thing you prayed for, is here. He remembers. He remembers you.

But when you look into his eyes, it’s not relief that fills them. It’s horror.

“No,” he gasps, shaking his head violently, as if to shake you away, to shake this away. His words tear from him in broken sobs. “No, no, no—please—”

“Bucky, it’s okay,” you whisper, your voice trembling with the weight of everything you thought you could carry. But it’s not okay. It will never be okay.

His chest heaves. His body jerks, as though the memories are too much to hold, too much to be.

“What did I do?” he chokes.

And that is when you understand.

He remembers you. Yes, he does. He remembers everything.

But he also remembers her.

The woman he found after you, the woman he learned to love after he’d forgotten the taste of you. The woman who is out there, somewhere, still holding his heart, still waiting for him with arms wide open.

And he loves her. He loves her the way he loved you. But in a different way. In a way that isn’t stained with time and loss and the weight of your name.

And now—

Now he has both.

Now he has the knowledge of what he lost. Now he knows exactly what he did.

And in his eyes, you see the depth of his grief. The depth of his guilt. Because he remembers her. And he remembers choosing her.

And then—then he remembers forgetting you.

And that—

That is the part that will ruin you. Because it’s not just your heart breaking anymore.

It’s his, too.

And there is nothing either of you can do. No mending, no fixing, no magic words to erase the damage.

So you press your trembling hand to his cheek. You kiss his forehead, and for a brief, fleeting moment, it’s like you’re right back there—like nothing changed. Like the world hasn’t fallen apart in slow motion.

And you whisper to him, to the man you thought you could save:

“It’s okay. I’ll go.”

And you do.

You leave.

For the last time.

Because this time, he remembers you. But it doesn’t matter.

Because he’s not yours.

And he never will be again.

And that—that—is the worst part.

Because you lost him once, but now, you’ve lost him twice.

And the pain? The pain is deeper than anything you’ve ever felt.

It’s not just a heart breaking.

It’s a soul shattering.

[fanfics-i-find-here]

Do I Know You? Part 11

Synopsis: Jason continues to stick around and take care of you.

Notes: I am so happy you guys liked the last chapter. She was my baby while I was sick. Moving forward, we are going to keep going with the comfort because it's just nice. Jason is very touchy in this chapter. I mentioned somewhere about Jason’s love languages and this chapter is covered in them. He is out here taking care of Reader the way he would want to be cared for (even if he won't admit it out loud). Enjoy!!

Masterlist

You spent the night tossing and turning, drifting between the realm of asleep and awake. Aside from a warm hand luring you back into the dream world, you don't remember much. When you do wake finally, it’s raining. You can hear it pattering against the window of your room, the cold of it seeping in where it can. Your hand reaches for the warmth you had felt through the night to find it gone. You open your eyes to find yourself alone. An achy loneliness claws at your throat for a moment until you hear a clattering followed by a muffled curse. There’s silence for a moment before movement continues.

You turn to look at your alarm, quickly reminded of the pains from the night before. 11:48. You don’t know what time you made it home or what time you actually fell asleep. You still feel exhausted, but you don’t know if you could drift off. You take your time sitting up in bed, staring at the covers as you push down a wave of nausea. You slide out of bed, movements slowed by short waves of dizziness. You’re cold the moment your feet touch the ground. You grab a zip-up sweater and some fuzzy socks. You slide the sweater over your shoulders gingerly and take your time to pull your socks as you listen to shuffling from the kitchen.

You move quietly out of the bedroom and toe your way down the hall, peaking around the corner to see the kitchen. Jason stands in front of your stove. The smell of bacon invades your senses, and your earlier nausea tries to show itself. You watch him as you quietly pull a stool from under the island and sit down. He moves easily through your kitchen and before you fully settle in your seat, he has a glass of water and a couple of pain pills in front of you. You glance at the items and then up at him. He cracks a fond smile at you and a tender gnawing feeling starts in your chest.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks. His voice just slightly gravellier than normal. You had only heard his voice like that once before when he took you to watch the sunrise on the bay. The memory warms you.

“I’m okay,” you say quietly tugging at the sleeves of your sweater where your arms rest on the counter. He catches your movement and leans across the island, grabbing your hands and pulling them slightly forward. He pushes your sleeves down. Twisting your hands this way and that, he examines the bruising with a disapproving frown.

“It’s okay if you’re not; you went through something traumatic,” He gives your hand a rub with is thumb before he sets your hands back on the counter and turns back to the stove, “I was worried, you were seriously out of it last night.”

Your mind flashes through everything from the moment you made it to your apartment. You feel warmth creep up your neck and you bury your face in your hands. God, he had practically seen you naked. Talk about skipping a few steps in a relationship. Over your embarrassment, you feel a flood of gratitude because, despite the vulnerable position you had been in, Jason never took advantage of you. You hear a clink as something is set down in front of you. You peek through your fingers to see a plate loaded with bacon, scrambled eggs, and fried potatoes. Your nausea flares again.

“I’m not hungry.” You say, swallowing around nothing.

“You feel sick?” he asks. You nod and he’s quick to respond.

“It’s because you’re starving. I know you didn’t eat lunch or dinner yesterday because you were working all day and you definitely haven’t had anything today.” He states. You drop your hands to squint at him suspiciously.

“How do you know I was working all day yesterday?”

“I called Jackie’s,” you open your mouth to complain but he keeps talking, “There was no way you were going to go to work today. You have a concussion. You need rest no heavy lifting and plenty of good food.” He nudges the plate closer to you.

“Oh, yes, bacon. The most healing food out there.” You pick up a piece and bite into it. Despite the nausea, it tastes amazing. You finish the piece and your nausea ebbs away. You glare at Jason for being right. He just smiles and turns to make himself a plate. One slice of bacon in your stomach and you take the pain meds he had gotten for you. As you’re gnawing on a potato, you notice that the TV is on, volume so low you hadn’t noticed it at first. It’s the news, something about a car chase earlier that morning. You take your plate and cup of water and settle on the couch, crisscross. You had thought Jason was going to join you, but you hear the sound of the kitchen faucet running.

“You don’t have to wash my dishes. I can do it.” You call out. You hear a scoff before he responds.

“I made the mess; I’ll clean it up.” He says. You sigh because you know that there were more dirty dishes in the sink than the ones that he used but you don’t have the energy to argue. You continue eating, zoning out on the TV. Jason sits next to you, your knee pressing to his thigh, when the news changes. The anchor woman’s sharp voice evoked urgency.

“Breaking News. This just in. The Penguin has been arrested on accounts of multiple homicides and involvement in a human trafficking ring run through his club The Iceberg Lounge. Late last night at a known body dumping sight just north of Aparo Park, The Red Hood was seen pulling a young woman from a warehouse just minutes after Penguin had left the scene. The GCPD knew about the dumping site but had no evidence connecting it to him until now. At the warehouse, Police found the body of Ted Jackson. Jackson has been wanted by police for months on accounts of sexual assault and homicide. His body was brutally mutilated and the woman’s official statement states that Red Hood was responsible. For those not aware, Red Hood has been playing by Batman’s rules of no killing for the last four years. Is this sudden change in ethics a bad sign for Gotham? Or has The Batman lost his hold on this vigilante? We’ll see what our commentators think after the break.”

You set your plate on the coffee table, appetite gone. You tip your head back against the couch and slouch with a sigh, eyes closing. You rub your hands against your face in frustration. You wish you could just forget last night but you can feel it, just hovering at the edge of your mind, ready to pounce if you were to relax even a little bit.

“You okay?” Jason asks again. You peek one eye at him from the cracks in your fingers.

“You going to keep asking me that?”

“Only until you give me an honest answer.” He gives you a knowing look and you drop your hands.

“I’m not but it won’t change anything. I’ll get over it.” He snorts at your comment, and you glare at him.

“We can make you a Gothamite yet.” He grins at you.

“Shut up,” You try to smack at his arm, but he catches your hand. He holds your hand softly and gently rubs over the scraps on your knuckles and fingers. They tingle but don’t hurt. Your mind slips for a moment to how you got them, knife in hand, dragged by the ankle.

No. You snap yourself out of it and pull your hand from his. You meanly press your hands together in your lap. You keep your chin tucked watching the way your fingers squish together. You can feel Jason staring a hole into your cheek but you ignore it. A strange awkward silence creeps into the space. You hadn’t known awkward silence with Jason, ever.

“So, Red Hood? Good thing he showed when he did, huh?” He finally says. There’s a weird forced nonchalant to the question and you wonder if maybe he’s a fan.

“No, that asshole,” you mumble under your breath. You feel a sudden unbridled anger towards that man that had been coming in through your window. It was his fault you got kidnapped and then he showed up just to ditch you outside. He didn’t even do anything!

Jason must have heard your words and tone as he lets out a shocked, “What?”

You shake your head because you had to explain how you’re feeling to Jason, you would have to explain a bunch of other stuff too. Mostly you didn’t want to tell Jason that it was you who had killed Ted Jackson, not Red Hood. You didn’t want Jason to look at you any differently than he usually does.

“It’s nothing. He’s a great guy, did his job and all that.” You say with a less than enthused tone. You can see in Jason’s eyes that he wants to question you on the matter but instead, you get a different question.

“Wanna watch a movie? Keep your mind off of everything?” you eye him like he might jump you with a different question. His brows raise, still waiting for an answer.

You finally answer, nodding, “Yeah, okay.” You drag your blanket from the other side of the couch and pull it into your lap. “Nothing action-y or gore please.”

Once you have the blanket settled, you glance at him to find him gleaming at you.

“What? What do you watch?”

“Pride and Prejudice?”

Your face crinkles and you respond, “Do you have no other personality? Just Jason, Pride and Prejudice fan.” He chuckles at your comment.

“Unless there’s something else you want to watch.”  You don’t have anything else in mind, so you concede with a head shake. He offers you the remote. You stare at it.

“Just look it up,” you tell him, still shuffling your blanket. He stares you down like he’s about to tell you something devasting.

“I’m going to be honest,” his tone serious, “I had a really hard time just finding the news this morning.” You laugh quietly into your hand.

“Don’t worry. I honestly didn’t even know I had the news.” You steal the remote from his hand and do a quick search through your streaming services. As the movie starts you snuggle back into your blanket, propping your feet on the coffee table. You lean over just slightly your shoulder pressing to his. He tenses for a moment and then relaxes again.

“I think it’s really funny that you suck with technology.” You whisper.

“I don’t suck at it. It just doesn’t make sense sometimes.” He whispers back to you like you’re in an actual movie theatre. You giggle into your blanket but quiet up, focusing on the movie. You don’t pull away from your touching shoulders and neither does he.

Jason does the opposite. He copies your slouch against the couch and props his feet on the table next to yours. The slouching pushes his shoulder tighter to yours and you just settle your head against his shoulder. Body relaxed against the heat of him again, you fade in and out of sleep. Moments of dancing, arguments in a drizzle of rain, and a warm body keep the cold dark corners of your mind at bay.

When you wake, you find yourself on your side, lying across the rest of the couch. Your legs had somehow ended up in Jason’s lap. You turn your head slightly just to watch him. His eyes focus on the TV as his hand moves up and down your calf, absentmindedly massaging the muscle before squeezing at your ankles, feet, and toes through your socks before repeating the process over. You take the time to just stare at him.

His black hair curls at the tips and you wonder if he styles it. You quickly brush the notion off because you can’t picture him doing that. He must have curly hair then. You follow the line of his face and smile at the intense stare he has on the TV. You pause at the scar on his cheek. Your old mental jar does rattle, although it’s not as loud as it usually is. Red Hood left you, Jason hadn’t. you still focus on the scar and your mind drifts to your conversation with the penguin.

“Do you have a job?” you ask suddenly. Jason glances at you out of the corner of his eye. The corner of his lip twitches up.

“Tired of me already?” he says as he gives your calf another squeeze before rubbing up and down.

“That’s not-” you pause for a second and close your eyes trying to collect your thoughts, “We’ve just never talked about it. Obviously, you know where I work. I don’t know where you work.” You don’t want to admit that Penguin, of all people, was making you question whether or not he was a criminal.

“I work in security.” He says easily.

“That’s beautifully vague.”

He chuckles at your comment, “A security subcontractor. I can make my schedule and only take on jobs I want.”

“Oh, like a mercenary,” you feel him tense at the word, “but you protect people instead of killing them.”

He shifts uncomfortably where he sits and you wonder if it’s you, so you try to pull your feet from his lap. His hand tightens around your ankle, keeping you there. You don’t think he realizes it.

“Yea, something like that.” He nods finally. “You should get a new door lock.” You want to roll your eyes.

“I can’t. This apartment is a rental.”

“You already changed your window locks and installed a shitty alarm system.” You snort.

“I didn’t-” you stop yourself, once again not wanting to tell Jason about Red Hood. “If you want to change my locks you can take it up with my landlord.” You offer instead of arguing.

He seems content with the offer, returning his gaze back to the TV with an “I will.”

Once the movie ends you stand to stretch, a slight twinge still in your back. You use the restroom and when you come back there’s a glass of water where your plate was, and Jason is wiping down the island with a rag.

“Will you stop cleaning my apartment?” you ask. He does a final wipe-down and shakes the rag over the trash.

“I’m stopping.” He rounds the island to stand in front of you. His hands find your arms, moving up a down slowly. “How you feeling?”

You roll your eyes, “I’m not answering that.” Hands move down your arms to hold your hands and pull them up to his eyes. The sleeves of your sweater slide down enough for him to look at the bruises on your wrist again. You want to pull your hands away and brush off his staring, but you like the way his hands feel holding yours. Rough and warm. You’d let him hold you for hours if that’s what he wanted.

“We should get you some bruise cream. They still hurt?” he says finally.

“Only a little. What do you mean bruise cream? I thought you just waited out bruises.” He stops staring at your wrists to look at you. Your hands hang loosely between you two, but he doesn’t let go.

“You could but my grandfather used to use this stuff on me when I was younger, the bruise wouldn’t disappear, but it did make it hurt less. One of those natural remedies sort of thing.” It was rare that Jason talked about his family and rarer with a tone of fondness. He has the same happy look that he did when he told you about the best cookies in the world. You wonder if the same man is responsible for those.

“Okay, do you make it?” You don’t think you have any ingredients for magic bruise cream, but he shakes his head.

“We can buy it; I think you need some groceries too.” He squeezes your hands and lets go, “I made a list.” You blink at him.

“You made a list?” you ask incredulously.

“Yea, you want to come with me, or do you want to stay?” The easy way he’s managing your apartment and getting ready to go grocery shopping for you throws you for a loop but you're even more caught off guard by his question. You don’t really want to leave your apartment just yet. The thought of what could be lurking in the shadows outside is enough to make you sick. You don’t want Jason to leave either. You know he would come back but you don’t think you’re ready to be alone yet. He must see your worried mental debate.

“No rush on the decision. We can watch another movie while you think on it.” You shake your head at his offer.

“Why don’t we just have it delivered?” you feel selfish asking. You’re sure he wants to go out but if he’ll let you keep him longer, you want him to stay. He gives you a confused look.

“It's not pizza. It's groceries.” You laugh at the surety of the statement. Your unknown scrunched shoulders relax. You’re once again reminded of how out of the loop with technology Jason seems to be.

“Everything can be delivered now, especially in the city. I just need my…” you trail off. Your phone. You don’t remember the last time you saw it. Definitely not today. Last night before you taken? You pat at your bum like it’ll be in the back pockets that don’t exist on your PJs.

“Phone?” You finally finish your sentence. A look of recognition crosses Jason’s face. He walks over to your dining room table where there’s a pile of papers you hadn’t noticed before along with your phone on top of it.

“The commissioner stopped by to drop it off this morning. They found it in the warehouse last night. He also dropped off some extra information if you need it, help lines stuff like that.” You were shocked that the commissioner would offer resources for help but you guess Gotham has enough crazies as is. Your shock changes to confusion.

“My phone was in a different place than my purse?” Jason's brows furrow.

“What?”

“Last night, you had my keys. You said that they had found them in the warehouse and gave them to you. But if they found my phone in the warehouse it would’ve been somewhere else since they didn’t give you my phone last night.” Jason presses his lips together and nods along as you speak.

“Sound thought process to me.” He hands you your phone. You get the strange feeling that Jason is hiding something from you but there’s nothing in the conversation to hide so push down the thought. You settle on the couch and show him how to order groceries online. An hour later and halfway through The Notebook, your groceries are delivered. You try to help Jason bring them in but he shoos you off. Then you try to help put them and he shuffles you to one of the stools at the island. You watch him put away the groceries easily. You get the feeling he had a lot of time this morning while you were sleeping, enough to make a grocery list and know where everything in the kitchen went. You don’t feel uncomfortable with the idea like you thought you would. Jason wasn’t a strange man rummaging through your apartment. He was your friend (or something more? You seriously needed to talk about that) and he was looking into your world and taking care of it and you.

Groceries put away he comes to stand next to you. He easily pulls your stool out more and turns your seat. Your heart jumps at the display of strength but you ignore it. He has a small jar in hand and you can only assume it’s the bruise cream he was talking about. He opens it, sets it on the counter, and pulls one of your hands from your lap. His ever-gentle touches are back, pushing your sleeve up to your elbow. He dips his finger into the cream and swipes it onto the bruise. You gnaw at your inner cheek, periodically glancing between his face and his hands. His eyes focused like he was worried he could hurt you by accident at any given moment. You focus on his hands as his fingers rub the cream until the white becomes clear. He takes your other hand and repeats the process, Warm, sturdy, and tender hands caress your skin and your heart aches just a little with that gnawing emotion you don’t think too hard about.

His thumb rubs at your knuckles for a moment and his other hand dips back into the jar. Cold cream is dabbed into the bridge of your nose, startling you enough to tip backward, nearly falling off of the stool. Jason moves quicker than you anticipated. His hand wraps around your waist pulling you forward. Your legs spread, accommodating him as he accidentally pulls into your space. Your hand curls into his shirt at his stomach, where you had grabbed in momentary falling panic. You stare up at him with wide eyes.

“Careful,” he murmurs, “your nose is bruised.” He adds in explanation. His hold on your waist loosens but doesn’t remove his hand entirely as he goes back to rubbing at your nose. You stare into his blue-green eyes as he rubs, relaxing in his hold. A surge of gratitude overtakes you again. It had been a long time since someone had taken care of you and you’re not sure if it was with a tenderness like this.

“Jason?” you say his name quietly. He hums in response, fingers no longer rubbing along your nose but moving to hold your face. You want to say how thankful you are for him and happy that he’s in your life. The words choke in your throat. He’s watching you again, the way he always does. You think you know what it means now but you’re not emotionally ready for that conversation.

“Will you stay the night again?” you finally get out, “Please.”

He nods, “Course.” His hand slides from your face to hold at the back of your neck. Your hands slide from his front to around his waist in a hug as you press your face to his chest, hoping it conveys what you’re feeling. You’ll have to have a conversation, eventually, but not today. Today, you’re content with Jason holding you.

Additional Note: This is Jason domesticating himself. I picture Jason as a watch-and-learn type of person and he’s been watching her as Red Hood how she keeps her apartment clean to her standards for a while. He’s going to use that knowledge. This chapter and the next chapter are definitely filler type chapters but its okay, we’ll get somewhere eventually. Drop a comment if you want, I like everybody's thoughts. Thank you for reading

Tag List: @little-miss-naill, @nikilolo787, @joonunivrs, @uzxotic, @qardasngan, @stormz369,  @g4bbi3xx, @iwatobiswimbros, @the-lonely-flute, @elz-xo, @gone-batty-fics, @princessesgarden, @notfckincreative, @love-theangel, @feyres-fireheart, @tetsuroubaby, @herodedicatedblog

[deansbeer]

♡ a hunter's journey to fatherhood ⎯⎯ dean winchester.

📖 LIBRARY !

SYNOPSIS. dean struggles with anxiety about fatherhood, avoiding you until guidance from mildred helps him embrace love, vulnerability, and hope.

WARNING(S). slight angst | hurt comfort | f!reader | anxiety | self-doubt | dean's fear of failure as a new father | emotional vulnerability | moments of crying | mentions of childhood trauma (a big FUCK U 2 john winchester) | alcohol use (though not excessively) | avoidance | isolation | pregnancy.

kari talks ◞ i saw these gifs of dean n mildred pop up on my feed this morning so i had to write something w a lil fluffy angst <3 don't hate me bc it does have a happy ending !!! + this may sound rushed, has not much dialogue at the end, n repetitive :) my apologies !

dean winchester is an anxiety-riddled mess.

you’ve always known he’s carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, but ever since you told him you were pregnant, he’s been distant. not outright cold, but the kind of distant that eats at you—quiet moments stretched too long, averted gazes, and excuses to leave the room.

it hurts.

you knew dean had his doubts about himself; he’s never been shy about the scars his childhood left behind. but you didn’t expect him to pull away like this.

every time you thought about asking him where he stood—whether he was happy, scared, or maybe regretting it altogether—you stopped yourself. you didn’t want to burden him more than he already seemed to be.

so you busied yourself with little things, distracting yourself by cleaning the house, organizing your shared bedroom, or just sitting on the couch with a book, hoping he’d come around.

but tonight, dean isn’t home.

he’d slipped out a few hours ago, mumbling something about needing air. you didn’t push. you’d seen the tension in his jaw, the way his hands flexed and tightened at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them.

what you didn’t know was that dean had driven into town, parked the impala outside the local dive bar, and gone inside to drown his thoughts in whiskey.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

the bar was dimly lit and half-empty, perfect for someone who didn’t want to be noticed.

dean sat at the counter, nursing his third drink, his mind spinning.

he couldn’t stop thinking about it. about you. about the baby.

him, a dad.

he snorted bitterly into his glass. what the hell did he know about being a father? he’d barely survived his own childhood. john winchester had been a lot of things—strong, determined, relentless—but a good dad? not even close.

and what if dean turned out just like him?

the thought made his chest tighten, panic clawing at his throat.

he closed his eyes, swallowing hard. the whiskey wasn’t helping; it was only making his emotions come faster, harder.

he slammed a couple of bills on the bar top and left, walking out into the cool night air.

he sat in the impala, gripping the steering wheel as his breath hitched.

and then it hit him—hot tears stinging his eyes, rolling down his cheeks before he could stop them.

he wiped at his face angrily, cursing under his breath.

what the hell is wrong with me?

but then, through the fog of his thoughts, he remembered mildred baker.

she’d helped him and sam on a hunt years ago, and she’d been one of the few people who’d ever managed to get through to him. she was kind, wise, and had this way of making you feel like everything was going to be okay, even when it felt like the world was falling apart.

before he could second-guess himself, he started the car and drove to her place.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

mildred greeted him with the warmth he hadn’t realized he needed.

“dean winchester,” she said with a smile, stepping aside to let him in. “to what do i owe the pleasure?”

he hesitated for a moment, standing in her doorway like a lost kid.

“uh... sorry for showing up so late,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. “i just... i didn’t know where else to go.”

she frowned slightly, concern flickering across her face, but she didn’t ask questions.

“come on in,” she said gently, motioning for him to sit on the couch.

once they were seated, mildred folded her hands in her lap and waited patiently.

“so,” she said after a beat, her voice soft. “what’s got you all tied up in knots?”

and that’s when it all came tumbling out.

words spilled from dean’s mouth faster than he could stop them—about you, about the baby, about how terrified he was of screwing everything up.

“i just... i don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, his voice cracking slightly. “hell, i don’t even know if i can do this. what if i screw the kid up? what if i screw her up? she deserves better than me. they both do.”

mildred listened quietly, her expression soft but unreadable.

when he finally stopped, his chest heaving slightly from the emotional release, she reached over and placed a hand on his arm.

“dean,” she said gently, her voice steady. “you’re not your father.”

his head snapped up at that, his green eyes wide and vulnerable.

“but what if i am?” he whispered.

she smiled softly, shaking her head.

“you’re not,” she said firmly. “you’ve already proven that by coming here tonight. you care, dean. you care so much it’s eating you alive. and that’s what makes you different. john winchester loved you boys, but he didn’t know how to show it. you do. and that’s all that matters.”

dean swallowed hard, his throat tight.

“but what if i mess up?” he asked, his voice small.

“you will,” she said with a chuckle. “because that’s what parents do. we mess up. we’re human. but as long as you love that baby and love itd mama, you’ll figure it out.”

her words settled over him like a warm blanket, easing some of the tension in his chest.

“you’re gonna be a great dad, dean,” she said, her voice soft. “just follow your heart.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

later that night, after mildred helped him sober up, dean drove back home.

the house was quiet when he walked in, the only sound coming from the soft clinking of dishes in the kitchen.

he followed the sound, stopping in the doorway when he saw you standing at the sink.

you were wearing one of his old flannels, the sleeves rolled up as you washed the few remaining dishes from dinner.

he leaned against the doorframe, watching you for a moment.

god, you were beautiful.

even now, with your hair slightly messy and your focus on the task in front of you, you took his breath away.

he took a deep breath, gathering his courage, and stepped toward you.

you didn’t notice him at first, too lost in your own thoughts.

it wasn’t until he wrapped his arms around you from behind that you startled slightly, your body tensing before relaxing into his embrace.

“baby,” you said softly, your hands stilling in the soapy water.

he buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in.

“where’ve you been?” you asked, your voice gentle but cautious. “are you okay?”

“yeah,” he said, his voice muffled against your skin. “i’m okay.”

you didn’t push for more, not when he mentioned he’d gone to see mildred.

instead, you leaned into him, letting his warmth settle around you like a shield.

he rubbed small circles on your stomach, his lips brushing against your neck.

and for the first time in weeks, you felt a flicker of hope.

but when you opened your mouth to ask him where he stood on the baby, he didn’t let you speak.

instead, he started rambling, the words tumbling out in a rush.

he told you how scared he was, how he’d been afraid he’d ruin everything, that he’d turn out like his dad or disappoint you.

“but i want this, sweetheart,” he said finally, his voice breaking slightly. “i want you. and i want this baby. i just... i needed to figure out how to not screw it up.”

tears stung your eyes as you turned to face him, cupping his face in your hands.

“dean,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion. “you could never be like him. you love so much, sometimes too much. you’re going to be an amazing dad. i know it.”

he closed his eyes, leaning into your touch as a single tear slid down his cheek.

“thank you, baby,” he whispered.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

after you’d finished the dishes, you drew a bath for the both of you.

you knew he’d been sore and achy from a recent hunt, and you figured the warm water would help.

he sat behind you in the tub, his arms resting on either side of the rim as you leaned back against his chest.

you brought the soapy cloth to your chest, letting the warmth soothe you before handing it to him.

he took it, running it over his own chest before reaching down to gently rub your shoulders.

the quiet intimacy of the moment was enough to ease both your minds, the tension of the past few weeks melting away.

when the water started to cool, dean helped you out of the tub, wrapping a fluffy towel around you before leaning down to kiss your stomach.

you weren’t even showing yet, but the gesture made your heart swell.

he wrapped a towel around himself, and the two of you went through your nightly routines before climbing into bed.

dean was already lying down when you joined him, his hands behind his head as he waited for you.

you turned off the lights and crawled into bed, settling on top of him with your head on his chest.

his hand rested on your lower back, the other cradling the back of your head as he pressed a soft kiss to your hair.

the two of you talked quietly about what to expect, about names and nurseries and everything in between.

and when you finally drifted off to sleep, wrapped in his arms, you knew everything was going to be okay.

because dean winchester was going to be the best damn dad in the world.

[that-weird-thing-in-the-woods]

~{ Hey sooo I was looking up some new creatures to see if I could write with them but than I remembered the existence of Banshees sooo here you go! }~

•Banshee•

The JL was fighting a new powerful villain.

They had shown up in Metropolis and started to destroy everything in sight so Superman went to go handle it but he wasn’t able to do it by himself so the rest of the JL [Batman, Wonder Woman, The Flash, Green Lantern, Green Arrow, Black Canary, Martian Manhunter, Aquaman. With the YJL as they all were in a meeting before the villain showed up] come to help but even then they were having a some trouble with it.

But after about two hours the villain was about to lose, in a last ditch effort to get the upper hand they grabbed Red Robin and was about shoot him with than energy blast that would kill him.

But before the villain could do it, an ear piercing wail rang from somewhere and something tackled the villain to the ground which caused them to drop Red Robin to the ground.

The being grabs the Villain and throws them back into the portal where the being most likely come from but not before Wailing so loud the Villains ears started to bleed some green blood. And with the villain gone the being goes to Red Robin and than…starts to fret over him???

What is happening????

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

In Amity park a few years later [ Danny’s 17] everything with the ghost chilled TF out but the GIW and Fentons only got more intense and a lot more dangerous so most of the ghost stoped going there altogether and powering up their weapons.

And the Fentons get a lucky shot one day and end up taking Danny down and puts him in chains Danny can’t get out of and hands him over to the GIW.

And he spends like 4 months in the GIW hands and in this time Dani tried to get him out but was shot and her body was forced to melt but before the GIW could do anything to her or even find her core, Danny grabs her core and puts it inside himself and hides it from the GIW and it’s the time where Danny gets a lot more determined to get himself and his new daughter out of here.

So Danny breaks himself out with his wailing and probably ruptures a few eardrums and a few walls to get to one of natural portal and throws himself in and ends up in his lair to just heal up and make himself comfortable him his new home.

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Little Things•

•Danny’s hands and feet are blackened and it looks like frostbite( Not the ghost )and with all of his nails sharp so you know what it looks like :)

•Danny’s hair grew out a bit while in the GIW custody (They didn’t really care about his health)

•Danny’s has what some people call “Mommy mode” but his is a lot more violent and is more likely to kidnap a kid (he hasn’t….yet)

•Dannys Lair is a dark forest that is hard to navigate without Danny or Stella when she gets older

•In the Lair is a large tree with a large..nest…den? I don’t know what to call it but it’s this place where Danny sleeps and where Stella will too when she is reborn

•Tim is currently dealing with a very pissed off Mommy mode Danny

•The Villain (Asshole ghost) went through Danny’s Lair and destroyed some trees so Danny’s PISSED and add on he found the ghost about to kill a kid so yeah Danny’s not happy

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Danny’s Appearance•

This outfit with

This color palette for his outfit.

~{ And that’s it see you gremlins later byeeeee }~

[honeyryewhiskey]

mirrored souls

or, dean dreams of what he believes he can never have. warnings ! angst, hurt/some comfort, dean's feelings are hurt, unexpected pregnancy, tough conversations, two ppl with the same fears j's note ! hey so let's not even talk about the fact that this is neither of the two fics i posted snippets of lol idk what possessed me to write 5k fucking words for this i'm sorry i just want to baby trap dean winchester erm idk enjoy? it's sad but maybe pls dont take my word for it i'll continue this and let them be happy also i stopped proof reading half way through bc it is my bed time <3 5k words

He’s had this dream every night for weeks. 

The sun is golden, thick with warmth, stretching over endless fields of green. It settles on his skin like an old friend, seeps into his bones, loosening the ever-present tension in his shoulders. The air is clean, carrying the scent of wildflowers and summer, and for the first time in his life, he feels safe. Like he could lie back in the grass, close his eyes, and let the world move on without him.

Then, he hears her.

A laugh—small and weightless, like wind chimes in a summer breeze—rings through the stillness. It stops him cold, strikes something deep in his chest that he doesn’t know how to name.

He turns, and she’s there.

She can’t be older than four, standing barefoot in the grass, staring up at him with wide, curious eyes—green as polished emeralds, too big for her little face. His eyes.

But everything else—her delicate nose, the slope of her cheekbones, the way her wild hair frames her face—that’s you.

She tilts her head, smiling in a way that makes something inside him shatter. Then she reaches for him, small fingers wrapping around his calloused hand like she’s always belonged there.

And just like that—like the break of a wave, like the snap of a thread—she’s gone.

Dean wakes with a sharp inhale, the remnants of warmth already fading, replaced by the cold press of reality. His chest aches, heavy with something deeper than longing. A quiet, creeping fear slithers in, curling around his ribs.

Because she has his eyes and your face—a combination that will never exist.

You left. And you haven’t come back in months.

It was always cat and mouse with you—years of fleeting moments, an unspoken desire for more that neither of you had the courage to face. You’d cross paths, use each other's bodies to release some tension, but never linger long enough to ignite anything real. 

Until about eight months ago, when everything changed. You stayed longer than just a weekend. Dean had you in his arms for four months—four months that felt like a lifetime of stolen moments, of finally letting down walls you both had built so high. But when it all started to feel too real, when the weight of it all settled between you like an unspoken truth, you pulled away. You told him it was too much, that you needed space, that you couldn’t do it anymore. You needed to breathe, to step back before it swallowed you whole. And with that, you walked away, leaving him to sift through the pieces of something that was never meant to last.

His heavy hand slams down on the bleating alarm clock beside his bed. The sharp noise cuts off, leaving only the ragged sound of his breathing in the dark. He drags a hand down his face, fingers pressing into his tired eyes, but it doesn’t do anything to clear the remnants of the dream—the sunlight, the laughter, the way she looked at him like he was her whole damn world.

Dean exhales sharply and swings his legs over the side of the bed. Another short night, another dream of something that doesn’t exist, of someone who will never be real. He tells himself it’s just a trick of the mind, a byproduct of too many years spent running on empty. But the truth—the one he won’t say out loud—is that the dreams never started until you left.

And maybe that’s what makes them feel more like a haunting than a fantasy.

He’s spent each day the past four months trying to shove it down, burying it under booze and hunts and half-hearted distractions. But it doesn’t matter how many times he tells himself he’s over it, that he saw it coming. Because he did. He knew you would run the second things got too real, the second you got too close, too comfortable, like maybe you wanted this life with him.

And then, just like his dream, you were gone.

You never said it outright, but he knew—deep down, you were always more like him than you wanted to admit. Built for the road, for the chase. Love wasn’t something you stayed for.

Except you never really left, not completely.

Every now and then, his phone would ring, and it’d be your voice on the other end—casual, distant, asking about a hunt, about a lead on something nasty you were tracking. Always avoiding the bigger conversation, never asking how he’s been, never giving him the chance to ask where you are.

And Dean let it happen. Let you keep him at arm’s length. Because at least this way, you were still something in his life.

But now, sitting on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands, the dream still fresh in his mind, it pisses him off.

He stands, yanking on a t-shirt and running a hand through his hair before heading for the door. He just needs coffee—something to shake off the lingering ache sitting heavy in his chest.

But the second he steps into the hall, Sam is there, hovering with that anxious look that never means anything good.

“Hey,” Sam starts, lifting a hand like he’s trying to calm a wild animal. “Before you go in there, just—don’t freak out, okay?”

Dean’s stomach tightens, his muscles tensing. The look he cuts Sam with makes the younger brother’s eyes widen, searching for words to mediate and settle the storm brewing at either side of him. “Sam, what the hell are you—”

Before Sam can answer, Dean hears it.

The sound of pacing. Quick, uneven steps against the kitchen floor. His body goes still, his breath catching in his throat. He doesn’t need to see you to know.

You’re here.

Dean’s pulse pounds in his ears. His stubborn rage choking out the glimmer of childish hope that sets his nerves on fire. He stares at Sam, waiting for some kind of explanation, but Sam just shifts on his feet, uneasy.

That’s when another sound cuts through the silence—your voice.

Muffled, pacing, like you’re muttering to yourself between shallow breaths.

Dean swallows hard, his jaw clenching as he pushes past Sam. His mind is already racing, his thoughts a tangled mess of you, his dreams, his heartache and the damn voice in his head telling him to grip you tight enough so that you can’t leave him again. Whatever this is, whatever brought you back, he’s not in the mood for it. Not today. Not after all this time.

But when he steps into the kitchen, the world tilts on its axis.

You freeze mid-step, eyes wide, hands curled tightly around the edge of the counter as if you’re holding yourself together, bracing for something. For him, maybe. Your posture is rigid, your whole body taut with tension. You look… different. There’s an unreadable heaviness in the way you stand, the nervous bite of your lip as you chew it—like you’re preparing for a blow, for him to lash out, to reject you. 

A heavy silence falls over the room, thick and suffocating. His heart hammers in his chest, but there’s no anger now, no easy target to aim it at. Just this painful, aching pull between what he wants and what he’s afraid to hope for.

“You…” He’s barely able to get the word out. His throat feels tight, words caught somewhere between anger and something much softer, something more dangerous. He’s not sure which one is scarier.

You glance at him, then quickly look away, the uncertainty in your eyes like a crack in a mirror he never thought he’d see. Dean feels something in his chest twist—familiar, painful, like it’s been waiting for you to come back and break him open all over again.

His mind is a whirlwind. He wants to be angry—hell, he’s had four months of anger built up over your disappearing act. But standing here, with you so close, he realizes just how torn he is inside.

He wants to scream at you, demand to know why you didn’t come back sooner, why you couldn’t have just stayed. But that’s not the real question, is it? Because deep down, a part of him knows it wasn’t just you who ran. It was him, too. He shut off long ago, convincing himself it was easier that way. He was easier that way.

But you? You always seemed to slip through his defenses.

Dean stares at you, struggling to find his voice, his hands suddenly feeling useless at his sides. The walls he’s built up for his entire life—years of anger, bitterness, and pain—are cracking, piece by piece, and he has no idea how to stop it.

Dean crosses his arms, trying to shove down the storm already brewing inside him. “Well,” his voice is rough with sleep and something dangerously close to hurt. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

Your spine straightens, and just like that, the tension shifts. Whatever nerves had you pacing seconds ago are buried under the sharp edge of your own attitude. “Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly plan on it either.”

Dean scoffs, a bitter chuckle, the undertone to the eye roll he throws you. “Oh, great. That makes me feel real special.”

“I…” You hesitate, fingers digging into the edge of the counter before you let out a deep sigh. “I don’t know what I’m doing here, Dean. I don’t know if this is the right thing, or if I’m just—” you stop yourself, biting your lip again. You were never as good as he was at hiding your pain. It’s evident now, in the vulnerability in your eyes that cuts through him, raw and unguarded, and it makes everything inside him spin faster.

Sam clears his throat. “Why don’t I give you guys some space?” He glances between the two of you, clearly ready to escape the tension.

Dean doesn’t look at him, just stares at you as you stand firm, the scowl on your face trying desperately to cover the sadness in your eyes. The fact that you’re asking for anything at all should piss him off. After months of the half-hearted check-ins that only ever came when you needed something, after the way you left—why should he give you the time of day?

But he can’t say no.

And that scares him more than anything.

Sam nods to himself when neither of you protest and slips out of the kitchen, leaving you and Dean in thick, suffocating silence.

“Why are you here?” His voice comes out quieter than he intended, but the question hangs in the air, laced with something deeper, something that sounds too much like hope. A falsehood he’s terrified to acknowledge.

You take a shaky breath, your shoulders slumping just slightly, as if the weight of being in the same room as him is too much to carry alone.

Dean takes a step toward you, his feet heavy on the floor, his chest aching. His instincts shout at him to pull away, to protect himself from the inevitable hurt, but something else—something buried deep inside him—begs him to go closer.

The words come out before he can stop them, quieter now, barely a whisper. “I don’t know if I can do this again, are we gonna keep pretending we have nothing to talk about?”

You wince, a flicker of pain crossing your face, and it rips through him. He wasn’t trying to hurt you, but he can’t stop the words. He can’t stop the fear, the resentment, that’s built up over all this time.

"I don't know if I can just act like nothing ever happened between us. Like you didn't leave me. Like..." His voice breaks off, his throat thick with emotion he’s been swallowing for far too long. He’s not even sure who he’s trying to convince anymore, you or himself.

His hands are trembling now, and he clenches them into fists, fighting to keep the storm inside him contained. But every time he looks at you, sees the way you’re standing before him, so tired and lacking the fire that he always adored. That you’re here now when he never thought he’d see you again, it pulls him under a wave of emotion he can’t quite place.

“I don’t know how to do this, not after everything,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse. “You can’t just waltz back in here and expect me to be okay with it.”

Your eyes fill with regret, but there's something else too—a quiet understanding. You know what you’ve done. You know what this looks like, but still, you're standing here. And that small, painful spark of hope flickers in the pit of his stomach.

“Can we just sit and talk, please?” Your voice is soft, pleading. And this time, you don’t look away.

Dean stands there, his whole body tense, his mind screaming conflicting words in the crosshairs—walk away, stay. But something in your gaze, in your quiet desperation, tugs at him. For a moment, he’s paralyzed—conflicted in the most unfamiliar way.

Finally, with a heavy sigh, he nods. “Fine. But we talk,” he jabs a finger at you, his brows set with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat, “really talk. No more running.”

You nod, your shoulders relaxing, just slightly, and Dean wonders, not for the first time, if maybe—just maybe—he’s still capable of believing in the possibility of this. Of you.

His eyes narrow, the weight of years of unresolved anger and hurt pressing down on him. But despite it all, despite everything you put him through, he can’t seem to dig his heels into this anger. Not when you’re standing here, so close, with those big, pleading eyes that always seemed to strip him bare.

The years of touch and go, the broken promises, the words left unsaid—they all float between you, a suffocating fog that neither of you knows how to break. But Dean’s tired. Tired of fighting this pull, this pull toward you he can’t seem to ignore, no matter how many times you leave.

With a frustrated sigh, he crosses the kitchen, the hard floor beneath his boots clacking louder than it should. He grabs two chairs from the worn wooden table, scraping them across the linoleum as he sets them down. Wordlessly, he nods toward the seat beside him.

“Sit,” he mutters, his voice rougher than he meant it to be.

You stand there for a moment, the air between you thick with things left unsaid. And then, quietly, you take the seat next to him.

Dean can feel the weight of the moment in every fiber of his being. He doesn’t want to look at you. Not yet. Not until he’s ready to hear whatever it is you came to say.

The silence stretches on, thick and uncomfortable, as you sit side by side, neither of you knowing how to begin.

Finally, you clear your throat, a small sound, but it’s enough to break through the tension. “Look, I know I don’t have the right to ask you for anything. But… can we just talk, like we used to? No games. No running away this time, okay?”

Dean stares at the table in front of him, his fingers tapping restlessly against the edge. Your words hit harder than he expected, and for a second, his chest tightens with something raw and unfamiliar.

“I don’t know how to do this anymore, you know?” he says quietly, almost to himself. “Every time you leave… it’s like you take a piece of me with you. And I’m just left here picking up the pieces, wondering if you’ll ever come back.”

You wince at the admission, and it hits him harder than he wants to admit. He doesn’t know why he said it—maybe because this is the first time in years that you’re actually sitting here, facing him. Maybe because it’s the first time in years that he feels like you might actually be willing to stay.

You reach out, placing a tentative hand on his, stilling the tapping. And for a brief moment, his breath catches.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Dean,” you say softly. “I never wanted to be another person who hurts you.”

to forget the months of silence, the aching space you left behind. He wants to pull you close, bury his face in your neck, and pretend none of it ever happened—that you never walked away, that he never let you.

But reality crashes down just as fast.

He can’t let himself go there, can’t let himself believe this is something he can have without it slipping through his fingers. So instead, he exhales sharply, shoving that fragile part of himself deep down where it belongs. His jaw tightens, and when he finally speaks, his voice is rough, edged with his angry armor.

“Then why did you leave?” he grits out, his voice quiet but commanding. He needs to know. Needs to understand why the person he thought he might finally let himself love disappeared without a trace.

You pull your hand back, lips pressed tight. “I—”

The silence stretches between you, thick and heavy, like the weight of months spent apart. Dean’s still trying to wrap his head around what’s happening, why you’re here, why you’re sitting beside him, but something shifts in your expression.

You take a deep breath, eyes falling to your lap before lifting to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” you say, the words soft but full of weight. “I’m sorry for always running off. For disappearing when things got too real. I know it’s not fair.”

Dean’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t interrupt. He doesn’t know what to say, what to feel.

“I was scared,” you continue, voice breaking just a little. “I still am. I…” Your words falter, but then you press on, searching his eyes for understanding. “I was consumed with this fear of losing it all. That I’d attach myself to you and this life would rip you away.”

The quiet admission sits heavy in the air. Dean feels his heart thudding faster beneath his rib cage. A pang of regret washes over him, for never admitting he shared that fear. That he thought he would be the thing that rips you apart. And maybe if he had, you wouldn’t have felt alone in those thoughts. 

You run a hand through your hair, a nervous gesture, and he watches the movement, the tension in your body. “I didn’t think I could do this. I didn’t think we could do this. I don’t see a world where something like that survives,” you shake your head, lost in the thoughts that shuffle through as you try to find your words, “Where… where we get a happy ending.”

Dean feels his chest tighten, his pulse speeding up as he takes in what you’re saying. The words hang between you, both of you holding your breath. And for a long, painful moment, the only sound in the room is the distant hum of the refrigerator, a constant reminder that time is still moving, even when it feels like everything’s frozen in place.

“I’m not saying that I don’t want it, Dean,” you add quickly, your voice cracking. “I just—I don’t know how to believe it’s possible. But I didn’t come here to ask for you to take me back.”

Dean stares at you, his pulse hammering against his ribs. There it is—that damn crack in your voice, the one that always cuts through him like a blade. He wants to be angry, to hold onto the bitterness that’s been festering since you left, but it slips through his fingers the second he sees the way you’re looking at him. Like you’re scared. Like you don’t expect him to want this.

Like you don’t expect him to want you.

His throat tightens, his fists clenching at his sides as he fights the urge to reach for you. “Then what do you want?” His voice is quieter now, rougher. “If you’re not here to ask me for anything, then why come back?”

You open your mouth, then close it, searching for words. Your fingers twist in the hem of your jacket, your shoulders curling inward, like you’re bracing for him to tear you apart. And damn it, that does something to him, because he’s never wanted to be the reason you look like that.

Dean drags a hand down his face, trying to ground himself. His mind is a battlefield, waging war between the fear clawing at his insides and the need to fix this—fix you. But how the hell is he supposed to do that when he’s still not sure how to fix himself?

“You don’t know how to believe it’s possible?” He scoffs, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, join the damn club.” His chest feels too tight, his voice breaking under the weight of it. “You think I had some fairytale idea of us, sweetheart? That I thought this would be easy?” He lets out a breath that’s more of a laugh, humorless and hollow. “Hell, I don’t even know if I’d be any good at this. But you didn’t give me the chance to figure it out, did you?”

Your eyes squeeze shut, a tear slipping down your cheek before you can stop it. And God, he hates that. He hates seeing you cry. Hates even more that he’s the reason for it.

“I was scared,” you whisper, your voice breaking apart like shattered glass. “I am scared.”

Dean swallows hard, his anger flickering, giving way to something deeper, something more painful. He’s scared too. He’s scared as hell. Of not being enough. Of screwing this up. Of losing you all over again.

But when he looks at you—when he sees the way you’re trembling, barely holding yourself together—it hits him. He’s not the only one drowning in this.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair before finally, finally stepping forward. His hands hover for a second before settling on your arms, grounding you. Grounding himself.

“Yeah, well,” he mutters, softer now, “I guess we can be scared together.”

You drag the backs of your hands across your cheeks, trying to contain the tears that just won’t stop flowing. “No, Dean, you don’t get it—” you cut yourself off with a groan. Your breathing is coming out uneven as anxiety pulls at your every nerve, and suddenly you can’t sit still. You can’t do this. 

You’re up on your feet again, pacing slightly as you try to steady your breathing. 

Dean watches you, his stomach twisting as you distance yourself. There’s a wild, frantic energy in the way you move, your arms wrapping around yourself like you’re trying to hold yourself together. Your breath is uneven, shaky, and those damn tears keep slipping past your lashes no matter how hard you try to blink them away.

His fingers twitch at his sides, itching to reach for you again, to do something—anything—to stop that panicked look from overtaking your face. It melts his resolve, steadies his rising temper.

His voice comes quieter this time, hesitant. “Hey—what’s going on?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you press the heels of your hands into your eyes, shaking your head as if you can will away whatever storm is raging inside you.

Dean’s chest tightens. His mind is running through every possibility, each one worse than the last. “Sweetheart,” he tries again, the pet name easing off his tongue as if no time had passed since he last called you that, “talk to me.”

"I... I didn't catch it in time, I'm sorry." You start, your voice barely more than a whisper, the words thick with something he can't quite name. Your eyes squeeze shut as if the simple act of speaking is too much.

Dean’s chest tightens, a knot of confusion twisting in his stomach. “What the hell are you talking about?” His tone is gentle now, trying to coax it out of you, but the moment you raise your eyes, he sees it—the fear, raw and trembling beneath the surface.

He’s on his feet again, closing in on you like you’re a scared animal that’ll take flight from any sudden movement. 

“I just thought it was stress making me miss my period again, but…” You choke, your voice cracking as if admitting it out loud is tearing something inside you apart.

Dean’s breath hitches, and his heart races, but he doesn’t dare interrupt you, his own confusion giving way to a growing sense of dread. He takes another step toward you, but you flinch, eyes shimmering with tears that slip through your heavy breathing.

You finally break, the tears turning into sobs that shake your shoulders. You shake your head, wiping at your face again, as if trying to push it all away. But it’s too late now.

“I’m scared, D.” You gasp the words out, the weight of them crushing you. “I’m so scared.”

Dean’s chest tightens, a cold sensation creeping down his spine, even as his heart lurches in his chest. He can feel the tremor in your voice, the rawness in every syllable, but he can’t make sense of it. The world seems to slow, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place—but not quickly enough for his mind to catch up.

“What… What are you saying?” He asks, his voice quiet, strained with confusion and something that feels dangerously close to panic.

You glance up at him, eyes wide and glassy with tears. You open your mouth, but the words seem stuck, lodged in your throat. The silence between you is deafening.

Finally, you take a deep breath, almost like you’re gathering the strength to face something unbearable. “I’m pregnant, Dean.” The words fall from your lips in a broken whisper. “I’m pregnant.”

Dean freezes. His entire body goes still, as though he’s forgotten how to breathe. The weight of your words hits him like a freight train, and for a moment, everything goes silent except for the pounding of his own heart in his ears.

Pregnant.

His mouth goes dry, his thoughts scrambling, trying to make sense of it all. The pieces click into place—the missed periods, the way you looked at him when you walked in, the way you wouldn’t meet his eyes.

His dreams.

 He takes a half-step back, his mind too far behind, too rattled by the weight of what you just said.

And then, slowly, it hits him—this isn’t just a shock; it’s a bombshell. One that could tear everything apart, and yet, at the same time, it pulls something from him that he hasn’t felt in a long time. The edges of his world begin to blur. He’s scared. He’s terrified.

“Are you… are you sure?” His voice comes out rough, almost panicked, like he’s waiting for you to tell him this is some sick joke, but he knows it’s not.

You nod, sniffling. "I took a test, I went to the doctor and they told me I was already four months along." you whisper, choking back a sob. "I didn’t know what to do."

Dean steps closer, his hand instinctively reaching out to steady you. But you flinch again, the space between you thick with everything you’ve never said to him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know how to tell you. I could have just called, I should have—” Your voice cracks, and you finally meet his gaze, eyes full of everything—regret, fear, and a raw, aching vulnerability that threatens to break him.

Dean's heart races, the panic starting to crawl up his throat. He wants to scream, to tell you that he’s terrified—that he doesn’t know how to be a father, that he’s too broken, too fucked up to raise a kid. The thought of something happening to you, to your child, terrifies him in ways he can’t even put into words. But you’re standing there, so small, so vulnerable, looking at him like he’s the only one who can fix this. And damn it, he has to be strong.

He closes the distance between and pulls you into his arms before either of you can second guess it. His hands are warm and steady on your back, but inside, his mind is a storm. His pulse is erratic, his breath shallow, but he holds you close, trying to give you the comfort he doesn’t know how to find for himself.

“Hey,” he murmurs against your hair, his voice like a lighthouse to steer your sinking ship. “Everything’s gonna be okay. You’re not alone in this.”

You shake your head against his chest, a shaky breath escaping. “I’m so scared, Dean. I don’t know what to do.”

He pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, his expression soft but full of intensity. His thumbs pushes away your tears, warm and rough against your skin. “You don’t have to know right now,” he assures you, trying to convince himself as much as you. “We’ll figure it out. One step at a time. I’m here, okay? We’ll get through this.”

Inside, though, his mind is spinning out of control. He doesn’t know how to be the man you need. He doesn’t know if he can even be the father this child deserves. But in this moment, he’s all you have. And somehow, he knows that no matter how badly he’s freaking out, no matter how scared he is, he’ll find a way to make this work—for you, for the little life growing inside of you.

He gently strokes your hair, pressing his cheek to the top of your head, grounding himself in the act. “We’ll figure it out,” he whispers again, his voice thick with the promise of something more than just words.

But inside, the panic churns, a rising tide he can’t escape. He holds you tighter, pretending for your sake that everything will be fine, even as the weight of the world presses down on him.

edit to add tags why do i always forget tags @titsout4jackles @floralscented @deansbeer @snowluvvie @ultravi0lence14

[hellfire--cult]

Edit of Eddie: pitifulbaby

Chapters: Masterlist (Go here to see list of chapters, plotline and general warnings.)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers, Non-Traditional Omegaverse, Slow burn, Modern!AU, Mechanic!Eddie

⚠️18+: lots of angst, mentions of pregnancy (not reader), evil person appearing, reader having a crisis, some violence, eddie being a sweetheart, hurt/comfort

wc: 9.9k

A/N: i didn't take a month to update, wow. hope you all like this chapter because here is where everything starts turning a lil more serious. thank you @andvys for always proofreading for me 💕

Anyways, Enjoy! ❤️ And don't forget to always support me by hitting the reblog button or leave a comment!

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CHAPTER 21

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You tapped that pen on the desk as you held onto your forehead. A headache was forming as you started thinking of how to cope with the next interviews you will have with this woman. A successful woman who had many clothing brands to her name. One who wanted many pages with her clothes on display by various models. A woman.

A pregnant woman.

You weren’t resentful. You weren’t angry or jealous… You just know if things would have gone different, you would have a child in your arms by now. You would be showing that baby off like your pride and joy. Looking at a pregnant woman was like looking at the one thing you never reached, the one dream that was so close to being completed only for it to be ripped apart. Ripped from your grasp by two evil beings.

That was the unfair part. If it were your fault, if it were something that had happened to you, then you would have no one to blame but yourself. That was the part you were still resentful of. The part you hated to dwell on. The part you didn’t want to remember. You often wondered if you could even hold a baby. Would your heart let you? Would it allow you to feel the warmth of someone else’s baby after what you went through? 

You sighed as you fixed the papers on your desk, looking at the name of the woman. She was kind, she seemed happy and radiant, holding her pregnant belly as she discussed business with you and Liana. You saw how she used her left hand that held a beautiful wedding ring on her ring finger, and she rubbed it all over her belly, laughing when she got distracted when her baby kicked.

You wanted to feel it, yet you didn’t. You wanted to know how it felt, how it all could be… but you also didn’t want to be reminded of what you didn’t get to have, and maybe, ever have. At this rate, is there someone out there that won’t fuck you over? Someone you are willing to trust? 

And he popped in your head.

As soon as he did, you shook your head, brushing him off. He wasn’t a good idea. You know about his record of women, you know who he is and what he does. You would not be surprised if you came to find out he is fucking someone else apart from you right now. You wouldn’t be surprised. He can do whatever he wants, can’t he? Just like you do. You two are unattached. As it should be.

This was just beneficial for the two of you. You were friends who had a great time together in and out of bed, and that was it. You are happy that that is it. Don’t you? Yeah, you are. You are not looking for a relationship, much less with Eddie Munson. From what you know, he has never been in a serious relationship. He’s never had a girlfriend before, and you asked around. You asked Steve, Jonathan, Nancy… they all gave you the same answer: Eddie does not do relationships.

Your pen dropped from your hand, a gulp sounding in the room. You were blinking a few times as you breathed again and grabbed the pen once more. 

But you couldn’t help but imagine it. You wanted to invite him to stay over often and not just leave in the morning. You want him to eat breakfast with you, or lunch, whatever. It was as if whenever you got together first with your friends, you used that time to be together like friends and just that. Enjoy a movie together, some drinks, a dinner, but then everyone leaves and you are on each other like animals in heat season.

You wondered if he ever wanted to spend a night with you alone, but… watching a movie. Or having some pizza together with some beers and play games… or– wait, you are thinking about a date. You are thinking of going on a date with Eddie. But is it? You two are like that when not fucking eachother’s brains out, so what’s wrong with spending time with him as a friend and just a friend? It isn’t weird.

You should offer it, but what if Eddie actually thinks you are asking him on a date? Or what if he thinks that because you want to do something friendly with him, you are putting an end to it all? Why are you overthinking this? You didn’t before, and you should stop. He is not racking his brains over this like you are, so you shouldn’t.

“Knock knock.” You raised your head to see Robin knocking on your open door, a small smile on her lips. You knew why she was here, so you let her in, putting the pen down on the papers on your desk. She walked in, leaving the door open, tilting her head towards you. “You okay?” “Yeah… Yeah, I am Robs.” You sighed and one thing is to pass by a lovely couple where the woman is pregnant and not see them again, and the other is this. Meeting this woman several times and knowing that at one point you will find her sitting on that chair with her baby in her arms instead of inside her belly. 

“Okay… Liana is calling for everyone in the cafeteria. She wants to tell us something important.” You frowned at that, wondering what it could all be, because Liana always made sure you were one of the few to know first about things or deals happening to the company. 

“What?” Robin shrugged at your question and continued.

“She was smiling, so I am not assuming the worst, you know…” Okay, that calms you down slightly. You nod and get up from your desk, smiling at Robin as she smirks and points at your neck. “Things are turning serious?”

“What?” You covered your neck with your hand, cursing at Eddie in your mind. After he dropped Argyle off from a night at Jonathan’s bar, he drove you to his house, and there wasn’t any sex, just him with a sudden hunger to eat you out, and make you see stars consecutively. 

That was a new development. Eddie was very into making you cum. He told you he would make you cum at least twice whenever you two stayed together, and he sure is taking that promise seriously. You weren’t complaining, but he made you feel… wanted. And you didn’t want to feel like that… You didn’t want to feel… hopeful.

“When can I properly meet Jeff? Like, as your best friend, so I can do that whole ‘Hurt her and I murder you’ speech.” Robin said with a smile and you felt guilty. So, so guilty. How do you tell her this is not serious? How do you even begin to explain to her that this is not what it looks like at all? 

How do you even tell her it’s not Jeff, but Eddie you’re seeing?

“Never because this is not serious and never will be.” The words stung in your tongue and you tried brushing it away with a roll of your shoulders, in which Robin caught on. Your hands fumbled in your purse to get the concealer out so you could reapply it on the hickey and some powder to conceal it. 

“You look upset about that.” Her words made you look up as you popped the concealer open and walked towards the mirror in your office. 

“Upset? Why would I be upset?” You asked, your heart racing slightly at your own question but Robin stood next to you, crossing her arms over her chest as you applied two dots of concealer on the skin of your neck.

“Because whenever you roll your shoulders, crack your neck, or don’t even look at me, it means something is not going as you planned.” You gulped a lump that was suddenly bothering you in your throat as you stared at Robin through the mirror. You weren’t upset. Why would you be? Why would you be upset at all about how things are going? You aren’t. 

“You’re wrong. I’m perfectly fine with what I have now, and, I– I am still talking to other people.”

“Bullshit! Jeff is the only one you’ve been seeing for a month now or more and you confessed to me that no one fucks you like–”

“Yeah, yeah, got it! I know what I said but– We aren’t exclusive even! So– Who knows? Maybe he is out there, fucking someone else right now!” You froze for a second at your words. Could that be happening? Could that be something that Eddie was doing? You two don’t really talk about being with other people, nor have you had any indication of him sleeping with someone else but, he is in all his right. He can do whatever he wants, just like you can. You just decide not to because you’re afraid of being disappointed and embarrassed for the other person for not performing like Eddie does.

That was all. 

“Well then, make it exclusive!” Robin’s voice was loud, which made you shush her with a movement of the concealer wand as you put it back in the container. You passed the tube to her and opened the powder to set it on your neck. 

“I won’t because we don’t want that.” You could feel the pulse in your neck becoming quicker the longer you held this conversation.

“How do you know he doesn’t want that?” Robin’s voice was slowly starting to annoy you as you walked back to your desk, ripping the concealer out of her hands to put it back in your purse. 

“We talked about it already, and we just want to keep having sex. That is all there is.” You straightened up, fixing your blazer and turning to look at her. “So?”

Robin looked you up and down and did an ok sign with her fingers, “Unnoticeable.”

“Perfect. Do you have any idea what she wants?” You asked as you walked out of your office, Robin closing the door behind her as you two went to the elevator.

“I have no idea. She wants everyone to be in the cafeteria for an announcement. I don’t know what could possibly be.” Robin replied as you two got into the elevator and pressed for the second floor, the door closing in front of you. “She’s not retiring, isn’t she?”

“Oh my god, Robin, Liana is only forty-one.” To your answer, Robin shrugged. Once the doors opened, you all walked out and moved to the cafeteria where many people were already waiting and talking to eachother, speculating into what the news could be. You wondered if any of the rumors that were happening were true. 

Some speculated she was resigning. Some speculated the company was going to close down. Some were saying she was just going to give out the announcement for a better salary. You did not have a single clue what was happening, except for the fact Liana seemed happier, and she was being less strict with everything around her. Fuck, maybe she was resigning.

You stood next to Robin who was already grabbing a muffin from the counter, but your nerves didn’t let you sit still. You couldn’t even think of eating something right now, afraid that it would get caught in your throat. You had a feeling something you weren’t going to like was going to happen, but maybe it was just your nerves and the client situation throwing you off… and the talk you just had with Robin.

Liana walked in, smiling as she greeted a few, coming over to stand in the middle of the cafeteria. Everyone greeted her like the superstar she was, a renamed magazine director. A magazine that despite the technological changes, it’s up and running, changing it from the public view, to only be a magazine, a catalogue, for clothing brands. 

“Okay, hello!” Liana greeted you all, and you fidgeted in your place as she looked all over the employees, or well, most of them, which weren’t a lot. Just thirty people in the building right now. “So, I bet you are all not figuring out why I called you here.”

“No idea Liana, so please, spare us from the anxiety.” A male coworker laughed, which prompted everyone to let out a chuckle, as well as Liana.

“Sure, it’s going to be quick. For the next month… I will be looking for a temporary replacement.” Your eyes widened as you turned to look at Robin, who was wide-eyed just as you were.

“Temporary?” Someone asked and your eyes looked back at Liana, and you just felt a shiver run down your spine. Something was telling you to get out of there. Something was telling you to simply run away. Something was telling you that you shouldn’t listen to this.

“Yes… I have been hiding something from all of you. My personal life is something I wanted to keep apart from my work as much as I could, but these new decisions require me to be open about it now.” You felt your blood going cold. Your hands were tense. Your tongue was dry.

“Don’t tell me…” Robin’s whisper was far away as you only focused on Liana, who was smiling widely, her hands opening her blazer, and there happened to be a belly. A swollen belly. A pregnant belly.

“I’m going on maternity leave. I’m six months pregnant.”

If there was any clapping, any cheering, any kind of reaction to that, you were numb to it. You were deaf to whatever was happening. Everything moved in slow motion for you right now, and you were trying to process what she had just said. You were trying to make it make sense but it just didn’t. How? When?

She is pregnant. Your boss is fucking pregnant. Everyone is getting pregnant.

You want to leave. You want to run away but you can’t. Just because it didn’t happen for you, it doesn’t mean people can’t live that. Just because you couldn’t make it happen doesn’t mean others cannot. You had to be rational about it. You had to be a grown up and you have moved on from this. You did.

So why do you feel like throwing up? Why do you feel like the world is crumbling on top of your head? Why do you feel like you won’t reach anything you ever want? Why are you so envious? Why?

“Baby, snap out, please.” Robin’s words made you blink, looking at her through lost eyes. Her eyebrows were met in the middle in a worried frown. Pity. You could see the pity and you didn’t want to see it, or feel it. 

“I’m fine. I’m alright, just shocked, I didn’t even… know she had a partner.” You tried to play it cool as shock and not utter disappointment in your life. You were trying to play it off as if it wasn’t one of the worst things you heard in the past week.

“It’s… okay to feel sad– You just had a client–”

“My two doves!” Liana’s voice broke you from your conversation with Robin, making you look at her with words being stuck in your throat. You didn’t want to face her but you had to. You were being childish. You need to make your heart stop turning a bit in your chest cavity and tell your stomach to stop flipping upside down.

“Hi Liana…” Robin was side-eyeing you as you kept looking at your boss, your breaths quite heavy. “I’m– Congratulations! I didn’t know you had a partner!”

“Oh, yes! I do, it was kind of… an on and off thing until we decided to make it work and well… take the next step for me before it was too late and all!” Your boss said with a smile and– The baby was going to be born in something that was broken? Your throat was dry, not even gulping down saliva helped. Liana turned to look at you, “I’m sorry for not telling you. Especially you.”

You didn’t know what to say. You had to say something. This was like a praise coming from her because it meant you were one of her favorites. You cleared your throat, and you were hoping you were mustering a smile, because you couldn’t exactly feel your face right now.

“I’m not mad, Li. I’m just… very surprised…” You said and she smiled, holding her hand out. You frowned a bit, putting your hand on hers and– No. Please, no. She directed your hand to her belly, so you could press your palm against it and you felt the entire world caving in for you. It was soft. It was so soft and there was a baby in there.

“Still, sorry… But! Can you feel him? A strong baby boy is growing in there!” She was smiling, excited, and she was so happy to make you be the one to touch her belly, something private, something intimate. And all you felt was anger. Sadness. Jealousy. Resentment. 

You forced another of your smiles but the moment you felt her belly bump slightly, signaling the baby inside was moving, the bad thoughts were gone momentarily. Someone so pure, so innocent and beautiful. A baby boy. Your eyes went towards Liana who was smiling expectantly at you, making you tilt your head in question.

“What is it?”

“You’re my first choice.” She whispered and Robin’s eyes widened as you retreated your hand back in shock. 

“Sorry?”

“My replacement. I think it will give you… amazing training. I will be looking at others just in case you decide to not take it but… It will give you a pay raise and it stays that way even when I return from my leave… and then… when I retire…” 

Was Liana telling you she wanted to make you her successor? She wanted to train you to be the next CEO of this company? You should be so happy. You should be up on the moon by this revelation. You knew you were one of Liana’s favorites but never to this extent. And even now, realizing this, your smile was still forced. Your excitement was forced. Your happiness was forced.

“Are you serious? Do you seriously think I can do a good job?” Your voice was small, and Liana only smiled as she nodded and then put a finger over her lips to signal you to keep quiet and then looked at Robin.

“Not a word of this, especially you babbling Robin.” Robin only gave a salute in response as Liana winked at the both of you and walked away. You just stood there, seeing how she put her hand on her belly as she walked to the next set of people. You felt your heart combusting into itself, a huge fire expanding all over you, and you had to try to shake it off. You had to try to shake this moment away because you were feeling humiliated. Defeated.

“Wow, I’m happy for you!” You knew Robin was trying to look at the bright side of things for you. You knew she was trying her best and that she could see the twitch in your eye. The way your gaze didn’t leave Liana’s belly for one second. A baby that was sporadically planned. A baby that, maybe, was planned to save a marriage. 

It wasn’t fair.

“I… yeah.” You finally turned to look at Robin, and you felt your hand itching to reach your phone. To text someone. Him. You wanted to text Eddie. You wanted to see Eddie but why? He is a friend, first and foremost and he has had your back in bad situations before. That’s why. You just feel like you can count on him. That’s all there was.

“We should… go out and celebrate tonight! Go to Jon’s bar and have a few drinks…” Your eyes were distant and your mind suddenly switched. You shouldn’t be sad. You shouldn’t. You were offered to take over Liana’s spot while she was gone. A CEO position! It was big shit! You give her a slow nod, a small genuine smile finally appearing on your lips as Robin could almost sigh in relief.

“Yeah. Yeah! I mean it’s not an official thing, but she said it! I’m her top choice! And you bet your ass Robin I’m taking it.” Robin did a small little happy dance for you, giving a small clap and you finally felt a little bit of the tension you were feeling leave your shoulders.

As long as you don’t look at your boss’ belly, you’ll be fine.

You took another shot with Robin. This being your fourth one of the night.

Nancy was sitting next to her, in front of you, while next to you sat the man you’ve been wanting to see since yesterday night. Since today morning. Since today afternoon. Eddie smirked as he drank his water, having drank only one shot but keeping the status of designated driver in check.

“A CEO, now that’s something else.” Eddie mentioned as you turned your head to look at him, the alcohol not kicking in at all for you, unlike Robin who was already buzzing with it, nudging Nancy who was giggling next to her. 

“I am not a CEO yet, but I am going to be trained to be one.” He hummed in approval, raising his glass at you, prompting you to raise your daiquiri, a sweet drink to show your happiness. That’s definitely what you felt. You two clinked glasses and then you felt your knee being squeezed slightly underneath the table, making your breath hitch for a second.

“Congrats, Peach. You deserve that.” His smile was genuine as he directed it your way and you had to stop your damn heart from beating so fast. There was no need for it to go that quickly. 

“Damn right she does! She got so many clients!” Robin said with a cheer, making you flush as she praised you in front of your friends, making you look down at your glass as you took a sip from it.

“Why are you going into training, though?” Nancy asked, and you stiffened in your place for a second, and the man next to you noticed. You cleared your throat and opened your mouth to talk but Robin beat you to it, which made your blood go cold, not wanting to give the actual explanation or even hear it.

“Liana is leaving because–”

“I’m going to the bar to get another drink.” You said as you raised from your seat, the warm hand that was on your knee retreating for you to scoot away and out of the booth with your almost empty daiquiri glass. You want a beer now. You really want a beer. You know Robin will tell them, but you do not want to listen to it. You don’t want to see the pitiful looks on their faces, much less Eddie’s.

You slowly walked through the crowd, the bar a little crowded thanks to it being a happy hour on a Thursday. Many people came here after work, just like all of you did many times. You reached the bar, Jonathan smiling as he walked up to you from behind it as he cleaned a glass.

“Another one?”

“I want a beer.” His smile faded as a frown now came to happen in his eyebrows and you knew he realized something changed, that something happened.

“Did something happen over there?” You shook your head as a signal of not wanting to talk about it. He gave a single nod as he leaned downwards, grabbing a beer out of the ice bucket. He popped it open as he handed the bottle to you and took the glass of your daiquiri away from you. “Don’t drink too much, you got work tomorrow.”

“Are you my mom?” You gave him a small smile, which he reciprocated, shaking his head at you. His head perked up when he heard someone calling him from the other side of the bar. He gave you a wink before moving away from you, leaving you to stand there with the beer in front of you. You took a long sip of it, feeling the bitterness run down your throat and you groaned at it. 

Why did it have to hit you once again? Why did they have to ask? You didn’t want to turn around, afraid that the group of three might be looking your way with frowns on their faces. You didn’t want to go back and hear the typical ‘It will be okay’. You don’t care. You shouldn’t care.

“Darling?”

Your body froze.

That wasn’t Eddie’s voice. That wasn’t Jonathan’s voice. That wasn’t any of the people you knew in this town’s voice. No. It cannot be. It shouldn’t be. It’s just someone with the same vocal chords, people can have identical voices. It can happen. But, you need to make sure. You need to make sure that it’s not what you think it is. Who you think it is.

Your head turned to your left and you felt your heart dropping to the floor. You no longer feel the cold of the beer in your hand as you stare at the blue-colored eyes in front of you, at the blonde hair that was nice and kept, at the office attire he was wearing. No. Why? Why now? Why here? Why in the bubble you had created for over a year? Why?

“I thought that my eyes had deceived me, but it really is you.” He dared to send a smile your way. He dared to fucking smile at you. He dared to talk to you. He dared to even acknowledge you.

“Henry.” He straightened up in his seat at your small voice. You were just staring at him, wide eyed, frozen. You couldn’t feel your limbs. This was not right. 

“Hi, darling.” You noticed the twinge of nervousness in his tone and you finally felt your body tremble a little bit. You could feel the adrenaline rushing all over as your stomach flipped inside out. 

“Don’t… Don’t call me that.” You stuttered, looking away from him, anywhere, but your vision was blurry, hazy even. Was the alcohol finally hitting you? Right now? No, that wasn’t it. No.

“I’m sorry, it’s just… It’s nice to see you’re… fine.” How fucking dare he say that to you? The pent-up anger was rising in your throat like vile, but then it was just a feeling of pure humiliation as you remembered the two pregnant women you saw today. Something that could have happened to you if he hadn’t gone cheating on you with your best friend. If he hadn’t tricked you. If they hadn’t done an illegal thing to you. 

“Fine…” You scoffed at him, still with a lost look in your eyes, not wanting to look at him. Your tongue was hurting you, your throat was closing up on you, and you felt every inch of your body wanting to rip open. 

“I– I asked your mom where you went… She didn’t really want to give me any details, and that was fair but… I didn’t think I would need a business trip to meet you here.” You finally dared to look at him. Why was he saying these things to you? Why did he even care to talk to you after what he’d done to you?

“I did the divorce papers, and I left, and you should be fucking thankful I didn’t have the energy to take legal action for what you two did to me.” Your mouth was moving all by itself as you talked to him, and Henry sighed, giving a nod your way.

“I know, I know, but– I never got to tell you I am sor–”

“Don’t you even fucking dare to go there.” You wanted to smash the beer in his face. You wanted to bolt out of there. You needed to run. You felt your fingers having an itch to connect to his face in a fist. Did he think the word ‘sorry’ would mend things up? Did he think he would redeem himself with that stupid single word?

“I know we hurt you, but I’m honestly glad you’re alright–”

“Alright? Alright… Yes… In another city, away from my own mother. Yes. I am alright.” He noticed the sarcasm in your voice, the hatred and the pain displayed in your eyes and when you stared at him you couldn’t help but remember how your hand felt over the swollen belly. How the baby moved inside. How it felt to touch something you might never have. How it felt to touch the one thing you thought he would help you in getting.

“You need to calm down, I just– I just wanted to say hi–”

“Hello.” 

Now that voice you recognized. Your head turned to your left as well as Henry’s did. You saw how Eddie’s gaze was trained on him. How he was scanning every inch of your ex husband, not knowing it was him. You– You wanted to leave. You wanted to run away.

“Who are you?” Henry asked as he looked at you and then back at Eddie. He pointed back and forth, “Do you know him?”

“Yes… a friend.” Eddie’s eyes only looked at you when he noticed how small your voice was. You knew he felt something was wrong, and it seems he realized you were not going to introduce the two of them.

“I’m Eddie. You are?” You just stood there, staring at Henry as the asshole smiled politely, sticking his hand out. 

“I’m Henry. Um… Her Ex-Husband. Old friend.” 

You could feel how silent everything went between the three of you. You turned to look at Eddie and– His eyes were staring at Henry’s face. You noticed a vein popping on the side of his neck, and even with all the tattoos, you started to notice the redness that was starting to slowly appear. Your senses were slowly coming back to you as your intuition was telling you that something was going to happen.

“Henry… huh.” Eddie’s voice was low, sending chills down your spine. You didn’t expect Eddie to take Henry’s hand, shaking it slowly. You could use Eddie as a scapegoat, tell Henry to go away, or maybe you could leave, but– “Yeah, I know you.”

And then it was a blur. First you were watching how Eddie was shaking your ex-husband’s hand, and the next, Eddie had pulled him towards him and head-butted Henry right in the middle of the forehead. Then it was a punch. Then another. Then on the floor. Then more punches. You could hear yelling, screaming, Jonathan pulling Eddie away from Henry with your help.

You saw Henry on the floor, holding his face, his nose all bloody, a busted lip. How many punches did Eddie throw? You weren’t sure. Your body was moving, but your mind was not registering anything of what was happening. There was a lot of yelling, Nancy and Robin grabbing you and pulling you out of the bar with Eddie and Jonathan. 

Your eyes caught sight of Eddie still screaming, yelling, his eyes could have been red from the fury that you could feel emanating from him. Jonathan was screaming too as well as Nancy, maybe trying to calm Eddie down, but all you could focus on was the man that just hit your ex-husband square in the face. 

“We need to get out of here. Let’s get her home.” Was that Robin or Nancy? You didn’t know. You just felt yourself being moved, slowly regaining your senses back. You could hear Eddie talking to the girls as you all got into his car, wondering where he drives first.

“I want to be alone.” You were still looking at Eddie and he understood your sign. You could see the bit of confusion in his face that you decided to be with him, instead of Robin.

“You sure?” Robin was asking next to you, even with the slurring in her tongue, you knew she was worried for you. You appreciated it, you nodded at her but– You didn’t need her. You didn’t know what you needed. You needed a distraction as the images came back to your head, the alcohol finally hitting you after the adrenaline that just happened.

You felt your heart bursting as you got inside the passenger’s seat, Nancy and Robin in the back. Eddie was still looking your way, but all you could do was stare forward as he got into the driver’s seat. The car was moving, the lights were passing but all you could see were the smiling women holding their bellies. Henry and Camila in your bed fucking after your third consecutive procedure. 

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair.

Why here? Why did he have to have business here? Why? It wasn’t fair. Was he alone? You didn’t check if he had remarried. You didn’t want to check. You shouldn’t want to. Why would you want to? To see the people that hurt you have what they took away from you? What if Camila was also pregnant? Maybe she was. Maybe she fucking was by now. 

It wasn’t fair. 

“Call me if you need anything. I’ll be here.” You felt a kiss on your temple and you knew Robin had leaned forward from in between the passenger’s and driver’s seats and planted a kiss there. Or was it just pressure?

The car’s doors opened and closed and then it was just the wooden scent cologne and yourself. The drive started again, and you felt so numb. You felt dead. You needed to feel alive again, and Eddie might help with that. You needed Eddie. You wanted Eddie. 

The car ride was silent, and you couldn’t even look at him. It was humiliating for you that he met the man that fucked you over. That broke you. You didn’t want Eddie to be looking at you with worry or pity. You didn’t need that. You didn’t need people to feel sorry for you. You are strong, and you have been strong until now. 

You weren’t going to break. Not again.

The moment he parked, he looked your way as you got out of the car and you motioned for him to follow you. It was silent, it was too silent, but you just needed to reach your apartment. With Eddie. 

The moment you two walked inside your apartment, you felt the heat all over your body, the adrenaline, the emotions just traveling in every blood cell and white cell. You walked towards the couch as you heard the door closing, and you plopped down. 

“Peach… are you alright?” You heard his voice, but you could hardly register what he was asking. You felt the couch dip beside you and you turned your head to finally look at him and– He was looking at you with the eyes you didn’t want. He was staring at you with that pitiful look in his face that you didn’t need.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You asked, which made him blink your way and you didn’t even register your movements, that you were already climbing up on his lap, his eyes wide in surprise as you cradled his face in your hands. Your lips connected to his and you sighed in relief as you felt the warmth of his kiss against yours. 

Your hips swayed against him, and you felt him groan into the kiss as your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer, flushing your body against him. His hands grabbed onto your waist, his head pulling back for a second as your breath hit his lips.

“Peach, hold on–” You didn’t listen, your head in overdrive as you kissed him again, this time a little more forcefully than before. You didn’t want to think and you didn’t want to talk. You didn’t want to remember any of the events of today or from a year prior. You just needed to feel some warmth, some release. Your chest was against his as your hips kept moving against his, making you sigh into his mouth.

You took this opportunity to let go of him, not breaking the kiss, so you could take off your blazer and throw it away. You didn’t care for much right now, just that you needed to feel him. That you needed him. That you needed to shut your brain down with pleasure, but Eddie was not following your plan, which was making you grow irritated, desperate. He pulled away from your lips again, trying to talk once more.

“Hang on, for just a second–” And you didn’t let him. Your head dove into his neck, biting it gently, eliciting a grunt from his part.

“I need it.” Your voice was a whisper into his skin, your hands traveling to go underneath his shirt, ready to rip it away from him. The images need to go away. The memories need to disappear. Everything needs to go away. 

“Sweetheart–” You started kissing on his pulse point, your hips rubbing once more against him, and you could feel the bulge that started appearing but– He ripped you away from him, roughly, grabbing onto your biceps tightly. He was breathing heavily as he glared at you, and your eyes finally found his.

“Ed–”

“You don’t need this. You don’t need me like this… You need something else, Peach… I can give that too.” 

You just looked at him for a good while. This man that you consider a best friend at this point, despite what the two of you do behind closed doors and under your friends’ noses. Your eyes looked towards the hand that was holding your left bicep and– His knuckles were bloody. His knuckles were red and his skin had been cut. He hurt himself to hurt the man that hurt you.

And everything started sinking in.

Your eyes started burning with the incoming tears as you couldn’t handle the pain. The anger. The sadness. The disappointment. The humiliation you suffered. The struggle of seeing the cause of your pain once again after a year of running away from it. 

Your body shook as tears started leaving your eyes and going down your cheeks. You turned to look at him again, his eyes finding yours, telling you he was here. Telling you he was not going anywhere. You needed Eddie, just not in the way you thought. Your body shook aggressively three times thanks to trying to hold back sobs, only for the fourth one to finally come out.

Then it was one after the other. Eddie’s arms wrapped around your body, pulling you flush to him, laying your head on his shoulder as he let you cry on him. Once again, he was holding you as you cried. He was holding you through something you didn’t think you were going to relive again. You let out cries of pain, staining his shirt with your tears and makeup, but he didn’t care. He never pulled you off him. His hands rubbed your back as he rocked you from side to side and you couldn’t help but just cling to him.

You needed Eddie like this. You wanted Eddie like this.

You wanted Eddie to hold you all day. To tell you that everything was going to be alright. That everything was going to work out. You wanted him to kiss you, to forget, yet to not do more than just that. You wanted Eddie to keep holding you like this, close to him. You wanted more than just the roughness of a kiss or the insinuating touch. 

But it was a thought that your burdened and drunken mind could focus on tomorrow. Right now, you have to cry. You have to cry about the unfairness. You have to cry about what could have been. You are letting yourself cry and he is holding you and rocking you from side to side, soft shushes in your ears–

“I’m here, Peach… I got you, baby. I got you.” 

And when you closed your eyes, you drifted off. You were expecting that in your sleep you would be encountered with nightmares of your past, images of the memories that consumed your being. Instead, you dreamed of your friends. Instead, you dreamed of someone. Instead, you dreamed that somehow, somebody, was telling you to not lose hope. To not let a low life make you think you are not worthy of something like that. Of a family.

Your eyes opened to the sunlight entering your room through the sheer curtains. You winced slightly at the brightness, turning your head to find yourself all alone in your bed. You were wearing a shirt, some sleeping shorts, and you don’t really remember changing. You slowly sat up on your bed, wincing as you felt your body a little sore for some reason, and your neck was stiff.

Your cell phone caught your eyes, and you reached over to grab it, seeing that it was 10 AM. You scrolled through the screen, seeing a message from Robin, Nancy, Jonathan… Everyone was wondering how you were doing. You replied to everyone, telling them you were okay, and in all honesty… you felt lighter. You had overslept, missing work, and there was simple message from Liana telling you Robin told her you felt sick and to get better. You had the day off.

God bless Robin.

The sound of a pan falling outside your bedroom door startled you, making you jump. Oh, Eddie stayed. He didn’t go home. He stayed with you until the morning. Your heart rocked in your chest from side to side and you didn’t mind it this time. You didn’t tell it to calm down. Your feet found the floor, and you walked towards the door, slowly opening it and walking out towards your kitchen to see Eddie cursing as he scrambled some eggs. 

He was shirtless, wearing his boxers only, and your eyes trained on the couch. You winced slightly because of your behavior from last night. You tried to jump his bones when he was trying to stop you, and you feel so pathetic and little for falling into that dark place. You had to apologize and thank him for everything. Your eyes trained on his back, and you felt your stomach flipping inside, or were they butterflies? Nerves? 

“Eds–”

You saw him jump and basically screech, making your eyes go wide as your hand covered your mouth, containing a snort at the display. He turned around to look at you, spatula in one hand, the pan on the other. 

“You fucking scared me Peach, I didn’t think you would wake up until later.” He sighed, letting the air he gasped in when he got scared out. You couldn’t help but smile as he turned around and continued cooking. “The eggs are almost done, and also, you have a four-bread toaster, now that’s fancy shit.” 

“I won it at one of my company’s raffles.” Your voice was calm, walking over to the island counter to sit on one of the stools. You rested your elbows on the marble and put your chin on your hands, and just watched him. You watched him move in your kitchen as if he had always done this. Acting as if this is a common thing you two do every time you hook up with eachother, but this is one of the rare times you two had breakfast together. 

“Oh, can you get me one?”

“You can literally buy it at any electronics store!” You giggled, and he turned around with a cheeky smile on his face that made you crumble a little in your seat.

“It feels better when you win something.” He turned around and turned off the stove, dumping the scrambled eggs on two plates that already had two pieces of toast each. You felt pressure in your chest, a good one, as he turned around and placed the plate in front of you before he opened the fridge, taking out water and juice. He sat on the counter after placing them in front of the two of you and he presented it with both his hands. “Ta-da!”

You smiled at the plate before you, sitting up straight as you grabbed the water to pour yourself some in your glass, as Eddie served himself some juice. It felt domestic. Right. 

“We’ll see how good these eggs are, Munson.” He huffed at you as he grabbed a toast and placed some of the eggs on it with a fork.

“I make the best eggs in all Indiana, sweetheart.” He boosted himself as he took a big bite. Your smile faded as you saw the bruises and the bandaids on his knuckles. You dropped your fork as your hands moved quickly to hold on to his hand, making him almost drop the toast. He winced as he tried to chew– “Easy.”

“You hurt yourself.” His eyes clashed with yours as your body turned completely on the stool to face him. He sighed as he swallowed the bite, getting his hand out of your grasp to put the toast down. 

“He got it worse. I’m sorry, I couldn’t… contain myself when I realized who he was. I couldn’t help it.” He wasn’t really looking at you, but his jaw was clenched and you knew he was still angry, which instead of confusing you, it only made you happy. It made you feel cared for by someone.

“So you… punched him to defend my honor?” You tried to play it off with a small chuckle, but his eyes turned to look at you, serious, filled with something you couldn’t really decipher.

“Every punch I delivered yesterday was not even close enough to what he deserves. What he did, what they did to you… you didn’t deserve any of that.” Your smile had fallen, your eyes burning as you kept staring at him. Your jaw clenched as you felt the beginning of a lump forming in your throat.

“You didn’t… have to do it… but thank you…” He softly smiled at you, giving you a small nod.

“Yeah… I’m kind of banned from going to Jonathan’s bar for a while though… he got mad at me, pretty bad.” He chuckled nervously, and you winced a bit, looking down at your hands, feeling guilty at the situation. He went silent for a second, and he was probably deliberating if to talk about this with you or not. “Robin told us… about why you’re going into training.”

Your blood went cold once again, the memories of yesterday coming back. The news you received. The opportunity those news gave you. The emotions you felt the day before were too much… too much that you crashed out.

“I… yeah…” Your voice was small and fragile. You hated that you sounded like this but– at the same time you didn’t care he was hearing it. You didn’t know why you didn’t care, but you just didn’t. His body turned to face you, his hands pressing on your knees as he leaned to talk to you. Your eyes found his and you suddenly felt… warm.

“It will happen for you…” He stared at you for a while before he continued, “Let’s make a deal.”

“A deal?” Your eyebrow perked up in question and he nodded, his face serious with a glint of mischief and something else.

“When we turn 30, and if we are single… I’ll give you one.”

Your world stopped for a second. Maybe two. Three? What was he saying? 

“I… what?” You were shocked, stunned, not really sure if what just came out of his lips was real or if you had hallucinated it. He gave you a fond smile, his teeth showing.

“If we are single when we turn thirty, I’ll sign any papers you need, and we’ll have a baby together.” Your eyebrows twitched as your eyes kept burning and your body was trying to react in a way that you couldn’t contain much longer. 

“Why… I– You would have a kid… You are willing to have a baby with me? You don’t have to feel… sorry for me…” You were trying to not let your voice crack at the prospect of it. He was promising you a baby. This man in front of you, your friend, your best friend, the man you are fucking in a recurrent manner is promising to give you a baby if the time came that you didn’t have one yet, and both of you were without a partner.

“I want kids. I want a family too someday, and I honestly– Don’t think…” He bit his tongue for a second before continuing, “And I think that you would be the greatest mom in the entire world, so… it’s a win win for me.” 

This is the first time you heard him say he wanted kids. This is the first time you heard him say he wants a family in the future, something you didn’t know at all. Something that was making you melt and crumble in your stool.

You didn’t know what this meant. You didn’t know what anything of what he was saying meant but you wanted to kiss him. You wanted to hug him and kiss him and– Was his heart racing the way yours was? His stomach nervously hurting like yours was? The hairs on his arms standing on end like yours were?

“Eddie, you… You are promising something– something so fucking huge.” His smile fell a little, and he nodded, his eyes staring into yours as he talked.

“And you are the only one I trust enough to make this promise to.” You slowly shook your head at him, thinking this was insane, but– you wouldn’t mind it. Having Eddie’s baby? It didn’t sound entirely wrong. Maybe not even a little bit wrong. 

“You’re… insane.” You couldn’t help it as you let out a snort, and he nodded, a chuckle escaping him. 

“Maybe… so, deal, Peach?” His eyes were sincere as they looked at you, and you realized he meant every single word. He meant everything he said. Everything he promised. Maybe it won’t happen. Maybe he gets a girlfriend or maybe you find… 

“Deal.” You responded quickly, and he smiled widely, straightening up and putting his hand out for you to shake. You took a deep trembling breath in as you smiled and shook his hand.

“Nice doing business with you, fair lady.” You giggled and shook your head, your hand holding his. You inspected his knuckles with your fingers and you slowly raised it up to your lips. You didn’t watch his reaction, but you felt him fall in complete silence as he sat still in front of you. You finally let a tear roll down your cheek as you brush your lips against his knuckles.

“Thank you…” You softly whispered, and he leaned forward, your breathing cutting short when you felt him press his lips against your forehead. You could combust in the spot as you felt warmth invade you, your body flushing completely from head to toe.

“Don’t mention it, sweetheart.” He pulled away and you let go of his hand, looking up at him.

“I’m also sorry… for my behavior… last night.” You were embarrassed as you spoke and he shook his head at you, letting you know he understood.

“It’s okay. You snapped out, which is what matters here.” You two stared at one another as he wiped the tear that fell from your eye and you just… wanted to kiss him. You wanted to hug him and hold him and… He cleared his throat as he turned towards his plate. “We should eat.” 

You nodded and turned to your plate as well, putting some egg on your toast and bringing it to your mouth. The toast wasn’t as crispy because it got cold now, as well as the eggs, but the taste was sublime, yet, you couldn’t not give him shit for it.

“Mmm… not bad.” Was your comment and Eddie turned to look at you as if he were the most offended person on the planet.

“You take that back and say they’re delicious. It’s not my fault they got cold!” You laughed at him as he kept telling you everything he did with the eggs, and everything felt so right. He wasn’t here to get lucky like all those other times. He wasn’t here because he felt like he had to. He wanted to. He wanted to be with you and cheer you up. 

And he did. You cleaned the dishes afterwards as he grabbed your erotica novels and started reciting paragraphs just to piss you off. You laughed as he made up the different voices, moaning when the book said it, or grunting stupidly, and you threw your wet right glove to his face. 

He gasped, rushing towards you so he could rub the glove on your face, making you squeal and try to push him away in disgust. You two laughed as the glove fell on the floor, his arms still holding you close to him. Your heart beat loudly in your chest as you breathed heavily, his face close to yours and you just… 

“I should go home…” He whispered, and you really wanted him to spend the day with you but you knew Robin was going to come to your house at lunch or even earlier, so you nodded slowly.

“Yeah… Robin might just… appear…” He gulped and your lip twitched as you felt your body burn wildly, and you wanted to kiss him. You needed to kiss him. Change the dynamic of your goodbyes, but what if he didn’t want that? What if you were reading all of this wrong? Were you?

But he beat you to it, his jaw clenching as he talked softly, his forehead pressing against yours.

“I don’t want anything… just…” You nodded desperately at him and he leaned forward to finally kiss you. It was soft, tender, and it made every single one of your worries leave your body. You didn’t know why he was kissing you, but you knew why you were kissing him back. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders to pull him closer as your lips smacked with one another’s.

He hummed in between the kiss and you felt his arms and hands holding you in a way you haven’t felt in a long while. You stayed like that for a few seconds before he begrudgingly pulled away, licking his lips as you looked at him, and you didn’t want to let him go, but you had to. 

“So… I’ll… see you later?” You asked, filled with hope, and he gave you a small smile, nodding slowly as he leaned to give you a soft peck on the lips, melting you on the spot.

“Yeah. I’ll message you later. Tell me if you need anything, okay?”

“You’ve done enough, Eddie…” He chuckled and shook his head at you.

“Okay, so I guess you won’t need my scrambled eggs anymore.” You gasped, shaking your head at him, and he smiled triumphantly. “Ah, so my eggs were, in fact, delicious.”

You rolled your eyes and shook your head, pulling away from him to flick him on the right nipple making him squeal and cover it. You saw him walk to your bedroom, and you probably didn’t even notice the pile of clothes he left on the floor or on the desk. You were just staring at his retreating back as you bit your bottom lip, wondering if you should ask him to just stay, to tell Robin to not worry and not come over but you knew that she would not have it. 

When he returned he was all dressed, feeling the keys in his pocket as well as his wallet and phone, making sure he had everything as you put the gloves to dry over the sink counter. You walked to the front door with him, opening the door as he looked at you with something that just told you it was right to do what you wanted to do. So you rose on your tippy toes to give him a peck on the lips to which he returned with another one.

“Bye Eddie… thank you again.” You couldn’t help but keep thanking him, and he took it, smiling down at you.

“Don’t mention it. Bye, Peach.” He walked out, and you waited for him to get to the elevator. He gave you a salute as he got inside and the doors closed before him. You let out a sigh you didn’t know you were holding in and closed your door, leaving you alone in your home once again. 

You rested against it, looking down at the floor as your heart beat to an incredible speed, your stomach filled with something you couldn’t deny were butterflies. Butterflies you have been feeling for a long while. Butterflies you faked by calling them nerves or anxiety or adrenaline whenever you saw him. 

He didn’t promise what he promised just because you were sad. He didn’t just make a promise in order to make you happy. He made a deal with you that felt true even if it’s years away and you don’t even know if Eddie Munson would still be in your life. But fuck, you hoped he did. You hoped he did and that you two would be in a different situation than you are right now.

Because you didn’t want to just hook up with him. It’s time you came to terms with that fact. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to spend time with him. You wanted to invite him to dinner, watch movies with you, play games, and you were hoping that this new change meant something to him as much as it meant to you. 

And suddenly the troubles from yesterday were nonexistent. The troubles from yesterday and the memories were not as painful as they had hurt you the day before. You knew it was thanks to him. You knew that Robin would not have possibly made you feel the way you are today, and that is mean to say, but he filled the dark hole that resided in your mind. He knew what you needed when you didn’t even know it yourself. 

You needed him. In more ways than one could possibly imagine. You don’t know how you will tackle the relationship now that you came to terms with this. You don’t know how you should act or what you should say to him. You don’t know how to tell him you don’t want him to see someone else. You don’t know how to tell him you want him all for yourself. You don’t know how to tell him all of that without giving yourself away.

Because you’re fucked.

Because you like him.

You like Eddie Munson. You really like Eddie Munson.

end of chapter 21

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[lu-is-not-ok]

Hi! I was wondering what your thoughts were on the relationship between Hong Lu and Xichun. Namely (if I'm interpreting this correctly), how much he seems to care for her well-being. This has been nagging me since Canto 7 but he was so insistent on her being careful or joining up with him. Like you can tell how bothered he was. And HL, while often repeating some form of "my family sucks" doesn't usually let it linger? He makes a joke and moves on. I haven't heard anyone talking about it but this is the first time HL has shown care towards any of his family, even if later he is all "yeah if she dies, she dies, oh well". You're not fooling anyone, you.

You're right on the money with that one! When Hong Lu calls Xichun his 'most amicable sibling', I believe he's very much being truthful about that. Because while yes, she's rude and tends to do everything in her power to push him away, there are small moments that show that their care for each other is in fact mutual.

After all, she herself even points out that if it was any other sibling he ran into, he would have already been taken out. But Xichun doesn't do that. She doesn't kill him, or try to capture him, even though she's clearly aware that their Family is actively looking for him.

In a way, she's similar to Hong Lu in that she's never entirely straightforward with how she feels about things. She often puts on some sort of facade to hide the true meaning of her words, just in her case it's a mask of hostility, likely to defend herself in her position.

There's two moments in particular I feel that exemplify this by alluding to how Xichun actually feels towards Hong Lu, beneath her anxieties and prey animal rage.

The first one is this.

I've already gone at length about this scene from Hong Lu's perspective, how the thought of being an embarrassment to someone else in his Family causes him to shut down and default to trying to nod along and speed through the conversation as fast as possible. However, I think Xichun's response here is likewise notable.

Because she almost immediately backs up. It feels almost as if she's lamenting that he's still dealing with such situations as badly as he did back at home, and after giving one more 'jab' (one that you could even read as a backhanded form of assurance that she is in fact safe for him to be around), she takes the hint and ends the conversation.

The second one is the exchange that leads to them parting ways.

This is perhaps the most obvious Xichun has ever been about her own worries for Hong Lu. She's very visibly showing concern and outright anxiety over the thought that Hong Lu isn't taking things seriously and putting himself in danger. And then I believe she realized why that is.

If you've seen any of my analyses and theories, you know that I'm a firm believer that Hong Lu lied about the reason why he left the Jia household, and that in reality he's a runaway. This moment here is I believe the moment Xichun realizes that he ran away as well, and as such his goal is completely different from hers. As Hong Lu himself later states, "The path diverges, and we must each take the other trail."

After that exchange she continues to show concern for him, if somewhat indirectly.

I don't think she's saying this just to give advice on what Donqui/Sancho might be feeling at the moment. I believe she's implying that she's recognising that Hong Lu himself might be or at some point have been in a similar situation, and is thus attempting to empathize with him. Hong Lu's response here feels like he's taken the hint and is confirming it, clearly speaking from a much more personal place and experience.

And then, of course, is the moment they split up.

Another one of Xichun's backhanded assurances. She might sound rude here, but the essence of what she's saying is clear here. She will come back for him and maybe even support him.

So, yeah! Hong Lu not only cares about Xichun, but has every reason to! She's clearly one of the few Family members he has that actually seems to care about him in return! Even if it is buried underneath her harsh demeanor.

And regarding the one scene you bring up, well, I might as well repeat my own full interpretation of it now that we've gained more insight into Hong Lu after the check-up intervallo.

Note how Hong Lu directly interrupts Gregor here. I believe Hong Lu here is reacting very emotionally, effectively snapping at Gregor for what he implied. Part of it I believe is the implication that the death of a loved one would hold any substantial meaning to Hong Lu, something he is extremely philosophically opposed to due to viewing all kinds of death as meaningless.

But the other part of it is, well, that the thought of someone he loved dying in front of his eyes brings up memories he doesn't want to acknowledge. So he snaps back with as straightforward an answer as he can come up with so as to not give himself the time to dwell on the idea. Because it sure is suspicious he has yet to mention the one other person in his household that is ought to be very amicable towards him, no?

[kiryoutann]

Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.

TW: DEPRESSION, SUICIDE ATTEMPT. If you are struggling with suicidal thoughts or tendencies, please seek help and support from a mental health professional.

This story is written from the perspective of a biased omniscient narrator, keep this in mind as you read and don't take everything they say as absolute truth.

Please proceed with caution and consider your personal comfort and wellbeing before continuing.

SUICIDE HOTLINE.

I want to die.

The distant echoes of departing trains continue to linger in the air, reaching your ears even as you ascend the steps to the sidewalk of the old, dour London city. Gray clouds loom low in the sky, but occasional wisps of warm sunlight manage to slip through the overcast, illuminating patches of England's capital city.

And yet, when it comes your turn to cross beneath it—the last remnants of that golden hue—you feel nothing. The sun is gone, leaving you alone with yourself.

I want to die. You want to die, yet the way you stride leaves an impression that there remains a purpose to your existence—a reason to stay alive. Looking up, you see the neoclassical architectural building that you have long been familiar with. You push the large heavy doors to enter the Metropolitan Opera building.

The dim hallway of the opera house washes you over with old nostalgia. It reminds you of those early days, when you were just a wide-eyed girl fresh from San Francisco, full of newly lit aspirations. Determined to prove to herself that she wasn't what that old voice had always told her she was.

In the past, everything felt so gray—the streets, the buildings, even the sky above. But now, looking back, you realize you may have taken that time for granted. Compared to the supposedly better present, the past now appears in hues of bronze, still working towards perfection. Not yet gold—you haven’t gotten what you want, but you never lose sight of your stage, of your dance. Ballet remains both your agony and your solace.

But now, the world has been washed in muted colors, worse than gray. Ballet has shockingly intertwined with this foreign concept—distant, irrevocably severed.

Reality has transformed into an almost dreamlike quality, trapping you in the haze of your own creation. Yet, like a phantom that knows not when to end, you carry your feet toward the dressing room reserved for the prima ballerina. The door loomed before you; your hand reached for the handle, turned it, and pushed with a creak on its hinges.

(Was it ballet that had become nothing to you, or was it you who had become nothing to ballet?)

Your eyes immediately landed on the figure sitting in front of the vanity. Claudine, the woman who had taken your place as the Swan Queen, perched in the chair that should have been yours. Her eyes widen as she caught sight of your reflection in the mirror, but her surprise was short-lived as a smirk slowly spread across her red lips.

Claudine turns her body to face you. “Well, well, look who it is. Did you forget your way to the bathroom, darling?”

Much different from the last time you saw her, she looks radiantly happy. She adjusts her seat, making herself comfortable on the cushion of a chair that clearly does not belong to her. But that doesn’t mean it’s yours, does it? Sure, Claudine wasn’t the first choice—but the director still chose her to replace you. It was glaringly obvious that the role of the Swan Queen was no longer yours; you were simply the wrong choice, a mistake.

Tomorrow’s Swan Lake performance will be starring Claudine. Not you. Last week, you were still able to gloat and say that nothing would happen, and yet, something did—you blew your performance, delivered a shitshow, and the director launched into a long, angry sentence before discarding you. Sending you home.

(“You need to go home.” in a voice that doesn't belong to the director.)

Suddenly, the door opens wider; you see the director standing in the doorway. “Claudine, we need to—“ he begins, but his words trail off as his gaze meets yours.

A look of surprise flashed across his face as he took your presence. You could only imagine how unexpected your sudden appearance must have seemed to him—a ghost materializing after days of radio silence. He furrowed his brows, glancing at Claudine as if silently asking if she's seeing this too. Turning back to you, you felt the intensity of his eyes as he scanned you from head to toe.

Henri calls your name, then asks, “Are you alright?”

For a moment, you hesitate. “The world is covered in a gray haze” is the only description you can come up with—the only way to tell them, but you wonder if they will even understand what you mean. Maybe the issue lies in your own eyesight, tinting everything so dull and lifeless. Soulless. “The world is speaking a language I no longer have the strength to comprehend,” you want to scream it from the rooftops. Everything is moving on and leaving me behind, and I don’t know why.

“Are you alright?”

Such an easy question, yet so hard to answer. You're certain that nothing is alright, but you're not hurting as much as you were that night in that unfamiliar city, are you? No more hyperventilating, no more shortness of breath. Objectively speaking, you seem fine. And yet, you're not sure you can carry on if the future will continue to feel this way.

So instead, you simply nodded, eyes empty but staring back at him as you utter the words, “I’m fine. I was just about to leave.”

You didn’t wait for a response, turning around the way you came and walking back down the long hallway. Yet, the hallway seemed strangely altered, as if it had undergone some sort of magical transformation while you were inside the prima ballerina’s dressing room. The dim corridor was almost deformed to the point where you couldn't recognize it. Or perhaps the world was perfect, and it was your own sight that had become deformed.

Looking around, you wonder if it was all real—if the walls were as solid as they seemed; if the golden rays of sun were genuine, or if they were mere props in a stage production. Do you even exist? Or are you just a microorganism barely clinging to life and yearning to be something you're not? The exit seemed far away, and something begged you on its knees for you to stop, for you to turn back.

There is no turning back for you. You are deformed—you are lost in a place that no longer wants to recognize you. Where do you turn back? How do you turn back? The answers you demand are nil, and you… return to resignation, to surrender. There is no turning back for you.

London never really rests, even when the evening wears on with uncertain weather. The hesitant sunlight casts a slanting gaze on the upper half of a three-story building. While the middle section to the top is constructed from a rugged red-hued brick, the ground floor was painted in a bolder crimson, with old-style serif fonts for the name of the establishment. It's a flower shop. A couple exits, the woman smiling graciously at her lover while holding onto his hand, cradling a bouquet of freshly cut blossoms.

Walking opposite you is a family of four, laughing as they enjoy their stroll. You turn to see a career-driven woman striding purposefully, probably to meet her next client.

Everyone had a purpose, a direction, a sense of belonging. And standing amidst this bustling city, you felt alien, empty—a specter, a ghost among the living, treading this path simply because it’s the only one you knew, but it seemed to have no end in sight. It felt like you had lost something, everything. Your infinitesimal place in this world is now entirely erased.

(Who are you?)

Your life is yours to live, but you are not its main character. Everywhere you tread, you carry the setting sun; the colors fade in your presence. Doom creeps closer, dripping and seeping into your nailbeds—unfortunately, you have a habit of biting them. Now it is in your blood, pumped through your body, settling in your organs and muscles.

Who are you?

Nobody's daughter, nobody's lover. No longer a prima-ballerina.

As you descend the stairs that lead down to the subway, the sound of the departing train echoes through the station. You stand in the spot you’ve occupied countless times before—the safe line where other passengers wait for the next train. Taking a deep breath, your heart throbs painfully as the acrid scent of cigarette smoke enters your lungs. You turn to see a man leaning against the wall, his lips wrapped around the glowing embers.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block out the memory that the smell reminded you of. Looking for a distraction, your gaze fell upon the yellow line that served as the boundaries where you should stand. It was a simple thing, but it carried a clear meaning—don't get too close to the edge of the platform; back away or find your doom.

However, from your dull vision, the vibrant hue had faded, leaving behind a lifeless grey that blended effortlessly with the rest of the platform. Another line meant nothing. You lifted your gaze and landed it on the train tracks.

The steel of the rails glints in the dim light. Just one step, one final fall, and it would all be over. No more empty apartments to face, no more tiring tomorrows. A funeral won't be necessary because by the time you're gone, there will be no part of you left in this world.

A cough sounds from behind you, breaking through your loud thoughts. Turning, you see a woman probably in her thirties in a bright floral dress. Averting your eyes to another source of voices, your gaze lands on a man and a girl next to him—a father and daughter. You end up glancing around at the people around you, all waiting patiently for the next train to take them to their next stop or home.

How would they react to such a spectacle?

The image of their horrified faces, their clothes stained with the crimson of your blood. And what about the train engineer? They would be the first and the last to look you in the eye, to witness your final moments before your demise. The ending you obtain will linger as a scar you leave on them—an impact that will stay, haunting them for weeks, perhaps even months or years to come.

And you…

You couldn't do that to them.

The second consideration is too late when the train squeals through the tunnel, signaling its arrival. The train has arrived; you are hyper-aware of your standing right behind the yellow line. A stream of people begins to board the tube, and so do you. Taking a seat, the window across from you serves as an uncomfortable mirror forced up against you. You avert your eyes from it, not wanting to face your own faint reflection.

As the robotic voice of the tube's announcement echoed through the carriage, urging the passengers to “step clear of the doors,” the father and daughter took their seats across from you. The little girl, no more than five or six years old, straightens her gaze to meet yours.

There, you find your younger self. To her, you are just a weird grown-up with tired eyes, but to you, she is that little girl you once were. The bright-eyed girl with simple dreams—to eat ice cream with Daddy, to coax Mommy for a furry friend, to be the brightest star for her parents. To be the greatest ballet dancer the world has ever seen.

The girl who loves blue so much, but Mom forces pink on her. You remember your childhood photo framed in the closet back home before you left San Francisco for good—a photo of you and Mom at your first ballet recital.

“My little princess, you’re going to be the greatest ballet dancer the world has ever seen.”

And yet, hours later, submerged in the warm water that should have melted your tension away and untied the knots within, reality proved otherwise. Those dreams, once so vivid, are now gone—abandoned, for your heart has shrunk in size as you've grown. The bright-eyed girl was no more—so was Daddy, so was Mommy. Ballet, too, dismantled in your own hands. Your identity is destroyed and-

And what does that leave behind, then? An empty body? A vessel for a rotting soul? A very unlovable being roaming the earth, manipulating anyone she can find to stay; to act as a blind lover, because who else could love a deformed creature like me?

You let yourself take a deep, trembling breath, and as you did, a tiny echo of pain stabbed at your heart. The tears finally came. But, as your cries reverberated through the bathroom, the numbness returned, as if in an attempt to shut out the shame of hearing your agony. Reaching out, you made a gentle swirl in the water, watching as the small waves lapped against the porcelain of the tub, creating another smaller one that disappeared in a split second.

By the time you stepped out of the bath, your fingers were wrinkled. Wrapping yourself in a towel, you walked to the sink. You grabbed your toothbrush, smearing the minty paste across the bristles. Finally, you lifted your gaze to the mirror, the reflection of your tired face greeting you.

The woman gazing back at you seems like a complete stranger—you can hardly fathom that she is the person that little girl grew up into. The sight of your own face caused another tear to fall, but this time, you felt nothing but the throbbing headache that wrecked your brain. Your eyelids felt heavy—all you wanted to do was sleep.

After your nightly routine was complete, you slipped into the comfort of your pajamas—an oversized t-shirt and a pair of worn sweatpants. You turned the doorknob and stepped out of the bathroom. Walking to the kitchen, you decided to quench your thirst before actually going to bed. You opened the cabinet, searching for a clean glass.

As your hand clutched the glass, your gaze drifted to the bottle of bourbon beside it. You scrutinized the amber liquid for a good two minutes before closing the cabinet door with a soft click.

Turning on the tap, you let the cool water fill your empty cup before bringing it to your lips and taking a sip. You drained it to ease your dry throat. Placing the glass in the sink, you stared at it, contemplating something. You shook your head, reluctantly pulling yourself away from the kitchen and into the bedroom.

Despite the tightness in your skull and the burning ache of your eyelids, falling asleep proved to be a challenge. You lay there, tossing and turning, desperate for a long-lasting close of eyes. But your mind couldn't cooperate; instead, it was fixed on that day—the day you had visited him. The what-ifs come next, a chorus of “if only” that creates more space for questions and regret. What if you hadn't gone that day? What if you had given him the time and space he needed, trusting that he would come back to you just like he always had before?

What if you had become an easier woman to love? What if you hadn't been made like this—a shameful woman who claws for love in every kindness that others show you? Who had made you this way? Was it your parents and their inconsistent showcase of a tainted version of “love”? Or were you born with this never-ending hell?

Why doesn’t he love me? The words echoed, a persistent refrain that refused to be silenced. Why did he leave me? And you’re left wondering who you’re asking—that man or your father?

With a sudden jolt, you rise from the bed, your feet hitting the solid floor beneath. Wrenching the doorknob harshly, you made a beeline for the bathroom. You pulled open the cabinet, grabbing at everything you could, shoving the various pills and tablets into your mouth. The bitter taste slowly spreads as it all melts on your tongue.

Stumbling out of the bathroom, you walk quickly to the kitchen, eyes landing on the other cabinet – where a bottle of that amber liquid is stored. You open it roughly, downing the contents, feeling the burn of the alcohol searing your throat.

You set the bottle down, turning to leave the kitchen to return to the bedroom. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you blinked, sweeping your gaze one last time around the room. You laid back down on the mattress, pulling the soft blanket up over your body. The ceiling looked bland, all white with a dark spot where it had once leaked.

Reaching out, you grasped the lamp on the bedside table, flicked it off, painting the room black.

SUICIDE HOTLINE.

[aventurineswife]

I'm loving this SAHSR au of an artist player! It's so good.

I want to add something, like what if the characters hear player singing? It could be any type of genre, from laufey to MSI or even Robin's songs. I wanna know their reaction to hearing the player sing, whether player has good or bad singing voice.

Anyway, remember to take care!

-🪽 anon

I gave up on editing this.

It happens by accident.

The stars are quiet. The Museum of Divinity has no new paintings today. The characters, scattered across their worlds, are going about their business.

And then—

A voice.

Echoing through the universe like a whisper from the divine.

At first, they think they're imagining it. A trick of the wind. A malfunction in the stars.

But then they realize—

It’s you.

And everything stops.

Welt was reading, but the second he hears your voice, his book slips from his hands.

Himeko’s coffee cup nearly overflows. She grips the table, trying to process what she’s hearing.

Welt: “This is… unprecedented.”

Himeko: “Unprecedented? We are hearing the Creator’s voice. You expect me to analyze this rationally?”

They try to remain professional, but they’re both completely in awe.

Blade’s grip on his sword tightens. His breath stills. His heart (what’s left of it) aches.

Dan Heng stops mid-movement. His entire body tenses.

If your voice is soft and melancholic → They feel a strange, aching longing.

If your voice is powerful and emotional → They feel as if they’ve been struck by lightning.

They memorize every second. Every note. Every breath.

If they never hear you again, they will still remember it forever.

Sunday? He is GONE.

Immediately kneels, hands clasped as if in prayer.

“The voice of the divine—resonating through the cosmos! Ahh, what a BLESSED day this is!”

Aventurine? He plays it cool.

Casually leans against a wall, smirking.

"Didn’t expect you to sound so… charming, dear Painter."

But internally? He is obsessed.

Sunday writes poetry about it. Aventurine never stops thinking about it.

Kafka smiles immediately. "Oh? What a lovely surprise."

If your voice is soft and sweet → Kafka closes her eyes, swaying slightly. Like she’s letting herself drown in it.

If your voice is raw and emotional → Black Swan literally stops breathing.

Black Swan murmurs, “To leave behind only images was not enough… now you bless us with sound as well.”

They both want to hear more. Even if it means hunting for echoes of your voice in the stars.

Luocha listens in complete silence. He places a hand over his heart.

"The artist who paints with colors… now paints with sound as well."

Jing Yuan exhales slowly. His usually lazy demeanor shifts into something far more serious.

"I could listen to this for eternity."

They don’t just hear your voice. They feel it.

March 7th: SCREAMS.

Sparkle: ALSO SCREAMS.

“OH MY GOD THEY CAN SING???”

March tries to record it. (Fails. The audio is impossible to capture.)

Sparkle is immediately writing lyrics down. "If they ever sing again, I’ll be ready to write it down word for word!"

They both talk about it for WEEKS.

The moment your voice fades, they feel it deeply.

Some search desperately for ways to hear you again.

Some simply sit in silence, trying to preserve the moment forever.

And some—

Well.

Some would do anything to make you sing for them again.

I better not see anymore SAHSRAU after the last one.

[stevie-petey]

Had an idea and wanted to pester you about it (I’m kidding, I hope I’m not actually pestering you). What if you were to write a cute snow day blurb for Stug? Set in between S3 and S4? I ask because it’s currently snowing where I’m at and just thought “dang, that’d be so cute.”

you could never pester me i loooove answering blurbs <33 now if i may pester you i changed the timeline to between seasons 2 and 3 because i couldnt resist the idea of pre-dating steve n bug playing in the snow together n being all shy n cutie ugh

enjoy !

"its snowing," steve leans your desk chair back, nearly tipping over completely as he peers out your window. "like. a lot."

theres a mound of assignments on your desk and you only spare a quick glance outside. "oh," your absent minded tone doesnt go unnoticed by steve. "thats nice."

he narrows his eyes. "i thought you loved snow."

"i do," this time more genuineness comes through your voice. you look outside again and ache when you see just how snow has fallen. "but..."

your head tilts down to the work scattered between you and steve. youre insanely behind on calculus assignments and steve has a lab report three weeks overdue and today is the first real day your injuries from demodogs and billy have healed enough to even attempt to understand what a derivative is.

jonathan is stuck at home taking care of will and promised you hed help you with the math as soon as he was able, but now, with all the snow that inevitably will block the roads, you know youre doomed.

steve sees the stress that tenses your spine and an idea pops into his head. he snatches the homework from you and is running out of your room.

"what the-?" but hes already gone, annoyingly fast when he wants to be.

you run after steve, having no other option, really, and find him and dustin rushing to put their coats on.

"shes here!" dustin screeches when he sees you. he shoves at steve, urging him to hurry up, and your mother watches fondly from the kitchen.

you push past your brother. "what is happening?"

steve zips up coat and winks at you, giving no response other than flinging the front door open and chasing dustin through the snow. theyre gone in a heartbeat, giggling like children as they fucking prance through the falling snow.

"id join them if i were you, y/n." your mom says with a slight chuckle. "steve told me to hide your homework until you were 'soaked in snowflakes'."

your jaw drops. "mom-"

"im sorry, sweet girl." she laughs at you now. "blame that handsome boy of yours and go play with your brother outside. itll be good to get some fresh air!"

"but-"

"wear a coat!"

and then your mother shuts her bedroom door, leaving you to watch steve tackle dustin into the snow as they shriek and wrestle in the slippery ground.

"my eye!" steve squeals in pain, rolling around, and dustin giggles menacingly. feeling your eyes on him, steve flings a distressed hand towards you. "y/n, help a guy out here, would ya?"

even though he cant see you, you still roll your eyes at steve. dustin echoes his own sentiments of wanting you to join. the boys plead with you over and over and youre weak to them.

sighing, you grab your heaviest coat. "if either one of you even thinks about tackling me, youre dead."

dustin salutes you. "yes, ma'am."

you help steve up. his hand is cold and his nose red and eyes shining and you cant help but giggle slightly at the sight of him. theres flecks of snow that line his brown hair and hes a delicate kind of pretty that rivals the spiral of snowflakes.

"saved me again, angel." he winks at you again, causing you to blush.

"shut up." you shove at his chest, avoiding his tender eyes. they reveal more to you than you know hes ready to admit.

steve laughs and dustin throws a snowball at your face and everything is warm and soft.

-

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