#i know i know. and i need to let the anguish motivate me to get out of here. but it feels like i dreamed it all

[pepprs]

im home and already swallowed by despair. can you believe i was in CHICAGO a few hours ago. and now im here. lol

[salaimoi]

𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒅𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓 — 𝒃𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝒆𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉

[˚୨୧⋆. 𝒔𝒚𝒑𝒏𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒔] after his wife’s death, you became toji fushiguro’s only reliant shoulder. however, unbeknownst to you, your deceased friend’s ex-husband had ulterior motives in mind when he began to pursue you.

[˚୨୧⋆. 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆] angst

[˚୨୧⋆. 𝒘𝒄] 2.k

[˚୨୧⋆. 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔] yellow is reader’s pov, blue is toji’s pov. it might sound repetitive and rushed bc i just wanted to get this out of my drafts. i know billie’s song came out like ages ago so it wouldn’t make sense to release this any later than it already is

𓂃 ོ𓂃 Things fall apart, and time breaks your heart. I wasn't there, but I know.

toji always reassured you a million times; he wasn’t heartbroken over his split with his ex-wife, not in the slightest. he rarely opened up about his past, let alone his previous relationships. and yet, deep down, you knew he hadn’t properly processed their rupture.

the most he ever disclosed to you was the fact that there was nothing left to salvage in his old relationship — so he moved on, and so did she. 

but was that the entire truth? 

you noticed the prolonged glances he would take when opening his wallet. the empty look behind his eyes when he stared down at his naked ring finger. even the faint sniffling at night that he tried convincing you were nothing more than allergies. but you knew he was silently mourning her. 

her – the real love of his life.

She was my girl. I showed her the world, but fell out of love and we both let go. ⋆࿐

i made it my life goal to tend to her happiness. the only reason for my very existence was to see that she had everything she could ever want. hell, that’s the only thing i’ve ever been good at.

i never kept anything from her — except my line of work. i couldn’t bring myself to tell her the man she fell in love with was a deadbeat mercenary who bathed in the blood of others for a living. as much as i tried to protect her from that side of my life, she eventually went digging her nose where it wasn’t needed. 

the aftermath of her discovering the truth about my hidden agenda came at the price of our relationship. 

she couldn’t withstand the constant pain of being by my side any longer, to turn in bed only to see a bastard by her side. she wholeheartedly believed that the man that now stood before her was no longer the one she fell in love with. 

somehow i didn’t blame her.

She was cryin’ on my shoulder. All I could do was hold her.

i still remember it so vividly — how her body trembled against mine like a leaf. tears coursed down her cheeks as she clung to me like a lifeline, seeking comfort in the midst of her anguish. as selfish as it may sound, the weight of her sorrow became almost too much to bear. 

i couldn't offer excuses or apologies; these were empty gestures that wouldn't alleviate the agony she felt at that moment. instead, i stood there, silently holding her, offering my presence as the only comfort.

the guilt washed over me in waves as i cradled her, feeling her heart shatter a little more with each sob. i knew i was the cause of her pain, yet i couldn’t tell her the whole truth. all i could do was hold her, wishing i could undo the past.

𓂃 ོ𓂃 Only made us closer until July.

the moment he began pursuing you when enough time had gone by, it immediately felt wrong. he was your friend’s ex-husband, after all. toji had never looked at you twice before, and now, he suddenly had lustful eyes for you? 

you eventually conceded because you wanted to be there for him, giving him the benefit of the doubt that he had no ulterior motives. but one way or another, every conversation at dinner circled back to her. 

“oh she loved mashed potatoes.” 

“fun fact, she had a strawberry allergy.” 

“did you know this brand of vanilla ice cream was her favorite?”

and as much as it pained you, you became a reliant ear for him — someone who would listen to all the little details he swore he had forgotten the day she divorced him. even if every bone in your body wanted to run in the opposite direction, far, far away from him, you stayed. 

maybe all he needs is time, you told yourself.

right?

Now I know that you love me. You don't need to remind me. I should put it all behind me, shouldn't I? ⋆࿐

your affection always remained a constant in my turbulent world, like a gentle rain that falls softly even amidst the storm. but the longer the internal storm went on, the more ravenous the regret and guilt raged on. i found myself unable to fully comprehend the depth of your love for me, but deep down, i knew that your love was unwavering. 

i knew that in order to truly move on, i had to let go of the past and embrace the present; you represented that fresh start i so urgently needed. but the thought of her still lingered, a constant reminder of what once was but should no longer be. it was as if i was being consumed by my own memories, unable to break free. as if a part of me still longed for the past. 

the weight of my conflicting emotions burdened my every waking moment, leading me to push you away with no explanation. feelings for the both of you coexisted, and i couldn't fully commit to one without betraying the other. every time i looked at you, guilt would wash over me for putting you through this hell.

 likewise, every time i looked at her picture, i felt like a traitor for ever moving on as soon as i did.

But I see her in the back of my mind all the time. Just like a fever, like I’m burning alive, like a sign. ⋆࿐

beneath the mask of indifference, i was plagued by shame. it was hard to accept that the girl who once consumed my thoughts was no longer part of my life, and looking at you, i realized that your love knew no bounds; that wasn’t enough for me. 

i hadn’t stopped loving her. 

it felt like a fever that never broke. an unrelenting heat that burned deep inside me, reminding me of the girl who dwelled in the back of my mind all those years ago.

every word about my past, every little detail about my ex, felt like a confession at church – a church where my sins would be revealed to the world. 

talking about my past wouldn’t magically absolve me of my past, now would it? redemption was never an option for me, and i wasn’t asking for it. instead of trying to cleanse myself of my history, i decided to leave it all behind like a forgotten box in an attic. 

𓂃 ོ𓂃 Well, good things don't last, and life moves so fast. I'd never ask who was better 'cause she couldn't be more different from me.

he told you to let it go — to let it die like she did that fateful day. it was no use keeping her memory alive, he said, but if that was the case, why did he take her last name months later? 

not to mention they spent years together — even conceived a child together; a child he named after her, but that detail never seemed to make its way to you. 

everyone told you to stop comparing yourself, but how could you not? she was everything you weren’t even after death: soft spoken, graceful, gentle, patient, loving. 

you didn’t dare ask such a redundant question so you didn’t voice it, but your continuous comparison to her was eating you alive; toji noticed it. you hadn’t slept with him in almost a month, internally afraid he’ll blurt out her name instead of yours.

𓂃 ོ𓂃 And I know that you love me. you don't need to remind me.

he went out of his way to send more ‘i love u’ messages than before; they seemed forced, just like your relationship. 

she had previously informed you of things that found their way to the most profound recesses of your mind. you didn’t flinch at the time, because you were mesmerized that he did such things for her, but it affected you later on. 

you learned bitter truths that made you doubt his love for you. and when you finally realized he didn’t do any of the things she spoke of, it dawned on you; toji didn’t love you. 

not like he loved her. 

𓂃 ོ𓂃 You say no one knows you so well but every time you touch me, I just wonder how she felt.

you’d stay up late at night countless times wondering what toji’s affectionate touch actually felt like. it was something only she ever knew, and you’d do anything to get a semblance of that feeling. 

but it was obvious no one knows the real him — not like she did.

despite everything, you decided to give this relationship one last try by booking a hotel for the both of you. everything inside you screamed that it was a horrible idea, but you did it anyway.

𓂃 ོ𓂃 Valentine's Day, cryin’ in the hotel. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me, so I kept it to myself.

and he finally did it. he mistakenly blurted out her name on the most romantic day of the year. 

“i-i’m sorry.” toji rushed to apologize, grabbing a hold of your arm so you wouldn’t walk out the door.

“I wonder, do you see HER in the back of your mind, in my eyes!?” was the only thing you could force yourself to reply in that moment, breaking away from his grip in the process.  

“i do,” toji dejectedly admits with a hint of sorrow behind his voice. or was it indignity?

he pauses, absentmindedly digging his nails into the tender flesh of his balled up fist as he grapples with his conscience. all along, he knew the day to finally hold himself accountable would come, but he didn’t think it would’ve been like this. 

his mind involuntarily wandered, and in the depths of your gaze, he saw glimpses of his deceased wife — a ghost that lingered in the back of his subconscious even after all this time.  

memories of her flood his mind, and for a brief moment, the both of you merge into one — his past and present colliding into one. the familiar shade of your irises, the identical shine behind them, the bright glimmer of light behind them when you smiled — all of it brought a pang of bittersweet nostalgia to him. 

silence overtook the room like a storm, and with it, your heart. so he does see a reflection of his dead wife when he stares into your eyes — the eyes he promised captivated him to no bounds. 

“was all of it a lie, then?” 

“no.” 

“how was it not a lie, toji?”

“it wasn’t a lie, doll-“ 

“don’t call me that.” you interrupt him with words almost sharp enough to cut him, a slight tremble behind your voice. 

tears immediately welled up in the delicate corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over at any moment. his expression softened at the sight; however, his reluctance to approach you remained. he knew he was the reason behind your hurt, just like he was the cause of hers all that time ago. history does indeed repeat itself, doesn’t it? 

he wished he could find the words that would help ease your pain — the exhaustion and heartache you felt. to take it all away with a mere sentence, that would be quite incredible. but that’s not how life works.

“okay.” he finally whispered, inhaling a deep breath in a mix of defeat and remorse before continuing. “i promise none of it was a lie; i meant every word. i really meant it when i said i adored your eyes…” 

he dry swallows a couple of times, as if doing so would suppress the sorrow lodged in his throat. his eyes darted around the room, as to not meet your own out of the unbearable guilt that simply refused to be consumed. 

the hesitation behind his subtle actions was a telltale that there was a ‘but’ hidden underneath the surface-level flattery. and with an equal amount of incertitude and delay behind your own words, alongside with a hoarse voice, you brace yourself for the moment he finally admits this so-called love of yours was nothing but an illusion.

“but?” 

“…but they’re not her eyes.” 

part 2 here.

[midnightbears]

✿ duskbound, afterlight.

#STARRING: cybertronian fem reader & other characters.

#TAGS: trauma. talks of character death. hopelessness? mentions of prostitution. no appearance of canon characters because this is an intro. hunger games reference!

#NOTES: hi! still alive, just not writing for kny atm because my head is like a powerpoint presentation with all my hyperfixations and i can't write for requests when it is on another slide. hope that makes sense. this is the first chapter of my megatron x reader, a strangers to lovers to enemies featuring pre-war cybertron, a magnanimous amount of lore, a lot of non-cannon stuff like sparklings and stuff because i can do whatever i want, and my flickering motivation to finish it. i don't have a specific transformers i'm basing the timeline off, so we will see. i thought of publishing it on ao3 or smth but i have better judgement so i just figured i would upload the first chapter on tumblr. the new transformers movie was soooo good and it inadvertently rekindled my transformers obsession. enjoy? let me know if you like it, i would appreciate it if you have questions or anything :) THIS BITCH IS LONG SO BEWARE

part two | part three | part four | part five | part six

"Y/N, my optics hurt."

"I know, sweetspark, I know."

This place reeked. Pure flowing smoke and vapor, stinking energon, and the smell of the gray coal and ash that powdered the laborers' and miners' bodies like scintillating glitter filled the pavements of that day—such fragrant poetry. 

The barely perceivable light that shone down could not even be called proper illumination in the first place. Every once in a while, the wells of your optics danced up to gaze toward where the sweltering sunlight was supposed to be.

Still, your spark did nothing but wail at you when, each time, all that you caught were mountains upon mountains of pitch-dark vapor, dull particles of dust from the mines, and the visualization of the austere whispers of despair and anguish among the workers of one of the mining towns from one of Cybertron's Primus-forsaken satellites, Nuna 5PY.

Even if you turned to look towards the downtown streets, the particles infiltrated your vents and blistered your optics.

Some workers used gas masks, while others retreated to the mines, where the synthetic stench wasn't as foul, but most were forced to return to work. They snatched up energon everywhere they could, recharged in fits and starts among their screaming. You seriously needed to leave.

As Vaportrail coughed onto the city street, you held her small servo. Even with the torrential acid pouring last night, the smog got to her well before the rush hour. 

You realized things would not improve today, so you hurried in fear of the younger developing tear-streaked optics and a headache to match. It saddened you that Vaportrail would never know what a normal life would be like. It was as though they had collectively given up years before she was born, which was unjust to her and all the future sparklings. 

You grabbed her and pulled her into the cart. Traveling was enjoyable, but not at the price of introducing additional hazardous particles into the environment. 

Mining Outpost R–02 was one of the towns from Nuna 5PY, where unnamed members of the lower classes labored interminably, tediously. The gloomy, smoky shambles of a metropolis required the Communication Grid to communicate with other areas and locations simply. It was no place for a sparkling. 

The infant cybertronian lay quietly on the sulfurous mine carriage attached to the railway, more vulnerable than the glass that was painstakingly constructed for the masses of the High-caste buildings and just as giddily colored.

You wondered if her peds are dirty; how would you know? You pondered what she ate back when Starlight was still living in this downtown slum; where did her mother get energon to nourish her? 

Your servos were callous from several scars and defects, and a part of you ached to sweep her up in her arms and shelter her eternally. But. How could you ever live with yourself if you didn't allow such an innocent being to live a tranquil life?

"I'm sorry about your carrier," You told the sparkling wistfully, making sure she was comfortable for the long ride from here to where your late best friend wanted her youngling to go if something ever happened to her. You gave her a small pad which contained personal information like her name and situation, along with a plead for somebot to take her to safety, "Cybertropolis is a nice place, just make sure you reach the police station safely, they'll know where to take you." 

"Thank you," Vaportrail squeaked out, her knees pulled up to her chest plate. 

The train inevitably started, and you walked in tandem with the slow speed of the carriage just to get a good, final look at the sparkling's dainty, cheerless face. Vaportrail would surely be a problem when she got older because all of the mechs would swoon over her—deservingly so.

With those optics and a grin as charming and gauzy as that, she was the very picture of the youthful beauty who had once bored the name of Starlight. You believed she was the sweetest femmeling on the planet.

"I love you, okay? And I'm sure your carrier is so proud of you. Good luck!"

Eventually, you had to withdraw from the train, which only allowed you to stare at the vanishing small frame of a waving Vaportrail, whose response had been forever lost in the sad, sepulchral winds of the town. 

Despite that, you could still stare at the sparkling's naive, callow features and find colossal gratitude and admiration in its place, which made a lump form in your voicebox and squeezing palpation beat inside your spark chamber.

With Vaportrail gone, the smell of blazing smoke burned your olfactory sensors and induced you to cover them with your suitable servo. You had never before realized that the shrilling blare of the injectors, the drills, the massive excavators, and the wheels of the trucks could be so overwhelmingly loud, either. From the corner of your optics, the flashes and instants of the sparks that aimlessly flew around whenever metal met metal brought you out of your bewildered daydream. 

But then you turned and saw the portrait of shattered ambition, lost hope, undetermined origins, opaque bitterness, damaged honor, futile dreams, and wavering will that assembled the cybertronians of Nuna 5PY.

It was a blow to the back of your head.

Starlight was dead.

If you closed your optics, you could still see the glow on her metallurgical protoform, the spark that no longer burned, and the sound of her laughter that still reverberated in your audio receptors and processor.

Oh, you missed her desperately. 

She'd spent her days as a young and daring cybertronian who didn't let the vacillating shame of her prostitution career ridicule her or anything she was. A good, pleasant, and kind femme that thrived and existed, only for some mech to tear her from her home and forever close her laughing optics. She was a femme, a friend, a sister, and a carrier.

She was someone.

"Oi, femme!"

You knew that whoever was calling that word in such a degrading manner was referring to you and you only. You were aware that you were one of the few femmes working on that hellhole.

Sourly, you turned your helm to the source of the voicebox and found your boss—if he could even be called that—staring at you rigorously from across the street. Other mechs were beside him, and in their hungry optics, you could see hunger, amusement, a blatant lack of respect, and other things—all of it for you.

"You said five minutes. Start moving your aft before I tell someone to move it for you."

The group of despicable mechs started laughing at the humorous, unique, spectacular, utterly not-ever-done-before knee-slapper comment. You wondered what comedians told to get a chuckle or two out of their audience nowadays. 

You detested yourself when you started walking back to the mines with crystal-clear coolant forming in your optics and with the words caught inside your voicebox.

Even the clicking of your battered timer had a languid touch in the fading light of their (your) chamber as if it were a spark-beat at rest. The perpetual rhythm of it became more of a white noise inside the transparent yet spurious safety surrounding your beguiling, chimerical space bubble. 

The memory of the lingering perfume of Starlight's aromatic utensils saturated you far more intensely than it did only days before, making you want to pound and bang your head against the wall until you ran out of energon inside your body.

Your spark chamber was wrenched apart in the core by a hollow cavity. It had been there for forty-eight groons. Faithless and cynical, the pit that took form inside of you pulled you to the very depths of your revolted mind.

You were immobile, your bare servos lying at your sides and your digits tinkering with the berth. Everything within the room drove you crazy and made you want to tear out your optics under the scrutinizing, deep-rooted omnipresence of both the carrier and the sparkling.

Vaportrail was not napping on her carrier's bed; her small chest plating was not rising and falling according to her mellow, smooth breathing. You remembered how she would spring from Starlight's berth just to greet you after every single burdensome solar cycle of nothing but suffering under the cruel comments and sometimes spiteful actions of mechs and their superiors. 

You knew and understood that she left for a better life in Cybertropolis, yet you just can't comprehend why you are not hearing her dulcet giggles and her voice as soft as a feather.

"Y/N, look at me!"

You turned your helm lightly toward the soft-spoken sparkling from your spot on your berth. 

One of your stabilizers was crossed over the other, your servos snuggly behind your helm. Due to your horizontal position, you were seeing Vaportrail in a somewhat awkward manner, whispering something to her carrier excitedly, which made you turn your whole frame so you were resting against your side, lifting your helm with your right servo.

"What is it, V?"

Vaportrail, who had her mother's laughing optics, stood proudly atop Starlight's berth beside her laying figure, servos on her hips and grin on her dermas, meekly waiting for you to look at her so she could show her spectacular stunt.

She was no bigger than a mining pickaxe, which is why she was never let out of Starlight's and your’s shared chamber. She was still tiny, even for a youngling her age, but that was not unusual, as the impoverished environment and the mediocre energon didn't do much to help anyway. Primus knows what could happen to someone so small and so weak.

Her confident, puffed-up stand made you laugh casually, as while typically Vaportrail was a modest sparkling, never one to demand attention or directly ask for what she wanted, whenever she got like this and let out her inner childishness for the silliest of things, both you and Starlight would get tons of laughter out of it.

"Go on! Show Y/N what you've been practicing," Starlight encouraged.

When you nodded at Vaportrail, signaling that your attention was entirely on her, her optics lit up. She walked towards the end of her carrier's berth, planting her peds at the very ends before turning around. 

Vaportrail crouched, and with a slight push from her servos and an impulse from her peds, she successfully rolled forward in the berth, landing on her bottom before scrambling to get up and putting her servos up in the air, muttering a small 'Ta-da!'

You had smiled warmly, watching Vaportrail giggle to herself giddily. Starlight clapped for her and swarmed her in a big hug, proud of her sparkling and happy that she had gotten her little trick right. Honestly, you were a bit jealous. You wished you could be this happy by doing something as simple as a gymnastic maneuver.

Vaportrail cheered along with her carrier, excitedly thumping her peds against the surface of the berth. Then she turned to look at you, her optics gleaming with happiness. "I did it! I did a forward roll!"

"Oh, did you?" After your rhetorical question, you languidly returned to your original position, lying with your back plates on the berth and your servos behind your helm. You cheekily turned to Vaportrail and Starlight, a sly, good-natured smile pulling at your dermas; you closed your optics. "I wasn't looking."

"Y/N!"

Both femmes happily laughed at the moping undertones of Vaportrail's voice.

"Just kidding!"

That day was a long time ago, at least it seemed to be; it felt like it. Those words were spoken in the same chamber you slept and resided in. That comical stunt was performed in the berth across from yours. They were not here anymore. Even if you wished they were back together, that deceitful dream would only be achieved by death.

No one can pursue their dreams or be free enough without it. Freedom is for the rich because dreaming costs money.

Starlight wasn't there to hold her youngling and hug you when you needed it. You weren't hearing her voice either, singing lullabies to help you both fall into a much-needed recharge. Her presence was so needed, so sought; in places like this, femmes like her were what one needed to forget about the harsh burden that was the act of being alive. To think that only forty-eight groons before she was still living, she was still here. 

Her memory made you miserable because best friends comprehend you like no other. Starlight was overly protective and brutally honest—as if she ever needed that. You felt so enraged and resentful at not being there to protect her that you feared you might break. 

Although you dug Starlight's grave, blatantly refusing to let the body of your best friend turn into waste parts or scrap metal, a part of you still suppressed the image. One day, you would properly weep for her, but first, you had to accept that she was truly gone. A part of you would never be able to accept that Starlight would never appear, skipping around a corner to tease you for falling for her clever joke.

‘How can she be dead?’

Harsh knocks against your metal door made you jerk from your position on the berth.

"08, are you in there?!" 

The boisterous tone of the mech standing behind your door made you remember that you were still real and breathing inside your crude, undeserving, unworthy existence. Your bubble-turned crystal cocoon inevitably started collapsing at the reminder that life could still go on without Starlight because, after all, no cybertronian knew who Starlight is—was. No cybertronian knew who Starlight was. The world moved on without her.

Without thinking much, you got up from the cold berth, chills flourishing in your metallurgic skin before walking the small distance towards the oxidized door and swinging it open. You would not have considered the thought of opening (being too engrossed in your self-pity and wallowing in grief, you know?) in the first place was it not for the genuine undertones of chipper motivation that were painted over H–01's usually harsh, asperous voice. 

Wait, why was he at your door anyway?

His hulking, rusted frame was as corroded as ever, and it was honestly a little sickening to look at. Despite the awful veil of dust and ash that littered him, the grayish, crimson, and dull turquoise glares of his deteriorated paint job could still be peeked at; his wheels were decaying, and his melancholic optics had lost their love for life— as had everybot else's.

Ancient as a cosmic star and twice as intelligent, with his towering structure and terse personality, H–01 was by far one of the town's most elderly seniors—and, may you add, one of the most cordial. 

You remembered the day you first arrived here, back when you were still an inexperienced femme in life, gullible, back when you dreamed dreams. 

After an accident in your old work establishment,—one of the mech coworkers had stepped over the line with you, resulting in a mining pickaxe protruding from his knee plate and a lot of energon spilled around— you had been sent to Mining Outpost R–02, and H–01 quickly took it upon himself to become a mentor of some sort as you shared letter unit. 

You recalled that he laughed as he had never before when you told him the story of why they had banned you from your previous workplace. Later, you met Starli—

"08?"

You blinked owlishly, and realizing that he was calling out to you, you grounded yourself and met his preoccupied gaze.

"What did you need?"

He frowned at your mediocre attempt at lying. H–01 was by no means stupid, and sadly, you didn’t give enough credit and didn't acknowledge how easily he could pick apart your facade, layer by layer, until your shell was utterly ripped apart.

"Kid, I may be rusty, but I'm shrewd enough to know that you're not well." You became conscious of how absurd you must have seemed in his words. He continued. "I'm sorry about your friend and her sparkling."

There it was again, that funny feeling, that blow to the back of your head. You felt your spark wail painfully, and your limbs tensed up, your optics frantically searching into H–01's face plates for any sign of mockery. You found none. You almost crumbled at his sincere words until your response was unwillingly driven back to your tanks when the piercing siren started blasting across the halls of the chambers.

Instinctively, you covered your audio receptors at the discomfort. At the same time, H–01 merely stared into the speaker device right up against the wall, a bit far away from them. From the corner of his optics, he saw many of the workers exiting their chambers, each of them confused, some of them covering their audial receptors as well, and others staring, irritated and visibly vexed at the gadget that was currently stripping them of their much-needed recharging hours.

The workers of the 8th unit, otherwise known as the H unit, approached the oldest mech from their division, questioning themselves about what was going on. Their optics wilted, and there was a slight lolling to their helms, drunk with weariness after a session of an endless cycle of mining.

"01, what's going on?" One of them asked rather loudly, trying to shout over the siren, coming up to them just as you got used to the loud siren and pulled your servos away from your audial receptors. 

You moved out of the entrance of your chamber to shut the door behind you, joining H–01 by standing beside him. They shared a brief glance, one filled with puzzlement, the other brimming with uncertainty. But before anyone could share their answer or even make a single move, the horrendous blaring of the alarm stopped. 

The speaker against the wall went completely silent, and a single red light started beeping. The Cybertronians looked at each other, baffled.

Someone talked via the speaker.

:: Attention, all workers. You are summoned to the patio at this instant. Once you reach the area, stand in your respective branch line and don't question your current predicament; ignoring this order will result in immediate offlining. I repeat: ignoring this order will result in immediate offlining ::

I need to leave. I need to leave. I need to leave. I need to leave.

That was what you were thinking when you, H–01, and the others walked among the congregation of cybertronians—you would have said mechs were it not for the few femme 'nurses' among the outer lines of the crowds, who as far as you were concerned, were the ones who took care of the workers who suffered minor accidents like infected optics, fractured limbs or something along those lines. 

It was not like they counted anyway. Primus knew what they were actually in this town for and what they did to survive.

The patio, used for Cybertronians during their spare time, was circular, wide of range, and littered with damaged devices and compartment containers, a whole mess of passed-down gear and materials. 

Whenever they got their energon rations and stopped here to rest, H–01 would remark that only the fuel granted to them wasn't recycled—well, that and the smoke. The patio boulders formed a patchwork, with stones obtained as useless scraps and waste from renovations resting together as lovely as crystalline statues from the High-caste buildings. It had artistry to it, as well as smoothness. You and H–01 used to sit there together.

You saw the executives of Mining Outpost R–02, violently shove some of the workers towards their specific department, yelling something at them that you couldn't quite catch. Considering the calm and easy-going attitude of the mistreated miners, you could just tell that they were the prissy, fastidious mechs of the upper divisions, maybe the 1st or the 2nd, where they didn't get punished for slacking off or harassing other workers along with the bosses just for the fun of it.

Your unit quickly got on its respective branches and neatly stood in line. You all exchanged terse nods, mentally preparing yourselves for whatever was about to happen. 

In front of you and the rest of your division were the mechs of the 7th unit, and behind them were the workers of the 9th, and so on. Judging by the others' facial expressions, they, too had no idea of why they'd been called here nor could muster up a word, which only fueled your desire to learn what was going on. The patio got tighter, more claustrophobic as cybertronians arrived.

You were the last number in your unit, meaning that you were placed in the furthest spot from your old friend. You lightly reclined your helm backward to attempt and catch a glimpse of H–01, but to no success, as you saw him and all the other mechs, for that matter, focused on the temporary stage ahead of them. 

It held a podium, a small staircase, and fifteen glass balls with electronic chips on them. One for each unit of the Mining Outpost. A chill went down your spinal plate at the thought.

An overwhelming, ominous silence suddenly governed the patio when a mech no one working here had ever seen before climbed up the staircase. The way he moved caused cybertronians to stare at him in fear. 

The mech was brawny and towering, and the way his helm fell over his lifeless, devoid optics and left shadows smeared on his cheek plates made others shudder. He was directly in front of the plain, pitiful microphone stand. However, an almost charming smile crossed his dermas.

"I suppose you're asking yourselves why were you brought in here."

Because of the microphone, his voice, profound and with a baritone tone, boomed across the patio, making you wince lightly at its loudness. You, of course, were desensitized from loud noises due to the continuous straining sounds of the mining machines around you day after day, as everyone else was. However, his statement caused many cybertronians to look among themselves, clearly disturbed.

"Gentlemechs, my name is Bullway, and I've come all the way here from Kaon to offer you a choice. I intend to give fifteen of you the chance of coming to Kaon with me and becoming gladiators."

Hushed whispers and inaudible sentences started falling from everyone's dermas at Bullway's words and what they implied. From the corner of your optics, you saw most of the mechs look at each other in mute amazement at what they had just been offered.

Their superiors, who were at the base of the set-up podium, quickly took it upon themselves to silence everyone with a loud yell, the absence of sound appearing once again.

"Think about it! Money, power, glory, fame, all laid at your digitprints!" Bullway threw his arms out to emphasize his words. "Join me, and all you have ever dreamed of will come true. A life of nothing but recognition! Isn't that what you deserve?! Isn't that what you dream of as you stare at the ceilings of your measly stations?!"

Dreaming cost money. Dreaming cost money. Dreaming cost money.

Almost as if he had read your mind, H–01 subtly leaned his helm forward to take a peek at the workers of the section he conducted. Most of them remained stoic, and he was very glad to see that, but what worried him the most right now was H–08.

His facial plates morphed into that of slight disturbance because as he peered into your face, he clearly saw what could only be described as contemplation, doubt, and consideration, which both bothered and worried him.

Bullway smiled at how he had you under a forged delusion and continued his speech, "See the crystal globes here? There's one for each unit of your Mining Outpost. They all contain chips with your respective electronic signatures. Each vorn you have worked here, your signature will be entered an additional time. You can figure out the rest, so let us begin!"

Each vorn?

You suddenly realized that the globes were not in order because, in the same minute that you let the circumstances sink in, Bullway had already slipped a servo inside one of the spheres and grabbed one chip from it, reading it aloud so everyone could hear the letter and number clearly.

"G–10!"

All of the divisions started looking among each other, searching for the (not) lucky mech, a pregnant silence following suit as the group in front of them all glared sympathetically at the chosen one, who stood frozen in place, optics blinking several times, wishing to Primus that Bullway had read the designation incorrectly and it wasn't him who was just chosen.

You felt a shiver run down your spinal plate when one of the guards roughly seized his shoulder and made him start walking toward the platform, ignoring the mech's begging and lightly dragging him across the patio as everyone stared in horror. Your intake suddenly went dry when Bullway moved to the next globe, grabbed an electronic chip, moved to the microphone again, and read it aloud.

This time it was from the upper divisions, A–07, you heard.

Just like that, another mech was whisked away from his branch line and thrown across the patio. He then ascended the flight of stairs to stand beside G–10, who apparently was still encapsulated in deep denial, continuously shaking his helm in disbelief. It was tenaciously obvious that Bullway did not concern himself with their worries and imminent fear as he once again moved toward a globe and grabbed another.

You wished cybertronians would step outside their own frames and oversee from the outside what was actually happening at that very instant in Nuna 5PY. Plucked from their workstations like flowers in a garden, sent off to Kaon for the purpose of entertainment for the Upper class with the bombastic excuse of 'MONEY POWER GLORY' behind it.

Prisoners inside their own bodies, trapped to fend off for themselves on a planet where no one cared about them.

Electronic signatures continued rolling off the mech's glossa like energon from a wishing well. The mechs that were chosen always did the exact same thing. They stood completely aghast for a few nanokliks, staring at the soot-stained ground in front of them in absolute shock, their frames deflating like rubber balloons, dermas parting in awe at themselves because they just couldn’t believe it.

F–03.

I–11.

D–04.

E–07.

K–15.

O–02.

When they got prodded by one of the guards, they stared at them, silently begging for compassion, but they found none. Eventually, they were pulled out of their place and shoved towards the staircase on the stage, where Bullway gleefully welcomed all the newcomer 'gladiators' just to grab another electronic chip and call out yet another designation, and so repeating the cycle.

C–01.

M–06.

B–09.

L–01.

J–02.

N–14.

Oh, there was still a globe left. The H unit.

The crowd drew in a collective breath, and then you could hear a pin drop. You were feeling nauseous, your servos clammy, your whole frame tense, your processor hurt, and your spark ached. You longed to see Starlight, you wanted to chase after the train where you sent Vaportrail off to Cyberpolis, and you didn’t know how much H–01 was desperately hoping that it wasn’t you, that it wasn’t you, that it wasn’t you.

"And the last one! H–08!"

[peppermint-monster]

Rengoku Kyojuro. X Chubby Reader!

Warning: Dirty Talk, Handjob (solo), Petname (Little Flame), Fingering (Female Receiving), Spanking, Caught, Oral sex (female receiving), Rengoku being a tease. Basically, NSFW. 🤷🏻‍♀️

Also, be mindful that I didn't really mention much of the reader's appearance (besides, she's a female) since I wanted to keep it vague for everyone to relate as much as possible, though it is definitely for the more voluptuous side of ladies. 😊

Please be mindful that the photos are not mine, but the making of the collage is.

MINORS DNI!!!! 🔞🙅🏻‍♀️If you're not comfortable with this, please ignore!

Rengoku X Chubby Reader!

Rengoku Kyojuro was definitely the golden retriever to her black cat; he was radiant, positive, and motivated compared to her aggravated, gloomy, apathetic demeanor. In all honesty, he was odd. Nonetheless, he was her master, and she was his apprentice, someone she admired and looked up to but secretly craved.

He was the sweetest man she had ever met. 

Treating her so well that he made up numerous training exercises that were much easier for her, also allowing her to train graciously by his side, whipping her into proper shape. Though being a Demon slayer was no easy task, it was mentally and physically draining, often leaving her body sore and her fingers cut with callousness. Afterward, as a celebration, he would take her to eat, saying his signature phrase, “Umai!”

His unexpected, amusing outburst caused her to discreetly smile at herself while taking a bite of her rice.

When he finally took her to her first mission, Master Ren~ was there every step of the way. He supported her in every way until the demon they were hunting got the upper hand, catching her off guard. The demon was about to strike her, but a sudden thump seemed to pause that. 

That thing was the demon's dismembered hand, which caused them to scream in anguish. She was so caught up in thinking about what her mentor had done that she didn't notice him moving in front of her in a battle stance. “Don't worry, I got this.”

Okay, so…her first mission wasn't the best. She even apologized for almost getting them both killed, bowing over with her face heating up in embarrassment and tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

“You’re right. That was reckless of you, but it was also irresponsible of me to think you were ready.”

“I'm sorry.” She failed her Master's.

“But with how things could have gone, I could say you did better than expected, and that counts.” He sighed, placing his hand on her head and patting it.

Why was he so nice to her when he should be lashing out? She doesn't get it but can't help her heart from beating fast.

Despite her reluctance, they are now at Butterfly Manor, per her master's directive. Miss Shinobu insists that she be confined to bed rest for days to recuperate and avoid overworking, while her mentor has gone on a solo expedition, leaving her feeling disheartened.

Thanks to the help of the sweet caterpillar triplets, she was able to heal correctly, much to her relief. With such happiness, she wanted to get back on track and improve her training with her mentor. 

For that to happen, she needed to let him know she was okay.

Despite being under house arrest and having only seen Master Rengoku once, she couldn't resist the urge to visit him upon learning of his return. Even though she knew it was wrong, she sneaked through the dark corridors and stood directly in front of his chamber.

With nerves building up inside, she lightly knocks on the sliding door.

Knock

Knock

A moment passed of dead silence. No noise coming from the inside can be heard.

Feeling intrusive and not wanting to bother the man, she turns to walk away but stops mid-step when she hears faint sounds coming from his room. Overthinking the worst and believing Rengoku had been injured during his assignment or had perhaps drawn an intruder his way, she bursts through the sliding door, expecting to see her mentor hurt and struggling to bandage himself up or someone ready to strike. 

Instead, she was met with his arms, keeping his upper body upward as he lay, there the gracious Flame Pillar himself, Rengoku Kyojuro, was in bed, desperately stroking his heaving member.

In disarray, the iconic uniform worn by all Demon Slayer members was noticeably absent. Instead, leaving him draped in a robe, slightly ajar, with his majestic naked body fully exposed.

Unveiling every scar she’d fantasized about feeling, running her hands down his chest and to his leaking member- though back to this embarrassing encounter.

Her lips parted, and a gasp escaped before she could contain it, expressing her surprise.

Catching the lustful gaze of her dearest mentor.

"I-I'm sorry," she blurted out before she could stop herself once again.

Before she could allow Rengoku to cover himself fully, she turned around and dashed out of the room. However, she barely made it a few steps before the baggy pajama pants she was provided caused her to trip and fall to the floor, further embarrassing her.

“Ow..” She mewled, rubbing her forehead while sitting in a W position.

Unfortunately, the situation has taken a turn for the worse.

"It seems that we've caught someone trying to sneak a peek into things they shouldn't be."

A harsh voice looming over her sent a shudder down her spine. 

Her breath seized as she saw her dream guy; his formerly spiked-up hair was now unkempt, with bangs falling low and obscuring those fiery eyes that used to stare into her soul, now appeared to be undressing her with his sinful gaze and faint smile he always seems to wear.

Trailing her gaze more down, she saw his robe was still unfastened, exposing his well-built body. Continuing lower down his happy trail, Rengoku appeared to have some dignity by putting on a fundoshi, much to her relief and dismay.

The moment that sliding door closed, Kyojur was at his wit’s end.

He treats his curvy apprentice like the goddess she is, worshiping her mind, body, and soul and never once treating her anything lower than that standard. However, being the man who must train her so she could someday become a Demon Slayer has its moments where he has to be tough and rough with her so that she won't get killed if a scenario were to come.

Much to his dismay, it just happened days ago with that infuriating Demon. He expected much better from her but was caught off guard and almost killed in front of him. If Kyojuro didn't interfere, he was certain his beloved flame would have died.

So when the opportunity came to protect her, he took it, forcing her into house arrest to “Heal.” Even then, he couldn't handle that and went on a mission to distract himself from what had happened.

But even that couldn't help him.

The metaphorical leash he’s tightly held was slowly loosening from his grip.

“You are in serious trouble.” Kyojuro’s hands roughly grabbed her ass, kneading a handful of her cloth skin as he could fester, making her whimper.

“Such a bad girl, my sweet flame.”

“Whatever.” She huffed out, rolling her eyes. “It’s not my fault. I knocked multiple times, but no response.”

Kyojuro was irritated and annoyed by her sassy behavior, and he needed to take a deep breath and not let his intrusive thoughts get the best of him.

She backs away from the tall man, trying to walk away from him, but is stopped by a big, surprisingly warm, rough hand that grabs hold of the back of her neck, bringing her close. She let out a gasp, and then he took full advantage by slamming his lips down on hers.

Her arms instinctively pressed against his nude chest as her heart beat loudly on her own.

“Such lies your speaking.” He mumbles against her, grabbing her hair and pulling her head to the side to give him access to her neck.

As though sensing her need to defend herself, Kyojuro kissed her again, still hungry and desperate but more gentle than before. 

“Admit it, you're a voyeur.” He whispers in her ear with a sly grin.

"What!" She whisper-shouts, her cheeks burning from shock and humiliation.

He shifts his hand from her neck to her waist, drawing her in against him while he pushes them back and toward the bed's edge. This causes her to fall back onto the bed, with one arm supporting her while Kyojuro leans over her.

She looked up at him with those dough eyes and plump lips sinking between her teeth.

That’s it, Kyojuro finally snaps.

Finally, he let go of the subconscious leash, liberating himself from the subconscious restraints.

Bringing himself forward, Kyojuro sat at the edge of his bed and took hold of one of his beautiful flame’s ankles, bringing her close to the edge of the bed to undo her pajama pants and pull them down her legs.

He took a sudden deep breath, feeling his breath catch at the astonishing sight before him.

“You’ve been naughty, my sweet blaze.” Kyojuro guided her to stand before him, resting his hands on her waist to keep her still. She rested her hands on his shoulders while staring in a longing gaze.

“I think you need a punishment.”

His hand firmly comes down against the curve of her ass, and she gasps at the contact—a slap ringing through the room.

“One!”

He smirked at her reaction, seemingly satisfied at the dark handprint quickly revealing on her skin.

“Keep count for me, k?” He softly caressed her ass with his other hand while grinning and repositioning the one that was holding her hands behind her back.

Before she could say a sentence, his free hand roughly met her ass again. The full force of his strength struck her left ass cheek more aggressively than she anticipated leaving her crying out.

“Two!”

Another slap landed on her other cheek, slightly lighter than the first two but still hard enough to take her breath away and anticipate more.

“T-Three.” She hesitated for a moment, nearly losing track of the count, but she quickly regained composure before her devoted master could take further action.

Another slap landed on her ass.

Then another.

And another.

There was a brief pause, Kyojuro letting go of her restrained hand while also allowing the throbbing soft flesh of her ass to have a break from its punishment. Rubbing a hand over the darker shade he had left, feeling the warmth it brought and much more.

“What’s this?”

Seeming to notice between her spread buttocks was a damp patch on the front of her panties. Dawning on him that his curvy beauty was getting off on this.

“You like this?” He murmurs under his breath.

Curiously, Kyojuro slips her panties halfway down her legs, caught between her lower thighs, his thick, calloused fingers spreading her folds. It's sinful how hot her wet heat is; squelching noises filled the room. “Should’ve known you'd be like this since you're a voyeur.” He chuckles to himself.

Shudders of embarrassment ran through her body. She squirmed on Kyojuro's lap and buried her flushed face in the mattress, muffling her whimpers and soft moans.

“K-Kyo…”

Yet he was stronger than her, keeping her in place as he slapped her cunt. Making her arch her back as she cries out.

His fingers bully their way inside her, and Kyojuro chuckles, feeling how her gummy walls immediately tighten around him.

Leaning down to face his sweet, precious flame, he whispered in her ear, “Looking for something bigger? Hmph~ You’ll take what I give you, whore.”

She tilted her head to the side, looking at his radiant gaze. Lust could be seen through his lidded gazes.

Scissoring her warm heat, her juice splashed with every deep thrust dripping down her thighs and to the ground.

“Ooooo~” Her mouth formed an "O" as tears welled in the corners of her eyes. Her legs trembled while she pitifully tried to hump his fingers. 

“Gonna cum?” He hummed against her.

“Ugh, yessss…”

At the edge of her orgasm, about to cum so beautifully around his thick fingers, which were speeding up and sloppily beating her g spot, Kyojuro pulled his fingers out and rubbed her lower lips before he slapped her throbbing clit for good measure. Standing up and off the bed, he removed himself from his sweet, curvy beauty, quickly wanting to get rid of his undergarments.

Revealing his once again long and hard cock, springing free and in his hand, moved down to give himself much-needed friction pulling on the heaving rod.

She whines, throwing a tantrum under his gaze.

“How dare you! This is so not fair!” She pants out. Pouting at the sight of her master stroking himself in front of her, making her feel ever so desperate and needy, her warm heat once again feeling tingly and in want to finally cum.

That her right hand slowly started to make its way down to her throbbing clit, but the Flame Hashira was fast enough to grab her once again ankle and bring them upward, sliding her legs apart, keeping a firm hold on her parted thighs, and he brought his body forward and between her legs.

His sharp stare kept her in a trance.

“Don't you dare touch yourself unless I tell you to,” He growled lowly and demanded as she gasped from the sudden sensation of the tip of his member probing at her slick entrance.

She bit her lip to keep herself from moving her hips, shuddering at the restrained.

“Do I make myself clear?” He fixed his gaze, concentrating intensely on the sweet flame in his hands.

She quickly nodded her head. At this point, she couldn't go against him as much as she wanted to fight against him. She was willing to go along with whatever he wanted just to feel her sweet release.

But against her better judgment, her hips disobeyed her and moved against her will. Moving against him, his tip slid along her slick folds. One of his hands quickly went down to her doughy hip, pinning it down as he furrowed his eyebrows, his mouth hanging slightly as he inhaled sharply.

“You’re so despicable. Such a needy little slut that can't stop herself. Just want me to lay everything down and just slam my dick inside you, huh? Have your juice all over me, hmmm?” 

It was only for a moment, just a moment, that he allowed himself the pleasure of his tip dragging along her throbbing bud as he spoke those sinful words to her as her eyes rolled to the back of her head.

Though only for a moment.

“But you don't deserve that. This is a punishment, after all.” That set her off, whimpering for him to continue, edging him on to continue dragging his length along her, but she was stopped by the tightly held hand on her soft hip.

Rengoku quickly yet dreadfully pulls himself off her before going down on his knees, bringing her lower half to hang off the bed and onto his shoulder and his hot breath hitting her core.

Suddenly, sniffing noises emerged from the room, shyly having the curvy beauty cover her face in embarrassment.

“You smell sweet~,” He says before placing a hand on the top of her lower stomach and the other spreading her lower fold, allowing him to kiss her pussy, causing her to whine.

“No…” She timidly sought to encourage him to move away from her lower half, reaching for his shoulder in an effort to pull him away, but he remained stubborn.

Licking her pussy and sucking on her folds, causing her to cry out and squirm under his grasp. Instantly bring her thighs together to ease the bliss she was feeling.

"Nah-huh" He fumbles to speak, too preoccupied with covering her cunt and repeatedly creating the number eight on her delicate clit, all the while firmly placing a hand over her thigh to keep them apart.

The feeling of his warm breath hitting her core and his tongue making swirls around her clit before slipping past her slick fold was a feeling she had never felt before, making her hands move to his hair, holding onto the spiky strands for her dear life.

That was his cue to nip at her delicate fold, for always trying to break him apart from his feast, causing her to let out another lewd moan.

Each touch has her gasping and her inside clenching around nothing as her legs begin to shake from the sweet torment. His strong hands on her body felt as if she was on fire as she tried to grind down against his lips, but his grip only tightened around her doughy thighs, sinking deeper into the soft flesh, and her sweet moans only seemed to grow loud at the sight of his biceps flexing.

Instinctively bringing a hand behind her to clutch onto the sheet as continuous kitten licks and sudden sloppy kisses on her pussy sent her feeling once again her sweet edge as the knot formed in her stomach and her back began to arch, catching Rengoku’s fiery stare.

While all this was happening, not once did he allow himself the pleasure of touching himself. legs knees under him with his thighs spread wide, visibly showing his weeping hard-on.

The throbbing flesh was hot to the touch, ready and dripping with pre as it twitched with every thrilling pretest and moan she dared muster in an attempt to run away from him.

He waited for the right time. The right moment to finally give the heaving rod a few strokes right as she was about to cum, wanting them both to climax at the same time. 

He smears his pre around the head, encouraging him to continue around the length and down to the base.

Kyojuro slowly stroked himself, following the same rhythm he had set with his greedy mouth. Imagining his cock being the actual one doing these things. His stroke became pumps, sweeping his thumb over the tip, swallowing her with his heated eyes as she watched him intently, barely blinking.

Groans escaped his already parted lips, deep and clear rumbling through her lower half. 

He was on the verge of his release as he squeezed his tip. He could feel her shuddering on his shoulder, and he used it as a sign to pick up on his rhythm for both him and her.

“I’m gonna, I’m gonna…” In a moment of desperation, she lets out a weak cry, her eyes half-closed and rolling back as she runs her fingers through his hair. In her agitation, she tugs at his hair as she reaches her breaking point.

Milliseconds before Kyojuro moaned out loud.

He shot ropes of hot cum onto the ground, momentarily closing his eyes and losing himself devouring the sweetest juice he ever tasted.

Finally, after minutes had passed, the pounding in her head made her hyper-aware of his breathing, so shallow and deeper than she ever heard it.

Pulling away and resting her lovingly on the bed, Kyojuro stood from the ground. Pins and needles ran through his legs, yet he didn't seem to care. Finally allowing himself to open his eyes, he stared at the beautiful beauty he towered over, pupils dilated and plump lips enticing, all spread out on the bed with only her pajama shirt on.

He was the first to move before she could lean up to kiss him. Crawling into bed and hovering over her with his arms supporting his weight on either side of her head, he leaned down and kissed her.

His captivating kiss carried the familiar taste of her, drawing her close to him by the neck, molding her into putty in his hands.

[mrinafria]

The person who saved my life, and the person who made me want to live again, were all you.

Writing this to echo what @thedeathdeelers said in her post. I'm a Seon Jae softie through and through, and yet, when anyone questions Im Sol's choices or calls her names, I want to flip a table pretty much because have you seen the effects her choices have had on people?

Because of Im Sol's choices her mom doesn't have a burn injury on her hand.

Because of Im Sol's choices their house didn't completely burn down.

Because of Im Sol's choices Hyun Joo finally has the best of both worlds, with no regrets about letting go of something for the other. Her brother who was struggling with no motivation or luck whatsoever is definitely better off now.

Because of Im Sol's choices we even have a Tae Sung in the story, otherwise all we knew at the beginning, in episode 1, was he was some guy who dropped out of school after getting into a fight over something. Not the best first introduction to a character (who goes on to become the best second ML ever). I am the most proud about Tae Sung's transformation, because you can see that even in high school, underneath the 'bad boy' facade, he craved some genuine care and attention and guidance, which Im Sol the haelmoni, the yeppo noona provided.

Im Sol's choices allowed Seon Jae in Alt 2023 to live guilt-free for 14 years (where they confess), instead of him suffering that mental anguish and longing for 15 years out of guilt which the OG Seon Jae had to go through. And we all know what my feelings are about that version of him.

Because of Im Sol's choices, Sonagi exists (/-ed). Because if the 19yo Im Sol had not held the umbrella over him, giving him that dazzling smile of hers that is sunburst and blinding and contagious, capable of stirring storms within the heart, our boy would not be smitten and a loser and a goner for life (well, lives). And now we all know what that means when she chooses not to do that.

If Im Sol's choices have made anyone's life harder, it's Im Sol herself. She carries around the memories of THREE++ timelines, with the love of her life dying/almost dying in EVERY one of them. She goes through life as if she really didn't live through all that trauma that is enough to drive someone insane. She knows her Seon Jae is gone, for good, and all she has are memories that don't even exist in this timeline, memories that not even a single person can corroborate. You know how utterly helpless and hopeless that sounds like? She has a person in this timeline that resembles her Seon Jae, but she has to constantly remind herself he is not her person, her Seon-Jae, he better not be if she wants to see him alive. Going around in the city and seeing his posters/ads with his face on it, or stumbling onto him and seeing him staring at her with no recognition whatsoever? It's not easy. Becoming a complete stranger to someone who was once your everything, who could've been your everything. Not easy.

And she decides to carry on with life still because deep down she knows that's what Seon Jae would want, that's what Seon Jae had taught her: to live for the people who are thankful to have her around, to live to see another day, rain or shine. She loves life, lives life, as a token of gratitude to Seon Jae. She lives because when she says You saved my life, and you made me live to him, those are not just words she is casually throwing around. She is thankful that he made her find reasons to live one more day, and she is going to pay him back by living a worthwhile life. Because Seon Jae truly wants/ed that. He literally died wanting that, putting her life before him, because he wanted her to live, and by living, I mean not just breathing and spending the remainder of her life with survivor's guilt. Going back to this epic confession scene, he says all that because he is afraid of how Im Sol would go on with her life if he's no more. Here, he wants her to know that she doesn't need to blame herself, or suffer, because it is his choice to save her, and it'll all be worth it to him if she gets to live the best life she possibly can.

Just like Seon Jae in any timeline never stopped living or appreciating the good things in life despite longing for Im Sol for more than a decade, she will live and keep her love for him alive through herself. Even if she comes back home at the end of the day to cry in secret, or breaks down in tears in public places.

If Im Sol didn't make the choices she did, we won't have a Seon Jae to begin with.

[eddiegettingshot]

May I ask you to play in a (sad) sandbox with me for a moment? (This is long forgive me but my Eddie feelings spilleth over)

These 3 lines have rattled around in my head for years, bouncing off each other like they belong together, in conversation with each other. And I think they're finally coming into focus:

...prove to me something is real and I’ll believe it. ...maybe she thought she was missing out on a life she could have had. if she'd been born someone else or made different choices? ever wonder about that? (Not really...) 

...of the things that make you sad, am I one of them?

...being his dad has been the single greatest joy of my life. And that little boy has taught me more about being a man than war ever did.

We know that one of, if not THE, fundamental laws of Eddie Diaz's universe is how much he genuinely loves being a father and his devotion to Christopher. How he has actively, consciously worked to be the parent he didn't have. And he does it joyfully!

And.

Eddie was parentified by age 10. He became a parent at 19. And then he went to war. Far too young, and setting his life on a trajectory, no turning back. I think Eddie has an existential inner conflict about his sense of self, who he is, his happiness. There's part of him that does wonder about "the life he could have had, if he...made different choices." But, if he let's himself consider what could have been, he believes it would require him to want a life where Christopher was never born. Which is anathema to him! Truly, unequivocally! So he simply does not let himself wonder or examine or question. 

It's like he's set up in his own mind this dichotomy: he can only ever choose Christopher or himself. Which is no choice at all. Because he will always have Christopher. Eddie's anguished face when Chris said "of the things that make you sad, am I one of them?" has always felt way more complex than Eddie would let us believe. 

Again, I'm not saying that the narrative believes this. I think Eddie believes this. And that's the journey he's on, the reckoning that's coming. The "making peace with his demons and finding self love." Because he doesn't have to choose!!! In fact, Christopher needs Eddie to choose himself! Now, the father Christopher needs is one who loves his full self, who is able to give Chris his full emotional truth — the joy and the pain and the grief (and the queerness) all of it. (The child's birthday party decorations, Eddie clinging to a time when he could be the father Christopher needed without this reckoning.) Christopher has always been Eddie's inspiration and motivation for growth and healing. And he is once again.

I know most people don't get Eddie and aren't able to engage with the complexities. But we can! And this is such a tender topic I tread carefully. But it's where Eddie and Chris are taking us, so let's talk about it?

ok i have been turning this over and over in my head for days (sorry) … But yes. you are so right. i think this is the exact thing that’s difficult to balance with eddie because his parentification is so tied up with his actual parenthood (and marriage… and everything else) that untangling all of that runs the risk of. like. pulling up things he not only isn’t supposed to feel and doesn’t WANT to feel, selfish stuff like desire and wanting to be a kid. like he genuinely doesn’t think he can have any of this… eddieeeee 😭😭😭

[asunflowerana]

— to give you comfort

your love got your back. you don't need to deal with your period alone anymore.

— to give you support

iwaizumi is there for you the moment the first inch of pain reaches you. he's attentive to each expression or movement, and it anguishes him to watch you endure such suffering every month. he can't just let you by yourself, so even if he can't take the pain out of you as he wants to, he tries his best to ease your ache with what he's been learning.

he started by studying physical methods to relieve cramps, then practicing with himself (to make sure it wouldn't bring you more pain than necessary), until finally guiding you through. And bless this man, because you never felt so much relief as you now feel with the "husband-healing-cramps" monthly sessions. how did you live without knowing those tricks?

"hold still. don't move love, just a few more secs." there is your strong saviour, holding your legs upwards as you lay on bed with a heated pillow supporting your lumbar. he said you can't change positions every time you feel an ache, or the pain would only increase.

holding comfortable positions is the secret, and now you understand why he's so good at what he does. you offer him a gentle smile in gratitude, face relaxing as you pass another wave of pain. he gives your ankle a caring peck, gazing at you with fondness. "that's my girl."

— to give you warmth

some might think that voleyball is what motivates bokuto to get bigger and stronger. while that is partially true, it doesn't mean he's not thinking of you, of being able to protect and support you with his body, in any way he can. it comes very handy, when your period comes.

bokuto's embrace feels like a warm and soothing bath on cold days. you feel yourself surrounded by a cozy, firm mass of muscles and soft skin, smelling fresh and home, not ceasing its warmth for a single second. you're overwhelmed by a strong but gentle feeling of being cherished like the most precious thing on earth, and that's so good, especially 'cause it comes from a honest heart and intention.

that's how bo cares for you, in a simple, daily gesture, that can be done whenever and wherever you are, but that has the same wonderful effect, coming from his chest, stomach, arms, shoulders, hands, breath, chin on your head, soothing squeeze and soft words:

"it'll go away soon, baby. hold me tight, okay?"

and it eases you pain, better than any medicine could.

note: i hope you guys enjoyed this as much as i did. we all need some comfort during these hard times, right? let me know if you want a part 2. i have some other haikyuu boys in mind for that.

© asunflowerana 2024 — all rights reserved.

[buckets-and-trees]

Warm Shadows - Carving Through the Dark (3/4)

Collection: Warm Shadows Title: Carving Through the Dark Characters/Pairings: established Alpha!Bucky x f!Omega!Reader, Alpha!Steve x f!Omega!Reader Word Count: 14.4k Summary: Worse than a nightmare because it's real, Bucky has to track down his kidnapped omega and the man - the super soldier - who had been his closest friend turned into the dark, rival alpha, Captain Hydra.

Content Warnings: DARK, a/b/o dynamics, angst, explicit smut, vaginal intercourse, consensual forced orgasm

Logistical Notes: Shhh - yes this was the final story update I had planned for the Dark Forest Fest and it's the first week of January! But. Well. The word count. But we're here now, okay? Title taken from Hozier's Who We Are.

Additional Notes: Okay, I know that I did a poll asking last month if folks wanted the final chapter split into two parts or just one long chapter and - er - I kind of did both. I did not split this chapter, but a couple of days ago I realized we needed a fourth and final part. Lastly, @biteofcherry has been an absolute lifeline during the composition of this chapter - thank you for putting up with my conjectures and letting me piece together some of the elements. And even a little thank you to @rookthorne for cheering and bullying me over how long this got.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

“I can’t help you,” Shuri states, though there’s the flicker of it almost being one final question of it in her eyes.

“No,” Bucky confirms. “No more than you already have.”

He knows she says it as one last opportunity for him to change his mind, but also in acknowledgment that he must do this on his own. They clasp hands and then he turns to walk up the ramp of the aircraft.

“James,” she says when he’s nearly gone. He turns back to look at his friend, one who has seen him at the best and worst of times. “Whoever he is now, he knows Bucky, he knows the Winter Soldier, he will have learned everything about the Soldat from their archives, so you must truly be the White Wolf. She knows the wolf, but he does not.”

He nods and then walks further into the aircraft, leaving Shuri behind.

After you’d been violated and taken from him, Bucky had lain in anguish until just before dawn, raging over the loss of his world and everything he’d worked for, built, found, cherished. He would find you again – when he’d sworn, “There’s no corner of this earth you can go where I won’t find you,” it had been a promise to you as much as a warning to the monster – but none of you three were the same after that night.

To be the White Wolf…

It will take all the tactics he learned in the army, that he was forced to acquire as Hydra’s finest assassin, and since he escaped and then truly reclaimed his freedom. As angry as he is, as desolate as he feels, he holds the emotions at arms’ length, he needs to be at the eye of the hurricane so he can maneuver the way he needs to.

Bucky hasn’t been able to feel you. His desperate hope is that it’s because you’re sedated and unconscious and not … not anything else.

In Wakanda he and Shuri hadn’t been able to find even a sliver of a trace of the jet that had come and gone for Steve to enact his plan. It was a statement that whoever he was now, Captain Hydra was utilizing every ounce of knowledge Steve had and blending it with whatever Hydra hat put in him.

Bucky won’t leave a trail either.

It will take Steve time to figure out how Bucky left Wakanda – on foot, ground transport, or air transport – if he can figure it out. But Bucky was the untraceable ghost over fifty years of missions for Hydra, and he didn’t have the motivation he does now.

Bucky devised that going on the already-scheduled aircraft to the Wakandan Outreach Center in Oakland gave him the best options. He assumes Steve would have managed to get into the networks used by the Avengers and SWORD, and since he flew an aircraft in and out of Wakanda undetected and Bucky won’t be able to use Wakandan technology to best him either, so landing in Oakland also puts him in proximity to the hardware, software, and network resources he would need to build his own tech. During his convalescence in Wakanda before the Infinity War, it had been days of goats and technology research and development in the most advanced science facility in the world. He is not the expert that Shuri is, but he knows enough. His aversion to much of “modern” technology has always been due to how primitive it was compared to anything from Wakanda.

It takes weeks, but Bucky acquires the hardware he needs, modifies software, creates the network and protocols he needs to start Hydra hunting, and puts it all to work. He knows what to look for – the patterns, the seemingly innocuous inconsistencies – and he knows it because he was running data point for the team of analysts dedicated to Hydra hunting before this. He had taken more responsibility at the base of operations and fewer and fewer field assignments to be home and build his life with you.

Bucky doesn’t hesitate in ignoring any ethical limits whatsoever for his surveillance protocols. When he was working within the system, they had established some lines they weren’t willing to cross.

With seven billion humans in existence and him alone looking for two, lines to cross no longer exist.

He knows he will never get his life back, but he will not let anything prevent him from getting you back.

He puts every piece into play immediately as he builds, sleeps only the bare minimum. Truthfully he had only indulged in more than the minimal sleep a super soldier needed these past years because it was time spent blissfully with you.  Without a reason to rest, he didn’t have any problem cutting back to short sleep allotments to keep him operating at peak condition.

In putting his own tap into the Avengers’ database, he studies the work that had gone on while he was gone for his annual retreat away with you. He discovers that Steve and Sam followed leads in Europe.

“Damn you idiots,” he murmurs.

The reports show his two friends go dark after losing comms nearly a month ago. A team went in after them and their debrief says they found only their communication devices. ‘Search ongoing…’

That was a month ago.

He knows the status of Steve.

Sam could be a live asset in play, an asset still being trained and molded by Hydra, their prisoner for torture, or he could have been eliminated already.

It takes him sixteen days from the beginning of his build to finish – he’d been collecting intelligence, but once everything is in play and he continues to hone in on incoming results, things progress systematically, satisfyingly, in a foreign familiarity that evokes memories of this time hunting as the Winter Soldier.

Two more days and he’s got enough evidence in the intelligence to confirm you’re somewhere in Europe. Within two hours Bucky recalibrates calculations based the new findings, conducts new searches, gets confirmation of a face on a traffic camera in Gdańsk that looks like Steve, and when he’s able to piece a clear trail that follows him through the city and then to an aircraft that he’s further able to track until it disappears over northern Italy. He knows this for what it is – a trail tempting him closer to the trap. A challenge, an invitation, but only if he can put together more pieces to find you. How many times did he set beautifully complex traps for some of his prize targets when he was the Winter Soldier? Breadcrumbs to entice, to drive his opponent to work harder, to put their prowess to work, to make them feel confident so he could trick, trap, and kill them in the end.

This monster of a man tricked him in Wakanda. It will be the only time. Expert and intricate traps of this sort are something his opponent has been playing with for a few weeks. Bucky has more practice and expertise, infinitely more motivation, and no distractions.

He travels under cover of transports between Wakandan outreach centers from Oakland to Washington DC, and then from Washington to Bilbao. When he touches down in Bilbao, his information relay device has a new lead based off a visual of Steve in a bookshop in Turin twice in the previous week.

He takes the train to Turin. Within twelve hours he finds the location of the Hydra facility, and Bucky makes enough noise to reveal to Hydra that he’s in the city and trigger the personnel to raise the facility to its red alert security status. He plants a false trail indicating that he’s given up and gone further north, all the while watching every aspect of the base, making plans to infiltrate, and ensuring sure none of the vehicles or teams moving in and out look like they’re transporting you somewhere else. They drop to an orange threat level, and then yellow – standard caution and operating procedures.

Bucky would have been floored that they believed he’d missed them in Turin and moved on to search somewhere else, but it spoke to one of the weaknesses of Hydra’s organization: the arrogance. Instead, Bucky hacks into their base network as well as their external communications channels.

This observation, research, recon, and analysis Bucky does not rush. Everything he cares about is at stake. If he’s going to be successful in getting you back there can be no room for error as he’ll be up against Hydra and the only other super soldier on the planet who could potentially match or outmatch him.

And as the weeks wear on, the other thing he cannot deny, that he’d known from the beginning of this nightmare even if he’d wanted to try to ignore it, it that he isn't in this to rescue only you.

When all is said and done, the reality is he has to get Steve back, too.

Bucky knows the longer it takes, the more dangerously close he gets to your next heat. He knows an omega being in a distressed environment will affect the heat cycle. It could bring it on early, or potentially also push you to the extremes of a dry heat depending on the conditions they are keeping you in, and how you’re feeling. Once he determines he knows enough to start putting together a plan of extraction, he also determines it’s too close to when your heat might hit, and he can’t risk trying to extract you if you’re in heat – it becomes an element he can’t predict and ensure that his plan will still be successful.

His own senses are strained with the tenor of your unease in a way that’s different from before. It’s driving his alpha side mad, and he wants to storm the facility and reclaim you, and that’s one more element contributing to the volatility of the situation. He knows he can’t gamble on so many unpredictable elements.

He must wait.

But when he sees Captain Hydra leave in his jet right when Bucky is certain you are close to your heat, Bucky is stunned.

It might be too damn close to your heat, but clearly you’re not in heat yet or the other alpha would not leave you. This was not his plan, but it is a prime opportunity he can’t ignore – not if he can get to you alone and save you from a heat away from him. His heart can’t deny this unexpected opportunity.

After Bucky had hacked into the Hydra base’s network, he’d discovered that the small jet Captain Hydra had exclusive use of had been excluded from all navigational tracking and that the man only communicated by radio with one individual whenever he left. He’d further discovered that Captain Hydra was a weapon still cloaked from most of Hydra, with nothing about him other than his existence as a new asset available on the network. Even his former identity was not yet disclosed or recorded anywhere digitally.

This means Bucky has no idea where the man is going or when he will be back, but he hears Captain Hydra and his liaison discuss and confirm his time of arrival and his estimated time of return. Bucky must work quickly, but there is a window.

As he had not anticipated infiltrating so soon, he still has to finish putting things together for the actual extraction – like transportation, supplies, and thoroughly planning out three escape routes and destinations – and while he works quickly, he does not rush those final preparations, and so that takes him a significant amount of the window of time he knows he has.

But he only needs long enough to get you out.

He will have that.

He ambushes the delivery truck bringing in the week’s food shipment with no trouble and drives it right into the base as he has all the proper credentials on his person and its still pre-dawn hours, so lack of light works in his favor to get through the first gate.

But of course when he doesn’t follow delivery procedures once he rolls up to the shipping and receiving dock, that’s when his limited time really begins. The first decision he must make is whether or not to take out a man of average height but portly build that approaches the truck – one of the cooks, Bucky has studied the personnel files for everyone registered on this base – and Bucky evaluates as he steps out of the truck. He could kill him, but this man should probably be spared. Bucky doesn’t want unnecessary blood on his hands. So with lightning fast moves and a choke hold, the man goes down. But next are two security personnel, and them Bucky shoots point blank, taking each of them out with single shots. He leans down to lift the comms off one of them, putting the piece in his ear so he can hear everything as it unfolds across the base.

He yanks open the first door and moves down the hallway. And then there’s a frantic message over the comms, “Code Red! Winter Soldier, loading docks, two personnel down, in pursuit!”

Bucky growls and turns back down the hallway and swears when he sees the man putting comms in his ear and squaring up a gun he’d clearly lifted off one of the security guards was the cook he thought he’d put out cold. Apparently the man had more in him than Bucky had accounted for, and so now Bucky takes aim and shoots him once he’s close enough to secure the kill shot, only having to dodge two close but errant bullets himself as the cook had tried to run him down.

Lethal force for everyone it is, he thinks.

He’s irritated he wasted extra time on this man trying to keep down the body count.

He does not make that mistake again, killing everyone who comes across his path. The silver lining working in his favor is that this base in Turin is a science facility, not a military facility, so he has fewer muscle personnel to deal with than other places you could have been kept, and he can hear over the main comms that scientists and researchers are being given orders to shelter in place while there are instructions given over the security comms in Bucky’s ear that prime-level scientists are to be evacuated. It’s the directive he expected, which benefits him as the security personnel are split between pursuing him and evacuating those individuals deemed indispensable.

But dealing with those who are in pursuit of him is simple. When he’s out of ammunition, he makes quick work dealing what should be lethal wounds with his knives. Every man or woman down is one less he will need to contend with while trying to safely get you out, and while he’s reasonably sure he’s dealing death to everyone, there are a few he thinks may survive.

He has studied every aspect of this facility while making his preparations, and he sends a message to Captain Hydra that he was prepared by shooting glances cleanly into every camera he knows he passes.

There’s a flash of fear that ripples through him – it comes from the bond he’s tried to keep dormant between you since you were taken, but this is too powerful, and it’s a barb he can’t ignore. It flares and then dies out, which could be either a good thing or a bad thing. He squares his shoulders and moves more quickly.

As Bucky reaches the quadrant they’ve been keeping you a few moments later, the words, “The Omega is secured, sedated, and ascending to the roof with team Foxtrot, thirty seconds until air evac.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

He knows he can’t make it in time, but Bucky still races down the hall to the stairwell, launching through the door and then hurtling up the stairs, taking them three and four at a time. His super speed isn’t enough to scale four flights of industrial facility stairs, and he bursts out on the roof to see the coaxial helicopter already twenty meters up in the air and navigating away to the north.

He wants to shout until his lungs bleed because he was so close, but he knows he can’t afford to indulge in emotions that strong in this moment. Instead, he takes huge gulps of the fresh air, pulls the door from its hinges, and hurls it across the roof before going back down the stairs.

He does not engage with anyone but comes across few through his retreat. Instead, his focus now is decimating what he can of the facility without wasting time or going out of his way as he escapes the base, rigging explosives quickly in key areas on his way out.

While he left destruction in his wake, and he leaves alone, he was precise in how much damage he dealt. He left the area of main logistical operations intact because he didn’t want to destroy their network and communications, eliminating his ties to tracking their next moves.

Bucky immerses himself in tracking and monitoring everything the second he’s back in his hideout with his tech. He sees the Captain return. He watches the final evacuations. They send him to Geneva, and Bucky is ready to follow, knowing exactly where the Swiss facility is located since he’s fully infiltrated the Hydra network of information. He can’t travel as quickly since he doesn’t have access to any Hydra aviation, but he makes it there by sundown.

He wouldn’t risk trying to disrupt your heat now, not with everyone moved and on high alert, it would be dangerous for you. Instead, he works on setting up his new undercover observation point in Switzerland. He fine tunes his information tap into the Hydra system. As he works, he notices the rise of an anxious feeling pulling at his hind brain. He’s felt the press of you trying to reach across the bond while you’ve been apart, but this is different – there’s a frantic, wild tug, and while it’s insistent, it’s more erratic, like the flickering of a flame, as if you aren’t even concentrating on the connection to him.

He knows so much of you that he knows you have to be on the brink of your heat but that you must desperately be trying to fight it. The discomfort he can sense continues to ebb and flow. It morphs. It becomes tinged with more discomfort. Then there’s a lick of desire that is almost imperceptible. That’s followed rather quickly be a flare of adrenaline – or is it fear? Another shift a few minutes later, and tone of this is pure arousal, the feeling he’s shared so much of with you, and the thought that you…

He grits his teeth, shuts his eyes, and abruptly stills every muscle in his body. You are his omega. Another alpha bonded you. Your heat is undeniable. His brain knows that – it’s one of the things he’s been focusing on, acknowledging the various scenarios that could play out for this heat, he just did not want this, nor was he prepared for what it might feel like. And so, with forced, measured breaths, he does everything he can to concentrate on shutting down the connection, to put his alpha side to sleep, because he can not bear this. He has suppressed so much of everything since losing you, only holding onto the faintest tether, but he cannot endure this – not and keep his rationality and do what he needs to do now, which is to formulate the next steps, the things he needs to figure out and watch for now that this cruel game has changed. Emotion will distract him, but there’s also the flow that could go the other way and throw you off, and he swore to keep you safe.

Diving into the network databases of this new Hydra facility, Bucky notices something he noticed in Turin: there are no records that contain any of your names on file – not you, not Steve, not Sam. He thought it was strange before, but he had a theory it could have been the nature of secrecy around all the projects at the research facility in Turin – there were very few data files on the science being explored on that base. But in transferring the Turin personnel out, with a contingent of them going to Geneva, he pours over all the documentation and the only he finds is the transfer of a high-level asset referred to only as Waffe SR4718. He easily knows the German word for weapon, and without missing a beat Bucky knows the letters and numbers are supposed to seem random but clearly refer to Steve Rogers whose birthdate is the fourth day of the seventh month in the eighteenth year of the previous century. It’s innocuous to anyone coming across it, but abundantly clear that it’s specific for those who were supposed to know.

With all Bucky knows of his own time with Hydra, how there were always layers within layers, secrets buried, hidden, withheld, he’s certain the acquisition of Steve and metamorphosis into Captain Hydra is as dark and as quiet as his own existence as the Winter Soldier.

There are quarters assigned to Waffe SR4718, and Bucky tags it track all status alerts – comings and goings, services, requests. He also puts the cameras for that hallway up on a constant feed monitoring protocol with the AI he’s adapted to bring up the imagery if there’s any movement in or out of the door.

Knowing you’re in heat, Bucky concentrates on new extraction tactics and mapping out escape options from this new facility.

But at three in the morning during the second night in Geneva – the second night of your heat – the door movement alert goes off, and Bucky immediately turns his attention to watch as Steve slowly emerges.

Why would he have any reason to leave you during your heat? He knows he could order food, clothing, bedding, medical personnel if absolutely necessary…

A quick check of the log shows that there have been no such requests.

And then he sees the unthinkable.

You’re right there behind him, following as he starts to make his way down the hall, dressed in darker clothing as he is. He has a small tactical pack slung across his back.

“What the hell are you doing?”

The question is only uttered out of frustration and disbelief because he could immediately decipher what is happening.

As precarious as it is to interfere with your heat, the two of you are clearly on the move.

The other alpha has no intention of staying at this base.

But why?

His mind begins deciphering even as he’s pulling up security cameras as the pair of you move through the facility, tracking your movements and actions.

The calculated risk is to get out when you’re supposed to be in heat. Bucky did see that status reported on the log – omega in heat. The protocols were to leave alpha and omega Hydra personnel undisturbed unless a priority one situation developed – typically reserved for life or death and rarely anything less urgent or pressing. It meant no one would think to check after the asset immediately. Even if an alpha skipped regular ordering for a meal or two to the living quarters, that wouldn’t be taken as out of the ordinary, merely unnecessary or forgotten due to being otherwise occupied, or deciding to make do with the food already with them.

The movement logically progresses toward the transportation hangar under the building – intending to employ ground transport.

On the way, the two of you duck into a room and close the door. Bucky accesses the schematics to discover it’s a data analytics workspace – cooperative computer sharing area. There weren’t any goons to hide from, so Bucky works quickly, trying to pull up the specific workstations in there. He sees the log in for a science officer. The user accesses the personnel transfer files for everyone from the Turin base submitted due to the evacuation. Four names are brought up on the roster and their locations are changed from Turin to the other the other bases anyone from Turin was reassigned to – a pair of them to Odessa, the other pair to Trondheim.

Subterfuge. He’s displacing security agents – or at least their location statuses.

Bucky frowns.

The rest of your course takes you directly to the vehicle hangar. Moving in the dead of night has capitalized on as few people as possible moving around the base for you to encounter, and it paid off. The other alpha selects a smaller SUV, loads some readily available weapons and supplies from the nearby vicinity into the back and then – faster than lightning – he withdraws something from a pocket near his chest, presses it over your mouth, and Bucky can see you seize up and then slump into his arms. He tucks you in amongst the supplies before throwing a canvas over everything and closing the hatchback.

Clearly you had been cooperating with this escape, so why was it necessary to knock you out?

Then he leaves the vehicle, leaves the hangar, goes back up two floors to the security personnel floor, and knocks on one of the doors.

Bucky accesses the database to see who’s assigned to that room as he watches this man converse briefly with whoever answers the door.

The two names assigned to the room match the two names reassigned to the Trondheim base on the evacuation transfer records.

“What larger game are you playing, Captain Hydra?” Bucky murmurs.

Because it’s back down to the hangar and the SUV with you stashed in the back, but then he waits.

And within five minutes, two men in full tactical gear get in the vehicle as well, and only then does he start up the car and leave. There’s a tracking device on this vehicle, so Bucky starts to pack up his tech, and pulls up the tracking on his smartphone.

He’s about to shut and pack away his laptop when he thinks of doing one more thing. It will take time, and this is why he knows Captain Hydra didn’t do it, but it will be worth it. But after his time in Wakandan labs and building up his own robust systems, within twenty-five minutes, Bucky has gone through the security camera system and successfully removed all footage of you and the captain moving throughout the base, rewriting it with the empty hallways from just before and after, effectively erasing the evidence of your escape. This will buy more time. No one may have thought to look for any movement in and out of Waffe SR4718’s quarters, but now they won’t find it when they ultimately go back and try, extending Bucky’s time to tail you without Hydra in the mix. They will assume the alpha and omega are still in heat seclusion now without any reason to doubt it.

Bucky leaves his temporary Geneva hideout with the essentials he arrived with. He chose this location because it was two streets down from one of the larger private car services in Switzerland. Bucky knows he can pass as a mechanic with his clothing, and the service staff works overnight to keep up maintenance for the large fleet of vehicles that provide VIP transportation, airport pick up and drop off, limousine transfers, corporate chauffeur services, ski transfers, and event chauffeuring. Acquiring a non-descript vehicle is as easy as he hoped, and it’s more than simple to de-activate this car’s GPS tracking system.

Within half an hour, he’s comfortably in pursuit. The vehicle he’s tracking has maintained its course and is an hour out of the city now, but an hour ahead is reasonable.

When the Hydra vehicle is three hours outside of Geneva, it makes its first stop. Bucky presses a button on his phone to pin the location. The stop is for less than five minutes, and then it continues, but Bucky will stop there as well to assess the purpose and glean any information he can.

Bucky is an assertive driver, making up speed, but not at a point to draw attention. When he reaches the pin he’d set on the route for the stop your vehicle had made, it’s on a bridge.

There’s only one reason Bucky can think of to stop on a bridge.

A reason that could make Bucky’s heart stop with devastation, but he must continue to operate under the assumption it wasn’t your body dumped into the river. Anything else wouldn’t make sense.

Unless the other alpha has become completely unhinged and all of this is an elaborate game to drive Bucky beyond all limitations of his own reason.

Within the next two hours, he sees you pass the border into Germany, and then another stop is registered on the GPS tracking near the city of Albstadt. Bucky has made up a significant amount of the head start the other alpha had had. When he arrives in Albstadt, he finds the SUV. It is most likely that this vehicle had been abandoned for another, but Bucky has to stop at this point and tap into security feeds for the city to see whether you’re here or not. He picks a spot that advertises wifi with their sandwiches, refueling his body while setting up his tech in a spot most won’t question him to hunker down for some serious work on a laptop. He gets into the city’s street cameras, sees Steve steal another vehicle, pulls the license plate, and then he programs his algorithm to watch for the number to track the route now. He won’t be able to smoothly follow the route of a GPS-tracked vehicle anymore, but Bucky knew this would grow more difficult. As long as his goal was to draw out the Soldat, Captain Hydra will still leave a trail of breadcrumbs, but it will be scant if he’s trying to evade Hydra.

While Bucky has questions of intent, he has no question that it’s what the Captain is doing now.

Bucky is able to pick up the trail with license plate tracking and route mapping into Stuttgart. All the way to the train station. But this is where the other alpha shows incredible skills for blending in. It’s a busy station. Bucky will have to run thorough security camera assessments of the Stuttgart station, figure out when – or if – they got on a train, and then continue tracking from there. If the alpha and omega got on a train, Bucky can at least narrow his search to that route and its stops for that schedule, but Bucky used train stations to cover his tracks as well, and sometimes that involved never boarding the train but leading anyone tracking him to believe that he had.

With that much information, he writes new coding into his overall system, sends it back to the larger machine he left in Oakland to do the heavy computing so it can start the work he’ll need to fine tune once he can settle in a more permanent stopover, pays for his meal, and then drives to Stuttgart. The hacking into facial recognition has been so enhanced beyond boundaries though – especially because he can tailor it to look for only two faces he knows as well as his own – that he sees the two of your board a train headed west, targets the route, sets up the watch parameters for the schedule, and catches you getting off in Paris.

Another smart move blending into the vibrancy of a large city, but Bucky is sure it’s not the final destination either. But Steve knew enough French to blend into the country, as well.

It takes Bucky and his systems six more days, but he confirms three separate facial recognitions for the other alpha in a town outside of Bordeaux small enough to be off the beaten path but big enough to blend in and go unnoticed by its people.

Bucky travels there as quietly as possible. He does not want to tip his hand. He’s too close now to have you slip through his hands again.

After two more days and with the assistance of satellite imaging, he has found the small house in a forested area outside of the town.

Bucky grips the edge of the small desk he’s been working at, grounding himself. Adrenaline had immediately surged through his veins, but he must keep everything contained. He has practiced so much control and restraint that if his heart betrays him now, he’ll carve it out himself and leave it behind. He cannot compromise this delicate situation.

He drives out to the area and leaves his vehicle well-hidden a kilometer out from the house and approaches on foot, circling at a large perimeter and slowly moving further in, cautiously, taking in everything. He doesn’t want to trip anything the other alpha may have set up to alert him to intruders.

What he discovers is minimal, and all old tactical elements – things they’d done as

Cap and the Howling Commandos back in the old war.

Effectively things that would have worked on anyone from this day and age but that only Bucky would know to look for.

He doesn’t trust it.

This is another trap.

But he has to walk into it and fare as best he can.

That’s what Captain Hydra had said was his plan from the beginning – draw out the Soldat.

The White Wolf would enter the trap but would need to control it and come out on the other side with his omega. 

He can’t even think those words without his pulse racing now, and he digs his vibranium fingers into the trunk of the tree under his hand, splintering the wood while he closes his eyes and stamps down everything that wants him to sprint to the house he can see, break down the door, and launch himself into your arms.

He timed his approach when he’d seen the other alpha leave – likely for more food and supplies – but he knew the time alone would be limited.

Bucky takes measured but determined steps to the green wooden front door of what’s essentially a little cottage.

Straining his ears and focusing on his enhanced hearing, he doesn’t pick up anything beyond ambient noises – and your soft, slow breathing.

He takes a deep breath, slowly twists the doorknob, and opens the door.

There you are, curled up in a cozy armchair, dozing, hand pressed up against the spine of a book that has fallen to your chest after you clearly fell asleep reading, and this.

This simple scene nearly knocks him to his knees.

The way you’re there, feet away from him, it’s the most beautiful sight of his entire life.

But still, he is quiet, cautious.

His entire chest aches for you.

He shuts the door softly behind him, then crosses the small living room and kneels next to you. He eases the book out of your hands and puts it on the small side table. He’s done this before so many times. You make a slight hum through your sleep.

Brushing his fingers over your cheek is almost enough to make the nightmare of the last six weeks vanish as if it really had only been a nightmare.

He almost doesn’t dare to breathe.

But the warmth of his hand against your skin evidently reaches in to stir something in your subconscious, because you shift slightly, sigh, and tilt your head into his touch and murmur, “Bucky…”

The stutter of his chest is both painful and euphoric at once, and everything wells up in his chest, everything he’s been holding back.

He drops his hand from your cheek to your shoulder, gently trying to nudge you awake.

Coming back into consciousness, you take in a deep breath before blinking your eyes open. Your gaze drifts to him, and then your body seizes up one moment, and the next you’re scrambling up and away from him, whipping over the back of the armchair you’d been curled up in.

“Bucky?” your voice comes out in a wounded whimper of a tone that pierces him, confounds him.

“Yes, it’s me,” he answers, brow furrowing. He hadn’t allowed himself to think over what this moment was going to be like – he knew the fixation would have been too painful to hope over – but it was not supposed to be this, with you looking at him with caution, with hesitancy, with your guard up.

“Omega?” he questions tentatively, rising from where he’d been crouched on the floor.

You don’t move your position, but you draw yourself up to your full height as well.

Bucky maneuvers around the furniture, wanting to remove the barrier between you, but he changes his position slowly, allowing you time to retreat if you feel compelled to. You hold your ground but do keep yourself squared off facing him as he moves. He does what he hasn’t done since this ordeal began and definitively opens up the gateway of the bond between you, tentatively reaching out, trying to read you.

Your mood is hard, and it doesn’t fluctuate. There’s a steady mix of fear, doubt, and what he thinks is exasperation there.

No, it’s more than that.

“You’re angry with me?”

“I’m more than angry with you!” you hurl the words at him and cross your arms over your chest. “I’m livid.”

“I came to you as fast as I could!” He steps closer, and now you step back. He moves closer again, but with a smaller step.

“It’s not that, I know you worked as hard as you could–“

“Then what else could you possibly be upset about, Omega?” His tone is desperate, earnestly seeking the answer, but also tinged with a warning he can’t help from bleeding into the question.

“I couldn’t feel you.” The anger gives way to let the anguish of your words bleed through, and they sweep over both of you. “You cut yourself off from me. I was desolate and scared and alone, and you withdrew any hint of our connection.”

He steps forward once more, finally close enough to reach for you, and as he continues to close the distance, you unfold one of your arms and backhand slap him. “I needed you!”

Bucky staggers a step back from the raw force you hurled at him, but it only takes him the space of a breath for him to recover enough, and he surges forward and pulls you into his arms, uttering your name the way one pleads in a fraught prayer. You try and push against his chest and squirm out of his arms, but he only secures you more firmly, holding you dearly and desperately to him.

“I needed you,” you sob out. Instead of continuing to try to struggle away from him, to hold your hurt at bay, he feels you stop fighting and the turn as you let everything out. He holds you, soothing you, but not trying to quell any of this yet. He knows everything you’re feeling is warranted, can feel now that you held back as much as he did while you were apart. Endured as much hurt as he did – more in many ways. He won’t tell you to settle down, because the hurt needs to be acknowledged and not minimized.

Once your chest is no longer wracked with sobs, when your crying has abated from steady streams of tears to the small sniffling, he gently wipes the tears from your cheeks. Then Bucky decisively nuzzles his face down into the crook of your neck. Slowly, tentatively, he presses his lips to the place he claimed and bonded you as his omega, his mate. You whimper, but your hands clutch at his shirt, and the immediate flood of relief, of love, of devotion, washes over you both. He can feel it, he knows you feel it.

His large hands are planted firmly on your back, one at the curve of your spine, and one between your shoulder blades, pressing you as close together as he possibly can. He plants a longer, more concentrated kiss to the mark, and your right hand slides up to thread your fingers into his hair and press him closer.

The more he kisses into your neck, the more whole he feels. He had ignored the hollow, empty feeling in his chest, had truly rejected all feeling, as cold and empty as he’d operated while being the Winter Soldier. He’s feeling human again. Himself again – or at least it’s all coming back to him now.

He doesn’t even realize when your body has fully melted into him, too caught up in the mending of the connection, but then you’re urging his face up away from your neck, but only so you can press your forehead to his, and you say, “I need you, Bucky.”

He nods, and then you kiss him. In a movement familiar to you both, his hand moves down, curving over your ass and to the back of your thigh, and he picks you up. Your legs wrap around him as you deepen the kiss, nipping at his lips. He carries you across the big open space to where there’s a bed in the far corner.

He sets you down gently on your feet, and his hands are already reaching for the hem of your shirt, and you readily lift your arms so he can pull it cleanly off your body. You’re reaching for his belt, and he’s pulling his own shirt over his head. Your lips eagerly seek each other as much as they can. You push his dark jeans down, and he huffs and sits down at the foot of the bed so he can hastily unlace and yank his boots off, so he can shuck his pants off all the way. When he raises his head, you stand before him in nothing but your simple underwear, one hand pressed against your torso, biting your lip.

You’re so damn beautiful to him, his heart aches again at the sight of you nearly naked before him again after so long torn apart.

He reaches for you, and though you don’t hesitate to take his hand, as he tugs you into his lap, your thighs straddling either side of his hips, he doesn’t miss the slight tremble of your body, and it kills him but there’s a deep part of him that resonates, recognizes the feeling. The separation had been hell on an alpha and omega level, and this is still too much, overwhelming, and altogether not nearly enough to soothe the deep loneliness he had pushed beneath the surface. His arms wrap around you again. While your left arm wraps around his neck, your right hand roams over his bare skin – shoulder, arms, chest, neck, face – questing to rememorize him.

He wants to be inside you, but having your chest pressed into to his chest, it’s like your heartbeats are syncing back together, and he almost needs this more. The side of your face rests against his, and the way he can hear you breathe in and out right next to his ear, can feel the warmth of every exhale, it’s yet another inimitable balm he didn’t know he longed for.

He murmurs your name softly against your shoulder.

“Mmm?”

He knows you can tell he’s working out something to say. Every season you two had been together had been time you had worked to only continually knit your souls more tightly to each other, not only to love each other more, but to understand each other, to work together, to support and lean into each other as true partners.

It had made the separation all the more painful.

He squeezes you more tightly for a moment, then inhales to speak. “I need to tell you why I put up the walls I did.”

He feels you tense slightly in his arms – of course he does, there’s no way for him to miss it any more than there was any chance for you to try and hide it when this intimately entwined. He bestows a soft, light kiss to your bonding mark, and you whimper, but turn your head to brush your lips over his cheek, and then both of you draw back just enough to look at each other.

“I’ll never know if it was the right or wrong thing to do to you, but it felt like the only way I could hope to survive navigating back to you. Immediately I knew I couldn’t allow the anguish of pain and anger I was feeling to flood to you when I knew you were living your own nightmare. When I held that back, the way Hydra had conditioned me to repress all feelings when I was their fist resurfaced, and I knew shelving the emotions would leave me to focus and be more effective in everything I was doing to track you and find you.”

“Bucky,” you start, but he shakes his head slightly, his eyes pleading for you to let him continue. You give a little huff. “Okay.”

The corner of his mouth lifts, and he pecks your lips before going on. “When I was closing in on where they were keeping you, I didn’t want to alert you and have you have to worry about how to hide that.”

“That’s a fair strategic tactic,” you grudgingly admit.

He grins at your tone, but it abates quickly. “I also…”

He pauses for half a beat and takes a breath to steel his resolve because you deserve his raw honesty as it’s still a concern in play.

“Also what?”

“I didn’t know how much of our bond he would feel. I didn’t want to tip him off, but I – I didn’t want to feel what might go the other way and bleed from him through you either.”

“Oh, Buck,” you bury your head into the crook of his neck now, nuzzling against the bonding mark you’d given him. “Our bond is ours, not his.”

“It’s not?”

“No, no,” you press quick successive kisses against your bonding mark on the juncture of his neck and shoulder. “You might feel the wake of what I feel from his bond to me, but the ties to each of you are very distinct within me. I’m especially sure of it now that ours isn’t dormant anymore.”

He holds you close while he sorts through this revelation from you. “I didn’t know – and I was worried if I felt him it would either devastate or enrage me and either way make me overrule logic and slip up, do something rash.”

“Now I understand,” you speak right into his ear. “Concentrate though, what do you feel right now?”

He breathes in. Breathes out. Another breath in. Out.

“Only you,” he says, no question.

Your lips drift back down his neck, and you press an insistent kiss to your claim on him this time, then you open your lips and suck over the spot.

Bucky shivers and groans, and you wince and laugh when his arms flex around you so tightly it actually hurts. Because he reacts so strongly, it doesn’t shock him in the slightest that you’re spurred on to seek more, but now he’s ready, so when you’ve satisfied with your initial torment and he feels you slot your teeth over the mark, he bares his neck, ready when you bite down to renew your claim on him, and he shouts – euphoric, flooded and overwhelmed with the way everything opens in such a raw way when a bonding mark is refreshed.

It drives you to rock your hips against him. You’re both still in those last pieces of underwear, but the friction of your cunt against his cock is glorious, and he can’t help the satisfied rumble in his chest in answer to the simple action.

His hand clamps on your plump, round ass, and he pushes you hard against him and holds you there – he doesn’t want the rocking, for a moment he just wants the intense pressure, the reality that you’re here with him.

You crash your lips to his desperately. He slants his head and works his tongue along the seam of your mouth, which willingly parts for him, an open moan passing between you both, your tongue inviting him into your mouth, stroking against his. Both of you fiercely hold onto each other, keeping that close chest to chest contact while you kiss more than you breathe. When you ultimately have to break off from each other to get air back in your lungs, the heaving expansion of your ribcages against each other is such a simple but intense intimacy, breaths mingling – another moment that adds to the replenishment for how much his soul had been depleted without you.

“Need you inside me,” you plead.

He nods while turning and tossing you onto the bed.

As he climbs up to join you, you quip, “No more clothes, Alpha.”

“Bossy Omega,” he chuckles, but complies in pushing his boxer briefs down and tossing them away.

You quirk your lips. “Give me what I need, and I won’t need to be so demanding.”

He growls, but it’s teasing, the feeling in his heart is a light one, a feeling he feels echoed in you, lines of it running through the overwhelming need.

Bucky moves up the bed, hooks his fingers beneath the band of your underwear, and you lift your hips so he can remove them immediately. He leans down and presses a broad flat lick of his tongue over your hip bone, causing you to squirm – desire and a sensitive spot of skin he discovered on your years ago. “I know what you need, Omega.”

“Yes, Alpha,” you nod eagerly, and he flips you over onto your stomach

He hears your breath hitch. He knows you love roughness and to be handled as often as you love softness, but the latter isn’t what you need right now. He crawls up over you and plants his left arm up by your shoulder while he slots himself between your legs. Your left hand finds his, twining your fingers together while he lines up his cock with your slick entrance, and the sigh of ecstasy that escapes you as he pushes his length in sings in his ears. The feeling of your warm channel gripping him is better than he remembered – or at least it feels that way – and he tries to push in as slowly as he can to savor coming home to where he belongs inside you, but it’s not nearly as slow as he wants it to be.

Once he’s fully sheathed in you, he kisses your shoulder, then nips along until he’s at the juncture of your neck, and you keen and bare your neck to him. He licks over his bonding mark, then bites down, reclaiming you, and you cry out, body thrumming beneath him. He starts to move behind you, pulling his hips back before thrusting back in. Your right leg hitches back to tangle up and over his, urging him on. He grips your hip, and then he fucks you. It’s the most primal it’s ever felt with you, the force of it rocking the bed to knock against the wall, and he almost worries about whether or not it���s too much, but you rock back against him, meeting his thrusts as much as you can in your prone position, eagerly taking all of him.

“That’s it, darling, take my hard cock inside you,” he urges you both on.

You sob out a breathless, “Yes,” that makes his chest rumble in satisfaction.

He can feel your cunt fluttering around him, can feel you on the edge of ecstasy, but it also feels like you’re refusing to fall over the edge.

“Come on, darling, let go.”

“No.”

That shocks him but doesn’t slow him down.

He maintains his pace and slips his hand down between you and the mattress, cupping your pussy and finding your clit. “Yes.” He starts to rub quick, concentrated circles over your tight bundle of nerves.

You shake your head desperately. “No, I don’t want it to end,” the words tumble out, and he hears the sound of you crying again.

“Omega, I will give you more. I’ll give you as much as you need, but I need you to give in to this, surrender and fall over the edge with me again.”

“Bucky!” you cry out as you’re unreservedly flung over the edge. Your cunt clamping down on him was the last of what he needed to reach his own climax, and so his shout echoes your own, and he exerts those final thrusts to pump his seed deep within you.

He stays sheathed within you but rolls both of you to your sides, brackets his arm around your waist, and keeps you close, nuzzling into your neck. You sink back against him, resting your arm over his and threading your fingers together.

“That was…”

He nudges your chin for you to turn your head back so he can kiss away the tears that escaped during the emotions that came through there at that end.

“Intense?”

“Yes.”

“We both needed it, Omega. I need you as much as you need me. Do not doubt it.” You shiver in his arms, and he swears, “I’ll make sure you never question it again.”

“Never let me go.”

“Never again.”

You shift and turn over to face him. He’s just as content to wrap you in his arms this way. You tangle your legs with his as you have so many times before. This is so familiar.

You brush your fingers over his face, retracing the lines and angles that define him, and he watches your face as your eyes drink in his features.

“I’m yours, Omega,” he says in a quiet, low tone.

A soft smile lifts the curve of your mouth. Your hand cradles his jaw and beckons him in to kiss you, and he is happy to acquiesce. The kisses he shares with you now are slow, solemn promises of lips and tongues, heated but not demanding.

When you eventually come up for air, you tuck yourself more closely into his chest, humming with contentment. He’s half hard again, and the frantic last moments of the sex he shared with you flashes back to the forefront of his mind. “I promised to give you more. What do you need from me? Tell me how I can please you, how I can love you.”

You reach up and press your fingers delicately against his bonding mark. “Just this. Hold me. I only need to be with you.”

He can feel how true it is as your fingers stroke lightly over the place where you claimed him all those years ago, reclaimed him here in this bed, flooding him with more peace. His brushes his lips over your forehead. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

There’s a little chirp that bubbles up out of you when he calls you sweetheart again, and it makes him just as happy as it does you. He slowly caresses your back, hand moving up and down, up and down, in a soothing motion, soothing himself as much as you.

There is still so much ahead for you both, but this – your connection to each other – he can feel that again so strongly. He never doubted it, but after being deprived, the return of how powerful it is engulfs him. This will anchor him through what’s coming.

“Buck?” you murmur against his neck.

“Mmm?”

“I can tell your brain is beginning to work away from here.”

He sighs. “Can you blame me?”

“No, but talk to me, take me with you if you’re going to think.”

“There’s so much to think through.”

“Start with one thing.”

You’ve done this with him before – late nights, afternoons, mornings, on a drive, on a walk, sharing a meal – you could always feel when he started to get tied up in his brain with his thoughts, and you’d listen, ask questions, sift through with him. He was perfectly capable of sorting through things on his own, but sharing with you made it altogether different. It was one of the best parts of having you as his mate.

“Why…?” He frowns and trails off. “No, nevermind.”

“No, Buck. I worked hard to soothe and relax my alpha. I want this gift of respite with you, however brief it is, and whatever string you don’t want to tug on first clearly is one that’s important.”

He nips your shoulder. “My gutsy omega.”

“Alpha,” you press, also literally pressing a finger insistently against his chest.

“Alright…” His tone turns serious. “Why didn’t you try to escape – especially here where he leaves you alone sometimes?” From the way he’d found you, it was clear this wasn’t an anomaly.

You cluck your tongue impatiently and roll your eyes. “First, how was I reasonably supposed to outrun him, hide from him, and try to find you? I don’t have any of the tactical skills or training you two do.”

“Fair enough. And second?” The first point is obvious now that he’s asked it and heard you answer, but he wants to hear the rest of what you have to say.

“Second,” you continue, your tone altering to something more somber, “he took me to lure you to him, so the most logical thing was to stay and wait for you.”

“Ah,” Bucky nods, the smallest of smiles taking over his mouth. “My smart omega.”

“And third,” you continue, though your words tone is cautious now, and you drop your eyes to his chest.

“Yes?” he urges you to finish the thought.

“He’s my alpha, too.”

This isn’t news – he’s known it from the second he witnessed that bite to claim you, he thought of it frequently while he was hunting for you both, he knew it would be the new reality, you’d even discussed the two bonds together in this bed – and yet having to think about it yet again in this light is still straining on him.

Clearly you feel his unrest, because your hands come up to cup his face and basically attempt to soothe him with gentle but insistent strokes along his jaw. “Bucky, I’m always going to be yours.”

He sighs and angles his head down to touch his forehead to yours. “I know.”

And it’s not jealousy that drives his unrest – it’s the not knowing what this means, not right now and not for the future. He’s started thinking about possibilities, but he’s limited until he can confront the other alpha. So, he decides to concentrate on what it has meant so far.

He makes sure his tone is soft but serious when he asks, “Did he hurt you?”

You’re quiet for a beat, then say, “I don’t know how to answer that.”

Bucky starts to sit up, but you pull him back down to the mattress, trying earnestly to soothe him. “What he did hurt us both, and it was meant to hurt. It was absolutely calculated. But they broke him, Bucky. They tortured him and tried to make him comply for weeks. They were experimenting on Sam, trying to pull the science they could from old records on you and what they could pull from analyzing Steve’s blood, but they weren’t having success, and so they enacted their last use for Sam – and they killed him in front of Steve. It destroyed him.”

Bucky’s own chest aches as he listens, throbbing painfully at this reveal, and his vibranium hand fists the sheet.

“And when he was at his most devastated and spent emotionally, what I have been able to piece together is that that’s when he couldn’t stand to feel anymore, shut off his emotions – or his humanity more like, and it’s his humanity that made him Steve. That’s when they were able to take over and mold him into the fist they wanted in Captain Hydra.”

Hurt, anger, the horror of his own past life as the Winter Soldier, it’s surging through his veins, but you continue.

“So that night in Wakanda? That was Captain Hydra at his height of cruelty. I haven’t seen that iteration of him since that night. It’s been slow, but he’s different now. He’s not our Steve, but he’s not Captain Hydra.”

It’s a few moments before he registers that you’re done – at least with that piece of sharing.

He cups your jaw and looks into your eyes. “Do you trust him?”

He sees you clearly put thought into your words before answering, worrying your bottom lip. “The heat he and I shared was intense in every way. It changed things fundamentally between us, but since the heat our connection has still been very tenuous. We’ve both been very guarded with each other. I know he’ll keep me safe, but I’m still wary of him.”

He nods.

“Where is he right now?”

A wry laugh tumbles out of your chest. “I don’t even know where we are right now, Bucky. I know we got off a train in Bordeaux, but then he moved us here while I was in one of my heavy end of heat sleeps. From the food, books, and supplies he’s brought for us, I know we’re in France, but that’s it. There’s not a lick of technology kept in here while I’m alone. We don’t even a radio.”

Bucky grunts at this news. He doesn’t like this, but other than being kept here cut off from the rest of the world and having claimed you and separated you in the first place, it seems you’ve been appropriately cared for.

“Wait, no radio?” He growls. Bucky had looked away to consider the new information, but his eyes snap to you again. “Have you had any music?”

“No,” you groan, and he can feel the pained irritation.

“That won’t do.” 

He quickly rolls off the bed to a small whine of protest from you, but it was so rare that he’d ever been in a space with you and there hadn’t been music playing – loud for you to sing, or low in the background keeping you company – and this is something he can fix easily.

He fishes the small communications device he had put together out of the pocket of his discarded pants, then comes back to sit on the foot of the bed and begins typing away. You’re quick to crawl up behind him, and you wrap your arms around his chest and settle your chin on his shoulder while he works. You don’t see the smile that breaks across his face as he feels your excited impatience radiate off you, having figured out what he’s doing. It’s so palpable he wouldn’t have needed your emotional bond as alpha and omega to sense it.

Once he’s modified his device to play music, it doesn’t take him much longer to hack into your music account. He pulls up the list of your most-played songs, picks one that he thinks will be perfect for this moment, and hits play.

You croon with joy and then fall back on the bed, arms spread out in pure rapture. He beams and then crawls up next to you, handing you the device. You hold it close to your chest with one hand and pull him in for a kiss with the other.

You break off the kiss so you can sing along to the chorus, and he laughs. He knows exactly the last time he felt this happy: the last day by the river with you in Wakanda. When the chorus is over, you actually kick your feet in delight, grinning at him. You kiss his nose, scoot your body as close to him as possible, then settle back into the mattress and pull his arm to rest over your stomach.

The two of you talk, sing, and continue to hold each other for a while. A string of two or three softer songs play, and you and up drifting into sleep, late afternoon sun pouring over both of you, its warmth too much for you to ignore after the physically and emotionally exhausting afternoon. He watches the rise and fall of your chest, his hand over your heart, no thought for time. He doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to take his eyes off you. How did he survive without you for all those weeks?

A flare of light across the room pulls his focus though. It’s a repetitive flashing coming through the window to the wall.

Morse code. His blissful mood evaporates.

C-O-M-E  O-U-T-S-I-D-E

The other alpha is out there, summoning him.

He identifies which window the light is being directed into, then pads over, and releases the drape to cover the window, pulls it back, covers it again, and then secures it back in its open state. The other alpha will know he’s received the message.

Bucky has referred to him as the other alpha for so long now, but he’s ultimately about to discover who this man is. You say he’s no longer The Captain Hydra that he was, but not yet his Steve either.

He doesn’t hurry getting dressed. The other alpha isn’t going anywhere. He’s waited this long. He can continue to wait.

Bucky takes a long look at you from across the room before he leaves.

He’s relatively sure he will come back to you. There’s only one outcome that will keep him away, and now that he knows the potential danger, he won’t let this man ambush him ever again.

Bucky stalks as carefully to the tree line where the signal had come from as he had when he’d first approached the little house. He can smell the other alpha on the breeze that rustles through the trees. He tracks him in a kilometer or so – not in the direction Bucky had left his vehicle, but that works fine for him because if he needs to cut and run, he’ll be able to get to you in the house and then continue on to get to the getaway without having to double back and without the other alpha being able to cut off the route.

Bucky will think through every possible scenario as each moment of this unfolds.

His brain got him here.

His brain can get him out.

He will keep you safe.

The scent he’s known nearly his whole life grows stronger, and when he reaches a small pocket of the forest devoid of trees – not quite large enough to be called a clearing – instead of slipping silently out of the shadows, the other alpha steps out unabashedly to meet him.

“What took you so long, Buck?” he has the gall to ask, his voice barely covering notes of anger.

Bucky roars and hurls himself at the man standing before him, taking him to the ground easily, and they scramble against each other. They’re so closely matched in skill, prowess, and power, and the energy they’re both exuding is raw, primal, and angry. Bucky is incredulous that the other man is angry with him.

His own rage lands him a punch. He takes a blow to the ribs, and the other alpha gets a hand on the collar of his shirt, resulting in a tear, but it allows Bucky to grab his wrist, twist him around harshly, and pin the arm behind his back as he decisively thumps him into the ground, pinning him there.

The man beneath him only makes two attempts to struggle and shift out from under his hold, but then he sighs and sags into the tall grass they’ve been tussling in.

Is he feinting?

Bucky honestly doesn’t know.

“Who am I talking to?” he asks – the same line of inquiry Steve used on him in an abandoned warehouse outside of Berlin.

He knows it, letting out a guffaw beneath him. “I’m not him anymore.”

“Not who?”

“I’m no longer their Captain Hydra,” he pauses before adding, “but I’m not the kid from Brooklyn either.”

Bucky knows they’re not going to stay like this forever, and he needs to see this man’s face and look into his eyes if he’s going to be able to sort out any of this, so as swiftly as he can, he releases the alpha, pushes himself up, and takes a wary stance a few meters away.

Steve remains on the ground, but rolls over and sits up, planting his feet on the ground, and leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. It’s almost a casual.

Bucky will have the advantage of already being up on his feet if the man before him tries anything.

Bucky needs to know how to read whoever this is, so he decides to go with a different line of questioning – things that are more cut and dry.

“When you left the base in Geneva, there were two Hydra security with you. You stopped over a bridge two hours into your journey, and they weren’t with you when you switched vehicles in Albstadt. Who were they, and why the elaborate ruse only to drop them in a river so quickly?”

Rather than being surprised, it seemed he was satisfied that Bucky knew this much about what had played out. “Alright, we can start there. Leaving under the initial guise of a mission on security footage was supposed to be helpful when they started looking for me.”

“And why move the records of their transfer files to other facilities with two others?”

“I’m glad you picked up on that, too. Buying more time for some missing personnel before it was suspect and they figured out they really didn’t know where they were.”

“And why them?”

“Arbitrary.”

“Bullshit. You’ve gone on solo missions as Captain Hydra and you didn’t buy enough extra time by leaving with a two-man team to make it worth the set up only to drop them in the river without a reason.”

Steve’s brows knit together, and he chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment before answering. “One was arbitrary. He just happened to be the roommate of my target. The one I was after? He was part of the extraction team who took our omega out of Turin. Specifically, he’s the one who handled her so roughly she had bruises from his casual brute strength. I watched the footage to figure out who hurt her.”

Bucky cocked his head and studied the man before him.

“I had only been an alpha to her for a month and I was willing to kill someone who harmed her. What are you going to do to me, Buck?”

Bucky turned and paced way, running his hands through his hair. He didn’t want to show this much unrest in front of the other alpha, but he was thinking and feeling so much, trying to read and decipher too many pieces.

He lets out a long exhale and just speaks the truth. He can’t try and take any other angle. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Before all of this, if there had ever been a situation in which Bucky would have needed to trust someone else to keep you safe, Steve would have been his immediate answer.

Steve waits silently.

There are so many questions he wants answers to, and so he starts asking them. The answers don’t shock him, and he can see that even when Steve doesn’t tell him the full truth, it’s a cautious guarding of information, but he detects no lies in any of it. That Steve has some guards up also seems tenuous, possibly temporary, like if he can only ask the right question, the tide will turn.

But it couldn’t be that simple with Steve, could it?

And when did he start to think of him as Steve again?

Bucky deals out one of the questions he’s had the longest, since the very beginning of this. “What you said that night in Wakanda – you did all of this to draw me out. Why?”

Steve lets it hang in the air for a moment, but Bucky can see this is a crux for this conversation with him, too.

“I can’t explain everything that went into that plan – I don’t know if the machine of Captain Hydra was fully in control or if part of the old me was trying to grasp at you as a lifeline, but as the weeks wore on, the strategist in me knew he needed either the Soldat to join him or his best friend to save him.”

Those words sink into Bucky, and he can understand that explanation as no one else in this world can.

“What took you so long?” Steve asks again, but this time it’s tinged only with angst, not anger.

The accusation in it unsettles Bucky.

He’s still not sure how to address the question, but he starts with, “The Soldat is gone. The Winter Soldier? Not who I needed to be to get here either.”

Steve pushes up from the ground but maintains the distance Bucky put between them. “Who are you now then?”

Bucky narrows his eyes. “Depends on who’s standing in front of me.”

Steve looks off into the trees for a moment – in the direction of the cottage.

Bucky’s instincts have failed him less than a handful of times.

They’re telling him now that’s where to start, even though he’s not sure exactly where it will end. “I’ve seen a lot of versions of you – my childhood best friend, the punk who couldn’t stay out of trouble, the stars and stripes symbol, Captain America, the target who wouldn’t let me assassinate him and then refused to finish me off in the hellicarrier, the Cap who went against the Accords, Nomad in exile – but always Steve. You’ll never be who you were before – I never was. Doesn’t mean you’re irredeemable.”

Steve scoffs. “It’s not that easy.”

Bucky gives a wry laugh and shakes his head. “I more than know that. But you’re shades of all those men right now in front of me. She sees it, too.”

“God, she…” Steve shakes his head, puts one hand on his hip, and scrubs over his face with the other.

“If you can be you, if you can be Steve, she will have you.” He’s not sure where the words came from, but he himself believes them as he says them.

“I don’t know if I can be.”

“Do you want to be?”

Steve doesn’t answer immediately. Bucky can see him sincerely work over the question in his mind. It’s a simple inquiry, but one that will define everything, and Bucky knows he will be completely behind whatever answer he gives because that is the core of who this man is and always has been – fully committed to his convictions.

When Steve says, “Yes,” Bucky can hear the heaviness in his voice. Bucky nods.

“What about you?” Steve asks.

Bucky shifts his weight from one foot to the other as he digs back into himself and where his head, his heart, and his gut now sit with all of this. But the answer is clear enough. “Till the end of the line,” he answers.

“Even after I–“

“Stop,” Bucky cuts him off. “I’ve had little more to think about over the last six weeks than us – all of us. And it felt like my heart started beating again when I found her, but you… Before this I never fully understood why you fought so hard to get through to me when I was trying to kill you in DC all those years ago, why you searched for me for years, why you were a goddamn pain in the ass who wouldn’t abandon me in Berlin and believed in me without question, but now I get it. We are in each other’s bones.”

He doesn’t move, but Bucky sees the look change in Steve’s eyes, and he can practically feel the air alter between them. They’ve always had an acute awareness of each other, and Bucky can feel the tentative return of it, like déjà vu even though he’s still figuring out who this Steve is or who he will be.

“When did you start giving Captain America speeches?” Steve finally asks.

Bucky shrugs. “One of us had to do it.”

“What now then?”

Bucky has sketched out many scenarios for how things play out from here, but every stage of this, every new revelation shifts the direction they’re heading. Even in the last two minutes things have significantly shifted again.

Bucky licks his lips and stares at Steve for another beat before he decides to head down a path he hopes is the right one. “You’re always a man with a plan, so you tell me. Tell me where this started, when it changed, where you think it ends. I figured out a lot, I have theories, and I still have questions.”

“We went to Italy to investigate a lead that came up on our radar. We thought it was an innocuous enough whisper about a couple of Hydra scientists. And don’t,“ Steve pauses to pointedly look at him because Bucky was already opening his mouth to argue. “I already know you’re going to say we should have involved you, I thought of it every day they were holding us captive. I thought it the second I heard their boots. It was a week after you left for Wakanda, and Sam–“

He pauses again, and his shoulders fall just a fraction.

“Sam and I weren’t gonna bother you.”

“She told me about Sam,” Bucky says.

Steve closes his eyes for a moment, pressing his lips together. “I told her enough about what happened, but I didn’t tell her everything.” He opens his eyes and meets Bucky’s again. His face is truly haunted, and Bucky nods, his own chest tight. He knows more than enough about that. He had still had to face the demons of his past, but when he was ready, and he had fought to find his way to do that. Steve would find a way, but it would take time, and not likely be the same journey.

“After they killed Sam, they got a raw version of me, shut down, and they went to work conditioning me, shaping me into Captain Hydra. I was too lost to fight anything. I couldn’t save him. I failed us. I didn’t want to be me. It was easy too easy for them to get the version of me they wanted when I was like that.”

There’s a full shift in how Steve lays everything out – and as he shares, Bucky knows it’s still not everything, but he can feel that it’s everything Steve can bear to tell him.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Steve tilts his head and looks off into the forest. “It was and it wasn’t. It will always haunt me.”

“It will, but less and less.”

Bucky walks to the edge of the small clearing and sits on a fallen log. Steve follows him.

“When I was trying to find you after DC and taking down S.H.I.E.L.D. I read everything they had on record about you, how they conditioned you. They used some but not all the same methods on me.”

“I couldn’t find anything on you, and I found more than enough other hidden monstrosities in their networks these past weeks.”

“I think they got smarter after we were hunting them after exposing them – they couldn’t keep everything off the databases, but they have projects now that they keep paper-only, small teams. There was the team that captured us, but after they put us in a holding cell, we were transferred. From that point through the torture, the breaking point, and the conditioning I only saw four faces – three scientists and one officer who became my liaison. When they sent or let me out into the field, I never went with a team of more than four of their men, always the same four. Two of them I ended at that bridge.”

Bucky nods.

Already his mind is calculating – this means they could potentially contain and eliminate all of the people who knew any specifics about Captain Hydra.

“One of the scientists was killed when you stormed the facility in Turin.”

Bucky raises his brows. Even better.

Steve goes on to tell him about how he was sent on a few missions to test his loyalty before he was given the task to bring back the Soldat.

“I didn’t have a chair, and they were very adamant that my point person was my liaison and not a handler, they gave me a fair amount of autonomy. They didn’t want me to drag you in. They wanted you to join me. I think they felt like an asset who had to be controlled could break free as they saw with you the first time around, and this time they wanted operatives who weren’t giving controlled compliance, but allegiance instead.”

Bucky grunted. “A tether rather than a leash.”

“Yeah.”

“But you knew who I was tethered to.”

Steve’s head drops. “Yeah.”

“And you knew I’d be the most vulnerable and off my guard in Wakanda.”

“I did.”

Bucky lets him sit with that discomfort.

Bucky has replayed that night in his mind so many times.

“But your plan changed that night. I didn’t register it in the moment, but everything about you changed the moment you bit into her neck to claim her.”

Steve doesn’t deny it.

“Before you sunk your teeth into her, you were taunting me, dangling her like something to be smashed and discarded, you didn’t even know if it would work, and I think part of you thought it might even kill her.”

Bucky sees Steve’s jaw tick.

“You were in no way prepared for how a bond would change you fundamentally as an alpha.”

“Obviously it didn’t flip a switch immediately, but yes, it altered what I intended to do,” Steve admits.

He goes on to explain some of the things that happened in Turin – missions he went on, how things had developed with you, the clothes, and the books.

“The books were for her?” Bucky breathes. “I saw security footage of you in the bookshop.”

“I wasn’t worried about exposing myself because you were already taking longer than I wanted you to take, but when you didn’t access any of the Avenger networks, bases, or safehouses, I expected you were underground and untraceably hunting for us.”

“What else did you expect?”

“I wanted you to get foolish in your desperation and tip your hand.”

“Not with her on the line.”

“No.” Steve narrows his eyes. “You never left Turin once you showed up on our radar, did you?”

Bucky scoffs. “Course I didn’t.”

Steve nods. “A ploy to see all the defenses of the base.”

“But you left dangerously close to her heat,” Bucky shoots, the disapproving accusation blatant in his tone.

“And that’s when you made your unsuccessful move to get her back. If you’d killed everyone you’d encountered from the beginning, you probably would have made it to her in time.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“No, I know you do.” Steve sighs. “You know, back in 1945, I thought you were dead when you fell off that train.”

Bucky doesn’t interrupt. He knew Steve knew he knew this. They’d touched on it before. But clearly there was more and a reason for Steve to bring it up again now.

“The thing is, when they found you, I know Zola did what he did to you because of me, your tie to me. When they took me and Sam, they tortured him and killed him because of me, again. You were both people I cared about, and you were hurt for it. I was not going to let it happen to her. The sense of responsibility I felt for her had already been growing and evolving, but when I felt that surge of adrenaline and fear through the bond when you attacked the base and they moved her? It had been a slow melting of ice, what was developing there, but that shattered the ice. When I found out they had moved her, I kept my personal weakness guarded, and I knew I would do everything I could to get her out of their web and keep her safe.”

At this admission, Bucky is quiet. So is Steve. Bucky knows Steve is letting him think. There’s so much to consider there – the guilt Steve has still carried for him for years, the fresh hell of Sam, and the fervent determination to keep you from being another victim by association.

He could think over this for much longer, but there are more pieces he still needs context for, so next Bucky asks, “Why did you leave the Geneva facility during her heat?”

“Best cover for time – alphas are given room to take care of their needs during rut or care for omegas if they’re bonded during their omega’s heat.”

It verifies what Bucky had theorized himself.

“But it’s been eight days since you came here.”

“Yeah,” Steve nods.

“And you’ve just…been here.”

“Yeah.”

This is the piece Bucky has been suspicious of now.

“Explain.”

“When I took her to Turin, yes, it was a trap to lure you. When I brought her here, it was to wait for you to find us. I couldn’t find you when you went underground before, and I couldn’t find you this time, and if I tried too hard, I didn’t want to risk Hydra finding us, but I knew if we stayd in one place and I focused on keeping us hidden from Hydra, you could find us.”

Bucky furrows his brow, frowning.

“Simple as that?”

“Simple as that,” Steve confirms.

Bucky studies him for another quiet few seconds, then says, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

“So, what now?”

“Her,” Bucky replies simply. “We’ve still got a lot of shit to figure out, but we’ve got to do it with her.”

go IMMEDIATELY to part four: The Working of Your Hands

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

Still with me? This was a lot. I hope I've answered some of your questions, and there are some more that have been brought up, but... we're here. We're this far.

This is the single longest story/chapter I've ever published. You can see where I've left off, and there's clearly more story, but Bucky reuniting with his omega and with Steve were the primary objectives, and both of those elements I didn't want to cheat or shorten as they began to unfold. I hope they've truly done justice to these characters and relationships, and we'll see how they can possibly move forward together in the conclusion. These three still have big things ahead.

read more from the Dark Forest Fest

[nimzay1dstar]

James Baldwin’s Advice on Writing

Reflecting on what motivates great writers to write — an enduring question also addressed beautifully by George Orwell, David Foster Wallace, Italo Calvino, and William Faulkner — Baldwin sides with Bukowski and argues that the supreme animating force of the writer is the irrepressible impossibility of not-writing:

Something that irritates you and won’t let you go. That’s the anguish of it. Do this book, or die. You have to go through that. Talent is insignificant. I know a lot of talented ruins. Beyond talent lie all the usual words: discipline, love, luck, but most of all, endurance.

Endurance, indeed, is perhaps the sole common denominator among successful authors. Any aspiring writer, he admonishes, should have no illusion about the endurance required but should want to write anyway. A generation after Jack Kerouac considered the vital difference between talent and genius, Baldwin notes:

If you are going to be a writer there is nothing I can say to stop you; if you’re not going to be a writer nothing I can say will help you. What you really need at the beginning is somebody to let you know that the effort is real.

In a sentiment reminiscent of Joan Didion’s observation that she writes in order to gain better access to her own mind, Baldwin speaks to the consciousness-clarifying function of the creative impulse:

When you’re writing, you’re trying to find out something which you don’t know. The whole language of writing for me is finding out what you don’t want to know, what you don’t want to find out. But something forces you to anyway.

Echoing Hemingway’s abiding wisdom on the crucial art of revision, he adds:

Rewriting [is] very painful. You know it’s finished when you can’t do anything more to it, though it’s never exactly the way you want it… The hardest thing in the world is simplicity. And the most fearful thing, too. You have to strip yourself of all your disguises, some of which you didn’t know you had. You want to write a sentence as clean as a bone. That is the goal.

(Decades later, Zadie Smith would observe in her ten rules of writing: “Resign yourself to the lifelong sadness that comes from never ­being satisfied.”) Baldwin offers:

When you’ve finished a novel, it means, “The train stops here, you have to get off here.” You never get the book you wanted, you settle for the book you get. I’ve always felt that when a book ended there was something I didn’t see, and usually when I remark the discovery it’s too late to do anything about it.

Baldwin shares his work habits:

I start working when everyone has gone to bed. I’ve had to do that ever since I was young — I had to wait until the kids were asleep. And then I was working at various jobs during the day. I’ve always had to write at night. But now that I’m established I do it because I’m alone at night.

Source

[karasukarei]

Wind Breaker Drama CD vol. 2 - Oedo-style Fuurin Tale (Part 4 - final)

Translation masterpost here!

Part 1 here! Part 2 here! Part 3 here!

Special thanks to @orewing !

Scene 12 – 21:53~24:40

Choji: That’s great, that’s great! Ume-chan is really strong!

Umemiya: *panting* (t/n: this is really hot) You too Tomiyama! 

Sakura: Come at me again with all your strength!

Togame: Igoatama (t/n: literally “the guy behind”; this is Togame’s nickname for Sakura here instead of othello)... You’re stronger than I expected…

Hiiragi: Umemiya! Sakura!

Choji: Eh? Your friends are here?

Togame: There should’ve been a lot of our guys downstairs too…

Enomoto: If it’s those guys you’rrrrrrre talking about, we’ve cleaned them up!

Hiiragi: Yeah. Surrender now.

Togame: Ehhh? As expected of Fuurin-gumi. You guys are as strong as the rumours say.

*sheathes / drops sword*

Umemiya: We didn’t come to fight with your for the sake of it. I don’t know what your motive is, but stop your evil act of taking haori from samurai right aw-

Choji: Ah! That’s fine!

Umemiya: Eh?

Choji: We’re not taking haori anymore. We were looking for a legendary haori, but we don’t need it anymore.

Everybody: Huh?

Togame: Huuuuuuuuuuh? (t/n: it’s a suuuuper long and slow “huuuuuuuh”. Like a tortoise) Wait, why? You were saying you wanted it so badly just now, right? That’s why we’ve been working so ha-

Choji: I had a suuuper fun time fighting with Ume-chan today! But if I get the haori and become stronger than anyone else, I won’t be able to have fun duels with Ume-chan anymore, right? I thought that’ll be really boring!

Togame: Ehhhhh…?

Umemiya: I don’t really get it, but does that mean you’ll stop coming to wreck the town?

Choji: Yup, I’ll return all the haori we took too!

Umemiya: Oh, is that so? Then as for this incident, let’s just drop it here?

Hiiragi: *with his stomach in anguish* If you guys are fine with it that’s alright.

Kiryuu: Eh? Eh? So we’re really just going to end it like this?

Suo: Looks like it.

Sakura: Anyway, what’s with this “legendary haori”?

Choji: Hmm, recently when I was in town, I heard a rumour! A legendary haori that raises your strength, and makes you stronger than anyone else when you wear it!

Tsuge: What’s that!? Sounds real great!

Choji: Right, right?!

Togame: When I went to ask around, it seems that the samurai who was wearing that haori was in the next town over, and Choji came to look for him.

Kiryuu: So that’s why you were taking the haori of samurai..

Nirei: But in the end, you never found it right? I heard rumours that you’ll recognise it right away, cos it’s a flashy pattern that you rarely see in Edo.

Suo: Ah! Could that haori be…?

Scene 13 – 24:40~end

Umemiya: Alright! Wait there a little till the camera is ready!

Nirei: Understood!

Hiiragi: Even then, who would’ve thought that the legendary haori Tomiyama was after was Nirei’s haori?

Nirei: Ah, ahahah… hahaha…

Tsuge: But in the end, that’s just a regular, flashy haori right? Why did so many rumours spring from it?

Nirei: Uh, that’s… Before I joined Fuurin-gumi, I wanted to at least look like I was a strong person, so I wore that haori. And when I wore it i really looked like I was stronger and I was really happy, and when I was speaking to the people in town, I told them that I was overflowing with power, that I felt strong just from wearing it, and things started to get mixed up.

Kiryuu: So while you were telling many people about this, the story got twisted more and more…

Suo: And it turned into the rumour of the haori that makes you stronger than anyone else when you wear it, right?

Sugi (?): How foolish…

Nirei: I’m really sorry for the trouble I caused!

Umemiya: But we managed to have a meaningful exchange with Shishi-no-Kashira when we previously had no interaction with them at all, it’s all thanks to Nirei’s haori!

Nirei: Umemiya-san!!! *one the verge of tears*

Umemiya: When we spoke they seemed like really interesting fellows too, next time let’s go visit them!

Sakura: But we can’t interfere with my settlement with Togame.

Hiiragi: Looks like we’re getting more troublesome things now.

Enomoto: Since we’rrrrrre taking photos today, arrrrrren’t you wearrrrring that haorrrrrri?

Nirei: Yes! I’m still weak and can only be on lookouts now, but from now on I’m going to work hard so that I can properly protect this town!

Hiiragi: That’s a good ambition.

Nirei: Yes!

Suo: Bye the way, hasn’t Sakura been wandering around here for a while now?

Tsuge: It’s his first time in a photo studio.

Sakural: This isn’t a place I’d just go to like that!

Kiryuu: Is the photo today to commemorate the end of the Shishi-no-kashira incident?

Umemiya: Yeah, there’s that too, but the main reason we’re coming to take photos is to commemorate Sakura and friends joining Fuurin-gumi!

Sakura: There’s no need to take photographs just for this!

Umemiya: Ehhh? It’s fine isn’t it?

Nirei: I’m really happy about it! Sakura’s really happy about it too, right?

Sakura: Eh?! It’s not like I’m happy about it…!

Suo: You’re not really honest are you?

Sakura: Shut up!

Kaji: The camera is ready.

Umemiya: Aight! Ok everyone! Gather here! Sugishita too, don’t leave any gaps, come right here!

Sugi: Yes…

Umemiya: Right! We’re taking the photo now! Smile everyone, don’t move! Thank you!

[ageravena]

You know what, the Fairly OddParents fandom has been quite tame. Let's spice things up a little bit.

Doesn't anybody else get that silly feeling when you see fanart of Peri being like a father to Dev, like... where's the rest of you 😍? Don't be shy, show us where Dale is. Or are you too scared? (I wouldn't blame you, I was too at first)

Small warning: this post includes slight swearing and many brain-numbing headcanons. I'm not responsible for any mental anguish you may experience

I would like to quickly apologize to the 6 people shipping Peri with Dale. I thought I was the only one but it seems like I've finally found my people. Anyways, back to the topic.

Now that you're here, I may as well show some more art of these two goobers +some silly headcanons. These are my AUed* versions of the two in my odd semi-realistic style that I completely ditch whenever I don't have the patience to draw faces (I often suck at drawing them. No wonder all my OCs are furries)

Note: him being slightly chubby and him having mobility issues are both headcanons I have shamelessly borrowed from others in the fandom. Also am I the only one who thinks Peri WOULDN'T be 6 ft tall? In the series he's like 5 apples tall, so wouldn't it make sense for him to be a bit short?

Note: there's like a bunch of lore explaining the reason why Dale looks so fucked up in my version. I scarred him for life, oopsie! But at least he has Peri now who "forces" him to go to therapy 😍. I may need to make a seperate post where I only talk about him and his past if I have the motivation.

I know a lot of you don't even know the pain of trying to convert a stylized character into a realistic style and still making them look good and kinda recognizable. I envy you who have less realistic art styles.

*And yes, I did say AU. More specifically I'm talking about the "Missionaries of Eden AU" (by me). I'm not gonna go into detail now, but basically it's a semi-biblical and more serious take on FOP, where the fairies are angels, anti-fairies are demons and pixies... I think they can stay as pixies, or maybe they're ghosts, bees? (There's a lot of things I still need to figure out) Their tasks are to work as missionaries on the planets of Eden (planets where life exists). There's a bunch of other lore (some of which I've explained on my casual/personal account on Instagram), but it's best I leave it for another time.

Btw: if you've seen me talk about a "Below the Stars AU", "Bible AU", "Ager DLC" or something else, it's all just the same thing. I just had a hard time coming up with a good name for it lol.

Also speaking of which, I have another post coming up (hopefully) where I explain my reasons for shipping Peri and Dale. It can honestly, out of context, seem like a toxic yaoi crack ship, but believe it or not but I managed to make it the opposite; plausible AND healthy. I want to enlighten you all plus I really want to yap about them.

It feels super funny to ship such a underrated ship. I'm used to shipping semi-popular ships, so to now be all alone feels kinda fun! They have so much potential and so few are seeing the vision?? Though to be fair I'm also glad it's not that famous lmao.

Ps. Ignore the fact I haven't posted anything here for at least half-a-year. All my mutuals are on Instagram, so I don't have a need to post here, though now I've decided to dedicate this account to hyperfixation slop so maybe you'll be hearing from me much sooner.

Ps. Ps. I currently have a 22-page-long google doc filled with lore and info about almost everything I've thought of for the AU, but it's 80% in Finnish so sharing it is useless.

Man, I love writing unnecessary long posts knowing I'm the only one reading them❤️😍 though if you HAVE gotten this far, here's a little treat:

My body refuses to draw Dale in his original outfit. I like to pretend Peri helped him change a bit (most notably taking off his goddamn shoes, though they do have some lore that I've created. GGHHRRAAA EVERYTHING HAS LORE ATTACHED TO IT GRRRR). Also Dev isn't actually grumpy, he just likes to act tough.

My art style looks probably so inconsistent❤️

[methoughtsphantom]

plot bunnies about an idea i don’t have enough motivation juice to write. red hood identity reveal variety

smol jason

So, Red Hood reclutantly working alongside the Bat to take down a child trafficking ring when he is hit with a de-aging spell. It even isn’t the first time Batman encountered the end of this particular spell so he already knows the victim would have no recollection of their memories, so he protects the now child (he guessing 11 estimate age) and guides him through the panic of not being able to take off the Red Hood helmet. the one that canonically has a bomb in it (cause older Jason is a dramatic bitchTM) so like, Batman catches the child’s prying fingers and takes them away from the latches because Hood has implied the existence of a bomb and that’s enough for dread to set in his gut. Bruce gently coaxes the child to let him confirm this with a device he takes out of his belt and raises it eye level to the kid’s head. It beeps. And B feels the ground sweep out under him. Because indeed this child has a bomb to his head. (and he’s suddenly hearing another bomb go off in the distance and a warehouse and —)

anyways, B ends up taking (read kidnapping) this twelve year old to the Batcave so they can pry off the helmet and I can only picture the ANGST because this is Jason and Bruce each unaware of who the other is. Jason still lives in the streets in his mind according to him and well, according to B, he’s dead. So they start bonding, kinda awkwardly at first cuz of the helmet’s voice modulator, but Jay at that age (at any rlly) was a spitfire and like he genuinely makes B forget this is a crime lord for a second (kinda difficult to that when the kid is stuck in the helmet) but whatever. I can only see Jason being his cautious self but kinda being at ends here because he kinda does need Batman’s help to get this thing off him, so he can only, just like narrow his eyes when the Bat approaches him for a blood sample. (“Need to check for magic residue, lad.”)

(Jason’s only allows this because he has a knife he found in the clothes he’d was drowning in earlier)

As u can guess, Bruce was obviously lying and wanted to run the blood sample to see if it matched any from his database (as the Red Hood has also implied that they have met before)

Anyways Bruce just gets the alert that the blood reading was finished almost at the same time they can pry the helmet off, and because he got a little attached, he just wants to see the face of this lively if wary teenager that has the same name as his (dead) son. (he managed to pry it from him earlier, how, i dunno) It’s literally Bruce’s martyr and huge guilt-complex that goes like ‘ah yes let me see the face of a child that was failed so throughly by the people who should’ve taken care of him’. So they pry off the helmet and then Bruce feels like he’s been doused by cold water. it’s like he’s staring at the ghost of his dead son again, the image completed with ruffled hair, slightly upturned lips and blue guarded eyes that look up to him with recognition but not recognition.

Bruce immediately hardens, shuts down any hope he can feel rushing in and desperately tries to close the dam and let his confusion and rage turn into anguish. “Who are you?”

The boy—the imposter quickly tracks the 180 demeanor change and immediately goes defensive. A painfully familiar scowl appears in his face.

“I’m Jason, I already told you that, what, your old age catching up to you?”

Batman stalks closer and then the boy’s taking two steps back for every one the Bat takes. He tracks the loose outline of a hand closing in tightly around the hilt of a knife in the boy wearing his son’s face and he can only think how dare he.

“Lies! You’re not my son! Who are you?”

Heart in throat, Jason struggles to keep distance between him and the towering black shadow that’s so angry he can sense it in his very bones. He doesn’t understand.

He doesn’t.

“I-I my name’s Jason. Jason Todd. My father is Willis Todd, not—not, Batman.”

And there’s that for the little snippet. Sorry this is so disjointed😭. After that’s just the mental image of Dick cutting in with Zatanna trailing closely behind him and being all “Hey I got your message about a de-aging spell and—“ and just stopping at the scene.

Because that’s Batman towering over a clearly scared kid. Said kid using the distraction to try and stab Batman. The action clearly enraging Batman—that doesn’t make any sense?! B would never— Dick immediately sprints into action and steps in between the two.

like Dick just giving his back to the kid and not seeing. Batman clearly shaking his head in denial and snarling, treating the kid like his crime lord self and Dick not understanding. Having to receive help from Zatanna to get the kid the hell out of here (but like where would they even take him? The manor??)

Zatanna just takes them to the other side of the cave and takes note of the teenager. How he has a dead grip on a red helmet and his gaze is stuck upon it.

Meanwhile Dick has to physically restrain Batman from going after the kid and he raises his voice just enough to demand what the hell is happening?? Why is there a kid in the Batcave? …Batman??? Report. As he is demanding answers Dick had slowly loosen his grip on his dad only to now found him staring at his gauntlet’s data hologram.

The information displayed? 99.98% Match confirmed to Jason Peter Todd.

So as this is clearly pure angst, I want Jason to lash out, sticking only to Zatanna only to realize she’s the magic user that’ll quote on quote will return him back to normal.

Jason is just like on really uneven ground here, even though he doesn’t think he’s ready to retur. But then Batman is just like “Jaylad” … “Jay…” and taking off his cowl and reaching up to him and looking at him like he knows him, like he’s something fragile and precious. Which is sooo fucking jarring you can understand. Jason internally is all what the fuck

Jason just wants them to back off. Jason is an overwhelmed bean. He looks up to Nightwing for help but the man is also mirroring the Bat, domino off and eyes suspiciously bright.

Zatanna is literally the only person in the room not emotionally compromised. She’s with Jay in the ??? train.

Suddenly she looks down and there’s the little boy whose eyes are pleading in helpless confusion. Eyes practically conveying the question you can return me back to normal right?? he pointedly doesn’t rip his eyes from hers as Zatanna puts a hand on his shoulder, pretending she doesn’t notice how he trembles and wordlessly asks if he’s sure.

cut scene

Bruce interrupts because information overload and he can’t compartmentalize this is too important and he and Dick stop Zatanna to which she too is ?? because that was literally what she was called for here. Dick is no help.

Dick is torn.

[fangsforiris]

I Want To Be You [Shū]

Prompt: Idolization & a Desire to Become.

Person: Ayato Sakamaki, Shuu Sakamaki

HC’s:

🍷 Ayato has always idolized Shuu from a very young age.

🍷 As in, he’d do everything he could to mimic the blond, but would fail constantly, as Shuu was an enigma to all.

🍷 Ayato wants to become Shuu.

🍷 No sugar coating it at all. He wants Shuu’s title, he wants his aura, he wants everything and anything connected to Shuu.

🍷 This is all influenced by Cordelia and Beatrix’s rivalry, which heavily influenced and became Ayato’s life, whilst Shuu remained unaffected.

🍷 The rivalry was Ayato’s world, as he did anything to attempt to become the better one out of the two.

🍷 It would always follow in constant failure, however, since Shuu didn’t care, nor did he let up in the high pursuit of the throne.

🍷 It was as if Shuu never saw Ayato as competition, like he could see right through the red-head.

🍷 Overtime, idolization became akin to envy and utmost desire. It was obsessive. It was unhealthy. Ayato dabbled and crosses the lines of sane and normal ages ago whenever Shuu was involved.

🍷 Ayato knew that whatever he did, he needed to be just like Shuu. Didn’t matter how he got there, he just had to overtake him somehow.

🍷 Shuu would know of his… project or obsession so to speak, but never would he outwardly say anything.

🍷 “My whole life, you were a teacher and friend to me

Please know my actions are not motivated only by envy

I, too, have a destiny

This death will be art

The people will speak of this day from near and afar

This event will be history, and I'll be great too

I don't want what you have, I want to be you” — Brutus by The Buttress.

🍷 Ayato desired it, craved it even.

🍷 After all, his abuse he went through would be all for nothing if he didn’t overtake the Great Shuu.

🍷 It would all be in vain. All of the tear stained nights, the ones spent isolated from his triplet brothers, the attempted drowning attempts his mother threw at him. It would serve as a reminder that Ayato had a clear, set goal in mind. And neither Reiji, or Shuu, would get in front of it.

🍷 He couldn’t care less about Reiji’s stance on the throne, all because Ayato knew that his real, main opponent was Shuu. It always was. And always will be.

🍷 You know the quote “you either wanna be him or be with him” Ayato will always choose the first when it’s about Shuu.

🍷 A broken mirror represents jealousy/envy.

🍷 Ayato has definitely broken a few mirrors when deep into his comparison mindset, unable to recognize or bear the thought of the red-head looking back at him through the looking glass. It was far too much. Red could never turn into blond.

🍷 Yellow Hyacinths also represent envy.

🍷 Laito once brought him those flowers as a joke, unknowing of Ayato’s deeply rooted anguish. (He lied, Laito knew.)

🍷 It can go both ways, as Laito is also envious of Ayato, but Ayato is far too consumed with Shuu.

🍷 Ayato secretly keeps a board consisting of pictures of Shuu.

🍷 He would sometimes draw big, gaunty red ‘X’ marks across his face, or find a knife and stab it repeatedly.

🍷 It differs on some days, as for the ones where he feels nostalgic and his envy dies down to a ‘healthier’ level of obsession, he’d draw hearts and circles, emphasizing what he wants and appreciates to gain.

🍷 Ayato even collects pictures and paraphernalia of Shuu just to go the extra mile of what it is he lacks inside himself and how he can change it.

🍷 He once thought of dying his hair blond, and perhaps getting coloured contacts, but it was then when he realized that he could never fill Shuu’s place.

🍷 Even more on this, he once bought box dye of bleach, toner, and purple shampoo to dye his hair.

🍷 Ayato did this in secret, and once he did so, it came out streaky and he quickly went to buy red hair mix.

🍷 Ayato drinks to cope. Specifically the same brand of alcohol Shuu particularly enjoys. Hennessy is a go to, as well as some champagne shockingly.

🍷 Shuu hates the classic beers, so Ayato never even looks at it.

🍷 Ayato used to try and dress the same as Shuu, but would gain strange looks and small remarks. He’d burn all of the clothing he’d bought with his allowance in the next week.

🍷 Shuu wears black and brown eyeliner, kajal (kohl,) and sometimes mascara to accentuate  his blue eyes.

🍷 Ayato saw this and would pick up the same brands as Shuu did.

🍷 It was safe to say that Ayato didn’t suit it as well as he thought he would, and aimed for the brown instead in his outer corners as the full thing made him ‘emo.’

[venus-giirl]

"A enemies to lovers"

Gyutaro Shabana x fem reader.

Fandom: Demon Salyer.

Word count: +1.8K

Rating: fighting, insults, fluff, anguish, enemies, harsh words.

N/A: I'm back, bitches. This last month I've been with final exams and couldn't find motivation to write. So last night I sat down and decided to write an enemies to lovers with Gyutaro, since I saw that the last post had been well liked. Enjoy reading, sorry for the hurtful words, but in this story the two of them hate each other… or not.

THE BOY IS A MONSTEERRRR

The room was dark. School supplies were cluttered all over the space, which was already cramped. Balls, tennis racquets, strings, mats, etc. Everything smelled like gym equipment, covered with the typical layer of dust that was hardly cleaned unless the equipment was being used.

Both of your breaths were labored, breathing hard due to the little air left inside along with the dense layer of dirt. You were angry at the stupid situation you were in.

"You shouldn't have come, it was me who was tasked to go get the mats." he growls in a serious tone, almost sounding like a dog facing his opponent.

"I've already told you a thousand times, he sent me to help you too, the mats are heavy…". you retort.

"I don't need your help, I am much stronger than you".

"You're an idiot if you think a woman can't fend for herself, Gyutaro."

"The idiot is you if you thought you were going to help me with those weak arms." His breath hits your face. It wasn't unpleasant to you, despite his hideous appearance. It smelled like a mixture of mint and body odor.

You shake your head shaking your thoughts away. My goodness, you disliked him for over two grades. He was so cruel and mean to the other students and envious through and through. He was always complaining about those who were better than him, especially in sports.

"Oh my god, you're unbearable, you know that?". You don't know what to respond and the only thing you can think to do is try to vent your anger by making him feel bad. Even though that really wasn't what you wanted, but you couldn't help it.

"Unbearable is your stupid voice and to top it off the door was locked with the keys out because of you, you clumsy girl." He had snuggled closer to you. Although the room wasn't very well lit, because the light wasn't working either, you could see his face with the small solar halo coming in through the small square window located above the wall where Gyutaro was.

His hands had reached your arms to shake you helplessly for the situation. You wince as he digs his fingers in that it almost hurts and you let out a whimper, trying to pull away from him.

"Let go of me, you brute." You fight back, trying to wiggle out of his grip. "I hadn't even seen the keys." When you had entered the materials room you didn't notice that the keys were in the lock, so you assumed that the trainer had already opened the door and that he had them hanging around his neck, as usual.

"Oh, of course. Because the girl is so dumb that even at that she's not able to figure it out." His comments were starting to hurt and tears were beginning to sting the edges of your eyes. You were not going to allow yourself to sink with his hurtful words. If he could insult you with no regard for your feelings, of course you would too. You hated him.

"You are inconsiderate, sarcastic and unbearable." You scream and press the palm of your hands on his hard chest to push him away from your body. "If you were in a different mood maybe we'd be out of here by now." You press your nails into his shirt and manage to rip a button off. He grunts and squeezes you tighter in his grip. Your arms hurt too much. It might even leave a mark on you.

"I didn't need your help!" He yells and shakes you.

"Fuck, Gyutaro, this isn't about help!".

"Then why do you always show up everywhere I go?". His question left you unsettled, blank. In fact, you also had the same feeling of running into him, in the hallways, at the lockers, when sometimes you were late because you overslept, in fights you were always around or even when he was expelled from class for confronting some teacher, you would show up by the punishment room to put some papers.

"What… What? For God's sake, I'm the deputy. It's normal for me to be doing… delegate stuff." You weren't crazy and you weren't chasing him, it's just a coincidence. right?

He laughs in a low, vile tone, not believing anything you say. "And it's also a coincidence that we're here right now?".

Your cheeks were starting to heat up from anger. "Honestly, I'd rather die than be locked in the same room as you." You spit out in a stern tone.

Gyutaro responds with a laugh too unpleasant for you "Dare to say that again and again and I'll break you". The glint of malice could be seen in his gaze. His teeth chattered with every word and his jaw tensed, you almost thought he might snap his teeth from the strain. His grip and his voice were harder and harder.

"Fuck you." You grab his shirt and try to shake him too.

"Oh, I'm flattered, but no thanks." You take a few steps forward and out of sense take a few steps back. You don't want him to touch you. You can't stand it. His touch feels rough and horrid to you. Cold and hard. Painful and… Fuck, stop thinking about it.

"I hate you, I hate you. I can't stand you and you think I'd be after you? Jesus Christ, you wouldn't believe that yourself. From the moment I saw you I couldn't stand you." Gyutaro is silent for a few moments, seconds in which a silent emptiness takes over the room, which, seconds before, had been filled with screams and voices, insults and confessions too painful and cruel to be able to say them to another person.

Seconds in which your body is pushed forcefully backwards. The air leaves your lungs abruptly and gravity takes hold of your body pulling you down. Your back crashes heavily against the mattresses and you feel a large, angry body looming over you. The vibes shook your skin and it bristled at the numerous sensations you were experiencing, fear, terror… But you were not going to show weakness before him. No way, he couldn't see you crying or in a vulnerable state.

Your breaths were agitated, loaded with words that wanted to leave your mouths to hurt again. Hands and legs move, squeeze, and you try to pull away. You sit up, but he places his palm on your chest and sinks you back down to the mattresses. You claw at his arms and groan, trying to overcome his enormous strength. He grunts gutturally and tries to grab your hands again. When he finally succeeds, he spreads your legs apart with his knees and stands over you, his bony pelvis now between your thighs, preventing you from closing your legs or kicking him. You gasp and grunt, arch your back, but nothing, you can't free yourself from him. From his prison. God…you were almost sure you'd never get out of there.

"I hate you you know." Desperate you attack him again with the only thing you have left.

"I know." He replies in a dry tone and smiles showing his menacing teeth.

"I hate your smile."

"I know." He repeats. His face moves closer to yours. Her hair, always messy, now falls around your face, forming a curtain between the two of you.

"And your face, you're so…you're so obnoxious." Your nose brushes against his, his breath hits your mouth and cheeks. If you could sink even deeper into the mattress you would have made it by now.

His weight on your body burned you more and more. "And I can't…I can't….". Your eyes widen as you feel his lips rest on yours. You don't know it at the time, as the darkness prevented you from seeing, but his eyes looked into yours with a glow…an unexplainable glow. His dry, chapped lips encircled yours in a chaste kiss.

Your breath catches and you let out a soft sigh, half-opening your lips. Gyutaro pulls away just an unbearable millimeter and you already feel the cold from the absence of warmth. In an uncontrollable impulse you sit up and kiss him back. You suck in a breath of air and crash your lips against his. Gyutaro grunts in an attempt to control himself and crushes you back against the mat without separating from you, without breaking the kiss again. His mouth opens and he sticks out his tongue to open your wet lips which you open, inviting him in. Your tongues meet, slippery with saliva. Oxygen is depleted as your kiss becomes more intense. Now it has become a war to see which tongue can dominate the other. Your mouths open in a kiss. His breath caresses your right cheek and you tilt your head so you can get more of him.

His hand held the back of your neck. Since when did his hand hold the back of your neck? His thick, calloused fingers curl and pull at it. Your body arches and his body hovers more over you, the mats supporting the weight of both of you. Gyutaro grunts and begins to eat from your mouth as if it were the last meal on earth. You follow his rhythm and you both create a dance, in which your mouths devour each other with anger, rage, hatred and uncontrolled passion. His teeth sting and graze your lower lip. From time to time he gently bites your tongue and curses, in words that crash over your lips, incomprehensible confessions.

You feel and hear Gyutaro's nails digging into the mat and breaking it as he clenches his fists. Your hands now embrace his neck and you pull at his hair, causing him to growl. At an indeterminate point, you become dizzy and can almost feel his pelvis shift between your thighs, searching for something to relieve himself with.

However, the crazy magic of that crazy kiss is interrupted by the jingling of keys and a male voice shouting, "Is someone inside, the door is locked, hello!". Everything falls apart when Gyutaro abruptly pulls away from your body and growls. His weight, his touch, his breathing, his hands…everything is now cold to you. Your mind gradually comes to its senses and you awaken your mind cold again, assessing the matter. You are still there, lying on the mats, trying to calm your breathing and organize the bomb of events in your head.

"Shit…" Gyutaro curses and turns his back on you. Before he leaves he gives you one last look showing his teeth and walks away, leaving his scent, his trail. You hear the professor hurling questions at Gyutaro who ignores him completely, until you stop hearing his footsteps. Your hands rise by inertia to your red, swollen lips and you again hear footsteps running into the material shed.

"T/n, are you okay?" Mitsuri's soft voice sounds concerned, but you don't manage to hear it. Not after what's happened.

"I… I hate him…". You whisper still feeling the trail of Gyutaro's kiss on your mouth.

[starqueensthings]

Ficlets inspired by Song Lyrics:

Crazy Girl, Don’t You Know That I Love You?

Song: “Crazy Girl” by Eli Young Band (country)

Rating/Warnings: 16+ for mildly suggestive themes | CW: anxiety, somewhat irrational fears of death.

POV/WC: 2nd | 1500ish.

A/N: something weird has come over me!! I’ve somehow managed to keep this to a one shot and not develop 300 pages of unnecessary lore!! Brevity?! Is that you?! I don’t think we’ve ever met before! Hi I’m Holly!

“Crazy girl, don’t you know that I love you? I wouldn’t dream of going nowhere. Silly woman, come here and let me hold you. Have I told you lately, I love you like crazy, girl?”

Other Written Works Here

“Ugh, I should get up.”

Sentiments leaving those lips in little more than a contemptuous growl, he’d uttered that necessity nearly a dozen times now while the chrono continued to tick the future ever closer. Though, as if waiting for some unseen, divine force to grasp his shoulders and simply heave him upward from the ineffable warmth and comfort of that squashy, blanket-laden bed, the only muscle spared that lassitude were the few required to drape his arm across your hips and tug you backward until your curves matched those of his chiseled form.

But his repeated probes for motivation acted as only merciless reminders of yet another imminent absence, and further intensified the plaguing sense of foreboding that had you either unwilling or unable to turn and face him; the near-painful constriction in your chest brought on by his incipient departure ensuring your thoughts remained only that, as voicing a response to that sleepy room – that dawdling soldier – threatened instead to escape your lips as little more than a sob.

“Kriff, I really need to get moving…”

The resolve to maintain any semblance of composed pride vanished as, instead of lifting his body from that white cotton sanctuary, he leant forward slightly and gifted the slope of your neck a series of chaste kisses; hearty sniffle instantly exposing your hidden turmoil as his unexpected display of adoration sent you careening into the harrowing pit of anxiety you’d desperately attempted to shirk.

It took even less than a breath for that newly-stubbled chin to cease its ministrations atop your skin. “Are you upset?” he asked you, the heat of his breath departing your neck as he tipped back to survey your seemingly unexpected demeanor. “What’s wrong?”

“M’fine,” you choked back at him, hurrying to dispel that wetness from your cheeks with a gruff swipe from the back of your hand.

“Nice try,” he argued, chin sinking only slightly as he glared through those dark lashes in your direction. “Roll over. Tell me what’s going on.”

For a moment you considered simply ignoring that polite command, as watching those mismatched eyes absorb the fear neath your features only promised to swaddle you with an embarrassment equi-paralyzing as your present anguish… but more powerful was the realization that those same eyes would be entirely absent for the foreseeable future, and neglecting the opportunity further memorize every inch of that slender, olive skinned face would present as nothing more than your deepest regret should you never see it again.

With a laden sigh, you shifted your weight and rolled over, perching your head atop a bent arm while your free hand traced thoughtless lines atop the small section of uninhabited sheet between your bare bodies.

“I’m just… Well I feel kinda… I dunno,” you started, nearly cringing at how juvenile those words sounded whilst spilling so meekly from your lips. “I just get scared sometimes… Ever since what happened on the Triumphant… Ever since all those men…”

“Mesh’la—”

“What if that happens again?”

”I’m an infantry Commander now, Mes—”

”Okay then what if it’s a bomb that drops out of nowhere? A bunch of droids you didn’t see? Bad intel from stale recon?”

“M—”

“Or what if you do something brash on your next mission because someone’s gone and pissed you off, and it ends up being your demise because you were too busy scowling to watch for an ambush? What happens then? Am I just supposed to go on living without you like that’s even possible?”

Cursing the way your chin quivered atop the divulgence of your fears, you paused for a breath, gaze refusing to depart the mindless squiggles your fingertip still insisted on embossing into the soft sheet between you. But that astute Commander, your loving boyfriend, refused to entertain any degree of distraction in that moment, hurrying to place a calloused hand atop your own to cease the relentless attempts at placating the exposed anxieties of its owner.

Finally meeting his gaze, you spluttered, “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you. Every time you leave, it just feels like you’re not coming home.”

That soft hitch between dark brows released the tension they’d adopted whilst attempting to follow your desultory reasoning, eyes softening in earnest as they danced to and fro from the contours of your still-trembling chin to the small cataract of tears now escaping the corner of your eye and landing with muted thuds atop the bed next your elbow. But no sooner had that softness emerged was it replaced by an unprecedented levity… the corners of his mouth perking upward as he fought to repress the smirk vying to erupt across those lips.

“Why are you smiling?!” you demanded upon watching his eyes narrow neath crinkled lids, suddenly aghast at the gallish mirth doming his cheeks. “What the kriff is so funny?”

“Nothing,” he defended, only barely repressing the chortle nestled in his throat. “Nothing is funny. I’d tell you not to worry, but you’re not going to bel—”

“Ugh! Just forget it!”

Turmoil suddenly banished by a burgeoning indignation, you sat bolt upright atop that now unwelcoming bed, tossing the sheet from your form and burying your toes into the soft carpet. Ignoring his objection, you snatched your robe from its discarded perch on the floor and stuffed your arms impetuously into each sleeve, nose tipping ever higher into the air as your frustration grew amid every snickering objection still spilling from his lips.

“Ey!” he eventually called as your hand reached for the door of your bedroom, the sudden banishment of all humour neath his tone capturing your attention only enough to still your movements. “Come over here.”

Again, the urge to ignore him presented itself strongly, defiance flaring in your chest in the echoing wake of his amusement, narrowed eyes glaring fiercely at the otherwise austere wood door still barring your exit.

“Cyare,” he warned as your failure to accede his demand continued.

You peeked over your shoulder, that ire quickly dissipating upon first sight of his miraculous figure suddenly exposed and near-glowing amid the budding light of a quickly materializing dawn; that perfectly contoured chest heaving gently amid the deep breaths that had fuelled his shift in posture, the rolling hills of muscle neath his shoulders put on display by their perch atop equally as muscular thighs, one elbow sitting near impatiently on his knee.

Upon the return of your gaze, he clicked his tongue, free hand jabbing a pointed finger toward the floor directly in front of his seat atop the side of that bed, and, infuriatingly so, there wasn’t a force anywhere in the galaxy strong enough to keep your feet still once he’d resorted to non-verbal commands.

Gaze dropping to your hands, you returned to that bedside, standing between his knees and permitting a poignant sigh to blast past your scowling lips.

“I’m sorry I laughed,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you as close as the edge of the mattress would permit, and watching him gently perch his chin just above your navel and gaze lovingly up into your eyes had your stomach lurching, as if the floor below your feet had utterly vanished the moment his eyes locked upon yours. “And you know it kills me that you feel like that… but I need you to trust me.”

Swallowing the reemergence of the lump in your throat, you placed your hands atop his shoulders and nodded faintly.

“Trust that I’m good at what I do…” he continued, tightening the wreath of his arms around your body, seemingly preparing for the chance his words may see you hurtling from the room again. “Damn good. And you need to trust that everything I do, every decision I make while I'm out there, is to make sure I get back to you. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon, not permanently anyways. This… you… mean too much to me. Okay?”

Though you offered him another gentle nod, speech having been utterly stripped from your cognizance by his own heart-felt admission, he clicked his tongue again. “Say it,” he requested in little more than a whisper. “Say you understand and that you trust me.”

Desperate to commit that softened pleading look upon his face to memory, you stole a selfish moment just to gaze down into those asymmetric eyes, lips pursing as they threatened to release another unwanted sob.

“I trust you,” you breathed, guiding your hands to cup either side of that angular jaw, thumbs brushing softly across those supple cheeks. “And I love you.”

“Good,” he answered immediately, hands shifting to firmly clutch your ribs while he planted a kiss where his chin had just lain. “Now put those tears away and let’s get a nice hot shower before I have to go.”

“Ouuuu,” you cooed instantly, letting your eyelids flutter flirtatiously as he released you from his arms. “I’d love that. And if you hadn’t just laughed me out of the bed, I'd consider letting you join me.”

“Your inner brat doesn’t scare me, you know that,” Wolffe cautioned, darkened gaze now dancing hungrily across your semi-clothed form. “Now, get going before I put that mouth to another use.”

Other Written Works Here

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[dr-futbol-blog]

The Storm/The Eye, Pt. 5

Believing that Weir is dead and McKay is in mortal peril, Sheppard proceeds to go on what amounts to a rampage.

The first scene of The Eye (S01E10) seems to continue the show's meta-commentary. McKay, brave toaster that he is and possibly at least partially motivated by the desperation that they can all hear in Sheppard's voice over the intercom, places himself between the gun and Elizabeth. The dialogue tells us what's going on (with the show and where it's heading):

Kolya: Sheppard put you in this position, not me. McKay: You can't do this. This is crazy. You need her! Sora: She's right, Commander. McKay: I'm not kidding. There are codes required to activate the shield – codes that only she knows. You can't do it without her! Well, you can't do this without me either. I mean, we're a package deal. You take us out of the equation and-and-and-and you don't have an end game.

The fact that Weir and McKay are a package deal is emphasized by their placement, McKay coming to stand in front of Weir and obstructing her. That is to say, the show needs to imply attraction between Weir and Sheppard to be able to explore the relationship between Sheppard and McKay in subtext, to blur the lines between the characters and their relationships. The first they could easily have done without the latter, but the latter they could never have pulled off without the former (re: the shows ties to the USAF and DADT still being a thing when it aired). It offers the cover of plausible deniability while allowing people attuned to homoerotic subtext to easily be able to recognize the narrative undercurrent.

Again, note that McKay is lying to save Weir, claiming that he absolutely needs her help to save the city. Also, it's Kolya mentioning Sheppard by name that initially makes McKay dive in front of the gun. He says "Sheppard put you into this position, not me" which has the implication that if McKay allowed Kolya to shoot Weir, Sheppard would have to live with the guilt of it for the rest of his life, and McKay wasn't about to let that happen. He hears Sheppard's name and he immediately reacts, does something really brave and heroic without even having time to think about it. Because, as I've discussed previously, he is a Big Damn Hero and this very characteristic of his is what Sheppard admires and loves in him so much, even though he doesn't even get to see it this time.

Halfway through his rant McKay realizes that he just put himself into jeopardy, and this is when he starts consciously doing the same thing he has been doing with the Genii ever since their first encounter: trying to convince them of his invaluability (and it's striking that it's always in the service of trying to save someone else, not just or even predominately himself). He has self-esteem issues, he doesn't actually believe he's invaluable. But probably since he was a child he's had to project invaluability, has had to prove to people that he is a valuable asset, to gain acceptance. He thinks that he will only be tolerated if he proves himself irreplaceable.

The characters continue lying to one another. Kolya lets Sheppard know that Weir is dead.

I want to point out two things. Where Sheppard was extremely agitated just a moment ago, willing to do anything, he is extremely and exaggeratedly calm when he tells Kolya that he is going to kill him. Of course he is very upset that Weir should have been killed on his watch. Of course he cares about Weir and is upset by this. But again knowing the outcome changed his demeanor. Sure, responding in a cool and collected way is a performance to hide the fact that he is internally shaken. But he still manages to pull it off.

Then Kolya continues with "Stay out of my way or McKay will join her." That is when we get a brief glimpse at how Sheppard is actually feeling, his internal conflict and anguish (and which is something that he has no intention of letting Kolya know, hence putting the radio down):

Now. My friends. When you desperately need something, you need something so badly that you're willing to kill for it, you start killing off things from the least important to the most important. Like when a parent starts counting down from ten when they're warning a child that unless they cease their behaviour, they're going to "get it". You don't start from one, you start from ten and count downwards.

If Kolya had thought that Weir was Sheppard's main motivation, he would not have started by killing her off. Never mind how important McKay may have been, you keep the ace up your sleeve as long as you can. And Kolya had decided that the ace up his sleeve was McKay, which is why he reminds Sheppard that he is, in fact, still very much holding him hostage.

Again, the main stream audience is going to watch the show thinking Sheppard's entire upset has to do with Weir and Weir alone. And yet we always seem to find McKay between references to Weir and changes in Sheppard's demeanor. And once more, given what we saw of their interaction in the previous episode (Sheppard barely saw Weir when the three of them were in the lab together; he was so focused on McKay it's as though she weren't even there for him; we've really had zero indication of him harbouring some hidden secret passion for her that would explain this reaction; she is not the love of his life and a budding interest would not even begin to explain his reaction here), it makes so much more sense to interpret this reaction and the events that follow as motivated by McKay. Especially in the context of him having lost Captain Holland to enemy combatants in Afghanistan, as we later learn.

Also notice that once Kolya mentions McKay, Sheppard doesn't respond. There are probably a hundred things he could have said, maybe even wanted to say. You can read it all on his face. But he doesn't say anything because he doesn't dare do anything that might provoke this sociopath further. He actually has to stop himself from saying something he might regret. He can't risk responding. Like, he physically has to force his hand down to keep from say something that McKay might end up paying for.

Sheppard was afraid that he wasn't going to be able to save the people he cares about from the storm before, but this is a whole new kind of fear. This is a nightmare of the kind he had never even thought to have. But he's going to move heaven and earth to save the man. He's even willing to kill to save him. Kill a lot of people to save him, as it turns out.

And it is also noteworthy that he immediately springs into action, here. We've seen previously how characters are incapacitated when they lose someone important to them (cf. Cowen sitting down with his legs giving way when he mourns Tyrus). Sheppard is the opposite of incapacitated (in fact, we see him incapacitated in this particular fashion in Doppelganger, S04E04, when he thinks McKay is dead, so we see what Sheppard is like when he's lost the most important thing to him; he's slow, sluggish, going through the motions). This is not a man going through the motions, this is a man on a mission.

Again we get a transition from Sheppard's emotion to the raging storm to indicate that there's a storm also raging within him. The storm is a metaphor for what's going on inside him. And the calmness with which he then proceeds to take out the Genii is him being in the eye of the storm. Because the show is subtle with the symbolism like that.

Sheppard is moving fast, he's being strategic. He's not someone that's blinded by rage on a revenge mission because someone just killed the love of his life. He's also not acting reckless, putting himself needlessly in danger and this is not because he has some payback to do and someone to kill but because he has someone to save. You can contrast all of this with Sora's behaviour later on with regards to her vengeance against Teyla.

He even stops to check his watch at one point because he remembers McKay's words about them being under a time element, that there's a deadline looming over them all -- this is reinforced by the fact that the previous time Sheppard checked his watch, it was on the balcony right after McKay had just checked his watch (unwittingly mirroring someone's actions, again a sign of attraction; although synchronizing watches is also a very military thing to do, to be sure) and told them they have just over four and a half hours until the storm hits.

We are literally told that it's McKay he's thinking about when he stops and actually asks himself, "What would McKay do?" Again reminding us of the fact that for Sheppard, McKay is a hero. That McKay is constantly on his mind.

I also need to emphasize that he is killing actual people here. Yes, they're enemies but they are also human. This is the first time we see him kill humans after the mercy killing of Col. Sumner.

McKay starts fixing the grounding station and it's really quite sweet how he attempts to make it look like Elizabeth is vital to the process to keep her alive. It's not that he's trying to be a hero, it just comes naturally to him. He's not very good with people, though, so Elizabeth both has to explain to him that they need to stall and to actually lie on his behalf. When they overhear that Sheppard has killed some of the Genii strike force over the intercom, it's again only McKay's reaction that we get to this, not Weir's. He made a mental note of it albeit he does not seem to know what to think of it. Sheppard is alive, yes. He's being hunted by people with guns. And he's having to do terrible things.

McKay really is quite rattled, never having been in this kind of situation before. And it's interesting that Weir uses Sheppard to kick McKay into gear. She actually mentions Sheppard by name: "Look, from the sound of it, if we can buy Sheppard enough time, it seems like he can take care of the rest of them on his own." Not only had she figured out that this is what would motivate McKay the best, she is actually getting him to focus by appeasing him, pointing it out to him that Sheppard is really doing quite well for himself out there. She's not telling him that they're going to be alright, she's telling him that Sheppard is safe. Because for some reason she thinks that that's what will motivate him.

And Kolya does the opposite. He's trying to demoralize them by mentioning Sheppard by name: "If you're hoping Major Sheppard can diminish our numbers, you are mistaken." And notice that he is saying this to McKay. He glances at Weir a few times but when he is saying this, he is looking directly and only at McKay. An angel and a devil on his shoulders, they're both using Sheppard to get to him. I find that really interesting. Now, Weir knows him and has been able to observe them for a while now. But these people are complete strangers to Kolya, and he's still figured it out.

Now, if earlier Sheppard had to stop himself from saying something that might cause McKay trouble, McKay seems to be doing the same thing. And keeping quiet isn't the easiest thing for him, does not come to him naturally. But he keeps quiet because he's trying very hard not to make things worse for the Major.

If both Kolya and Weir are using Sheppard to motivate McKay, Sheppard himself is using McKay to motivate himself:

He has a dilemma here. He's trying to think of what McKay would do in his situation but he's come across explicit instructions from McKay not to do what he's thinking about doing. That's quite the pickle! (Also hilarious that the sign can be read as implying that touching McKay is dangerous, telling him not to do it). Are you thinking about touching McKay right now? Because this is not the time, my friend.

From the pleased look on Rodney's face, Sheppard was able to correctly intuit what he would have done in the situation when he shuts down the naqada generator. It's like they're working together as a team even when they are apart.

Continued in Pt. 6