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50calmadeuce · 7 months

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Ch. 5: Making Up Is Hard to Do

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Top Gun: Maverick world, trademarked by Paramount Pictures Corporation. I do not claim ownership of the characters and the world that I am borrowing.

The story and situation I am creating are a work of my imagination and I do not ascribe them to official story canon. This work is for entertainment only and is not a part of the storyline.

I am not profiting financially from the creation and publication of this story, but I do hope it gives you happy thoughts.

These stories are my own, so please do not take them and use them for yourself without my permission. If you see them somewhere else, please let me know. :)

Warning: This chapter has sex.

Jake's gaze followed his wife as she moved towards their bedroom, the word "their" resonating with a sense of shared intimacy and belonging. It implied she was also heading towards their shower. A sigh escaped him, his mind wandering to what lay beneath her clothes, the thought stirring a blend of curiosity and longing.

He quickly finished what was left on the plate and headed towards the bedroom.

As you stepped into the shower, the warm water cascaded from the showerhead, enveloping you in its comforting embrace. With your eyes closed, you let the water course down your body, washing away the tension and leaving a sense of relaxation in its wake.

Upon hearing a click, you suddenly felt the presence of a muscular body pressing up against yours from behind. Instinctively turning around, you found yourself pinned gently against the shower wall. Your gaze locked onto a pair of sensual green eyes, their intensity holding you captive in the steam-filled space.

"Jake," you barely whisper.

He looked you up and down, your heartbeat quickened in anticipation. The moment you had wondered about was unveiled. Beneath the fabric of his sweatshirt, his physique was a testament to strength and dedication. His dog tags hung, a metallic whisper against the backdrop of his well-defined pecs, leading down to a torso sculpted into washboard abs. The water accentuated each contour, highlighting the results of his hard work and discipline.

The water continued to flow over both of you, creating a sensual backdrop for the moment. His left arm was braced against the shower wall, lending him support as he inched closer. Anticipation built within you, and you closed your eyes, readying yourself for the intimacy of his touch in the warm, steamy ambiance of the shower. With a gentle kiss on your neck, he whispered into your ear: "I've been waiting for this moment, Y/N."

You felt his breath against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. His hands moved up to cup your breasts, gently massaging them as he continued to kiss and nibble on your neck. The sensation was intoxicating, and you couldn't help but moan in pleasure.

"Four years is a long time, Y/N, but I always thought about you. Did you think about me?" he asked, his voice carrying a blend of hope and vulnerability as the water continued its gentle descent around you, waiting for your response amidst the intimacy of the moment.

You felt a sense of longing and desire, as if you had been waiting for this moment for an eternity. "I did," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper as the water continued to cascade down your bodies. "I always thought about you."

"I always thought about you too," he said, his voice husky with desire. "I dreamed of this moment." You opened your eyes, meeting his in the dim light of the bathroom.

He stepped closer, his hands reaching out to caress your curves. You moaned softly as he traced the lines of your body, his fingers teasing and exploring every inch of you. Gods, how you had missed his touch! He moved closer still, pressing his body against yours in a sensual embrace.

His lips found yours, and the kiss was deep and passionate. The water continued to pour down on you both, adding to the sensuality of the moment. He broke away from your lips, his eyes filled with desire as he looked at you.

"I want you," he whispered, his voice husky with lust. You nodded, unable to speak as your body responded to his touch.

He kissed you again, his hands roaming over your body as he explored every curve and crevice. His fingers found their way to your breasts, cupping them and teasing the sensitive nipples with his thumb. You moaned his name softly as he played with you.

"Yes, darlin'?" he responded, his southern accent noticeable. He moved his lips down your neck, kissing and nibbling as he went. His hands continued to explore your body, moving down to your hips and then around to the front of you. He slid his fingers between your legs, feeling the heat and wetness that was already there.

You moaned louder as he touched you, his fingers sliding easily inside of you. He moved his hips against yours, pressing himself against you as he continued to finger fuck you. He pulled away from your lips and looked into your eyes, a look of desire and lust in them.

"Do you want me?" he asked, his green eyes full of lust.

"Yes, but, Jake. I'm not on anything," you whispered wantonly.

"I know, but I want you so bad," he said. He kissed you again, his tongue exploring your mouth as his fingers continued to move in and out of you. You moaned into his mouth as he increased the speed of his fingers, feeling the pleasure building inside of you.

You gently pushed away, breaking the kiss and Jake stopped.

"My nightstand. There's condoms," you said, remembering you had bought some a while ago.

He turned off the water to the shower. "To the bedroom it is."

He lifted you and you wrapped your legs around his muscular torso as he carefully carried you out of the shower and into the bedroom.

He set you down on the bed and you reached for the nightstand, opening it and pulling out a condom.

"You sure?" he asked, his green eyes dark with lust. "Because I'm not going back to what it was before, Y/N. You're mine. I want a family with you and only you. I should've never left you the way I did."

You tore open the foil around the condom and rolled it onto his cock. You looked up at him, desire in your eyes and your lips parted softly. You wanted your husband back. You needed him back.

A look of shock briefly crossed his face, he didn't expect that reaction or the intensity of the moment between you. His green eyes searched yours for an answer, trying to decipher the emotions behind your response.

You smiled and nodded. "I'm yours, only yours."

"Fuck, I love you so much," he growled and hovered over you. His mouth came down onto yours again, his tongue tasting you. You moaned into his mouth as he gently pushed your legs apart. His hands slid up your thighs, and he cupped your ass. He lifted you up, his cock nudging against your entrance. You felt the head of his cock at your entrance, pushing in slowly. You were so wet for him; he pushed in deeper and deeper until he was all the way inside you.

You gasped as he started to move inside of you, his cock sliding in and out of your pussy. His cock that you had missed for so long. He moved faster and faster, pounding into you harder and harder. You could feel the pressure building up inside you; your breath becoming more labored as he continued to fuck you.

You could feel your orgasm building up inside you, the pressure building and growing. Jake felt it too, he knew you were close to cumming. Jake had always cared about your sexual needs first and you knew he wanted you to cum before he did so he started to fuck you harder and faster, his cock pounding into your pussy with such force that it was making a slapping sound as your bodies collided.

You felt your orgasm hit you, the pleasure spreading through your body as you cried out his name in ecstasy. He felt it too, his cock twitching inside of you as he came with you. His cum shooting into the condom, deep inside your pussy, filling it up with his seed.

Jake gently pulled out, taking off the condom, tossing it into the garbage next to your bed, and collapsed next to you onto the bed, his arm lovingly draped across you.

"I love you, Y/N," he whispered into your ear.

"I love you, too, Jake," you replied as you both fell asleep in each other's arms.

You were gently pulled from the tranquility of sleep by the persistent ringing of your cellphone on the nightstand. With a groggy hand, you reached over, the remnants of dreams still clinging to your consciousness, and grabbed the device. Bringing it to your ear, you managed to muster a sleepy yet coherent, "Hello?" as you braced yourself for the world outside your peaceful slumber to rush in with the caller's voice.

"Doctor Seresin?" a male voice you recognized as Hank asked. You quickly looked at your watch and realized it was 9 am. You never slept like that.

"Yes, it's me, Hank. What's going on?" you responded, your voice heavy with sleep as you attempted to dispel the lingering grogginess.

"Mildred's the problem, Doc. She's been having contractions since 3 a.m., but there's no progress."

At that, you bolted upright, inadvertently rousing Jake from his sleep.

"I'll be there in half an hour, Hank." After ending the call, you noticed Jake giving you a look.

Jake, now fully awake and sitting up, observed the sudden shift in your demeanor, concern etching his features. "Everything okay?" he asked, the sleepiness fading from his voice as he sensed the urgency in your movements.

"It's Hanks cow, Mildred. She's in distress."

Understanding the gravity of the situation, Jake nodded, his expression turning serious. "Do you need help? I can drive you there or assist in any way you need," he offered, recognizing the importance of acting quickly in such circumstances.

You appreciated his willingness to help, realizing that time was of the essence. "Yes, please. Your help could be invaluable. It sounds serious, and we might need all hands on deck."

Quickly, you both prepared to leave.

Tags:

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#jake hangman seresin #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin x you #glen powell #hangman top gun #hangman #top gun maverick hangman #hangman fanfic #top gun fanfic #top gun maverick #hangman x reader #top gun hangman #hangman fanfiction

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skaruresonic · 14 days

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My memory on the topic is foggy. How was Shadow supposed to cure Maria?

I'm not fully understanding the relation between Shadow being the ultimate lifeform and Gerald finding a cure for Maria's illness

Okay so Shadow is the perfect being. What does that have to do with Maria's sickness?

Idk. She's dying from anime mom disease. That's all the series needs you to know.

I don't particularly remember the games specifying how Shadow would cure her. Ironic, because now that the third film is coming out, people are trying to shock normies by portraying NIDS as "space AIDS," which is just tasteless, and probably a big part of the reason why SoJ quietly shied away from labeling Maria's disease in subsequent years.

"The fictional disease is described in the guide as fatal and which renders its victims physically weak, a symptom that worsens until eventual death." First of all, Maria must have been the other weapon of mass destruction being developed aboard the ARK if this is her nerfed version. Girl is terminally ill and can not only keep up with Shadow with only a little shortness of breath to show for it, but can also destroy robots through the patented 'botnik family bitch-slap.

Second... a disease that weakens people? You mean like cancer? You mean like chronic anemia? You mean like pretty much any disease ever, because fighting disease consumes large amounts of energy? Wow, this is so reminiscent of AIDS. Truly, my third eye has been blown wide open.

Maria essentially has, for lack of a better term, Mary Shepherd-Sunderland Syndrome. You're not supposed to delve too closely into the details because that's not the point.

No lie, the last time I took a hiatus from listening to Castlesuperbeast was because a fan wrote to Pat and Woolie about the third film, describing NIDS as "space AIDS" and Shadow as "canonically immune to HIV."

The two of them proceeded to make homophobic Sonadow jokes.

youtube

Love those guys, but every now and again I receive a harsh reminder that they're normies. As with all normies who are irony-poisoned, their Sonic takes are so rancid. It's like a switch gets flipped in their brains and suddenly they have to slag off the series.

You might argue that both NIDS and WMDs are too topical for a Sonic game, but the reason I get heated about mocking the former and not the latter is because we haven't all perished in nuclear war yet. The mass hysteria over WMD development ultimately amounted to George W. Bush blowing hot air.

However, entire generations of queer people were systematically killed through the government's negligent response to the AIDS crisis. It is beyond disrespectful to describe Maria's condition as "space AIDS" just to shock normies into thinking SA2 is Deep and Dark(tm), precisely because fuckwads are going to make jokes like this on the basis that lol funny blue cartoon hedgehogs shouldn't tackle serious topics. Shame on them.

...Anyway.

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I'm not fully understanding the relation between Shadow being the ultimate lifeform and Gerald finding a cure for Maria's illness

Since the morpheme "neuro-" features in NIDS, it's probably safe to say the condition is genetic in nature. And because Shadow's new Parasite Eve schtick is being explored in SxS Gens, the cure likely has something to do with gene manipulation.

While I wouldn't like it to be explicitly named in the games - nor call it canon because there's zero evidence - if you forced me to come up with an explanation, I would also call stem cells a candidate. Savior siblings of children with cancer are often conceived with the intent to harvest the stem cells of the umbilical cord.

#asks #homophobia mention #illness mention #aids mention #hiv mention #cancer mention

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imaginespazzi · 22 days

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stated it will never not tickle me that you give a preamble about how much you don't like the chapter before dropping the most earth shattering amazing chapter ever.

I mean, don't get too cocky I have multiple bones to pick with you, but it was really good ok?!

Before I dive in here, I wanna wish you an extremely amazing vacation! As an Italian American I want to warn you that Italian girls are incredible sexy and if that other person you were fucking with is still being fickle, you should def bang some Italian chick, and get some inspiration for writing smut because you are currently EDGING US TO DEATH.

August 2025

Wow it just occurred to me that in this universe Azzi went back for her 5th year, so at the time of the proposal Azzi is 22 and still planning on spending another year at UConn? Paige what are you doing.

"She’s cut off by the sound of excited chatter filling up the air and Azzi doesn’t have to turn around to know who’s just entered the premises."

By excited chatter do you mean women yelling PAIGE I LOVE YOU and screaming and throwing their panties at her?

No rings. It feels wrong. But then again, nothing has felt right for three months.

gut punch for us PaigeWithLotsOfLesbianRings-sexuals

“I see Jewell and Téa,” Paige cuts her off immediately, her legs already moving in a rush, “I’ll see y’all later.”

ok this may be out of pocket but I think Paige and Tea would make a really hot couple. I mean if Azzi left her for you Nivi, and that is the only reason P would be single ok?

Paige shrugs, tugging on Azzi’s hand to pull her closer, “you said you don’t wanna fight and I- I don’t want you to go,” the confession hangs between them as Paige’s hands fall to Azzi’s waist, “so- let’s just- let’s pretend.”

you loooove writing heartbreaking scenes that take place in the back parking lot of a bar where they talk about pretending huh? “Sshhhh just- let me have this okay,” Paige’s voice trembles as she leans her forehead against Azzi’s, “if I can’t have it for real, please just let me pretend.”

well now I have to go commit myself to a psychiatric hospital because I am crying while reading a fanfic about a real life couple who are on the university of Connecticut women's basketball team. Great!

if only you’d just let me hold you in front of the world

Annnnd Paige's impending panic attack in the present day story is going to be about…

April 2033

“you look phenomenal.”

ok after I read this line my inner monologue was literally "wow big word Paige", so the next line you wrote is technically plagiarism

“Foreplaying,”

ok I loved this cause it was finally a reference to something sexual between them. Up until now its technically been a chapter of the book of Mormon.

“You know I’d take you with me if I could Stephie,” Paige says, “but I’ll make it up to you tomorrow I swear.”

so at this point Paige just wakes up, gets ready for the day, goes to Azzi's for the entire day, then gets home and immediately goes to sleep?

“Well it could be if you’d just let me fuck you after,” Paige grumbles and Azzi’s mouth falls open at the bluntness of it.

def not in the Book of Mormon anymore Fine. Okay. Whatever. I won’t go. You have the time of your life with fucking Clementine or whatever-”

this line is line is extremely Paige accurate

April 2029

“she needs to hear how much I fucking hate her. Azzi do you hear me? I can hear you breathing. I know you’re there. Did you hear what I said?”

wow stab and twist

Ok honestly justice for Olivia, girl deserves to be fucking furious.

"How do I make it go away? Please tell me how I make it go away? How did you make it go away?”

oh ok, im crying again

April 2033

Paige’s hand resting on her lower back as the blonde guides the two of them through the crowd in search of their teammates.

ok mystics game reference

“and I supposed there’s no point in introducing Azzi to you since y’all came together,”

ok in this Universe is it not canon that most womens basketball fans know these two are a couple? Like is it common knowledge to these other players that they are non-platonic or is it a pre-leak reality? “and it is really good to see you Azzi. I have missed you.”

ok I can just hear this in a French accent and Paige just making the most disgusted American face possible “you sit Clémence. You already have a drink. I was gonna go get one for myself and I’ll get Azzi’s too. Besides, Azzi's more of a fruity drink girl. Az I’ll get you a piña colada-”

This proves Paige is no rizzler at all, because a rizzler would know that a woman does not want a sugary frozen blended drink at a club “I would have liked to stay but they needed the cap space so they could sign her. She- she’s quite expensive

oh, ok, so now you have me feeling sympathy for this French fry? You are the QUEEN of writing 'the other woman'

It makes Azzi clench her thighs together as she tries to focus on Clémence.

NEVER BEEN FURTHER FROM THE BOOK OF MORMON

“It’s funny you’re acting like such a fucking prude when you have a bastard chi-”

I AM SO SCARED RIGHT NOW

“Let’s go,” the blonde’s voice is eerily low, “we’re going home.”

wow Paige, weird time to be all domestic n shit

“Baby-” the word slips out from Azzi’s lips before she can catch it. She hasn’t used it for someone other than Stephie in so long that it feels foreign on her lips and yet, it fits exactly right.

OMG Azzi showing uninhibited emotion this is crazy

“we hooked up a couple of times,”

thats it?! wow Clem has no game, I am proud to be an American - where at least i know im freeeeee

“You don’t get it yet do you,” Azzi whispers, reaching up to cup Paige’s face, “baby you are the exception to all of my rules.”

oh now im crying from my eyes AND my vagina. But most of all I'm MAD- MAD at you for ending the chapter there, and not showing us the SEX, then going at least two weeks without a chapter - EDGING US TO DEATH. 🤱🏻🤱🏻🤱🏻🤱🏻🤱🏻🤱🏻🤱🏻🤱🏻🤱🏻🤱🏻

Ahahaha tbf I'm a bad judge of my own writing because reading it lowkey makes me die the first time 😭

Well as much as I can confirm that Italian women are in fact stunning, I am a) on vacation with my family which includes my strict-ish parents and b) my situationship is in a pretty good place right now

That is in fact exactly what I mean by excited chapter

Listen if Azzi every leaves her for me, idc who that blonde decides to do at that point. Téa is drop dead gorgeous tho.

There are apparently some common tropes that I must write about these two i.e back of the bar heartbreak, phone calls...I have a formula

If it helps, in real life those two are being disgustingly domestic visiting each other's families and acting like an old married couple where one of them builds while the other appreciates the scene so...

LMAO same braincells fr so it's not actually plagiarism

BOOK OF MORMOM 😭😭😭

Yep that's a very apt description of Paige's day really.

Fun little tidbit that I named the character Clémence solely so I could make a clementine joke.

In GH Pazzi were firmly a secret the whole time

I enjoy writing the "other woman" as a woman who was wrongly "other-ed" if that makes sense?

Listen I think we should all clap for Azzi because girlie's taking some steps, baby ones fs, but STEPS!

I think you'll like next chapters babes ;)

#ask #fic talk #notes time with nivi 💅🏽#🤱 anon my personal jester #you don't even know how entertaining i find your reviews lmao

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usermischief · 1 year

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♞Pairing: Steo ♞Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Theo Raeken ♞Tags: canon divergence, alive chimera pack, getting back together(?), magic Stiles, alpha Theo ♞Words: 2292 ♞ for @amatchinwater

ao3

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a damaged heart

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Stiles trails his fingers along the banister, watching the dust swirl into the air and glow when the light hits them just right. It’s cold in the chimeras’ hideout, with the winter creeping into every nook and cranny it can find. No wonder Tracy is always in a bad mood. He would too if he had to live here. Then again, it’s probably better than rotting away at the roots of the nemeton. Still, he’s been here for the last time almost five-and-a-half years ago.

They did make the place homier. The Dread Doctors' shit is gone. There are cots and a kitchenette. They even set up a poor excuse for a living room. If he weren’t here to kill Theo with his own bare hands, he might even feel bad for them.

Footsteps echo in the tunnels outside.

“But it’s my turn to cook!” Hearing Josh’s voice knowing he’s died twice is quite strange, even though Stiles has learned a lot more about resurrection than he thought even existed in the world.

“Well, I’d prefer not to die a third time, Diaz,” Tracy snides. Hearing her voice makes Stiles want to put his knives through something. Preferably her. He’s still bitter about her paralyzing him twice, but that’s not the only cause for his dislike of her. She never respected him, not when Theo and Stiles were on opposing sides, and certainly not when Stiles was Theo’s boyfriend. Knowing Theo brought her back as well doesn’t exactly ease any of Stiles’ anger.

Hayden’s laugh is unmistakable. There’s always been a devious side to her, and it never fails to come out in her laughter. “Personally, I think Corey should cook.”

“I just cooked yesterday.” And by the sounds of it, Corey isn’t the biggest fan of making dinner.

Stiles never expected to overhear the chimeras argue about something as mundane as cooking duties, but it fills him with a pang of longing. His eyes sting, and he blinks the tears that threaten to roll down his cheeks. He swallows around the lump in his throat. Squeezing his eyes shut, he takes a deep breath. No tears. Not a single one. He refuses to let Theo see him cry. No matter how much it hurts because he knows that in another world he’d be a part of them, a part of this argument, a part of a pack. He’d live here with them, probably complaining all the time.

But he would have been happy.

He would have had Theo.

A key is pushed into the lock. Stiles’ attention snaps back to the task at hand. The key is turned, and it is now that whoever opened the door realizes someone broke into their home. That’s fine. Stiles never planned to be subtle. Part of him wishes Theo would have been able to catch his scent, to know exactly who was waiting for him in their little hideout. But that won’t be possible. Not anymore. Stiles is covered in runes and tattoos and scars, every single one has a purpose, every single one a sharp reminder of what he went through for someone who's alive and simply didn’t bother to tell him.

The sudden silence is deafening.

Stiles gets to his feet, feeling every single knife he’s carrying right now weighing him down when they usually feel like a part of him. Almost on autopilot, he frees the push dagger from its little pouch on his hip. His grip on it is tight. He twists his hand a little, hiding it from immediate view. He’d prefer if every part of this night would be a surprise.

The click of the door opening resonates like a gunshot. Stiles recoils. His heart is pounding with uncertainty. Despite knowing the truth — a truth his father revealed to him after years and years of lies from everyone in his life, and he can’t ignore the heavy weight of pain in his chest. But then, Theo appears in the doorway, carrying a brown bag filled with groceries, looking so normal, so full of life, that it takes Stiles every fiber of his being to resist the urge to plunge a knife straight between his eyes.

Theo stares at him, stunned, and the bag slips from his grasp, scattering its contents all over the floor. Potatoes and apples and canned goods come rolling down the stairs, the sound of glasses breaking adding to the chaos of their reunion. Theo seems oblivious to the mess around him, to the puddle of water becoming slowly bigger underneath his feet. His attention is solely focused on Stiles. His lips part, but the words he wants to say refuse to come out. He swallows visibly and runs a hand over his throat, closing his mouth again, almost as if he’s afraid of shattering the silence between them with a single word.

Stiles can’t say what kind of greeting he expected. Still, it wasn’t this.

“What the—” Tracy pushes past him, narrowed eyes widening when her gaze lands on him.

Something about her, however, seems to push Theo out of his trance. He steps down the stairs, speed seemingly somewhere between the desire to run and not sure if he should. His nostrils flare softly, blue eyes darting back and forth, searching for something he won’t find — chemosignals. Everything Theo has to go off on is Stiles’ rapid heartbeat, but they both know it could mean anything, excitement, anger, fear. “Stiles,” he says, sounding as if he’s closing in on a wild animal. Perhaps Theo can read him better than expected.

Corey and Josh fly into the room, Hayden following closely behind. While the latter looks surprised, Corey and Josh’s faces break into huge grins.

Theo reaches out his hand in a calming manner and gets closer step by step.

Seconds are trickling by.

Stiles fixes Theo with his gaze, heart pounding almost erratically in his chest. He clenches his jaw despite his best efforts to remain calm and in control. Every part of him is on edge. Maybe that’s why Theo seems to sense his readiness to strike. Stiles is never calm; he doesn’t even bother to try. So, who is he kidding?

As Theo closes the distance further, Stiles is already in his personal space, fingers curling tightly around the collar of his shirt, bunching up the soft fabric before slamming him into the closest wall. Stiles grinds his teeth together, narrowing his eyes with fury, as he presses the short but very deadly dagger against the chimera’s throat. The instant the metal touches Theo’s skin, it reddens because of the poison cursing through the blade. Stiles has chosen weapons with care, picking those that require him to get up close and personal with any supernatural creatures opposing him — and he’s made sure every single one will inflict more agony than any bullet or an arrow ever could.

Warning snarls fill the air. Stiles senses the other chimeras closing in on them on silent feet. Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles catches sight of Hayden and Tracy. They’re both shifted, their teeth bared, and their claws out, body’s poised to spring into action at a moment’s notice.

Theo raises both of his hands, eyes flashing red only for a second. “Don’t touch him,” he orders. “Don’t you dare hurt him.” His gaze darts back and forth between his betas. “If anyone even thinks about laying a finger on him from here on out, I’m going to kill you. Again.” The last part seems to be directed at Tracy alone because she steps away, but not without whispering something under her breath.

Stiles bares his teeth in a humorless grin. “Alive and alpha,” he whispers, anger making his whole body flush with heat. “Life must’ve treated you oh-so-well, Raeken.” Trying to steady his hand, Stiles drags the point of the dagger upwards and over Theo’s pulse point.

Theo has the guts to smile. “I understand you’re angry.”

“Angry?” Stiles spits, shifting closer and never breaking eye contact. The hand around his dagger remains steady even though his voice trembles slightly. “You,” he continues and puts just enough pressure on his dagger to break the soft skin at Theo’s neck — but even the drop of blood doesn’t satisfy the rage inside of him, “conned me into thinking you were dead for five years.” The pain of having lost— of believing he’d lost Theo forever as well as the rage of knowing all he’d done to get it back was for naught; this screwed-up cocktail of emotion makes him want to rip Theo’s heart out. “Angry doesn’t cut it.”

Although he doesn’t lower his hands, Theo’s shoulders sag. Even the smile falls from his lips. “Let me explain.” The wolfsbane created an angry black line on his neck. If it hurts Theo, he doesn’t show it.

“I’m listening.” But the rage that pushed him this far is slowly being devoured by agony, by tears threatening to spill once more.

“I wanted you to have a normal life.”

“And I wanted a life with you!” Stiles whispers, and his voice cracks. This time, he doesn’t bother wasting time pretending he isn’t hurt beyond belief. “You don’t get to make this decision for me. You have no right—”

“Stiles.” Theo’s expression softens, and he lowers his hands to cup Stiles’ cheeks.

But he refuses to allow that. Without a second of hesitation, Stiles rips Theo away from the wall. He kicks his legs out from under him and slams him to the ground. This time, a sound of pain escapes Theo, and grimaces a little. For the flicker of a second, anger crosses his features, but it vanishes the moment Stiles straddles his hips and presses the little dagger right under his jaw.

For a second time, snarls fill the room. They’re quieter this time, more hesitant. The only person stupid enough to defy orders is Tracy. Still, Stiles doubts even she would risk getting killed by Theo for a second time. If there’s one thing to be sure about, Theo doesn’t make empty threats.

“You were out,” Theo whispers, locking eyes with Stiles again. “You finally left this town.”

“I was never out.” Stiles slams his hand down next to Theo’s ear, feeling the cold stone crumble under his palm. When Theo’s eyes widen with surprise, satisfaction finally sneaks into Stiles’ cocktail of emotions. “I tried everything, went down every path, performed every ritual, studied magic that’s been forbidden for ages — I did everything to get you back. But how could it have worked?” Stiles laughs again, a raspy sound that feels like nails in his throat. If he hadn’t he would’ve started crying.

“Stiles, I didn’t know—”

“You didn’t know?” Stiles refuses to believe that. Not Theo. Everyone but Theo. How could Stiles going above and beyond to get him back never have crossed his mind? “You didn’t know I’d find a way to drag you out of hell myself?”

Theo doesn’t say anything.

The room is filled with a heavy silence. The chimeras are restless, unsure what to do — if they should do anything.

It sets Stiles’ teeth on edge. “Do you know how it felt?” He asks while moving his dagger down until it rests right above Theo’s heart. “Losing you?” He leans down lower, teetering on the edge of wanting to push the metal in and knowing he’d never be able to go through with it. There’s no way he’d survive losing Theo again. He has no fight left in him, only rage and desperation. His grief has devoured the rest, and it’s threatening to swallow him whole. “Like someone cut out my heart—” they’re nose to nose now, Theo’s scent so familiar and present it’s slowly tearing Stiles apart “— and replaced it with a pile of shards.”

“Babe, I—”

“No.” Stiles wanted to scream the word. He wanted the world to hear him deny Theo Raeken, yet it’s nothing more than a gust of air. He’s not even sure if he said it out loud or if it was a part of his imagination. Theo’s face becomes blurry, and no amount of blinking could hide the fact that his resolve is crumbling, his anger whisked away by a feeling long forgotten — relief.

Because Theo is alive, he’s okay, he’s right here.

Theo grabs Stiles’ hand and pulls it away from his chest. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, even though his voice is trembling slightly. “I just wanted you to be safe.”

Stiles draws a shaky breath and sits back on his heels. He doesn’t even try to stand up, knowing his legs won’t support him for a single step. So he sits here, feeling the chimeras look at him with bated breath, probably wondering if he might kill their alpha after all.

But the dagger falls from his limp fingers as he’s staring at Theo with a tear finally running down his cheek.

Slowly, almost as if not to scare him, Theo sits up as well. He reaches out a hand and, when Stiles doesn’t pull away, cups his neck. “I never stopped loving you.”

Five years. Five fucking years of suffering, of pain, of every hideous thing one could think of, all to hear those three words. “I hate you.” Stiles doesn’t wish this type of love on anybody. His gaze flicks to Theo, studying a face he could paint with his eyes closed. Even now. And yet, when Theo pulls him close, Stiles buries his face in the crook of Theo’s neck and clings to him, afraid to lose him again, afraid to lose himself once more. Because he loves him, more than his own damn life, and there is nothing Stiles wouldn’t do to keep Theo by his side.

#steo #stiles stilinski #theo raeken #teen wolf #stiles x theo #theo x stiles #*tv:teen wolf #*w:complete #*s:steo

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punks-never-die205 · 1 year

Text

Unseen

afab!reader x Killer

CW: canon-typical violence, smooches, sexy times, second go at life try again style story, 18+ only

Chapter 5: Head Over Heels

You walked along the deck in the practice heels that had been bought for you. You were getting better, but it was like being on lopsided stilts and the deck wasn't perfectly smooth either. If you found a knothole or other imperfection it would throw you off, but after logging a couple hours - spread out in 20-minute sessions you were finding a proverbial groove.

"Now the trick," House starts, "is getting the rest of you to move with the heels."

"... But I am moving with the heels." You insist.

"You're moving forward while wearing heels," She corrects. "You need to walk like you want the world's eyes on you. The heels'll help, but you gotta add some moxie to it."

"Isn't moxie like grit?" You question. "Don't I need something like sass?"

"Toe-may-toe, toe-mah-toe." House grouses. A lightbulb goes off over House's head, and you swear you can see it. "Pretend you're walkin' toward Killer like it's yer turn to take control."

Your face goes red, and you can't think of anything as a reply. You close your eyes and cover your face, "Oh gods House, that was low."

"Aye, aye. Take a moment and think about it though, you gotta good imagination, use it."

You grumble something rude in response, but you keep your eyes closed and do your best to focus on the idea. You had been content to let Killer take the lead mostly because you didn't know anything practical about leading in those situations. You assumed he did, a healthy 20-something pirate with the means to find himself comfort one way or another probably had done so.

Taking the lead for yourself wasn't something you were against trying though. You let your mind wander over the idea of it. Over the idea of pushing Killer down underneath you, of pinning him with your own body and desires. You could picture him in a mask that was just a little smaller, leaving the recently familiar shape of those lips available for the taking, red tinging his neck as he shifts under you. Muscles flexing against your demands or even actual restraints, helpless as you pushed what pleasures you wanted into him.

Taking a deep breath in you hold onto that sense of control and walk across the deck toward Emma, who was giving you someone to focus on while you practiced under House's guidance. When you got closer to Emma you cast your eyes downward, walking right up to her before shifting your gaze up to hers. Her face goes red, and she turns away.

"Hells, Brat, but that's a dangerous thing to do to anyone." Emma mutters, and you hear House laugh and clap.

"That's how you walk with moxie, Short stack!" House hollers.

Emma fans her face with her hand, side-stepping away from you. "I don't know that Killer's mask could protect him from that. Where'd you learn something like that?"

You smile and shrug. "I just did what House told me to do."

"If that's the case the vice-cap'n's in trouble." Emma murmurs.

"Brat, you better not seduce my entire damned crew!" Kid barks. He's standing next to a pleased House with Killer on the other side of him.

"Here's your test!" House hollers, "Walk toward the Captain like you did Emma."

Kid?! Not Killer?! House, you asshole. You take a deep breath and sigh with a shrug. Heat had said if you could charm the Captain you could charm the world, or some such. So sure, why not? You weren't quite ready to try your moves on Killer anyway – especially not in such a public setting.

You put the scene back in your head or try to. It's progressed a bit on its own and your fingers are sliding over the taut muscles of Killer's body, gently looking for reactions from him as you tease him mercilessly. It prompts the same sense of control and you let it power your walk back toward the other side of the deck.

You focus on Kid's cheeky grin of approval at your steps, and are only vaguely aware of House's slack jaw. You do the same thing to Kid that you did to Emma, averting your gaze as you drew nearer, and then shifting your gaze to his, tilting your head a little to look up high enough. Kid's grin shifts into something different for a moment, before he turns and walks away.

"Good job, mouse." Kid manages before disappearing back into the cabins.

"House?" Killer's voice was almost disappointingly flat.

"Yeah boss."

"What did you tell her to do?"

"A secret House will take to her grave." You say, more forcefully than you had meant to, heat rushing through your face.

House cackles in response and puts her hands up in surrender. "Aye, lass, aye. A secret 'tween ladies." She pats your shoulder. "You keep that advice in yer head though, and you'll be fine in two days."

You can feel Killer's eyes on you as House leaves the two of you standing there. You slip out of the heels, glancing askance at Killer a couple times but not meeting his gaze. It feels like your neck and shoulders are on fire.

Bending down to pick up the shoes, you feel his hands slip over your shoulders as you stood back up. The heat of his breath on your neck and the tone of his voice sending shivers down your spine.

"So, (Y/N)," His thumbs slide over your shoulders, and his voice is low, quiet, and dangerous. "What was going on in your head earlier, hm?"

You bit your lower lip and turn your head toward him just a little. "Mm, what indeed, I wonder."

You intended to tease him more, and you felt his grip tighten a little in response, but at that time Pomp came up the gangplank with some bags.

"Oi, Brat, got some dresses for you to try on." He announces as he comes up onto the deck. You can feel Killer deflate behind you and you couldn't suppress a laugh.

You pat the one hand that was still on your shoulder and turn toward Pomp, stepping away from Killer. "Sure, Pomp." You stop and turn to Killer, lowering your voice. "If you want to continue being tortured, you could always come see the results."

Killer's body shook in one quiet chuckle before he shakes his head. "I think I'll pass. Just don't let House put you in something that isn't classy."

"My goal is something comfortable." You admit with a shrug. "Bonus if I can hide a knife somewhere, or fight in it."

You tried on 5 dresses, with House assessing them. You were surprised, honestly, she talked about body type vs style cut, how parts would hang, what could be pinned or altered. You were a little concerned she was trying to overwhelm you with knowledge so she could strong arm you into what she wanted you to wear, but she cut the choices down to three.

"Alright, Brat. You pick from those three."

You look over them and decide easily enough. While you were musing though a thought came to you. "Can I take two?"

House quirks an eyebrow at you, but doesn't say anything.

"Well, one for the job," You put your hand on an understated, but elegant dark blue option, and then turned to another one. It had a long slit up the side, fit well, but was a sleeveless deal with an alarming deep cut back to it. You didn't want it for the job because you were sure a strong sneeze would cause it to drop. "And this one for, uh, inspiration."

The devilish grin on her face was all the okay you needed. "Sure, sure. I'll even make sure the Captain won't have need of his vice for the evening." House went over to a drawer, shuffled around a little and handed you two small packages, they looked like individually wrapped mints.

"What're-?" you read the package print and go red. "Oh."

"Just in case, Brat. You're both adults."

"You best be keeping your back turned." You repeat, keeping a close eye on Killer in the small room as you finish putting on the dress.

"I said I wouldn't look, and I won't." He replies.

"Alright, you can turn and look now." You picture what you had twice before now and took steps toward Killer as he turns toward you. A smirk slips across your lips as your thoughts wander ahead of your actions. You tilt your head up as you look at him, catching the glint of his eyes fixed on you from behind the mask. In the low light of the room, you couldn't see them clearly, but you knew you had his attention.

You slip your hand from his chin down to his chest, pushing him softly and causing him to sit down on the bed. Lifting the leg that was on the same side as the slit, you set a knee against his thigh and lean down to whisper into his ear.

"Imagining this, is how I walked like that." You purr. "Let me show you more."

You hear a shuddering gasp escape his lips, and hear a hard swallow, but no other sound comes from Killer. You lick along the bottom of your upper lip, biting your lower lip at the end and pushing him back just enough to lay him out on the bed. Hiking up the dress enough you put your other knee up on his thigh, sliding forward enough to put your knees into the mattress on either side of him, your ankles hooked against his thighs.

Your hips shift and push against the growing bulge in his pants. Killer lets out a low grunt, and you see his hands flexing against the mattress. You lean over him, putting your hands on his biceps and holding yourself up over him. Shifting your hips slowly, you push yourself against him as you lean down and nuzzle into the crook of his neck.

"I want to drown you in pleasure," you say, as much heat in your voice as there was between your thighs. You run your tongue over the line of his neck, sucking tender flesh between your lips as you come down to his collar bone. You can hear him suck in a breath, the muscles in his arms shifting under your hands. You know he could easily overpower you, and you wonder what was helping him resist right now - your whispered desires, or his curiosity.

You run your nails across his skin, kissing in the middle of his collarbone, and then reach down and pull his shirt up. Killer shifts automatically to help, pulling it the rest of the way up and over his head. You run your fingers over his skin, and appreciated the body beneath you. You trace the lines of muscles and leaned back down to leave kisses as you please. You lick, and nip, and suck different parts of him, listening for the softest sounds that might betray what had brought him the most pleasure.

You slide your hips up to his stomach, trying not to let any sounds betray you as the dress and friction sent jolts through your body. You hadn't expected to turn yourself on so much in trying to turn him on. You pulled the skirt of the dress up, just barely keeping yourself from his view as you turned around, so that you were now facing his legs.

"(Y-Y/N), w-wait," Killer's voice was shaking, but not with fear, and you felt his hands grip your hips.

"Need me to stop?" You question seriously.

"Ah, fuck – no, I just wanted to make sure you were... sure." His last word was practically a sigh.

You undo his belt, pushing the denim down to his knees. "Sure I haven't done this before," you admit, leaning down and freeing his cock from his boxers. You could feel his chest rising and falling as his breathing becomes rough. There's a hasty sound of his mask being snapped free as your tongue licks along his tip.

You lead with your tongue and take as much into your mouth as you can, sucking as you came back up slowly. Killer tenses under you, his fingers flexing against your hips, and you hear a deep groan escape him. His hands run down your thighs, and along the rise of your calves. They're a little rough, calloused and dry, but the light nature of his touch was tickling your skin. You moan from the sensation while he's deep in your mouth and hear him swear because of it.

His hands slide back up your legs to your thighs, and his fingers slip under the dress. Rough hands run over the curve of your ass and his fingers flex, stop, shift a bit and move up to your waist, before coming back down to your hips.

"... Are you wearing anything under the dress?" The tone of his question almost makes you smile.

You wiggle your hips back and forth, similar to shaking your head, and hum, "Mm-mm." against his stiff flesh.

Killer is super still for a couple seconds, and then there's a flurry of motion you almost can't keep up with. The skirt of the dress is moved aside so forcefully you hear it rip, and you gasp in surprise as your hips are pulled to his face and you were no longer giving him head. You start to ask what was going on when he hooks his arms around your thighs, his elbows against your waist, his fingers spreading your inner thighs as his mouth sucks your clit in.

The rush of pleasure against your already sensitive body causes your whole body to tense. Your face is just below his naval, but you couldn't will your body to move against the sensation. One of your hands claws at the bed, looking for some sort of purchase. Your other hands tenses against his thigh, and you manage to suck in a breath.

"Kil-hnnngh-ohfuck!" You can't hope to move against the hold he had you in. When you thought you were starting to adjust to the pleasure, much as it was melting your brain, something thick, wet, and hot plunges deep inside you and your toes curled.

You sucked in a breath and squirm so hard that you managed to wriggle yourself away from his mouth. You didn't continue to move away though, and instead just took a moment to catch your breath.

"Going somewhere?" Killer teases, running his thumb over your wet slit.

"Cr-crazy," you gasp. "I think I'm losing my mind."

"Mmm, gonna give me an ego like the captain's." Killer's voice sends shivers across your skin. You were no longer in control, and you had no doubt you were caught.

Killer moves you, and himself, with ease. How he manages to function when you're already falling into a fuzzy haze was something of a skill to your murky mind. He sits up, your legs on either side of his hips, your knees by his thighs, your back to his chest. Your head was leaning against his chest as a hand covers your eyes. You could feel his cock twitching between your thighs.

There was a soft kiss on your cheek. "Can you cover your eyes for me, (Y/N)?"

You nod, putting your hand over your eyes. Killer puts a hand over yours briefly, turning your head to the side and nipping at your ear lobe. Then both of his hands gripped the already torn dress.

"Don't know if this was for the job, but no one else will ever see you in this." Killer's muscles tense under you before he pulls the dress apart with surprising ease. It was a hot power move, and the dress had already served its purpose anyway.

"Shift your hips, little one," He commands. "Rub your clit against my cock and cum for me." His hands were cupping your breasts, his fingers already teasing and pinching your nipples. You reach the hand not covering your eyes to his arm, using it to steady yourself as you shift your hips. You lean forward a little, shifting your grip ton his bicep and gasping as you were finally following his command.

Pleasure built up inside you like the surge of a wave. The movement of your hips was less smooth, and shaky needy moans escaped you. His commands, the growing pleasure, the hazy fog of your mind, everything was making you terribly greedy. You wanted more than this, you want him deep inside you.

"I... have... f-from, haaa, House," you don't get every word out, but Killer catches your meaning.

"Wait a little longer," His voice is almost as shaky as yours, his breath rough and uneven. "I want you to look into my face the first time I fill you up."

The statement was enough to send you over the edge. Your body tenses and you can't shift your hips well, but as you begin to flounder, Killer takes over. The continued movement makes you shiver and squirm within his arms as he helps you ride out the orgasm, and you hear him grunt into the crook of your neck as his own body twitches against yours.

Killer leans back, still holding onto you, and then shifts so he is cradling you. He kisses along your shoulders and across your back as you both try to calm your pounding hearts. You nuzzle into him, still keeping your eyes closed, and just let yourself exist for a moment.

"How're you feeling?" He questions, running a hand through your hair.

"Glad that wasn't the dress for the job," you answer with a chuckle and felt Killer's silent laugh shift his body behind you.

"Mm, so it was for me then." He muses as you drift off in his arms.

#Unseen #massacre soldier killer #killer one piece #x reader #reader insert #one piece fanfiction #canon au

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mmollymercury · 2 years

Note

I'm coming here to bother😇😇

How are you?

Do you have any artwork you think is underrated?

(So we can reblog)

AHHHGGG THATS SO SWEET😭‼️‼️‼️💖💖💖

Sorry it took me long to answer this! Life has been kinda busy lately. I've been preparing for uni and I'm in the process of applying to some now.

I'm doing pretty good today💕 one thing I'm glad to be relieved of is worrying abt getting encanto big bang stuff done. Thankfully the date was extended, yay!!! I'm really grateful because I want my work to be the best it can be x I'm so excited to see everyone else's finished pieces💗

The artwork question is such good idea!! So cute!!😭😭😭

Here's some art accounts I think all of you should check out! They're are primarily encanto fanart lolll... but check out the og blogs and look at their other stuff too x

With this list I'm trying to add ppl that I don't see talked abt that much, but really deserve the opposite💖

Let's get self promo out of the way first: here's some of my original character work, if you're interested: 💗 💕 💖 (I'm gonna be making a new pinned post soon, thats gonna catologe all my original work and fanart stuff, because I know original stuff gets lost in all the fan work.)

✨My OCs~~The Yvette-Verse✨

Yvette-Verse character lineup🌤

Yvette comic💫

My bestie isn't really active on tumblr, but you should all definitely check her out. She's got more stuff on her insta too:

Her tumblr▪︎@valentineee

Her insta▪︎Main- TrappedintheMorgue

Side- LazySlug

AS OF RN ALL THE ART HERE HAS UNDER 100 NOTES. PLS SHOW THEM LOVE, THEY DESERVE IT💗💗💗

YOU @lilrobinbird

Post link💕

It is insane that you don't have more eyes on you IT IS ACTUALLY CRIMINAL😤😤😤. your style is so intricate and painterly, it reminds me of old master's paintings. The way you draw features is so unique and cute, its so cool💕💖

@emi-g

Post link🐀

Look at this. The story, the detail, THE RATTIES

Their art is legitimately so gorgeous, sometimes, I can't believe it's traditional!

@azucareraart

Post link💫

Just... look at this art style, it literally always takes my breath away ITS BEAUTIFUL. So expressive and unique, I love it sm. They also have an encanto fanfiction too, it's set a few years in the future and is Mirabel x oc, I would never usually look for those stories on my own, since I'm not really into non canonical ships, but the art they made for it intrigued me and although I haven't read it in a while, from what I did read it was amazing. Really well written and descriptive!

@tortillafish

Post link🐁

Gender bent Bruno has my whole heart!! SHES SO KIN WORTHYYY😭 plus their style is so expressive and BEAUTIFUL💞💞💞

@kafeino (they don't want their art to be reposted, so I decided to just add the links x)

Antonio and his birdie😇 ▪︎ Camilo looking like a menace😈

They have a few encanto fanarts, all of them are so good and colourful! Like, look at the way they draw hands.... omg. But these ones are SEVERELY UNDERRATED. As of rn I think the Camilo one has 72 notes and the Antonio one has 47?? THATS AN INJUSTICE WTFFF????

@rats0ut

Post link🕯🕯

Post link🐉 this has 19 notes are you HAVING ME ON!!???

ALMA LORE!!! PLUS ANTONIO WITH ELDRITCH HORROR BEAST AND HES SO NONCHALANT ABT IT??? YESSSSSSSS. I really love their simple yet effective art style, it really inspires me to experiment with my style a bit 🥰🥰🥰

@fruit-goose (they don't want their art to be reposted, so I decided to just add the links x)

Queen Isabela🌸

This style... the colouring... the lines... no words, how does this only have 70 notes?!??😤😤😤😤😤😤😤

@camilleisdrawing

Post link💋👂

HOW THE HELL DOES THIS ONLY HAVE 20 NOTES???!!! WTFFF

The colours, the proportions, the expression, HER, I literally love it so much it makes my eyes happy. Op's style is so cool, I literally love it so much, so inspiring, makes me want to paint and experiment 🤩🤩💗💗💗

@summersofsalt (they don't want their art to be reposted, so I decided to just add the links x)

Pepa being badass🌩⛈

This style is just so cute, yet it can convey such strong, angry emotion. The colours and movement, PEPA’S EYES, it reminds me for some reason of lino printing. It's so cool!!

I really wish I could add more! This community is so talented and amazing💞 so feel free to add onto this post and @ some of your severely underrated faves💕💕

#encanto #encanto fanart #art appreciation #bruno madrigal #pepa madrigal #dolores madrigal #félix madrigal #isabela madrigal #antonio madrigal #family madrigal #underrated #ask game #fanart #💖💖💖💖

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dufrau · 1 year

Note

Babe you said you wanted comments and I love being a cheerleader so have a comment so thought through that I'm a little embarrassed (I literally took notes)

The loneliness that is getting invited to your mum's book club.

Nancy being heartbroken about not being invited 💔

Hard relate to thinking 'what is the most normal way to do something' in a social situation.

Also Nancy's allowed to be angry anyway but when you add wet socks? Unhinged feral rage justified.

If I was at that party I would absolutely have walked in on them because I'd be like, where snacks??? Except I probably would have followed in the first instance because the pretty girls went to get snacks so that's where I need to be and then they would never have banged so basically I'm glad I was not written in.

Giggling at the idea of Nancy smashing the peanut butter BC robin suggested it was an inappropriate snack.

'Her arms were pink up close, from the sun, and Nancy wanted to grab onto her biceps, her wrists, just grab them and let go and then watch her handprints fade away. Which was insane, of course. And which was par for the course, of course.'

Nancy angry at the fridge? fan art, someone, please.

Obsessed with Nancy checking out Robins legs like damn 😍 she has no musculature and she runs stupid, that's hot

Robin being like yeah the bowls are here where I'm blocking you from getting them and doing nothing to remedy that... her mind

Nancy not knowing what to say and just slut shaming robin 💯

'I need to get in there' 👀

'Robin swallowed and Nancy watched it happen. She couldn't feel it, the movement of her throat, from where her fingers were, and she was jealous of that too.' 🥴😩💓

The idea that in their blossoming relationship Robin will look at Nancy's facial expression and not be sure if she is about to commit a crime or fuck her silly 🤌🏻

'That she could have been the one to invite Robin over, that Robin almost definitely would have come if Nancy had only asked. Robin's hands were on her face and her breath was in Nancy's mouth and Nancy was standing between her legs surrounded by the heat of her, wondering if Robin would come now if she asked.' 😩😩😩

'Left to her own devices she wound up doing things like taking on the federal government to avenge her friend's death' happens to the best of us x

I think my favourite line is 'Nancy wanted to rub up against the sound of it.'

Favourite ronance canon trope is robin doing anything Nancy asks her (sexual)

Thank you for feeding us!!

Oh wow thank YOU for feeding ME. <3<3<3

I will address your concerns in list format! Under a cut because this is so long! Which I am not complaining about at all for the record this is making my day!

You know Karen's book club is awful, too. Straight romance novels every month and they just get drunk and complain about their husbands.

No but for real the loneliness of summer vacation when you are in-between friend groups? It's been 25 years but I remember this so vividly 😭 I did not fuck anybody in a kitchen about it though unfortunately.

I think Nancy is often kind of Performing Normalcy in the show and I think being profoundly lonely on top of that makes it very how-it-felt-to-socialize-when-covid-precautions-started-to-let-up. She's trying so hard!

Wet socks are the worst. Anger intensifies.

My excuse for nobody walking in was first of all just that its my story and i didnt want them to, but besides that im like, well nobody asked for snacks actually, and the boys are swimming in the pool and steve is working on his tan. And tbh they probably weren't even in there that long. Anyway they thank you for not interrupting them!

I almost had her pull down a can of Bush's Baked Beans instead of the peanut butter but it felt like very niche fanservice so I refrained.

The sunburn stuff was just there to add specificity and make it feel more tangible. I am trying to trick you into imagining what it feels like.

Nancy standing in front of the fridge mad about being short is so funny to me i can see it so clearly in my mind 😂 She's so mad already and now she's too short to reach the chips?? The disrespect.

I am a Robin-was-terrible-at-soccer-and-only-played-one-season-because-her-parents-forced-her truther. I am also a girls-with-soft-legs-are-cute truther.

Robin was 100% fucking with Nancy re: the bowls. I don't think she fully understood the *way* she was fucking with Nancy, but she definitely knew it was riling her up and she leaned into that on purpose just to see what would happen.

Nancy truly does know better than to slut shame anybody but she also does NOT know how to say "you look so good i want to scream" so uh RIP her principles this one time i guess.

The "I need to get in there" bit was just fun to write. I stand by it. I love that shit.

Throats are sexy. That is all I have to say about that.

I'm pretty sure Robin already has a pavlovian response to Nancy's Felony Face but yeah from here on out she's toast.

That line is probably a little over the top but nobody is probably reading angry kitchen smut for the subtlety so again I stand by it!

It's true though, whenever Nancy has nothing to do she MAKES something to do. Luckily for the federal government she now has something to do (Robin.)

Thank you! I also like that line a lot!

This is also my favorite trope for them 🙏

#bus-vibes #asks #spoilers i guess for that fic i posted yesterday #never be embarrassed for sending me comments like this they are my favorite thing in the world!

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midnightraine131 · 1 year

Note

Hi! For Aruani ask game :3

2, 5, 6, 11, 13, 14, 16

Thank you for the ask!!

Sorry for not getting this done sooner. My work schedule is really taking a toll on me but here it goes...

2. Share your favorite part of your first ever fic.

Whew! I just started writing fics again after 5 years, and Hiding in Plain Sight is my first ever Aruani fic. Such a shame for someone who has been shipping them since 2013.

With the house quiet once again, Annie dragged her feet around, turning off the lights in the living room and closing the windows in the kitchen. She remembered she had left her slippers in her bedroom that morning, so she took off her shoes. Her bare feet touched the cold tiled floor, while her heart carried a heavy load of guilt. It was a guilt that would haunt her until her last breath. If only she could escape from her past mistakes, she would have done so by now. How should she tell him? Would he avoid her? Would he curse at her? Would he leave her behind? As she ran these thoughts through her head, fear tightened its grip on her. She wasn't built for confession, and she wasn't strong enough to lose something she wasn't ready to lose. Or was "lose" even the right word? She didn't know. He wasn't even hers to begin with.

5. Write about Armin and Annie's first meeting! Could be in canon settings or other au.

I'm a sucker for AUs so I will give an Actor AU a shot.

Armin felt more and more anxious as he repeatedly went over the script. Today was the first day they would shoot the scene at Stohess district, and the director had told them on the first day that the confrontation was one of the most iconic scenes in the manga, so most Attack on Titan fans were looking forward to the episode. (Armin knew this because he had googled fan sites.) Although he had worked with almost half of the cast, he had never worked with Annie Leonhart. He had heard from his co-actor Eren that Annie was quite intimidating to work with. Fifteen minutes had passed after the call time, but Annie's team had not yet turned up on set. The production assistant asked the trio to return to their tents to retouch their makeup. Armin glanced at the empty chair beside him. He sighed and was about to go through his script one last time when Annie and her makeup artist tripped over something behind Armin's chair. Shocked, Armin hurriedly stood up to help them. As he bent down to hold Annie's arm to pull her up, Armin's mind failed to register what had just happened. He was sure it was adrenaline that was to blame. When he looked up, their noses were almost touching. He had never felt his face heat up so quickly. As soon as he was sure that she could stand up on her own, he let go of her arm. He could distinguish a tinge of pink on her cheek when she turned her back away from him. When the day was over and the crew started to wrap up, Annie purposefully walked past Armin's family van and handed him a bag of donuts and a large cup of boba tea. She muttered, "This is my apology for being late on set today." Armin thanked her and smiled. Annie fidgeted before she added, "Everyone got one, so don't think about it too much." She then dashed away from him. When he looked around, everyone had donuts, but not boba milk tea. She had given him an extra treat. Since then, he always approached her whenever they got to work together. He was glad that she had come back to set for season 4.

6. Tell us about your longest fic

Actually, I initially planned to do some practice writing because I felt like I was getting rusty after years of not writing anything at all. But for some reason, I fell in love with imagining Armin as a prosecutor, and so my practice writing has turned into a 9-chapter story that is still ongoing.

11. What annoys you the most about your own writing habits?

My mood honestly depends on the weather. Like, I can only write properly when it's raining or when I have to go to work very early in the morning. Another habit I want to get rid of is my drinking problem. If I don't drink, I can't come up with anything. I know it's bad for my health. I've been trying to keep my body healthy these past few weeks, and I'm hanging in there. I'm also having a hard time writing when I'm outside and all the ideas are pouring in on me.

13. Do you use symbolism when writing fics? Tell us about it.

I've been experimenting with my writing style lately. I just started to use symbolism in the title, and it's a bit of a giveaway. I'm not a deep person, but my characters are. LOL.

14. Tell us about a detail you wrote that nobody has commented on yet.

Now that I've gone through all the chapters again, I was quite surprised that nobody has commented on how bad my first chapter is. I was honestly considering rewriting or deleting the whole chapter.

16. Share a wip you're excited about.

This is a chapter from Hiding in Plain Sight that I wrote a month ago. It contains a glimpse of what they've become after four years, months after their relationship ended.

He held her hand, glancing at the diamond on her finger. "So you are engaged now." He examined every angle of the stone, gleaming rainbow lights reflecting in his eyes. "With Hoover?" "Armin." He swallowed, his voice breaking, "What does he have that I don't?" Annie noticed his eyes were dark and puffy from up close, as if the storm in his eyes had calmed down and left a wasteland. "Armin, you're too drunk." He gently placed her hand on his face as he closed his eyes. His hands, his face, he's as cold as if she had touched a glass frozen in winter. "I dreamed of you being beside me." "I was, Armin. We were happy. But you ended us." Annie felt warm liquid threatening to leak from the corners of her eyes. "Annie, it took me four damn years to make up my mind. It only took four damn minutes to shatter it all to pieces. And it only took you four damn months to wear someone's ring." This was the first time she had heard him curse, and it broke her. "Armin, please. I told you I wasn't ready when you..." Annie couldn't finish what she wanted to say as tears rolled down her face. "...when I was on my knees and asked you?" He continued, opening his eyes to see her face dampened with tears

#I saw everybodys answer on the first meeting and i thought I had done a little too extra on that lol #I dont want to edit anymore so yeah #aruani fanfic #aruannie #aruani #aruani ask game #ask game #aruani fic #armin arlert #arminarlert #arminarlelt #annieleonhart #annieleonhardt #annie leonhart #armin x annie #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #annie leonhardt #armin arlelt

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wkemeup · 4 years

Text

Eclipse

summary: When a mission leaves you empty and broken, Bucky is determined to heal the wounds that linger deeper than the cuts on the surface. pairing: bucky x reader word count: 8.4k warnings: canon level violence, hurt!reader, PTSD, dissociative episode, nightmares, a rapid switch from sweet/fluffy to pain, angst with a happy ending

An eclipse finds its home in the darkness Thriving as it suffocates the sun and shadows her light In its passage she lays in wait Waiting— for the moon to give way and grant her morning

Bucky thinks he’s found heaven when he lays with you under the cover of thin, linen sheets; the soft, white of the fabric touching over curves and edges of exposed bodies, peaks and dips, like snowcaps nestled upon the crest of mountaintops. Lying flushed with heat, hearts beating a little faster, breaths a little labored, Bucky reaches out and traces the lines of your face.

The tip of his finger brushes over your nose, slips down along your jaw, touches the sun kissed stream of light against your cheek as it seeps in through the sheet thrown over your heads. You giggle as he pulls you in for a kiss, chaste and sweet, his hand curling into the hairs at the nape of your neck and he tugs you closer. It’s the most beautiful sound in the world, the way you laugh to his lips, muffled in his kiss but still uncontained.

Hidden under sheets, shared breaths between you in your own little world, Bucky decides he will be content if he stays here forever.

“I won’t be gone long, you know,” you tell him as you press lightly on his chest, just enough to get draw his attention away from the trail of kisses along your cheekbone and down your jawline. He pouts playfully at you, but you soothe your hand along his shoulder, recognizing the shift in energy as his eyes flicker a shade of hesitancy. “I’ll can handle myself.”

“It’s not that,” he replies quietly, voice soft, barely a whisper, as his smile begins to fall. It’s subtle, but you notice.

“Then what?”

Bucky shrugs, swallowing back the anxiety that begins to pool deep into his stomach every time you leave on assignment. But he pushes out a smile, one you do not question, and he leans in to kiss the button of your nose.

“I’ll just miss you, is all.”

You grin and it lights up wide across your face. The cast of sunshine behind you as it filters in through the sheets tossed over your body drapes down like a halo, an illumination of an angel, and Bucky commits the image to memory. Stored to a safe place in the back of his mind for the dark nights alone in this room. He’ll find you those moments, even when you’re miles away.

“You’re a sap, Bucky Barnes,” you laugh, ruffling his hair as you toss the sheet up from over your faces and take in a deep breath of fresh air. It’s brighter in the room than you realized and you squint your eyes, tucking your face to the crook of Bucky’s neck to shield yourself from the sun.

“Only for you, sweetheart.” He tries to ignore the bright red flicker of the clock beside you as he crawls out from under the safety of the bedsheets, the fantasy fractured by the reminder of your impending assignment; four weeks in a classified location, entirely on your own.

A smile presses tight to his lips as you steal a glance back at him full of bright eyes and sunshine.

He does his best to swallow the anxiety though it churns like blades through his stomach.

***

Bucky paces back and forth in his room, stealing looks at his phone as it sits face up on the bedside table. He taps the screen every few seconds, as soon as it dares to fade to black, so he can see your face again; the picture of you laughing behind an ice cream bar melting down your hand. A shimmering red bow and mouse ears on the top of your head from your trip to Disney last spring. He can still smell the melted vanilla and hardened chocolate when he looks at it and he tries hard to focus on the memory, but he knows it’s an excuse to make sure he doesn’t miss your call.

Tap.

Still nothing.

You’ve been gone over a week now and though he does his best to busy himself with time spent sparring with Sam in the gym, running out along the lake behind the compound, cleaning the kitchen until the stench of bleach burns up to the floor above him, you’re still at the forefront of his mind.

He knows you’re safe. He knows that you can protect yourself and that you were capable of solo missions long before Bucky came crash-landing into your life, but it doesn’t stop him from worrying. It doesn’t stop the incessant twitching in his hands as he curls them to fists, doesn’t stop the frantic pacing and the wear he drives into the carpet, doesn’t stop the panic that skips the beat of his heart when it’s two minutes past check-in and you haven’t called.

“Stop it,” he grumbles to himself, “she’s fine. Stop worrying. She’s fine.”

Another glance back at the phone. Tap-tap on the screen until it lights up with your smile. Nothing.

Three minutes past check-in.

He has half a mind to track down Fury himself when suddenly, the phone rings.

A ringtone you’d changed early in your relationship - a synthetic, almost electric, instrumental of Can’t Take My Eyes Off You right when the music starts to pick up and the trumpets are blaring and it throws him straight into overdrive.

Bucky lunges it at, hands fumbling for the phone but it falls to the floor in his hurry. He hits his shoulder against the edge of the nightstand with a loud thump and collapses down to the carpet as the phone bounces down under the bed.

“God-fuckin’-- ugh!”

He grips tight to the phone by the chime of ‘I love you, baby!’ and quickly brings it to his ear. He’s out of breath but he stills himself, takes a moment before he says anything and he hopes his voice is calmer than the rush in his chest.

“Hi.”

You snicker on the other end of the line and he knows in an instant he’s been busted. “Thought I told you not to wait by the phone, Buck.”

“I wasn’t.” A full faced lie. He grimaces as it comes out.

“Sure, you weren’t,” you drawl, a laugh tucked sweetly into the hum of your voice.

Bucky can hear floorboards squeaking faintly through the speaker between your breaths. Old wood, the whistle of the wind in the distance; a motel built in the early sixties with poor insulation and cracking foundations. He wonders where you are or if the image of you pacing amongst faded shades of burnt orange and green curtains, of once brightly colored comforters and pealing wallpaper only exists in his imagination.

“You okay?” he asks first because he needs the confirmation. Despite hearing the even tones in your breath, the sweet laughter in your voice, he needs to hear you say it.

“Always am, honey,” you respond lightly and Bucky lets himself take in a deep breath before you add, “I miss you though. It’s awfully cold here and I could really use a super soldier to keep me warm.”

It makes him smile; the first one that pushes up into his cheeks without force since you left. God, he misses you.

“Don’t go calling Steve now, okay?” he teases, the anxiety draining from his body in gentle waves, cast out by the flow of ocean water through his bloodstream in the sound of your voice and the image of your smile as you tug your lower lip between your teeth.

“Never. I prefer my men one-armed and dangerous.”

Bucky laughs as he sinks down further onto the floor, the carpet rubbing against his tailbone though he doesn’t mind. He’s grinning, listening to the sound of your voice as you tell him about how much you’re craving popcorn and chocolate chip movie nights and he feels like you’re sitting right next to him. He can see the creases in your smile, the lines by your eyes, the faint markings of old scars on your skin. He hears your voice and it reminds him of home.

“It’s beautiful here, Buck,” you sigh and he wonders if you’re staring out a window to mountains or ocean or tundra. “I wish you could see it.”

“Where is ‘here’ again?”

You giggle and—God—it's the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard, even crackled and broken through the speakers of an old satellite phone miles away. “Nice try, baby.”

The timer on his watch starts to ding and his heart clenches.

“Time’s up, huh?” you whine playfully, but he can hear the disappointment in your voice. It’s never long enough, these three minutes that Steve allows for you, but he’ll take seconds if he can get them. Just long enough to calm his nerves, to give you the motivation to keep going on your own, without the possibility of the call being traced.

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs, clenching at his hand. He brushes closed knuckles against his forehead, presses deep into his temples because he can already feel the pit in his stomach forming again. “Stay safe, alright? Come home to me.”

He pictures your smile, the soft edges and the curve of your lips.

“Always do, don’t I?”

You do. He knows this.

But his mind is cruel and it wonders when the day will come when you won’t.

***

“I’ll raise a Kit-Kat,” Bucky concedes nearly two weeks later with a tired huff, tossing a chocolate bar to the center of the table to accompany a handful of M&M’s and mini-Twix. It knocks over Natasha’s carefully constructed tower of Milkyways and she shoots him a warning glare.

To his right, Sam snickers under his breath, a laugh too confident for a man with a dwindling stash of chocolate in front of him to the mountain sitting beside Natasha. He hides his face behind the fan of cards, but Bucky can still see the crease in his brow, the pinch of lines together at the center that tell him Sam is bluffing. Natasha is as stone cold as he would expect and he has no interest in challenging her resolve, so he decides to weed out Wilson first.

“When’s your girl getting back, Barnes? Think you might need her around to console you after I obliterate your snack drawer,” Sam taunts, changing the subject abruptly. Another tell of his.

“End of the week, I think,” Bucky replies with a shrug, playing it off casually because he knows Sam is trying to throw him off his game.

“As if you aren't counting down the seconds.” Natasha scoffs, a smirk pushing at pursed lips.

“You're an absolute goner for her, you know that don’t you?” Sam says as he pushes a few more M&M’s to the center. Brightly colored pile at the center and he plops one from his own stash into his mouth.

Bucky, meanwhile, chews on the inside of his cheek, avoiding Sam’s wandering eyes because he knows it’s true. You’ve only been together a little under a year, but he’s spent twice that loving you from a careful distance, just out of fingertip’s reach until he’d come back from a mission with one too many bullet wounds in his body and he couldn’t take the tension between you anymore.

He could still picture the smile on your face as he told you, the way your eyes lit up and you jumped into his arms; IV drips and wires to machines and all. The press of warm lips to his cheek, his temples, his nose, his mouth. Sun streaming in through the window and casting a halo behind your hair.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Atta boy.” Sam nudges Bucky’s arm, grinning wildly.

They turn to Natasha as she nods in approval before setting her cards down on the table with the kind of look in her eyes that tells Bucky the game was over before it even began. Royal Flush.

“Not again!” Sam whines, slumping down into his chair.

“It’s starting to feel cruel playing with the two of you.” Natasha reaches into the center and gathers the mountain of chocolate to drag it towards her towering pile. She starts to unravel a mini-Twix, keeping a taunting eye on Sam as he glares back at her. The chocolate passes behind parted lips and she bites down with a contented hum.

Sam rolls his eyes. “You owe us drinks, ma’am.” He gestures to his empty glass.

Natasha smirks, conceding easily as she stands to grab their glasses. She turns to Bucky. “You want a refill, Barnes?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”

As Natasha makes her way back to the kitchen, Sam sneaks a few M&M’s from her pile and quickly plops them into his mouth with a cautious glance over his shoulder. Bucky begins to shuffle the cards and he can feel the burn of Sam’s stare even before he opens his mouth.

“What do you want, Wilson?”

“When’s Y/n coming back? For real.”

Bucky glances up. Sam’s arms are stretched out along the backs of the empty chairs beside him. He’s relaxed into his position, chewing on the stolen chocolates as he raises an eyebrow.

“End of the week... like I said.”

Sam leans in closer. “That a question?”

“No,” Bucky retorts shortly, though Sam clearly isn’t buying it. He exhales a tense breath as he bridges the deck. “She’s supposed to call tonight. Longest stretch without a checkpoint since she left.”

Sam nods. “What about the three minute calls?”

“Last one was four days ago. Same day she checked in with Fury.”

“You worried?”

Bucky slices the deck. Shuffles it for the fifth time. Bridge. Repeat. “Course not. I’m sure she’s fine. I’m not worried at all.”

“You sure?” Sam chuckles, leaning back into his chair with another quick grab of a few stray green M&M’s.

“Fuck off, Wilson.”

That gets Sam laughing. He reaches across the table and snatches the cards out of Bucky’s hands before he can shuffle for a seventh time. He flashes Bucky a smile, dimples into his cheeks and all.

“I’m dealing this round.”

Bucky nods, letting the tension slip easily from his muscles. He pushes out a smile. “Yeah, okay.”

But then, a glass shatters behind him and Bucky jolts up to his feet.

“Nat? Are you--”

He freezes in an instant, tension burning through him like marble; the full force of a train straight to his chest and knocking the wind from his body, fracturing the stone to pieces around him.

Natasha stands just a few paces ahead of him, her hands clasped at her mouth in an array of shock and horror, glass shattered at her feet. Ice along wooden floors and the smell of vodka burning into the air.

Bucky almost doesn’t recognize you. There’s a slump in your shoulders, a far off look in your eye like you can’t quite focus on what’s in front of you, and a knife in your hand that won’t stop shaking.

But that’s not the worst of it.

You’re covered in blood. Deep red seeping into your hair, sticking thick and wet to your face and down your neck; trails of it along your cheeks like raindrops against a windowpane. It soaks into what remains of your suit, ripped and torn, exposed skin stained with grim and dirt. You look like something out of a horror movie.

“Oh God,” Sam mutters out, pulling Bucky from his trance.

He wants to sprint, wants to scream for help and sound every alarm he can find, but instead, Bucky only manages broken exhale as he slowly walks towards you. He moves with cautious steps, a hand out towards you defensively, like he’s approaching a frightened animal. It’s what you used to do when the line between him and the Soldier blurred, how you’d seek him out amongst the trauma and distortion and bring him back home.

“Y/n?” he calls gently and finds his voice rough in his throat.

You don’t respond, don’t even look at him as he stands within a foot of your reach. Nat and Sam are close behind, but they hold their distance.

“Sweetheart, what happened?” Bucky asks as evenly as he can manage, eyes glancing down over your body in search of injuries. There’s too much blood and he doesn’t know how much of it is your own. He wants to tug you into his arms, tell you that he’s got you, that you’re safe now, but for the first time since Shuri removed the triggers from his head, he’s afraid to touch you.

Your lips part, a few short blinks of your lashes, and you mumble out, “I came to find you.”

Your voice doesn’t sound like your own. It’s too flat, too void of emotion, and it rips Bucky right to his core. It’s a defense mechanism, he knows that. You’re still in there somewhere, he just needs to get you through this first.

“That’s good, sweetheart,” he tells you, trying his luck as he sets a hand on your back. You don’t flinch, but you don’t lean into him either. He shares a worried glance with Sam and Natasha before he turns back to you, pushing out a smile. “You did good.”

“How did she get all the way here from the Hanger without anyone stopping her?” Sam questions, eyes trailing over the mess of blood in your wake, footprints following you from the staircase by the elevator.

“She’s covered in blood and God knows what else,” Natasha whispers back. “They were probably afraid of what might happen if they did.”

Bucky can’t tear his eyes away from you, vision tunneling on the mess of blood rooted in your hair and the stains of red on your face, your chest, your hands. Natasha and Sam’s voices become muffled beside him as he slides his hand down your back and gently lays it over your grip, still shaking as you hold onto the heel of the knife as if your fist had molded to stone around it. The tremors stop as he holds your hand.

“It’s okay, honey,” he whispers, impossibly soft that not even Nat or Sam hear him, “I need you to give me the knife, alright? You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

It takes a moment, but your grip on the knife slacks. It falls to Bucky’s palm and he gently guides it out of your reach and hands it over to Natasha. He doesn’t know what happened, but he knows what you’ve done for him when the Soldier has taken over his mind, when he didn’t feel like himself and needed reminded who he was, where the ground was solid under his feet.

He knows what he needs to do.

“Nat,” he starts, but she’s already a step ahead of him.

“I’ll go find Steve,” she says, like she can read his mind. “I’ll tell him what happened, see what he knows about her assignment that would have led to this.”

Bucky swallows back the bile in his throat and he nods. “Sam--”

“I’ll sweep the jet, see what I can find,” Sam replies quickly. He sets a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, gives it a slight squeeze, and pushed out a tight-lipped smile. He was your friend long before he was Bucky's. The determination reads in his eyes.

"Thank you,” Bucky whispers.

Sam and Natasha disappear down the hallway and then, Bucky is left alone with you. He’s suddenly made aware of how harsh your breathing sounds, like you’re gasping in air through a straw. You stare beyond his shoulders, though he can tell you’re not looking at anything at all. You’re existing. It’s all your mind can cope with.

“Love?” Bucky calls, willing his voice stronger than it is. “Can you come with me?”

You don’t respond. Bucky clenches his jaw and tries again.

“I’m going to take you to our room, alright?”

He thinks it’s better not to present you with choices. It never worked well with him when he got this like; too much stimulation. He knows you’ll resist him if you need to. He slips his hand along your back to guide you towards the bedroom and you take a step as he does.

You’re limping, he notices, as you cross the threshold into the bedroom. He tries to push his mind away from what caused such an injury, what could have possibly happened to result in the amount of blood drenched over you.

That’s Sam and Natasha’s job. Bucky’s only concern is you right now, in this moment, bringing you home, making you feel safe. He guides you to the bathroom.

“I’m going to start the water, okay?” Bucky tells you. You used to do the same for him, telling him what you were doing step by step in an effort to orient him. It grounded him back to his reality, brought him down from the plane of existence above his own head.

The room starts to fill with steam, enough to fog the mirrors, and Bucky tugs his shirt over his head. He removes his sweatpants, but he resolves to leave his boxers on.

“Sweetheart?”

You look in his direction and Bucky can’t help the wash of relief as it floods through him. You don’t smile and it’s almost as if you’re looking straight through him, but it’s something. Progress.

He extends a hand to you, waiting patiently. Though you do not take it, you step a take closer to him, then past him as you walk into the shower fully clothed in your tattered suit. Bucky steps in behind and closes the glass door.

There’s enough room inside that he can stand comfortably behind you as you approach the stream of water. You stare at it for a moment before you reach out and let the water fall over your hand. You watch as the water around the drain begins to turn a dark red.

“I’m going to wash this off. Is that okay, honey?” Bucky reaches steadily for the loofa behind you, though he pauses as he feels the texture of the sponge: exfoliating mesh. It’ll be too much for you in this state. He resolves for the body wash squeezed into his empty palm.

“You let me know if you need a break.”

Still, there’s no response.

Bucky pushes back the burning lump in his throat and gingerly reaches towards you. He places a soap lathered palm against your shoulder and finds your muscles so tense they could have been made of steel or the vibranium seared into his own arm. You stare at his chest as if you could see through to his heart, maybe beyond that to the shower wall behind him, as he begins to peel the dried blood and grim from your skin.

The water at his feet becomes muddied and red, the water slipping down your legs tainted by the aftermath of violence laid upon your body. He’s careful to only use his flesh hand as he washes you, something softer and kinder than the harsh touch of metal.

You start to relax the more he works, your rigid stance easing as the blood cleans from your body. Your suit is still plastered to your skin, ripped and torn and cut open, and Bucky knows he needs to get this off of you. There’s blood behind the fabric, seeped behind the open slashes.

He thinks of the softest clothes he has to dress you in when you’re clean and dry, something too big for your frame that smelled of fresh laundry or maybe the sweatshirt draped over the chair – the one you liked to wear when he was out on missions because it smelled like him. He just wants you to feel safe, to feel warm and protected.

But he needs to get you out of this suit first.

He reaches for the zipper at your chest and the next thing he knows, he’s pressed up against the shower wall, his head pulsing at the impact as you grip tight to his wrist. You’re panting, eyes unfocused at the center of his chest.

He lets you hold him there. He doesn’t try to resist though he knows with his strength he could easily overpower you.

“Sweetheart, it’s me. It’s Bucky,” he tries, his voice soft against the fall of water behind you. “I’m not going to hurt you, love.”

You don’t move, but your breaths start to come in a little more even. Your grip falters on his wrist though you don’t let go. His heart feels like it’s shattering inside his chest, stray shards embedding themselves into his stomach, his ribs, his lungs.

“Honey, look at me,” he pleads. “You’re safe now. You’re home. Let me take care of you.”

It takes a moment, but your eyes begin to trail up his collarbone, hesitant sweeps along his neck, his jaw, and then – his eyes. The hard resolve upon your features begins to crumble. Your lip quivers, your hand gripped tight around his wrist slacking in the tremors, tears burn into your eyes and Bucky doesn’t waste a moment before he gathers you into his arms, presses you tight to his chest and encases you against him.

It's like something finally clicks, a floodgate burst open, because you’re clutching onto him like a lifeline. He can feel the sob as it travels up your spine and shakes your body as you cry. He’s grateful for the mist of the shower that hide his own tears as he rubs gentle circles along your back, easing you the best he can. It’s torture seeing you like this and feeling so powerless to help.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there with you, but eventually, you stop crying. The exhaustion begins to take hold and your legs begin to shake under you, too weak to hold yourself up.

“I’m going to take your suit off, okay? You’ll be more comfortable without it,” Bucky says, gesturing to the zipper. You follow his gaze in understanding and then, you nod.

The suit already clings tight to your skin without the added pressure of the sticky residue of blood drenched into the fabric and the soak of water from the shower. He slides the zipper down to your navel and slowly peels what's left of the sleeves off your shoulders.

There’s cuts and slashes underneath, wounds where blades had cut through your suit and nicked your skin. They’re superficial, better than they could have been if not for the suit taking the brunt of the attack, but they’re still painful to look at.

Bucky helps you step out of the suit and he leaves it in the corner of the shower. He glances at your underwear and you slide it down your hips without question.

“Can I wash your hair, honey? Please?”

You nod and Bucky works quickly. You’re starting to shiver as the water loses its heat, so you stand a little closer to him, seeking out his warmth. It removes just an ounce of the boulder sitting upon his chest.

When he’s finished, the water at the drain is clear again. The fresh scars upon your body and the distant look in your eye the only evidence remaining of what happened.

Bucky reaches around you to turn off the water. He pulls a towel from the rack and begins to gently pat it over your skin until you’re dry. Then, he scrunches out as much of the water as he can from your hair, before he leaves the towel resting on your shoulders to soak up the rest.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells you as he finished drying himself off. “I’m going to go grab some clothes for you.”

He doesn’t even make it a step out of the bathroom before your hand is on his wrist again. He stills, looking back at you. Your eyes fall to the floor.

Bucky swallows back the burn in his throat as he nods. “Okay. Okay, honey. Can you come with me?”

You nod.

By the time you’re dressed in a fresh pair of his boxers and the t-shirt he slept in the previous night, you can hardly keep your eyes open. He wonders how long it’s been since you slept, if maybe it was since the evening he spoke to you four days prior. You sway on your feet as Bucky guides you to the bed.

He lays you down, pulls the covers up to your chest and quickly rushes around to the other side of the bed to crawl in beside you. You come into his arms, curling up against his chest, and Bucky tries to pretend for a moment that this is just another night, that you just returned from a successful mission and there’s a relief in holding you again.

But he can’t shake the crippling dread as it burns into his skin. Even as your breaths fall even and you slack into his arms, Bucky stares up at the ceiling, eyes brimming with tears. He doesn’t sleep at all.

***

A few hours later, the soft tap of a knock draws Bucky from his trance. He blinks a few times, realizing how long he’d been staring up at the ceiling before he lifts his head and finds Steve peering in through the doorway. There’s a solemn look on his face as his eyes flicker towards you.

Bucky gently slides out from under you, careful to place a pillow under your arm where you’d been laying upon his chest as not to wake you. The bed rises a little as he stands and he takes a moment to brush the hair from your eyes before he makes his way to the door. When he meets Steve in the hallway, he’s careful to leave the door to the bedroom open a crack, just in case.

“What did you find?” Bucky asks.

Steve sinks down onto the couch. A hand brushes over his face.

“That bad?” Bucky can already feel the nausea beginning to take hold.

“We recovered footage from her last know whereabouts – the safe house in Juno,” Steve says. He leans forward to rest his elbows upon his thighs, staring out into the empty space of the kitchen. He sighs. “She was ambushed, Buck. The feed cut out a few minutes into the fight.”

“Who were they?” Bucky chokes out. His throat is made of sandpaper.

“We don’t know,” Steve admits, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Mercenaries, probably. Could have been hired in retaliation against SHEILD. Her mission was to identify the point of contact for an illegal arms distributor that was shipping assault rifles into Canada and carrying them over the border. She wasn’t supposed to see any action, Bucky. It was a surveillance op.”

Bucky doesn’t realize how tight his hands are clenched until he looks down to find puncture marks in the palm of his right hand from where his nails buried into his skin. He thinks of the woman who left him behind that morning, with sun kissed skin and a smile so sweet it made his heart melt, who has barely spoken in the hours since returning home, who’s bright eyes have dimmed into something empty and lost.

He’s missing something, he’s sure of it. Maybe if he could just see the footage for himself, identify the bad guys, track them down... maybe he’ll be able to fix this. He could bring you back, make you smile again. Killing those men who hurt you will be a small consolation prize for his efforts.

Bucky is determined as he stands. “I want to see it.”

“Absolutely not,” Steve shoots back. Bucky doesn’t even need to clarify before Steve puts an end to it. “What purpose will that serve, Buck? You don’t need to see the tape, okay? Just trust me on this. I’ve got everyone we have analyzing that video frame by frame. If there’s anything on it to lead us to those assholes, we’ll find it.”

“I have to do something, Steve. I can’t just sit here. Not with her like that...” Bucky glances back at the door to the bedroom. He can’t muster the energy to conjure the image of you standing before him drenched in blood that was not your own, a vacant look in your eyes as if you could see straight through him.

“She needs you here,” Steve argues, rising to his feet. “What do you think will happen when she wakes up and I’ve gotta tell her you’ve run off on some vengeance mission? That you’ve left her alone to face this by herself?”

“That’s not what I’m doing—”

“Yes, it is!” Steve clenches his jaw as his voice echoes into the hall. It’s quiet for a moment and they listen for the bed to squeak, for any sign that you’re awake, but they’re only met with silence, Steve relaxes again. He takes a step forward and places his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. It startles him for a moment, but he can feel the tension as it melts in his muscles. “Just be here for her, man. When there’s something to know, I’ll tell you.”

Bucky keeps his stare on the thin crack in the door, the moonlight peering in from the window and seeping out into the hallway. He listens for the even breaths as you sleep soundly for the first time in days and he knows Steve is right. He doesn’t know if he could leave you like this even if Steve handed him the direct files of every man who laid a hand on you.

“I should get back to her,” Bucky resolves, offering Steve as much of a grateful smile as he can manage. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but Steve understands.

***

It takes days before Bucky can get you to leave the bedroom. He’s only been able to get a few words out of you here and there, short answers to direct questions, and you can’t hold his eye for very long, but he takes it as improvement.

It’s the small steps.

He remembers you saying that when he was at his worst, when he could barely get himself out of bed, when he could hardly touch you without fear of breaking you in half, when the guilt tore and ate through him unchallenged.

So, every time you lift you head when he speaks, when you glance in his direction, when you nod in answer of a question, when you curl against his side and seek out his warmth – it matters. It’s more than what you were able to do the day before and that has meaning.

When you finally do venture out into the living room, Bucky is sure to keep a hand on you at all times. Whether it’s wrapped up tightly in your own, pressed gently to the small of your back, resting against your thigh, over your shoulders – it helps to ground you, remind you that he’s there. You start to drift off into yourself otherwise.

Meanwhile, everyone else is walking on eggshells around you.

Tony turns out of the room before he can even step foot into the kitchen when he sees the back of your head over the couch. Peter is constantly shoveling food into his mouth to keep from his usual rambling one-sided conversations. Steve is deceptively quiet, constantly glancing in your direction as if he’s just waiting for something to set you off. Even Natasha keeps her distance, which surprises him. She stays in the room but she keeps to the corners, observing, like Steve.

Sam, on the other hand, was never one for subtleties.

“Hey kiddo!” Sam throws himself onto the couch beside you, bowl of popcorn in his hand as it jumps up into the air before landing back safely in the bowl.

You flinch at the sudden intrusion next you and Bucky all but stares daggers into Sam for startling you. Bucky was trying to keep your environment as calm as possible as not to set you off into one of those dissociative states again. It could take hours just to get you to acknowledge his voice after that and Bucky can only take that so many times before he’ll simply crumble.

“You know what I’ve been dying to watch?” Sam says aloud, as if someone is listening to him. He shovels a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Raiders of the Lost Ark.”

“Sam, no.” Bucky warns as he pulls you closer to his side. That movie has far too much violence, even for an eighties film. He doesn’t know how you’ll react to it.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Sam shoots back. He settles into the couch beside you, grinning as he turns in your direction. “Come on, Y/n. It’s been ages since we’ve watched Indie. I know the first is your favorite anyway.”

Bucky is all but ready to clock Sam ten ways to Sunday when you mutter out a quiet, “okay” and Bucky stills completely. It's the first time you’ve even acknowledged anyone besides Bucky since you came home. He stares at Sam with wide eyes, but Sam doesn’t seem to be surprised at all.

Instead, Sam simply sinks into the cushions, turns on the movie he must have already lined up in the queue, and leans the bowl of popcorn in your direction.

Indiana Jones starts his first trek into the cave in search of the Golden Idol and you reach your hand into the bowl. A few bites of popcorn within the first minutes of the movie and it’s more than Bucky has been able to get you to eat without coercion in days. A whisper of a smile crosses your face as Sam almost chokes on the handful he shoved into his mouth.

Sam Wilson might be a massive pain in Bucky’s ass, but he’s a damn good friend. He’s the only one who hasn’t treated you like you’ve lost your mind. He gives you a sense of normalcy when the floor has been pulled out from under you.

For that, Bucky owes him everything.

***

Bucky finds out a week later that there are no bad guys to track down, no one to enact vengeance on for the trauma they’d put you through. There is a reason you came home covered in blood and grime with barely more than a few superficial scratches on your body.

You’d killed them all.

“Are you sure?” Bucky asks Steve, hands planted firmly on the conference table. The night sky is littered in cloud covered stars beyond the windows, crickets chirping in the distance. Bucky stares down at the mug shots of a dozen men now presumed dead.

“We’re sure.” Steve slowly reaches out to gather the images, sliding them back into the file and out of sight. “We’re still working on who sent them but it was probably the arms dealer she was sent to identify. Fury’s sending out a team in the morning to bring him in.”

“That’s... that’s good.” Bucky doesn’t have the strength for revenge anymore. He’s grown tired of carrying it in his chest, on his shoulders, weighing him down as if sinking him to the trenches of an ocean.

“How’s she doing?” Steve asks, gesturing towards the doorway as they begin to walk back to the elevator.

“Better,” Bucky replies honestly.

He’s even seen you crack a smile a few times watching movies with Sam in the living room, maybe even heard a breath of laughter when Sam dropped an entire bowl of popcorn and threw a fit about it.

You’re talking to Bucky more, asking questions, starting brief conversations outside of the necessary ‘yes’ and ‘no’s, humming to yourself as you shower with Bucky standing just a few feet away. It’s something. Small steps.

“She’s strong, Buck. She’ll get through this.”

Bucky takes a deep breath as the elevator doors chime open. He presses the button for his floor. “I know. I just hate seeing her like this in the meantime.” The elevator reaches his floor and he waits as the doors begin to part. “Thanks, Steve. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Steve nods. “You got it, brother.”

Bucky makes his way down the hall from where he’d left you just a few hours earlier. You’d insisted that you’d be alright on your own while he met with Steve. Sam is still sitting on the couch watching Netflix just a few feet outside the bedroom, leaving a blanket of security in Bucky’s absence. He can hear Sam singing along to the theme song as he passes by.

There’s a ghost of a smile on his face as he approaches the living room, but a sudden, gut wrenching scream stills him in his tracks.

Sam jumps up from the couch, popcorn spilling to the carpet and Bucky stares back at the cracked door to the bedroom with wide eyes. He exchanges a glance with Sam and as another scream echoes out into the hall in a broken cry, the two of them rush into the room.

Bucky shoulders his way through the door, breaking the hinges on the top of the frame as he stumbles his way inside. You’re lying on your stomach, arms clutched under the pillow, sweat dampened sheets kicked off down by your feet. You’re whimpering, tear tracks into the pillowcase and your whole body is trembling.

“Y/n?” Bucky calls as gently as he can, his voice breaking in the effort. He moves closer to the bed, his hand hovering over your shoulder, almost afraid to touch you. “Sweetheart, wake up.”

You cry out again, face contorting in pain as you press your face into the pillow.

“I should get Cho,” Sam says behind him, starting to inch towards the door, but Bucky barely hears him as he runs into the hallway.

“Come on, honey,” Bucky tries again. He sinks down to his knees beside the bed. His heart is stammering in his chest. It’s pounding so loudly he’s sure the whole compound can hear it. He feels the tears burn in his eyes as you start to sob. “You’re safe. You’re alright, love. I’m here with you. I’m here, baby.”

Bucky lets his hand ghost over your shoulder and he barely has a chance to react before you jolt upright and there’s a sudden, stinging sensation across his chest. Your eyes are wide, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. It takes a minute before Bucky sees the hilt of the knife gripped tight in your fist.

“Bucky?” you gasp. “What are you—Oh my God...”

The knife drops from your hold as your hands clasp against your mouth. It falls at Bucky’s knees. You’re trying to stifle a sob as it threatens to consume you whole and Bucky tries to reach out for you, but you scramble away from him, fearful eyes staring below his collarbone.

Slowly, Bucky follows your gaze to his chest. There he finds that his shirt is torn in a long, pristine cut. Blood begins to soak into the light grey of the fabric from the open wound underneath. The knife you’d held in your hand bares his blood upon the blade.

“What have I done?!” you cry, shaking your head as you scurry off of the bed and into the corner of the room. You sink to the floor and Bucky shakes himself of his stupor to rush towards you.

“I’m alright,” he tries to reassure you, though he knows it’s no use. “Baby, I’m fine. It’s nothing. It’ll heal in a few hours. I’m okay.”

“Oh God, Oh God! No... I didn’t-- I didn’t mean to--” Your words are barely distinguishable, slurring together in your slobs, and you can barely catch your breath. You shake your head, fresh tears streaming on your cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m-- I’m so s-sorry. I didn’t-- I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” Bucky coos. He can feel the itch of a tear as it passes his jawline. “Honey, I need you to breathe for me. Please, let me hold you. I’m okay. You didn’t hurt me.”

But your eyes are glued to the open sliver of his t-shirt, the blood as it soaks into the cotton, and the slash underneath. It only makes you cry more. Its uncontrollable, like you might pass out if you can’t allow yourself to take in enough air, and Bucky feels like he’s reaching out into a fucking void because there’s nothing he can do for you.

“Sergeant Barnes,” a stern voice calls suddenly from behind him. Helen Cho stands in the doorway with Sam just beyond her shoulder. She steps into the room, uncapping a syringe. “Hold her down.”

You’re in hysterics as Bucky pulls you into his arms. You don’t resist as you fall against his chest, but he can feel the unease with which you sit in your own body, like your skin is crawling and you’re caged inside of yourself. He knows the feeling well.

You barely notice as the needle punctures your neck, heavy head falling to rest against Bucky’s shoulder. He eases his left hand down your spine, hoping the chill of the metal will help soothe you as your breaths become more even and the sobs fall weak and far between.

“I’ve got you, honey,” he whispers. You start to close your eyes, giving into the sedative. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Just rest, love. I’ve got you.”

No one relaxes until it’s clear you’re out cold. Sam lets out a heavy sigh from the doorway, slumping into the arch. Helen sinks onto the floor beside Bucky, tossing the syringe into the disposal bag before she rubs a tired hand over her face.

Bucky feels like he can hardly breathe. He waits until Helen and Sam retire to their own rooms before he allows the lump in his throat to consume him whole, before the tears on his face mirror the watermarked stains on his shirt. He doesn’t move from the floor until sunrise, unwilling to disturb your sleep.

***

“I don’t know why you haven’t left me yet.”

The words pass your lips and they puncture straight through Bucky’s chest - like a knife embedded through his skin, nicking over bone and tearing through flesh. He feels sick, a wave of nausea crashing through him as he turns to look at you.

Your eyes are swollen red, lips chewed raw. It only takes a flicker of your gaze to the long faded pink scar across his chest to know what’s on your mind.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Bucky says firmly.

You shake your head, unconvinced. “I could have killed you.”

“Don’t you go underestimating me, now,” Bucky teases, lighting his voice despite the burning ache he feels in his chest. He smiles at you but you can hardly meet his eye.

Your legs are swung over the bedside, hands wringing in your lap, reddening the skin. Your breaths are shaken, lower lip trembling, and he knows you’re trying to hold back tears. He can practically feel the lump building in your throat, suffocating you.

He sighs, sinking down to his knees in front of you. His hands reach out for your own and you flinch at his touch. It takes a moment before you can remind yourself who’s hands are holding you, who’s love you’re surrounded in, and you relax.

He thinks of the woman who taught him how to love again, who woke him from a decades long nightmare with the sweet touch of her hand and the adoration in her smile. He conjures the image of you he preserved before you left on your last mission, with sun kissed skin and laughter in your chest, as he stares up at the dark circles under your eyes, the frown upon your lips, the aching claws of shame draining you of the light you possessed.

“Sweetheart, look at me.” He tips a finger under your chin and guides you to meet his eye. He smiles, softening under your gaze.

“You hold so much space in your heart for compassion and forgiveness,” Bucky eased, stroking his thumbs gently along the backs of your hands. “You never hesitated once to absolve me of my sins as the Winter Soldier. It didn’t matter how may nights I woke up empty, not knowing where or who I was. It didn’t matter how much I thought I was a burden to you and the team, or whether I deemed myself worthy enough to be loved by you. You were patient with me, kind beyond what I ever believed I could deserve. Can you not reserve some of that for yourself, too?”

He watches the sob creep up your spine before it breaks. There’s little more either of you can say and he resides to holding you in his arms, caged protectively against his chest where not even the demons lurking in the back of your mind can find you.

He knows, eventually, you’ll be okay. You taught him that. Even when the tunnel was its darkest, when he could barely see beyond the tips of his fingers, and the sun was cast over in shadows -- you showed him that as long as he kept walking, he’d find the light again.

***

“Come on, Y/n, what is the matter with you?”

Bucky hears you grumbling to yourself in the kitchen. He wipes the trail of sweat off his face from his morning run as he approaches the island covered in stray dollops of pancake batter, bottles of maple syrup, and mixing bowls. He smiles as he leans against the counter, waiting for you to notice him.

“You weren’t supposed to be home yet,” you groan, catching Bucky out of the corner of your eye as you dump a plate full of burnt pancakes into the sink. Your hair a little out of sorts, a bead of sweat dripping down your temple. It’s almost endearing if it wasn’t for how fast your heart was beating. Bucky could hear it down the hall.

“Missed you.” He shrugs casually, testing a smirk and you started to smile in return; all shy and sweet and full of the woman he adores. He glances to the mess in the kitchen and the smoke piling on the ceiling. “What happened here?”

“Pancakes aren’t my strongest suit.”

Bucky laughs at that. “I can see that.”

You sigh, scratching at the back of your neck. “I just wanted to do something nice for you, Bucky.”

Bucky can feel his heart sinking but he holds the smile to his face. “You do a thousand nice things for me all the time. Just being here is enough for me, sweetheart.”

“You know what I mean,” you say under your breath, eyes falling to the floor by his feet. “After everything I put you through since that awful mission-”

“Hey, hey -- Don’t do that.” Bucky crosses the kitchen and places his hands gingerly on your cheeks, guiding your eyes back to his. “You didn’t do anything wrong; you hear me? You survived. You’re still surviving and I’m just... I’m so proud of you, Y/n.”

You part your lips to say more, to argue against him, but it dies on your tongue as Bucky smiles at you as if you hung the moon and the stars and every damn

“You don’t need to bring me coffee in the morning,” Bucky says before he presses a kiss to your forehead, “or bribe Stark into making new tech for my arm,” then a kiss to your nose, “or make me burnt pancakes to thank me for loving you through this.”

He pauses as he pulls back. You’re watching him with an expression somewhere between awe and relief, but it’s the warmth of your smile that does him in completely.

“We take care of each other, okay? That’s what we do,” Bucky says, leaning in to kiss your lips sweetly until he can feel the smile grow against his mouth. He pulls back, chuckling a bit under his breath. “Besides, I’m the last person who is going to be scared away by trauma.”

You laugh as you wrap your arms around his waist, pulling yourself closer to his chest. Engulfed in the sweet smell of maple and butter and batter, Bucky feels a wash of calm for the first time since you left on that mission.

He thinks you may have finally found your way home.

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n

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twin-books · 3 years

Photo

So like I made this art because I had this idea, right? Okay, okay... I did it to try and let the idea go but it was nagging at me. But one of my friends made the mistake of freaking asking me about it, alright. I nearly wrote a whole fan fic. So here I am to share it with all of you. The only things you need to know before you read on are... There is no salt (or nothing intended to be salt) so read along happily knowing that this is salt free and just my imagination going freaking insane. Also, I really like mysteries... Like... a lot. And this only came to be because I desperately want a mystery in miraculous for no reason. Be warned the following is a bit long but hopefully worth it. Oh yeah... btw... this is an AU that I tried to keep as canonically accurate as possible but obviously not everything can be perfect (especially since I haven’t watched most of season 4 and though I am well aware of many of the big twists I haven’t seen them in action to see how they truly work), hence why it’s an AU. And it’s called Fragmented.

The story starts off one day when Adrien Agreste enters the school. He’s different. Well, no, not different... Marinette can’t explain it but there was something about his eyes. It was almost as if... there was no light in them at all. She didn’t truly suspect anything even when the next akuma attack hit. Where, through the chaos, she found Adrien Agreste frozen in shock. Though saving him was admittedly a pleasant experience she couldn’t ignore the fact that it wasn’t normal. Adrien normally fled as soon as an akuma made its presence known. Of course, that was one attack so she didn’t overthink it. Perhaps he was just taken off-guard. It was by the third attack that she started to worry. So she brought it up with Chat Noir, hoping he had noticed. “Don’t you think it’s strange?” “What’s strange, Milady?” Chat Noir asks. “How Adrien Agreste has been acting?” “How has he been acting?” “Like... like...” She hums, trying to figure out how to explain it. Eventually she finally comes up with an answer. “Like he’s rarely seen an akuma before. He just stands there, shocked. He used to just run away.” “Hmmm? Why are you paying so much attention to that pretty boy?” She blushes and clams up in response to his question which makes Chat Noir laugh, though she can detect a twinge of jealousy. “Sounds like a normal scared teenager to me, LB. Don’t worry about it too much. If he starts acting fishy... then we’ll worry, okay?” And that was the end of the discussion. Despite her gut feeling screaming at her otherwise she excused it as normal behavior and moved on. That is until she could’ve sworn she saw Aspik in the sewers. Of course she panics! Why shouldn’t she panic? How on earth did Adrien get the snake miraculous again? Was that why he’s been acting so strange? She’s the guardian! How could she let a miraculous get stolen under her watch? Chat finds her in her anxious state and places his hands on her shoulders, taking deep breaths as he did, coaxing her to follow his lead. She does and once she’s calm he asks what happened. She explains it the best she can but is shocked to learn Chat Noir has never heard of Aspik. She could have sworn she had mentioned him before. She supposed it slipped her mind. Chat suggests that maybe all her anxieties with handling her duties as a guardian are catching up to her and she only thought she saw Aspik. That makes her feel better but, of course, she’s Marinette. She needs to be sure. The first thing she does when she gets home is check the miracle box only to find the snake miraculous is still there. She then asks Sass who insists he remained in her room the entire time, as per her orders. So then... What did she see? Marinette is convinced, after a few days, that she is just paranoid. She’s overworked herself between playing guardian, playing Ladybug, and playing Marinette. She’s tired and not thinking clearly. Tikki even shares her sentiments. So her next order of business after fighting off the most recent akuma is to take some time to herself. She already made all her friends aware of her plans and after the battle was won she told Chat Noir that as well. He made a promise not to disturb her unless it was an emergency. Perhaps that is why it was so shocking that as soon as she got home, and her miraculous was on its fourth beep, Chat Noir called her. She picks up the phone expecting another one of his jokes, maybe even a prank. Instead she hears, “Remember you mentioned that snake holder the other day?” His tone is one far more serious than she is used to. She knows this is serious and that makes her nervous. “Yeah?” “Well I was out on a patrol and-” “-Patrol? Chat we just got done fighting an aku-” “-I saw him, so I chased him down an alley but he must have used Second Chance. He predicted all my moves and he got away from me. Is the snake miraculous still with you?” Ladybug is silent as she stares directly into the eyes of Sass. Chat Noir is screaming at her through the phone because she went quiet. She doesn’t notice. The only thing on her mind is the snake miraculous she now holds in her hand after pulling it from it’s drawer. “I’ll call you back.” She says, with the last beep of her miraculous. “What? Ladybu-” She detransforms and offers Tikki a macaroon. She imagines Chat Noir is not very happy with her now but that doesn’t matter. “What’s going on?” She asks, looking to Tikki and hoping for answers. “I don’t know, Marinette.” The kwami answers, as she eats her food. Marinette sighs and then looks to her Adrien pictures. “Maybe we should go to the source...” She mumbles. “Tikki! Spots on!” Once she reaches the mansion she almost presses the button at the gate to ask the secretary to let her in. But then she remembers... Ladybug doesn't need permission when the situation is dire. And it's dire. So she swings up to Adrien's room and notices him at his desk. Banging on the window grabs his attention and he quickly rushes over to let her in. "Ladybug?" As soon as he opens the window she can hear the music playing through his speakers. Adrien seems surprised but clearly not unhappy to see her. "Is there something wrong?" She doesn't answer and just looks at both his wrists. Nothing. It occurs to her that she never asked where Chat saw Aspik so she has no clue if it was even possible for Adrien to be there. So she has to ask, "Do you remember when I gave you a miraculous?" His reaction isn't a reaction she expects. There's not hint of shock, nor guilt, nor a hint of trauma. But perhaps what's most damning... "What's... a miraculous?" No recognition. Her bug phone rings at that moment. She picks it up and notices it's Chat. She sighs. Ladybug looks away from Adrien and answers it. “Is there something I can help you with?” Adrien asks but she could barely hear it over Chat Noir’s screaming and the music. "Are you okay?" Her partner cries. She smiles and nods, before realizing he can't see that. "Yeah... yeah, I guess." "You guess?" "Can I get you anything? Water?" Adrien asks, momentarily distracting her. It's then the music Adrien has playing in the background mixed with Chat Noir’s probing questions begins to drive her insane. "Could you... could you just shut the music off, please?" She asks as she assures Chat she's on the case and she'll explain everything once she has something to explain. As she finally gets Chat Noir calmed enough to joke once more she watches Adrien's hands as he turns the music off. She notices something. As she hangs up on Chat she absentmindedly speaks her thoughts. "Hey... what happened to your ring?" "My ring?" Adrien turns to look at her and she realizes she has spoken aloud. It also occurs to her that it's probably weird that she knows Adrien wears a ring. "I-I mean... uh.... I saw it... the last time I... saved you! And in your-um... Ads! Yes! Ads. I just noticed you, uh, never take it off." "Oh yeah... right... I actually don't know where it is." Adrien said, laughing, awkwardly. "I lost it a week ago and I kind of forgot about it." "Oh. I'm sorry." "No, don't be. It's just a dumb, old ring anyway. I'm not even sure why I wore it. Can't even remember where I got it." She nods in response as he laughs. What he was saying makes sense but... that ring always seemed so important to him. She just assumed it was gift from his mom. She never imagined he would be so calm about losing it. Perhaps she was wrong... "Anyway, you were asking about a... miraculous?” Ladybug suddenly remembers why she was there. "Oh yeah! Um... You... really don't know what a miraculous is?" "I'm sorry. I really don't." He blushes but she doesn't notice. She's staring through him now, trying to detect any little hint of a lie, a trick. It occurs to her that this is no longer a safe topic to discuss with him. "Heh, never mind. I must have gotten you mixed up with some other hot, blond model- Not hot! I meant um... rich. Not that you aren't hot, I mean, of course you are but I- I'm just confused." She yanks out her yo-yo and tosses it out the window hoping to escape while she still has a bit of her dignity left. "Are you sure?" Adrien asks. "Because if I can help you in anyway, I'll be happ-" "-No, really. It's fine! I'll see you, uh... the next time I save you! Yeah..." She swings off. Unbeknownst to her, under the dresser, was that very same ring Adrien seemed so nonchalant about losing. Had she been just a tad more curious, she may have noticed it. She also may have noticed that right now it looked much less like Adrien’s ring and much more like some other ring she knew of... Ladybug does eventually catch Chat Noir up on everything she knows. Since Adrien was no longer the snake wielder there was no harm in compromising his identity so she even makes him aware of the bigger picture. They agree that further investigation into Adrien Agreste is in order. Chat Noir is the one, surprisingly, who reminds her of their earlier suspicions of Gabriel Agreste being Hawkmoth. The surprising part being, he would even want to discuss it. Previously he was adamant the Agrestes had nothing to do with Hawkmoth and refused to discuss it every time she tried to bring it up... so she stopped. And then she forgot. She doesn't question it, however. Rather, she agrees it's a fair point. It means Adrien very well could be related to Hawkmoth in some way. A possibility that still did disgust her but one she could no longer ignore. A month of following Adrien Agreste around brought no leads. Every once and a while they would spot Aspik as well but they never did catch Adrien transforming into him. And every day she checked to make sure the snake miraculous was still there. She even had Luka dawn it once just to be sure she didn't somehow have a fake. She even began to suspect Sass was sneaking out while she wasn’t at home. Though, admittedly, that was mostly paranoia. Perhaps it was unfair to assume Sass would sneak off, especially since he never showed any rebellious nature before. But, by this point, she was desperate. If she hardly rested before she certainly didn't get much rest now. It was a miracle she made it through the day anymore. Her being so tired, however, could explain why she didn't notice the speeding car heading for her only to watch it be turned to dust in seconds by Chat. It could explain why she didn't notice the dust never fell. It could also explain why it didn't immediately hit her when Chat addressed her as LB when, currently, she was Marinette. But tiredness couldn't save her from noticing that it wasn't, in fact, Chat Noir who saved her. One glance into those familiar icy blue eyes, the ones that haunted her nightmares, was enough to shake her tiredness. Of course, Marinette panics seeing Chat Blanc again, especially because it doesn't make sense. Chat Noir was fine yesterday. And last she checked, they didn't start dating. So... just what could have upset Chat Noir so badly he would turn into Chat Blanc? Again? He approaches her cautiously, carefully, and creepily. She is immediately terrified and knows running won't do her much good as Marinette, seeing as he has ranged attacks. She doesn't get much time to go into full panic mode before Chat Blanc is immediately smacked in the side of the head with... his own baton? Her eyes follow the baton as it shrinks back into its owner's hand. That being... Chat Noir? "Get somewhere safe." He says, smiling. He seems to notice her reluctance and says, "Don't worry. I got this handled. Dealt with my fair share of copycats." That was a comment she would normally roll her eyes at under normal circumstances. But these weren’t normal circumstances. Regardless, she doesn't look a gift horse in the mouth and uses the opportunity to run off and transform. Returning to the scene doesn't give her anymore answers. However, she is, for once, thankful that Chat Blanc is bright white and not identical to her partner otherwise she swears she would've punched Chat Noir in the nose. "Hiya, Bugaboo! What do you think happened this time? I don't remember ticking off any buckets of white paint but I'm sure there's a first time for everything!" She doesn't acknowledge him. She can't find the humor in this situation. "His bell! The akuma, amok, or whatever it is, is in his bell!" She cries. He pauses, giving her a puzzling look, "How could you possibly know that? You just got here..." She notices Chat Blanc prepares a ranged attack and aims for Chat Noir. She doesn't have time to figure out how that could even be possible she just knows she doesn't want to lose her partner. So, for once, it is her jumping on top of him as the blast buzzes over their heads. "Chat, we don't have time for questions right now! Just trust me! Activate cataclysm! Now!" After that spectacular display, and the fact she was somehow fully aware of how their opponent worked despite only arriving moments ago, Chat Noir doesn't question it at all. He does as he is told. "I'll distract him so you can go in for the bell!" He nods slowly before he finally takes in what she has said and begins to refuse but by that point she is already facing Chat Blanc alone. She doesn't think about how this probably isn't the same Chat Blanc she knows. That doesn't even cross her mind. Perhaps it's the trauma, the longing for some reconciliation with him instead of what originally happened, that makes her so sure. Regardless, it doesn't matter. What matters is her approaching him works. Her soothing him with sweet nicknames and promises of help, works. His undivided attention is on her and she only feels remorse when she has to take advantage of those trusting eyes. "Now, Chat!" Chat Noir doesn't hesitate, not for a second. Immediately he grabs the bell and watches it crumple to dust. But nothing happens. There's no butterfly. There’s no feather. There’s only her, Chat Noir, and a pale copy of her partner. It's then, while both Chats are confused, that she takes the moment to look over Chat Blanc, finally pushing her emotions aside. And when she locks eyes with him once more, instead of trying to focus on something else, she stares into them fully. She finds that those icy blue eyes, previously lit up with sadness and anger... have no light in them at all. They’re almost exactly like... She doesn't get to finish the thought as she hears the beeping of Chat Noir's ring and watches Chat Blanc raise his hand, charging up another attack. It all happens so fast. But she's faster. One toss and one yank of her yo-yo has Chat Noir by her side. They both have the same thought, "Run." So they do. Losing Chat Blanc wasn't easy. Finding a safe spot to talk was even harder. "We have to get back out there! He could hurt more people!" Chat cries over her jumbled thoughts. "No. He wouldn't hurt anyone. Or, he doesn’t want to, at least." She says, calmly. "We have some time." "How could you possibly know that? He just tried to kill us!" “He tried to kill you, Chat. He wants to hurt you!" "What? Why?" That was her same thoughts as well. It would make sense if it was some random person akumatized into Chat Blanc but the way he had responded to her... No, it had to be her Chat Blanc. But then that doesn't make any sense! He seemed angry seeing her and Chat Noir together. Like he was jealous. It's like he thought Chat Noir was a totally different person... The beeping of Chat Noir's ring grabs her attention once more. His last pad is blinking away. Her eyes widen. "Leave! You're going to detransform!" Chat Noir refuses, much to her annoyance. Her insistence doesn't convince him and eventually it's too late. His last pad disappears... Seconds feel like hours as she stares at Chat’s ring, waiting for the flash of green. Waiting to see gloveless hands. Waiting to see Plagg appear. But one beep later and suddenly that ring is back to five paw pads as if cataclysm had never been used. "What?" She looks up as Chat Noir continuously refuses to leave. Looking into his eyes it hits her. "Get away from me!" She cries, pushing him away. "What's wrong?" "They're the same! They're all the same!" “What is?" "Your eyes! Their eyes!" She’s in hysterics now. She feels like crying. "I don't understand!" He tries to approach but she stands, defensive. "Stay away from me! I mean it!" "Milady-" "Don't call me that!" And before she knows it, she's running. She's running away from Chat Noir. But this time she doesn't know why. She wishes she knew why. Eventually she manages to lose him and summons her lucky charm. What falls into her hands is nothing but a broken mirror. That seemed absurdly unhelpful but she looks around anyway and unsurprisingly, gets no answers. The only thing she can think to do now is get to the miracle box and get some help. Any help. When she enters her room, she is surprised to find Plagg there but far too tired to react. He's holding Chat Noir's ring. He doesn't wait for her to speak, instead he gets straight to the point. "I don't know how long I've been gone but judging by your face... you met them.” He pauses, ears flat against his head, before he finally looks her in the eyes once more. “I- We need your help." (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻ Done! That’s all I have for the story kind of portion at the moment. Though it’s a tad messy I hope you enjoyed it. I do know what happened and I have an idea for the solution but haven’t thought about how it will go. If you have questions I’m happy to answer them but there ya go. : ) Thanks for reading! Hope everyone is having a good morning, day, evening, afternoon, night, or whatever time it is where you are! <3

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