#i understand why they did it but to end with her GOING BACK TO THE RAVAGERS?

[thesvnandthemooon]

𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐧’ 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭

18+ MINORS DNI

or: natasha and you go to a concert

part of the short n‘ sweet universe

a/n: another request (who would’ve thought); don’t judge me for the title, i thought it’d be fitting since that’s the name of the tour as well 😗

summary: going to sabrina‘s concert with natasha; based on this request <3 (it took almost three months for me to get to writing this wtf)

warnings: smut (penetration, brief fingering), exhibitionism (i swear i use this tag on almost all sns fics…whatever), alcohol, natasha not being able to recognize emotional intelligence if it shot her in the face

word count: 12k

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Hooking up in the university's library is one of the dumber ideas Natasha's come up with so far.

The encyclopedia isle is usually empty — most people use Wikipedia, or another online platform. Physical media has, unfortunately, experienced a decline in popularity.

Sex hasn't, though. Which is why your 'study session' lasted ten minutes instead of two hours. Not much had to happen: Natasha walked in, knowing you'd be sitting between piles of books. She was still in her basketball jersey. Only her shorts had been swapped for slightly warmer sweatpants.

You've been hooking up for months at this point. You can't say you're dating, because you're not. You never really talked about it But when you're around each other, the possibility of her ending up inside of you is big.

Natasha looks up, her body still on top of yours. Her hands are braced next to your head, and you can see the sweat glisten on her neck. You lift your hand and wipe it away.

The floor you're on is carpeted and worn. It smells like old socks and books. You glance to your right and see the half empty packet of beef jerky someone discarded under one of the bookshelves.

"Someone walked in", she says, not making a move to get up. "I think it's that weird dude. You know, with the hoodies."

"That's great", you mumble. You shift beneath her. "I feel like we have more pressing issues, though."

She frowns and looks at you. At first, she doesn't understand. She's warm and comfy, and changing her current situation doesn't seem like the best way to keep up her good mood. But then she realizes she's still inside of you, so she quickly pulls out.

Sweatpants tugged back up, she gets up from the floor. You take the hand she offers you and get up, then adjust your skirt. Wearing that was probably one of the better decisions you've made today — easy access, quick to pull down and cover yourself back up. Natasha resists the urge to pout when your thighs are out of view again.

She was right — someone did enter, and they're approaching the encyclopedia aisle. You grab her hand and tug her back to the tables, causing her to stumble. She curses under her breath.

"Hey!"

"Sit", you urge her. She plops into a chair and you turn around. Before you can sit down, she wraps her arm around your waist and easily pulls you into her lap. "Oh- seriously?"

"You wanted to study", she points out. Her chin comes to rest on your shoulder, her head turns just enough for her to be able to kiss your neck. "So study."

You sigh and get comfortable in her lap. You may as well, since you're probably not moving for a while. Her hand is under your skirt already.

"I'm done with studying", you reply. She hums, lips sucking on your skin until a hickey forms. "Quit that."

"What? This is motivation. Positive reinforcement or whatever they call it."

The guy from earlier reemerges from the encyclopedia aisle, this time carrying a stack of books. The second he sees you, though, he whips around and heads in the opposite direction. Natasha laughs against your neck, a breathy sound, and squeezes your hip.

"What are you doing this weekend?", she mumbles.

You don't reply right away. You've learned that leading her on just a bit makes things better, for some reason — she gets more attentive, puts more effort into the time you spend together. It's not like she doesn't treat you well, because she does. But she sometimes needs to be reminded that, if she doesn't at least try a little, you can easily replace her.

"Not sure", you say vaguely. "There's this concert I wanted to go to with a friend. I haven't gotten tickets yet, though."

"A concert?" Natasha tries to sneak her hand higher up under your skirt, but you quickly grab her arm. "Who's performing?"

"You don't know her", you say, pushing her hand away. She pouts against your shoulder. "I doubt you listen to her music."

Natasha shrugs and puts her hand on your waist instead. She's aware you probably have a point. She's listened to one of your playlists before, and honestly, the only reason she didn't complain was because you were walking around her room naked. That wasn't something she wanted to interrupt.

Does she like the idea of going to a concert with you, though? She does. More than the idea of someone else accompanying you, whether they're just a friend or not.

"I could give it a try. I listen to all kinds of stuff."

A lie. You hear the dishonesty drip from her voice. Natasha's picky with what she listens to. However, she isn't picky about the way she spends time with you. Besides, she'll get to see you all dolled up again — that makes up for it already.

You give her a skeptical look. All she does in response is crack a smile and kiss your jaw.

"It's Sabrina. I probably won't get tickets, anyway", you tell her. Natasha shrugs. "It's this Saturday. I think it's sold out."

"Come on. If there's a will, there's a way."

You roll your eyes, but the way the corners of your mouth twitch betrays you. You turn toward your study setup again and start looking for a folder on your laptop. She watches, leaning forward and breathing in the scent of perfume.

"Don't be too excited", you warn her, opening the folder. A kiss to the crook of your neck makes you squirm. "It's definitely sold out."

"I'll find a way" she insists, glancing at the screen. A bunch of French phrases that you're supposed to translate have popped up. "Not this again."

You ignore her and start typing. She was probably expecting you'd go back to your dorm, like last time. Unfortunately, homework can't wait. Natasha has proven she'll stick around, anyway. That's clear from the way her hands run under your shirt to roam your stomach.

. . .

You get the text message only minutes after your takeout arrives. You're in bed, wearing shorts and a hoodie, the Chinese food still warm and the Sunkist ice cold. Your phone buzzes, so you start digging through the pile of blankets and pillows to retrieve it.

You knew it'd be her name on the screen. You didn't expect that message, though.

Natasha: meet me downstairs in five — 6.02pm

Biting into your egg roll, you try to reply to the message. Before you manage to do that, another one pops up.

Natasha: forget it, im coming upstairs — 6.03pm

There's no use in trying to keep her from doing so. She's stubborn, always has been, and you know her well enough to be certain she's walking up the stairs already. She doesn't even knock; the door just swings open.

"Hey", you mumble, scrolling through your phone and eating fried rice with one hand. "If you want food, order some."

"Forget the food", she says. You look up and raise your eyebrows when you see the two tickets she's holding. Pink and slightly wrinkled. "Look what I found."

You open your mouth to protest, but then close it again. Concert tickets — more than impressive, considering the show was sold out when you last checked. You set the fried rice aside.

"Are those real?", you ask, frowning.

"Very real. I got them from this dude on Facebook marketplace, really sketchy area." She shrugs off her letter jacket and sits down on your desk chair, swiveling it around and scooting closer. You snatch them from her before she can show them to you properly.

They do seem real. Wrinkled, yes, but looking similar to other tickets you've had before. You glance up at her.

"What's your plan?"

Leaning back and crossing her arms, Natasha shrugs. She kicks her feet up on the mattress of your bed, boots and all, and you sigh before nudging them off. You grimace at the bits of dirt that are left behind.

"You said you wanted to go", she says. "So let's go."

Secretly, you're impressed. A little bit, at least. She went out of her way to track these tickets down, just so you could see the concert. To be fair, she had another reason to — she gets to join, after all. But that doesn't make much of a difference. You didn't have to ask for her to do it.

She's looking a little too smug, though. Head tilted, eyes studying you like she knows she's getting some kind of reward for this. You get up, tickets in hand, and start digging through your closet.

Natasha watches as you take off your hoodie. The impatience makes her skin tingle, and she shifts in her seat.

"That's a yes?", she asks, still staring. You're taking your head out of its bun.

"Yeah", you say vaguely. You let your shorts fall to the floor, where they pool around your ankles, and step out of them. "Like I said, my friend really wanted to go. He'll Venmo you the money."

Her face twists into a small, offended frown. Maybe she should've been more specific, but she bought the tickets so she could go to the concert with you — not some random person. A guy nonetheless.

Speaking is hard, since you're standing in front of her half naked. She blinks and shakes her head. "Your...what?"

"Friend", you repeat. You peek into your closet again and push the jackets aside to look for a specific dress. "His idea."

Natasha stares for another moment, then she runs her hand down your face. Just hooking up. Not dating, not committed. The only argument she has is that she bought the tickets.

You glance at her over your shoulder and smile to yourself. You can see the distress slowly bubbling up in her. You'd keep going, but you're already running late for the concert. You can also tell she meant well — this is not her trying to get you into bed again. Making her spiral would be nothing but mean.

"You're so gullible", you say. You reach for a shade of lipstick that matches your outfit. "Of course you're coming with me. You'll hate every second, I need to see that."

She rolls her eyes and slumps into the chair again. She's relieved, but she also knows she probably came off as desperate. That thought is quickly forgotten about when you step closer, though.

There's a bracelet around your wrist. Pink beads, dangling stars. Small and delicate, but enough to transport back in time. She remembers a house that smelled like alcohol and weed, sex in a friend's bedroom, waking up and feeling conflicted for the first time ever. She doesn't even realize she's staring at the bracelet instead of you.

Cupping her jaw, you tilt her face up. Soft lips press against hers and leave behind lipstick. Suddenly, she's too flustered to speak. She's surrounded by your perfume, her mouth still tingling. She doesn't even register when you pull her up from the chair.

"Come on", you say, ushering her out the door. "Freshen up. I need to put on some makeup, I look dead."

"Dead?", Natasha protests. A head or so taller than you, yet she's letting you order and push her around like a well behaved dog. "Nah, you look good. I like the dark circles under your eyes, you-"

With one firmer push, you guide her right out the door and into the hallway. The door slams shut, and Natasha just stands there for a moment to process everything.

If this were someone else, she'd go home and ghost that person. It wouldn't be worth it — she knows enough women who'd sleep with her when asked. But it's you, so she rubs her face before padding down the hall toward the shared bathroom.

. . .

The parking lot in front of the concert venue is packed. Natasha barely manages to find an empty spot, and the one she finds is right next to a bunch someone left behind. Fast food wrappers, empty beer bottles, some dark mystery liquid — you lift your eyebrows at the sight.

She reads your thoughts like an open book. Rolling her eyes, she reaches behind the seats and pulls out a full bottle of vodka. The clear liquid immediately distracts you.

"Seriously?", you ask, grabbing it. She smirks and fishes out a bottle of orange juice as well. "Really thought of everything."

"Pregame", she replies. She pours the juice into a red solo cup and hands it to you. "You don't have to if you don't want to, but it's tradition for me. Clint brings an entire keg full of beer."

Slightly distracted by the task of adding vodka to the cup, you hum. It smells like oranges and alcohol, paired with the air freshener Natasha keeps in her car. You picked it out, back when you stopped at a gas station while coming back from a party.

It'd been her idea. Now it dangles from the rear view mirror, pink and shaped like a Christmas tree. Natasha can't even drive home from practice without being reminded of you, but that bothers her less than she'd expected.

You shift in your seat and lift your legs. Getting them across the center console is tricky due to your dress, but once you manage to swing them over, they land in Natasha's lap. She glances at your legs, blinking and putting her hand on your calf.

The drink tastes like every other you've had so far. Alcoholic, sweet and a little tart. When you've had enough, Natasha grabs the cup and empties out the two sips you left. Your lipstick transfers from the cup to her top lip.

You watch her for a moment, then lean over and wipe it away. Thumb gently pressing down on her lips, you tilt your head. "Ready?"

She raises her eyebrows and leaves a quick kiss on your thumb, then she unbuckles. "Ready", she says, opening the car door. "Come on."

After waiting in line for a while, you enter the venue. Natasha isn't too sure what to do with her hands — but when people start running and bumping into each other, she gives up the facade she usually puts on and wraps an arm around your shoulder. It's not what she's used to, but you sink into her side with enough ease to make her believe that could change.

"Wow", you mumble as you walk into the massive space. "Crowded already."

"Yeah", she says, frowning. "You can barely see the stage from here."

You shrug, subtly eyeing the people around you. Mainly girls, of course. All glitter and pink and cowboy boots. You get a little closer to Natasha.

"It's fine", you say. "This is good, too."

She glances at you, then shakes her head. She's getting you closer to that stage, even if it means getting in a fight with a few other people. Tightening her arm around you, she starts pushing through the crowd.

For her, it's easy. She has the advantage of both height and years of working out. All she has to do is slowly work her way forward utilizing her elbows. There aren't many verbal complaints, but the quick glares are telling.

"You'll end up pushing someone."

"That's the point", she mutters, pulling you in tighter. "Need to get them out of my way somehow, no?"

You shoot her an unimpressed look, but she keeps her eyes on the crowd. Step by step, elbows occasionally nudging someone aside, Natasha weaves your way through the group of people for you. Somehow, you make it close to the barricade.

From that point on, you don't have much choice but to stay where you are. The barricade is jammed with people, and honestly, staying a couple feet further in the back makes more sense.

Natasha believes she's on a mission, though. You have to poke her chest a few times to keep her from wedging herself into a group of girls.

"Are you trying to storm the stage?", you ask, gripping the front of her shirt. She stops in her tracks.

"You don't want first row?"

"I'm just glad we're here at all", you say pointedly. Around you, more people try to get closer to the front. Natasha is forced to step closer, so her chest is almost pressed against yours.

A bit taken aback, she stares at you. The lights have dimmed, and your face is inches away from hers. Your lipstick is smudged already — not much, but enough to remind her of the nights she's spent getting it into an even worse state.

"Yeah", she says dumbly. Her hand is still firmly planted on your back, keeping you close. "Me too."

You tilt your chin up enough for her to be able to kiss you if she wanted. Her heart beats a bit faster, but she tries to ignore it. Catching feelings isn't something she allows herself to do. She leans in anyway.

Just before her mouth reaches yours, the lights go out entirely. Cheers erupt around you, and you pull away too fast for Natasha to see it coming. She turns around and stares at the giant screen on the stage.

"That's a cartoon", she mumbles, still staring.

"It's the intro", you explain. You rest your back against her chest and feel her arms cross over your chest. "Just wait."

Natasha hums, her thumb rubbing back and forth on your shoulder. The cartoon ends, and a woman sitting in a bathtub appears instead. You lower your head enough to kiss her forearm.

"What's her name again?"

"Sabrina", you say absently, watching the screen go dark. It slides up smoothly, revealing a stage with winding staircases and curtains. When she steps out, wrapped into a white towel, and the spotlight tracks her as she runs from one side to the other.

Finally, she steps onto the stage. The cheers are loud as she grabs the fabric of the towel to open it and reveal a glittering golden bodysuit.

"Wow", Natasha murmurs into your hair. "Would you ever, you know..."

You smile against her skin. "Yeah?"

She shrugs. She's picturing you in it already, wearing it just for her. You'd step in between her legs as she sits on the bed. The glitter on the fabric would leave a residue on her hands.

"Would look good." She kisses your earlobe right as the music starts playing. You shut Natasha up by patting her arm a few times, the words already tumbling out of you as you sing along.

Natasha has no clue what the lyrics are, but she's pretty sure she's heard you play this exact song a bunch of times. Luckily, the crowd is loud enough to conceal the fact that all she can do is hum along quietly.

It's worth it, though. She's heard you sing along a few times before, but never like this. Her arms tighten around you as the people around you move, just to make sure neither of you fall. Your heart thrums hard in your chest, and she feels every beat like the music rattling her ribcage.

In the middle of it, you turn your head. You can't quite look at her, but that's not important. She leans in anyway to kiss your cheek. At this point, it's hardly platonic. Hardly something she'd be doing with anyone else, but also hardly something she'd ever admit.

"Liked this one?"

"It wasn't bad", she says. "You seemed to enjoy it."

You tilt your head and raise your eyebrows. She raises hers right back at you. Around you, the crowd gets louder when the next song starts. You keep staring, determined to make this last, but at some point, you have no choice. You turn towards the stage again, and Natasha swallows to get rid of whatever's lodged in her throat.

Focusing on the concert itself seems impossible. You're still pressed against her front, all body warmth and perfume, and the show isn't the most exciting thing anymore. Her hands settle on your waist and her brain blanks when you accidentally grind into her.

The word 'don't' is on the tip of her tongue, but she chokes on it. You have no clue what you're doing — you're singing along off tune, unbothered by the people around you bumping into you. It's not the first time you're ignoring her, but it might be the first time you're doing it on purpose.

"Do you know the difference?"

Natasha quickly looks at you. Your eyes are on her instead of the stage, and you've almost turned around enough to be fully facing her. She didn't even register the song ending.

"What difference?", she asks, hugging you tighter when a girl stumbles into you. Without realizing, she shields you from everyone else.

You gesture at the short blonde on stage, who's already started the next song. "You know — 'there, their and they are.' Were you even listening?"

Natasha goes from infatuated to slightly offended. Rumors have been circulating since forever, pretty much. That she's dumb, an idiot who's somehow got into college thanks to being a top athlete. You questioning her grammar skills hits that sore spot a little too well.

"Of course I do", she snaps, still keeping you wrapped up in her arms. A black tee, with the short sleeves straining around her biceps. "'There' as in where, 'their' as in belongs to them, they-"

The 'are' doesn't make it out. You get on your tiptoes instead, kissing her and swallowing the word. People cheer, either at the show or at you. You choose to believe it's you.

Hands grip your waist, thumbs pressing into skin. You hook one finger into her necklace and ignore the song. You focus on not stumbling backwards with her instead. She tastes lipstick and vodka. Suddenly, the bathrooms are way too far away — and she can't put a pause on the concert, so her only option is to slow down.

You pull away, cupping her face with one hand. Your thoughts aren't any less lewd than hers, but you're just as aware of the fact you're in the middle of a concert. Nobody's staring, really — they're too focused on what's happening onstage.

Natasha clears her throat and nods at Sabrina, who's performing a slower song now. Without hesitating too much, you turn back around and lean against her front again. Arms wrapped around your middle, she goes quiet.

You get peace for about 10 minutes. Then she pulls out a round bed and Natasha's ears heat up. She's still imagining you in that cute little getup, but now, she's flashing back to a specific night. One leg thrown over her hip, keeping her as deep inside as possible. Tugging at her shoulders and moaning into her ear. Lifting your hips a bit, just enough to meet her every thrust.

It'd been quiet in your dorm, apart from the music coming from another building nearby. It smelled like the cocktail you spilled and the new perfume you insisted on testing out on her. Between pinning her down in order to spray some of the perfume on her, she'd grabbed you and rolled over. Every nerve ending lights up, and heat licks at her spine.

"Hey", she mumbles, starting to get antsy. She's trying hard to keep it in her pants, but she needs a moment to calm down. "I gotta go to the bathroom. You'll be okay?"

You're barely listening, but you hear her anyway. You turn around and frown, your cheeks glowing with a mixture of body glitter and sweat. "Really? Now?"

"Just a minute", she snaps. "I'll be back in no time, I swear. Just stay here."

You give her a doubting look, but the more she fidgets and glares, the less resistance you show. With a defeated sigh, you turn away from her.

"Told you not to drink too much. Fine, go. I'll stay here."

Natasha nods, already making her way through the crowd. Her jeans are getting tighter with every step, her heart racing and her nape sweaty. She's seconds away from public disgrace, and the only thing that's able to save her is the bathroom. To get there, she has to elbow and shove her way through crowds of people. The second the door falls shut, she's bent over the sink and splashing her face with water.

The coldness of it seeps into her skin numbs it a little. Biting her knuckles, she looks up at her own reflection and nearly curses under her breath. She's flushed and dripping water all over herself.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck", she mutters, grabbing a few paper towels from the dispenser. She starts drying her face. "Shit."

Behind her, the door to the bathroom opens. She ignores the girls walking in and turns around, sniffling and rubbing her hands dry. She can't even hear her footsteps as she makes her way back into the venue — the music is too loud, even here in the hallway.

Natasha trying to reach the barricade again nearly gets her into a fight. She's always been stubborn, though, and her determination gets her back to your side within a few minutes.

You don't seem to notice her. You're leaning toward another girl, giggling and talking, and Natasha feels her blood pressure rise in a way that feels similar to the drop on a rollercoaster. The girl's fingers are grazing your arm, her head tilted — suddenly, Natasha understands why you get testy whenever she flirts with someone.

Whether it's for fun or not suddenly doesn't matter anymore. She grabs you without warning and muffles your squeak by pulling you against her chest.

"Are you insane?", you hiss. "What was that for?"

"Focus on the show", she says, shushing you. Your nose is right against her shirt, smelling deodorant and feeling the slight dampness of the fabric. "Hey, black suits her."

"Huh?" You turn around and groan. During that short moment of Natasha distracting you, Sabrina managed to pull off a costume change. Feather starts playing, but you're pouting.

Natasha glances at you, her heart thudding still. You're refusing to look at her now, and it's killing her. She's not sure where she went wrong, but it must've happened right after her return from the bathroom.

This is not what she wanted. In her mind, you'd have fun and go home together afterwards. She'd crash in your dorm, naked and hungover, and you'd be happy to have her there. Now, you look like you're about to storm off.

"Are you on your period?", she says, joking in hopes to get you to laugh. It only seems to make matters worse, though, because the look she gets chills her to the bone. "Jesus, alright. Shouldn't have said that."

You roll your eyes and turn around again, keeping your eyes on the stage. The crowd screams over the lyrics, it smells like perfume and sweat and alcohol. Behind you, Natasha rubs her neck. She's used to you two fighting, but she didn't expect it to happen now.

She hesitates, then steps closer. You stiffen at the feeling of her arms around you. Her biceps press against your sides, solid and familiar, and her lips meet your neck. It's enough to make you stop humming.

"Don't be mad", she mumbles, her thumb brushing along the underside of your chest. "You don't want to be mad, and you know it."

"You're a fucking manipulator."

"Only for you." Natasha kisses your neck again. Her hand sneaks higher upwards, cupping your breast and squeezing it. "Enjoy the show. Ignore me."

You scoff, but she doesn't budge. Having a crowd never threw her off, and you're fully aware of that. The library was mild compared to some of the places she's initiated sex in before.

"I would", you say, trying to peel her hand off, "if you weren't such a pain."

"Me?" She nuzzles your jaw. "Funny. You let this 'pain' fuck you four times this week. And counting."

You let out a laugh that signals her death is imminent. It may have been a while since that night at the party — where you slept together for the first time, tipsy and desperate in the sweat-stenched air of Pietro's room — but being reminded of it still sets you off. You'd sworn yourself you wouldn't end up as one of her one-night stands, but you fell for the whole basketball player-shtick anyway.

The worst part is that, even if you get a little nauseous when you think about her abandoning you like all her other disposable hookups, you'll probably still drag her home and into your bed after the concert. You're almost certain you'll end the night with a new dent in the wall behind your bed.

"I'll kill you", you hiss, trying to peel her hand off. "You can't grope your way out of this."

"Hey", she whispers. "Your favorite song."

Unfortunately, her quick distraction works. You look up when you hear Fast Times playing, and suddenly, you give up and let your body do its thing. You melt into her arms and stop resisting the natural course of order.

From that moment on, you forget about the fight. You don't even think about it anymore. When the song comes to an end, you're already over it enough to turn around and tug her into a kiss.

It's always been like this. First you're fighting, then you're suddenly shoving stacks of books off the desk. You can't recall talking an issue out even once. You doubt she has enough emotional maturity to even attempt that.

The vodka and orange juice earlier left a taste on her tongue. At first, everything seems to be under your control — you cup her face, keep her close, try your best to have this remain appropriate. Calloused fingers tug at the fabric of your dress and adjust it. She feels the heat beneath, her self-control wavering. It's a slippery slope from passionate to desperate.

Natasha nods her head to deepen the kiss. Teeth bump, and her hands start bunching up your dress a little. Before she can expose your underwear to an audience of almost 20 thousand people, you grip her wrists and keep her from pushing the fabric up more.

"No", you mumble. She pulls away, breathing heavily, and frowns. "Not now."

"Later?", she asks, rubbing her lips and smudging the lipstick you got all over them. You roll your eyes and shove your hand against her chest. "You were thinking it too."

You shake your head and turn back around, ignoring her as she curses quietly. "That's just you."

She accepts defeat because she has no other choice. Part of her knows she'll end up in your bed — she always does, even if you're arguing. She's never thought of herself as irresistible, but you've gotten close to letting her believe just that.

Her body feels as sweaty as yours as it wraps around you again. You smell sweat and cologne, Read Your Mind is playing, and you both think too much.

You stop paying attention. Her mouth is on your neck, her arms around your waist. The crowd surges every time the lights change. Flashing lights and bass drops blur together just like the songs.

You sing half the lyrics, mumble the rest. Natasha takes a picture of you, then a video. She never lets go of you, though.

"How many songs is that now?", she mumbles against your ear. Her hand runs down your arm until her fingers nudge against your bracelet.

"I stopped counting", you admit. Coincidence just started playing, and judging by how everything has turned into a blur, you're assuming it must've been a quite a few. "My feet hurt."

Natasha tries to sneak a glance at your legs. You're in high heels, but you're still a head shorter than her. The heels are probably killing you by now. She wouldn't be surprised if you ended up with blisters, especially after being nudged around by a crowd all night.

She doesn't understand why you'd put up with the pain just in order to look taller, but it's not her right to judge. Instead, she nods at her boots.

"Take them off", she says. You give her an unimpressed look. "Just do it."

"The floor is gross", you complain, already angling one leg to slip off your high heel. Natasha taps your waist. "What?"

"Stand on my boots."

You pause and stare. She stares back, then rolls her eyes and grabs the heel you're holding. She's not about to argue, because she knows she'd lose. Besides, if she lets you talk too much, you might start saying things that'll scare her. It's better if you both shut up.

"You're kidding", you say, but she's already scooped you off the ground. "Let go!"

"Take off the other one", she insists. She can already feel the sweat accumulate at the back of her neck. "Jesus, hurry up a little."

"I thought I was a lightweight", you hiss. You take off your other high heel, anyway. The leather of her boots feels cold as you stand on them. Natasha loosens her grip on you and exhales quietly.

"Comfy?", she asks, fingers drumming against your stomach.

You let out a begrudging hum and keep staring at the stage. You're not about to give her the satisfaction of knowing she saved you from being unable to walk the next day. Knowing her, she'd use it as leverage. Or to piss you off.

Natasha doesn't really mind your attitude. Not in that moment. You're standing on the toes of her boots, body flush with hers. She has the emotional capacity of a spoon, but there aren't many things she likes more than feeling you this close.

Another song ends. Then Juno starts, and you forget that you're supposed to act like you're mad at her. It's the one song you keep replaying, whether you're in the car or in your dorm. You've requested it at parties (and made a friend connect your phone to the speakers so you could play it if they refused), you added it to Natasha's playlist when she wasn't looking and you obsessively watched the different positions whenever someone posted them.

Natasha's unaware. You tend to doomscroll after sex, a thin sheen of sweat still coating your body, and lift your phone enough to make her see as well. She's tuckered out usually, with her eyes half closed and her face resting against the crook of your neck. She has no clue, but you show her the positions anyway.

"What's that?", she asks, squeezing her arms around your middle. "Why's everyone cheering?"

You briefly glance at her, lips twitching. "Don't know?"

The look she gives you makes you laugh. You don't need her to say it out loud — she's about to see, anyway. You're not too worried, as you've probably done worse than whatever position Sabrina is about to get into on stage.

You watch Sabrina run down the stage and get on her knees so she's almost sitting on the floor. Her knees stay bent for a second as she bounces on nothing a few times. The corners of your mouth tug into a little frown — you're not sure about the logistics behind it. Natasha, however, feels her brain turn into a lump of mush as she realizes what's happening.

It's a sex position. She shouldn't be too shocked, especially since she isn't one to reject experimenting with those, but she's already managed to picture you doing the same thing.

"What do you think?", you ask. She cranes her neck to get a better look at the stage, ignoring you. Her hand squeezes your side like you're about to evaporate and ruin her fantasy of trying this. If she hadn't already been toying with the idea of going home with you, she definitely would've made that decision now.

Sabrina's jumped back up and returned to performing. Natasha finally snaps out of it, but the image of you doing that very thing is burned into her brain. "That- yeah, no, that one's happening. We're doing that. Tonight."

You scoff. "Perv."

"She's creative", she mumbles. "We could be creative. Why aren't we?"

"You're disgusting", you retort, rolling your eyes.

She doesn't argue. She just shrugs, knowing you'll probably end up trying anyway. On stage, Sabrina is back to singing. You're not aware of it yet, but the lyrics plant a little seed in you. One that'll end up growing until you can't resist that itch anymore.

You turn your head to look at her over your shoulder. Natasha almost leans in to kiss you, but there's a glimmer in your eyes that makes her stop. She knows better than to push, as her being nosy has lead to issues in the past, but you have no problem bringing it up anyway.

You lean in closer, so close she can smell the chewing gum you popped into your mouth half an hour ago. Your eyes are dazed from both the vodka and the concert, and she can feel her fingers twitch with the urge to drag you somewhere. She doesn't know where, but anywhere without an audience would work.

She's sweaty, she's tipsy, she's horny. She didn't think you could make it worse. You prove her wrong just like every time.

"Want to give me a baby, too?"

For a split second, all air is knocked out of her lungs. She freezes, eyes wide and hands glued to your sides. Brain gone, body still. Her voice? Nowhere to be found. The music drowns out every thought that's running circles in her mind like a panicked rabbit.

Finally, she lets out a laugh. When she doesn't know what to say, she uses humor to deflect and pivots into touch. Distracting herself is key, otherwise she'll look like an idiot. Little does she know this moment will haunt her all the way to an important basketball game a few weeks later.

"What, now?", she asks, already kissing your neck. "Because I'd rather give you something else right now."

You lift your shoulder a little when her tongue brushes against a ticklish spot on your neck. "Smooth."

"I'm not joking. The bathroom isn't too shabby."

You shake your head and look at the stage again. Still, she keeps all her attention on you. Your shoulder is littered with kisses, her hands roam up and down, quiet curses escape her. You barely hear them, but they add to the thrumming inside you anyway. Alcohol, music, an idea that could either ruin everything or get something entirely different started.

The song has ended, thankfully. Natasha's head hasn't stopped spinning though, and you're somewhere between exhaustion and an inexplicable rush of giddy stupidity. The latter is intensified by the alcohol coursing through your veins. You didn't have much of it, but its effect is stronger thanks to the oppressive heat inside the venue.

You turn your head enough to be able to kiss her. She sucks on your tongue and gropes your stomach, feeling the heat beneath. Please Please Please is playing, you grab her face and deepen the kiss, and Natasha feels blood rush into her lower half. As if the heat wasn't bad enough, it's now accompanied by the recurring pressure in her dick.

Her hand slips lower with each passing second until she reaches what she's looking for. Her thumb brushes the curve of your ass and Natasha sighs, trying to tug you even closer.

No matter what you do or where you are, you always seem to end up in the same situation — with a hard-on pressing against you like a quiet reminder that this is what your relationship is doomed to be like.

You tilt your head as you part from her. She's seconds from bringing up the bathroom idea again, you can see it written all over her face. If you as much as look at her the wrong way, you're ending up with your back against a bathroom wall with sharpie all over it.

"No."

Natasha clenches and unclenches her jaw. She should've expected that answer, but part of her was too hopeful. Rejection therapy isn't something she ever had to get acquainted with, which led to her believing 'yes' would be the standard answer for just about everything.

"The concert will be over soon", you add, pulling away from her grasp. You step off her boots and onto the cold floor, grabbing your high heels again. Somehow, you managed not to lose them.

"Right", she says, watching you put on your heels again. The girl next to you bumps into your side, and Natasha keeps herself from tugging you back into her chest. "Got any plans for later?"

"You're trying to come home with me", you state, not wasting a second on your reply. She bites the insides of her cheeks. "Is that why you wanted to come here? Because it'd lead to sex?"

"You seemed like you wanted it too", she tries to defend herself. She's not sure she means what she said, but it's too late. The words hang between you, Don't Smile is playing and time is running out. You had a fight not too long ago — she doesn't want this to result in another one. She doesn't want to end this night with you being mad at her.

All you do is stare for a moment, then turn back around. Natasha runs a hand through her hair as she tries to come up with a way to salvage this. You still have to survive the car ride home, and honestly, the idea of dropping you off and leaving afterwards kills her. She shouldn't want this as much as she does — if her teammates knew, it'd be over for her —, but she can't exactly change it.

You feel her fingertips trace your shoulder blade. Nails rake over skin, fingers slip under the strap of your dress. She tugs gently, with just enough strength for you to notice. The strap snaps back against your shoulder. You don't react, not visibly, but your resolve weakens.

"Don't be mad", she says, hooking her finger under the thin piece of fabric again. "I'll buy you something at the merch booth."

"I have money", you say, staring at the stage. Her fingers find the zipper on your dress and give it a light tug. "Keep going and I'll call an Uber."

Natasha hesitates. The song is coming to an end, which means that she only has minutes left. Words tend to be her favored way of getting out of uncomfortable situations. She's ended arguments being a touchy smooth talker, murmuring bullshit until the other caved. With you, it's never been different, but there's starting to be more behind it.

"Smile", she says, wrapping a strand of your hair around her finger. "Smile and I'll kiss you."

You ignore the way your skin tingles when she reaches for the strap of your dress again. She tugs at it like it's a lifeline, like touching your body will make you rewind to the night were things were easy and hot and mutual. It's a flirty game, and she's using it to try and charm her way back into your good graces.

"I need you to mean that", you say, still not looking. It's like you just froze time, and the concert, for her.

She's stunned for a moment. Because she does mean it, even if everything about her screams she doesn't. There's no other explanation as to why she'd be putting herself through this otherwise. She has her pick of girls who'd sleep with her. Ever since becoming the basketball's team captain, that number has only increased. And yet, she's standing in a venue full of glitter and makeup products she couldn't name for the life of it.

Somehow, she enjoys being here anyway.

"What if I do?"

"You don't", you insist, your back stubbornly turned toward her. "I don't think you're capable of that."

Natasha rolls her eyes and steps closer. Her hand cups your waist, her front is right up against your back. Her idea of apologizing includes undoing a bra, but you still have an audience.

You don't try to escape her touch. It's not like there's much space around you to do that, but she feels something light up inside her regardless. Her hand curves around your middle and, when you fail to pull away once more, her lips brush your ear.

"I mean it", she mutters, too reluctantly for you to believe she doesn't mean it. It's lies that come easy to her — the truth scares her. "Now kiss me. I don't want you to be mad at me."

You keep your eyes glued to a random spot on stage, but they close for a split second. Inside you, your heartbeat stutters and the petty urge to make her grovel fades. You don't forgive easily — not usually, not when it comes to Natasha. You're already calculating the perfect moment to turn around, though.

You give up on that last bit of resistance when Espresso starts playing. You glance at her and meet her gaze, and paired with the music and the screaming crowd, it almost feels ridiculous. The fight was unnecessary, just like all the other ones you've had so far were.

"I'm sorry", she finally mumbles, licking her lips and looking at your own. "I'm stupid. I know that. Don't take that Uber."

A switch flips and, suddenly, your resolve crumbles quicker than you want it to. Natasha knows she's out of the woods when you roll your eyes, so she taps your lower back and cracks a smile.

"You forgot the kiss", she reminds you.

"Did I smile?"

She shakes her head. Her fingers drag over clothed skin, tapping and curling, and you squirm. You resist the tickling sensation about five seconds, then you let that smile slip that she's been waiting for. Natasha doesn't get to enjoy the view for long, though, as you immediately put on a frown.

"Fuck you."

She laughs, already pulling you closer. You get on your tiptoes right as she leans in. Her lips press against yours, soft and firm at once. You grip the front of her shirt, the fabric spilling out between your fingers. If she didn't know any better, she'd think you're angry about not being kissed this whole time — you're up on your toes just to kiss her back, at least. Natasha convinces herself that counts for something.

People yell around you, confetti falls like thick snowflakes in all kinds of colors. Drinks spill when the crowd moves and makes everyone bump into each other. You hear someone start to list names as they tell the audience to make noise for everyone, but you're both at a point at which you're ignoring it.

By the time you part, you're both out of breath. Natasha's silently swearing that she'll never pretend she isn't way too deep into this, and you're just trying to remember which way the exit was.

"Shit", you mumble, letting people squeeze past you as they start trickling out of the venue.

Natasha swallows and nods, her arm curled around your waist. "I fucking hate when you ignore me."

"Don't give me a reason to, then", you say. You glance at your wrist and touch it, a frown on your face. "I think I lost my bracelet."

"What?" She looks up and blinks, then grabs your hand to confirm. "Oh. Fuck. What's it look like?"

You start searching the floor — looking for the pink beads, the little stars dangling from it — but it's difficult to stay focused over all the noise. The chattering coming from all sides is almost louder than the concert itself, and you're cut off by people who try to get past you but don't quite succeed.

Natasha frowns as she helps you. It’s your favorite bracelet — it's the one you wore when you first kissed. When you first slept together, too. And now, the only thing tying you to that night in Pietro's bedroom might be gone.

Right as she opens her mouth to say something, a girl next to you steps on something. Whatever object her heel landed on crunches loudly, and both of you freeze.

"My bracelet", you groan, immediately continuing to search the floor. It seems impossible with all the people walking by and blocking your vision. “I loved that thing! It was so expensive, too!"

"Well...why'd you wear it?", she asks, panicking as well. But the object on the floor is a cheap pair of reading glasses, with the shards scattered around it. She lets out a breath. "Alright, you can calm down."

"'Calm down'? It's still gone, you moron!"

Natasha shuts up. She knows better than to keep going. As you continue searching the floor, she pads after you and tucks her hands into the pockets of her jeans. Her fingertips brush against something cold and round.

She stops in her tracks and hesitates. Finally, she pulls out the bracelet. It takes you five seconds to notice she's not walking anymore. Like a switch flipped, you go from panicked to pissed.

"What, you're going to just stand there? Of course. It's gone, and you're just going to- oh, fuck you", you hiss. "It's gone!"

Natasha rolls one of the beads between her fingers. She hesitates again — you look like you're about to tear someone's head off, and it'd most likely be hers; but when you whip around again, she can't help it anymore.

"It's not gone", she blurts. "I have it."

You feel everything inside you be put on hold for a second. You don't believe her in that initial second, but then she's pulled out the exact bracelet you were looking for. With the same pink beads and history attached to it, now dangling from her fingers.

Finally, you let out a breath. You're by her side in a split second to grab the bracelet and give it a quick glance, then you put it on.

"This the one?", she mumbles, carefully watching your reaction. You nod and look up. Your hand cups the back of her head faster than she can register, and only when the bracelet gets tangled in her hair does she realize you're kissing her.

You pull away, staring at her. The air between you is charged with the afterbuzz of the concert and the mouthwarm of the kiss. You weren't happy about her suggesting that she come home with you after the show, but now, anything else wouldn't seem right.

"Yeah. That's the one. Let's just..." You nod at the exit. "Let's go."

Natasha nods and puts her hand on your lower back, even though there's no crowd she needs to guide you through. Outside, it's dark and still hot from the day. Cars speed down the highway nearby, and on the other side of the parking lot, two shadows are nestled against the side of a car.

"My dorm or yours?", you ask, trying not to be too obvious. Natasha smiles and lets her hand drop a bit lower.

"Yours."

. . .

Music is playing from your old portable speaker. The room smells like the chicken wings Natasha picked up on the way home. She's on your bed, heart-eyed and silent, as you're sitting at your desk with a vanity mirror in front of you.

"You're taking long", she mumbles, stretching. "Thought we had a deal."

"There was no deal", you reply, using a napkin soaked in makeup remover to clean your face. She sighs and rolls over onto her side. "You being gross doesn't equal a deal."

"It has before."

You give her a pointed look through the mirror. She raises her eyebrows, caught somewhere between flustered and horny. The concert wasn't long — and yet, it feels like she's been practicing involuntary celibacy for years.

"You want to try it, too", she adds. Your mind jumps back to the Juno position and you clench your jaw. Suddenly frustrated, you shift in your chair. Natasha notices, of course. "Don't lie."

"We've fought twice tonight", you point out, desperately trying to ignore the fact you're gripping the desk with one hand. You can't ignore it too well, though. Neither can she. "Don't let there be a third time."

Natasha rolls her eyes and props her upper body up on her forearm. Her hair is in a low bun that's slowly coming loose, and somehow, both her shirt and her cheek are speckled with glitter from your dress. You're still taking off your makeup, but she's got something else to take off in mind.

You should be distracted by the makeup remover dripping down your neck, but you're too caught up on the fact that there's someone lying on your bed. You're both still sweaty, still stuck in that weird, slightly disorienting haze caused by the bracelet. You move your foot, which was crossed at the ankle with your other one, and knock over one of your high heels.

"Are you still mad?", she suddenly asks. It's as unexpected as the cars outside, their tires screeching just a split second after she stops talking. You turn around and stare. "Is that a yes?"

"Guess, since you're so good at it."

Natasha rolls her eyes and slumps back into the pillow. You ball up the napkins on your desk and toss them into the trashcan, then you get up. The second she hears a zipper being pulled down, she lifts her head again.

Your back is turned to her. She watches the dress fall to the floor and, seeing more and more skin be revealed like something at a museum, feels blood rush south. Her boxers tent and she gives you a slightly desperate look when you reach for a pair of shorts.

"What?", you ask, eyebrows furrowed. She isn't sure whether you're irritated or genuinely confused, which throws her off more.

"You got glitter in your hair", she says innocently. Her fingers are twisting the hem of her shirt, her cheeks are dusted pink. She can pretend all she wants, but you know the tiny telltale signs by heart. That same girl who's thrown up on court and ghosted half the campus and flirted her way into your pants — she's nervous now.

You take out your earrings and pad to the windowsill to leave them there. She watches every move like she fully expects you to join her any minute. It's better to be prepared, which is why she feels for the thin square object in the pocket of her shorts.

"I got an idiot in my bed, too", you mumble. "Don't see me complaining about that."

Natasha, slumped into the mattress like she's a wounded soldier, perks up when you make your way to her side. She reaches out her hand and her fingertips graze your thigh, and when you sit down, she finally straightens up fully for the first time since entering your dorm.

"You brought this idiot here", she reminds you, her finger hooking into the strap of your bra. "You're so far away."

"You're kidding."

"I'm really not." She tugs at the bra strap and you sigh. Her fingers run down your arm until they reach your wrist — or rather, the bracelet dangling from it. "Do you hate me?"

"I'm thinking about it", you deadpan. She sees right through your lie, as usually, so your words don't have much of an effect. She keeps tugging, and you keep caving; once you've swung one leg over her lap, one knee on each side of her hips, it's over. You're still buzzing from the concert, and the bracelet, and there aren't many other things that'd be fitting for this situation.

You wrap her necklace around your index finger, pulling at it gently. She nods her head to press a kiss to your knuckle.

"Don't seem like you hate me", she mumbles. "You're still here."

"My standards have lowered significantly." Your lips twitch when she looks up, her eyebrows furrowed. "They weren't high to begin with."

Natasha huffs quietly, but her smile matches yours. She wraps one arm around your waist, biceps solid and familiar, and draws you closer. You don't mean to laugh, or brush your lips against hers, but it happens anyway. You pull away and she hums, staring at you.

You let out a breath. Your hands run into her hair to tilt her head back tugging just a little. Natasha feels the intention of keeping it casual fall apart, and to combat the feeling of anxiety creeping up, she kisses you again.

It's not much. Just soft presses of lips, sighs between them. Mouths open as the kisses grow sharper, a little more desperate. You feel the wet patch on her boxers before she does. You pull away enough to see the smudged lipstick on her mouth. You removed most of your makeup, but leaving that on was intentional.

One hand gripping her collar, you yank her closer. Hot lips press against yours, stiff due to her initial state of surprise, but then she kisses you back again.

Her hands settle on your waist after a moment. She brushes her tongue along your bottom lip, and when you feel her boner press against the inner part of your thigh, you roll your hips against hers. Your knees grind into the mattress and both of you are out of breath way too quickly.

"Hey", she mumbles, pulling away just enough to be able to speak. "You want this?"

"We're past asking, I think."

Natasha exhales and nods. Her hand curves around your back and up your spine, finding the clasp of your bra. It comes undone, the pressure around your chest loosens, and you let the straps slide off your arms. The piece of fabric ends up on the other side of the room, forgotten about before it even hits the floor.

Her hand is inside your shorts before you manage to kiss her again. You wiggle against her fingers, cursing quietly.

"Jesus, you're wet already?", she mumbles.

"You're the one dripping", you shoot back. Her hand moves slowly, too slowly for the both of you. You swear again, clutching her shirt so hard she feels the pressure around her chest.

Her fingers flex inside you. She keeps working you open until you have to clasp your hand over your mouth to stop yourself from whining. Just seeing that happen is enough for Natasha to want to take it slow, but her boxers hurt from the pressure, so she pulls out again.

"Can you not?", you complain, her hand stuck in the waistband of your shorts for a moment. She raises her eyebrows.

"Still hate me?"

"You're on thin ice", you mutter. She puts her hands on your waist and guides you up, making your frown fade. "I'll kick you out."

Natasha glances at you, and somehow, she's able to make you feel bad. It's a guilt trip, heading straight for the spot that'll make you stop whining. Unfortunately, it works.

Once she realizes she's won, she looks much more content already. You're too impatient to put up much of a fight. There are always other ways to take revenge, after all.

"What's your plan?", you cave. She hums and lifts you up again, manhandling you as she pleases.

"Turn around", she says. "I want to try it."

Your back is already turned towards her when she says that. The moment you remember what she's talking about, you feel heat shoot up your spine and then back down between your legs. Natasha tugs at your shorts and waits for you to nod, then she helps you pull them off all the way.

It's hot in your dorm, summer heat clinging to both of you. With her only sitting there in a sports bra now, you can feel how sweaty and flushed she is. You straddle her facing away and lean back against her chest.

"Alright", she breathes, her hands on your waist. You lift your hips and feel her tip nudge into you. "There you go."

"Shut the fuck up", you moan, trying to sink down. The angle isn't making things easier for you — getting adjusted to her still hurts. "Don't move, don't move-"

"I'm not", she husks. Her fingers curl into your sides, leaving little crescents behind as she guides you. "Come on, just a little more."

She rocks up into you, bottoming out. Your hips are pinned in place. The bed creaks quietly and you moan.

The thrusts are long at first, calculated. You're still sitting up, still trying to take each roll of her hips. Her nose is against your neck as she breathes in, perfume and a hint of cherry gloss making it seem like a fever dream in the late of summer.

With her hands still guiding you, she starts going slower. The angle hits deep, the spots are sweet enough to make you gasp quietly. She's not thrusting, she's grinding. It's not rough, but relentless, and she feels her self control slip with each noise you make.

Then, you clench. Natasha curses as she barely stops herself from coming on the spot.

"Shit", she grunts, her voice low and lost between the slick, unhurried sounds that fill the room. Mentally, she's thanking Sabrina for introducing her to this. "Don't do that."

"Come on", you say. You're barely able to speak at this point. "This was your idea. You were so cocky earlier."

Natasha's forehead is glued to your shoulder. You lift one arm and move your hand behind you, cupping the back of her head. The bracelet around your wrist nudges her ear and gets tangled in a few flyaway hairs.

Her hands are grinding you down, her hips are rolling up into you. The room smells like sex and sweat, and when one of her hands suddenly starts roaming your body, you know it's over for you.

She presses down on your stomach, cups your breast, moves it all the way up to your throat. She barely wraps her hand around it before letting go again. It drifts to the aching spot between your thighs, where she's still buried inside of you, and she starts circling it without warning.

"Fuck", you stammer, one knee jerking. "Fuck, Nat-"

She ignores how your fingers tangle into her hair and tug. Her arm locks around your waist, keeping you pressed against her. She feels her own outline against her forearm and almost loses it.

At this point, it's almost too much. Natasha's been hanging on by a thread for hours, and you're not doing better. She tugs you fully into her lap as she keeps grinding up, sweat trickling down her bicep and her hair curling from the moisture.

"The bracelet", you moan, melting against her. "How did you find it?"

"I didn't." She makes a noise that sounds close to a sob. You'd laugh — it's you who did it, after all — but her hips jerk up and rid your mind of any thoughts. "I took it."

"Oh", is all you say. Her hand keeps working your clit, and each thrust goes deeper and deeper until she's all but grinding in spot. Her words linger, but you're too far gone to react.

The buildup is sudden and intense. She thrusts up one more time, her arm pulling you down as she rocks up, and that's it. Heat floods you, hitting each nerve ending. She spills, your back arches, and the bracelet almost rips a few of her hairs out when you adjust your arm.

"Shit", she pants, still nuzzling your neck. "That hurt."

"You're the one complaining?", you whine. You're twitching with aftershocks, nearly wheezed while talking — you could've sworn she'd rip a hole into you. Yet, she's talking about 'hurt' like she's the one who experienced it.

"Your bracelet, dumbass. It’s pulling my hair."

"Oh." You swallow and gently remove your hand. Her hand hasn't moved from between your legs. Her thumb keeps circling your clit like she's about to initiate something else. But you're sticky and trembling and in desperate need of a shower. "Get out of me before I cry."

You hear her swallow, feel the kiss on your shoulder. She hesitates before pulling out, slowly, and wipes your thighs with the back of her hand.

"I didn't mean to", she confesses, grabbing a tissue with her clean(-ish) hand. "I don't know why I did it. Guess it reminded me of...things."

"The party", you state. She shoots you a glare. "Don't look at me like that! You took it like some weird creep."

When she doesn’t say anything, all you can do is scoff and get up. Natasha, feeling like an idiot for confessing while too deep inside you and too pussy-drunk to form a single coherent sentence, jumps up and follows after you. She tries crossing her arms behind her head as you walk to the shower on wobbly legs, but even that  doesn't feel right anymore.

"You need help?", she finally asks. You grab your robe and head for the door.

"You need to leave", you say, hand on the doorknob. "You know that bracelet is important to me!"

"I know", she says slowly. She's seen it on you during the party, and then consistently after you started hooking up more. "I'm sorry. Don't be mad."

You roll your eyes and step out into the hallway. Natasha groans and puts on her shorts before walking after you, the floor cold beneath her feet. She makes sure not to step into some old chewing gum and then tries getting ahold of you.

The towel nearly slips. She retracts her hand like she touched the earth's core itself.

"What is wrong with you-"

"I wasn't thinking", she quickly says, fingertips grazing your wrist. "I swear."

"No", you shoot back. "You were thinking too much. See the issue?"

She doesn't understand at first, then she opens her mouth — and shuts it again. Because you're right, again. You're calling her out, which she both hates and loves. It's something that no one's ever done before, at least not like this. Not in a way that made her listen.

"And the concert", you add. "What was that about? Did you want to do something nice, or was it about fucking me again?"

"Okay", she stammers, rubbing the back of her neck. "I don't want to go off topic, but we're in the middle of the hallway, and it's late at night, and-"

"You don't want everyone to find out?", you snap. Her eyes widen immediately. "Little late for that, since under the bleachers seemed just fine for you."

Heat creeps up her neck and all the way to her ears. She rubs her eyes — if she'd just given up on the ticket hunt, she wouldn't be standing here right now — as she tries to find the right words. Somehow, that's where she always ends up: in some weird headspace that removes her ability to communicate verbally.

The easiest way to deal with this would be to drag you back into bed. But you don't want that — you'd probably kill her, in fact — and neither does she. Her only option is to find the right words, even if it seems impossible.

"It wasn't about sex", she mumbles, each syllable feeling like it's clinging to her vocal cords and refusing to let go. "You know that."

You shake your head and adjust your towel. Someone down the hall opens their door, but it shuts again almost right away. "You know, believing you is one of the biggest mistakes someone could make. So why should I?"

"No", she admits. "You shouldn't. But I want you to, anyway."

"It's not about what you want", you reply, fixing your towel again. You almost let go, and she immediately grabs the edge to keep it in place. "It's about being an adult. There's a thing called 'emotional intelligence', but I guess you won't even look at that until you can stick your dick in it."

"You're emotionally intelligent", she says unhelpfully. "Does that count?"

Another stare. Then you're headed for the bathroom, and Natasha has to follow suit again. Why she's fighting, she pretends not to know. Even if everything she does is telling her why.

The water starts running, and she joins you without asking. You don't bother trying to kick her out. It wouldn't work anyway, so you let her lean against the wall of the shower cubicle.

She exhales as you reach for your loofah. It smells like almond and vanilla, but for the first time ever, even that doesn't turn her on. She shifts and then pushes away from the wall to grab the loofah.

"What-"

"I'll be more thorough", she mutters, moving to stand behind you. "Don't move too much."

You scoff, but don't bother arguing. The rough material of the loofah is running along your shoulders already anyway, so you stand there and let her coat your skin suds. It's just the loofah at first — scrubbing away sweat and dead skin cells, cleaning you of every dumb thing Natasha's said that night.

Her hand follows, but it's not the usual little game of trying to get you into bed. Suddenly, she's tracing shoulder blades and your spine and gently poking the spot where the nail of her index finger left a faint mark.

"That's me."

"I know", you say simply. "It's not like there's anyone else."

Natasha nods and lets out a breath. She returns to washing your back, your arms, your sides. Her hand cups your waist and she leans in to kiss the back of your neck. You freeze, then relax enough for her to repeat it.

"I'm sorry", she murmurs, her lips against your skin. Her hand trails down your arm, right to the bracelet. "There's a reason. I swear. But you said it, I don't do well with the sappy stuff."

"Natasha."

"I like what it stands for", she says, slipping her fingers between the bracelet and your wrist. "It reminds you of something. It reminds me, too. I should've just asked for it."

You breathe in and out. Your fingers curl, your eyes close. Her free hand touches your lower stomach before splaying out on it.

She's not making sense. She never did. But you move your hand away from her grasp and remove the bracelet from your wrist. This time, you give it to her on purpose. It looks small in her palm.

"That's yours", she says dumbly.

"You stole it", you say, turning around again to rinse off. "If you can do that, you can accept it from me."

"Yes, but..." She shakes her head and looks up. "Why?"

Not even you know. Not really. All you know is that you’re tired, and if she wants to have a piece of you, she can have it. And maybe, she’ll figure out how to take care of it first.

You don’t tell her. Instead, you shrug, the water running down your body and removing all the soap suds. She tries her best not to check you out, so she quickly looks at the bracelet again.

"I want you to have it", you say, twisting the shower knob and making the water stop running. "Do with it what you will."

She watches you as you leave, your footsteps quiet in the darkened room. She doesn't follow — not this time. She hears the door to the communal bathroom close, then she glances at the bracelet again. It had one memory attached to it before: sex, at a party, mainly resulting from a game of 'spin the bottle'. Now, that may have changed.

Do with it what you will.

Natasha doesn't wear it. Not now, that is. But she keeps it in her wallet, next to her toothbrush, on her dashboard.

When she does decide to give you her jersey, she wears it beneath the sweatband on her wrist. It's hard for anyone else to see the faint outline of it — yet she does, anyway.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Versus II

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Magda can't play against Denmark

You don't quite understand the Nations League.

You didn't really understand last season either. All you knew that your regular international break of qualifiers and friendlies have been replaced by a competition.

That's kind of confusing, you think as you sit on the bench and swing your legs during the pitch check.

You don't know why there needs to be so many competitions when the old system worked just fine and your Morsa and Momma could actually get some rest for once.

But things have changed now so apparently this next match actually means something or, at least, it's meant to mean something. You're not actually sure if it does.

What you do know though, is that Magda will not be playing in it.

She got a yellow card during the last match against Italy and apparently she'd already gotten too many yellow cards during the campaign so she had to sit out of this one.

Magda's kind of silly, you think, for playing too rough with the others and getting herself banned. It's naughty and when you're naughty Magda and Pernille make you sit on the naughty step.

Magda's suspension is kind of like the naughty step but it's public so everyone knows.

You hope that never happens to you, having people know you've been naughty and been made to sit out makes your chest feel all funny in a bad way and you reach up to rub it.

"What's this?" A very familiar, teasing voice asks," No hug from my favourite girl?"

You look up with a smile, that odd feeling disappearing completely as you throw yourself into the body in front of you.

"Momma!" You cry," You're here!"

Pernille laughs, standing smoothly and swinging you around as you giggle, questions already flowing out of your mouth before she can stop you.

"Are you starting today? Did you bring me some skildpadder? You said you would! Did Morsa send you the picture I drew for you? Did you see me showing Stina my German? Oh! Did you see Morsa was naughty? She can't play today!"

Pernille laughs, head thrown back as she adjusts her grip on you. "I am starting today. I did bring you some skildpadder but you only get it if Morsa tells me you've been good for her. I did see the picture you drew for me. It was beautiful. We'll have to put it up on the fridge when we get home. And I didn't see you teaching Stina German. I'll have to watch the video later."

You giggle. "And did you see Morsa was naughty? Did you? Did you? She's got a yellow card."

"What's this?" Magda asks as she approaches from behind, a hand on your back and leaning forward to peck Pernille's lips," Are you telling on me again, princesse?"

You giggle, leaning to rest your head on Pernille's shoulder. "Momma's allowed to know these things," You tell Magda," So she knows that she can beat you today."

Both of your mothers laugh and Magda pokes at your new Sweden shirt right on the badge.

"You don't want Sweden to win?" She teases," While you're wearing our shirt?"

You shrug with a crooked little grin, showing off the gaps in your gums where you've lost teeth. "I'm Danish too, Morsa," You reply, puffing out your chest proudly," So Denmark or Sweden can win today because they're both my teams."

Pernille giggles as the pretend outraged look on Magda's face as she spins away. "She is Danish too, Magda," She throws over her shoulder," She's allowed to root for whoever she wants."

"Not while she wears my jersey!" Magda yells back but even you know she's teasing.

"It's got my name on it!" You yell back at her and Pernille laughs as she carries you back to the circle of Danish players standing nearby.

You manage to stick by Pernille's side all the way up to the match starting. You even go so far as walking out with her, wearing her familiar Denmark warm up jacket to hide your Sweden jersey from the cameras.

Denmark don't end up winning. They lose by a lot actually, six goals to a measly one scored by Janni in the first half.

"Don't cry, Momma," You tell Pernille when she comes to collect her you even though she's not crying," At least you got to play today. Morsa didn't so I don't think you should have to do the dishes for losing."

Laughter bubbles up from Pernille's mouth. "What?"

You shrug. "Yeah, because she's naughty, she didn't get to play against you and the rule is that the loser has to do the dishes when you play against each other. So Morsa didn't play and you didn't lose against her."

You say it like it's obvious, already twisting around in Pernille's arms to address Magda, who's already approaching with that stupid victory smirk on her face.

You cut her off before she can even tease.

"You weren't allowed to play," You tell her," So Momma didn't lose against you. She lost against Sweden. It doesn't count."

Magda's mouth opens and closes several times. "I...What?"

"You're not Sweden, Morsa," You continue," Momma only lost to Sweden. It doesn't count. And you were the naughty one that got in trouble so you have to do the dishes."

"But..." Magda struggles to find a response. "I don't want to do the dishes."

You shrug. "We all have to do things that we don't want to do, Morsa, and you have to do the dishes now."

[yumeka-sxf]

You know we finally have a Twiyor chapter when I immediately start writing an analysis post 😅

First off, for those of you who read my thoughts on the last chapter, I feel like I kinda predicted what this one was going to be about 👀 (snippet below)

Yor wanting to know Loid's true feelings about the whole marriage arrangement makes the most sense at this point in the story. She already knows how she feels about it - not just in past chapters but she flat out says in this chapter that she wants the marriage to continue forever (and not for the cover-up reasons). And Loid has told her that Anya loves her as a mother...but what about his feelings? When they last had a similar conversation on the park bench, Loid had said that he would like her to continue playing the role of his wife. That was enough for Yor at the time since she simply wanted to know that Loid had no intention of replacing her with Fiona as his wife. But this time is different. She already knows he's fine with her playing the role of his wife and Anya's mother...but is that all he sees in the relationship?

We also have to remember that, unlike Loid, Yor doesn't have to hide her true personality/feelings. Loid has to do this because being cold and calculating makes for a good spy. But while Yor has to keep her identity as Thorn Princess a secret, she doesn't have to create a fake persona for herself or suppress her true feelings. Because of this, we've seen her feelings progress throughout the series: she started out robotic but quickly grew to love the Forgers, eventually realizing in the post-bar date and cooking lesson chapters how happy the family made her, and then resolving to keep fighting to protect them in the cruise arc. This is why she no longer has to visit the "quiet spot" anymore - she used to go there and watch people passing by to remind herself that this is what she's protecting (her country, as part of Garden). But now she doesn't have to because, as she said, being with the Forgers is what's most important to her and gives her all the resolve she needs to continue her Garden work.

Now she's at a point where she acknowledges these feelings but doesn't know what hope there is to hold onto if Loid doesn't reciprocate. If, after all this time, he still only sees her as "the role of his wife" then that indicates their marriage probably won't last. This is why she begins the conversation with asking him how long the marriage will continue.

Looking at Loid's character development in comparison to Yor's, it's obvious that, outside his realization at the end of the mole hunt arc that he's slipping up slightly, he has no understanding of his true feelings or the feelings of those closest to him. He still sees everything from a spy perspective and assumes that, like him, other people always have ulterior motives and he needs to just focus on how things can benefit his mission.

Even when he finally realizes that Yor is trying to tell him that she wants to continue the marriage, the concept of her falling in love with him doesn't occur to him at all. He just assumes her reason is the same as before - keeping the cover-up going, just like him. Interestingly, romantic feelings did occur to him back at their bar date, but then he pushed that thought aside by misinterpreting her kick as a rejection.

Whether that's the reason he's still assuming even now that she couldn't possibly have feelings for him, or whether it's a defense mechanism for himself so he doesn't have to confront such complicated feelings, is hard to say. But it's clear that Loid is one of those people who's amazingly talented and smart when it comes to his job, but is a total idiot when it comes to other things like understanding and sensing human emotions 😅 Even when she directly asks him how he feels about the marriage, he just says he'd appreciate it. His cluelessness is even more apparent in the Japanese version, where a more literal translation of his reply is "that would be helpful to me, too."

But wow, what a bittersweet ending to this chapter. It's still a bit ambiguous whether this arc will continue next time, but I feel like it might considering that Yor's coworkers now think that she's cheating! But whether that will be addressed directly in the next chapter, or whether it will be like Anya's confession to Damian and be saved for later, has yet to be seen. Either way, now that Yor thinks Loid may not have any deeper feelings for her besides their original contract, I wonder how this will change their dynamic going forward?

[camdunez]

It’s Never Over | s. laforteza

Song Playing: Lover, You Should’ve Come Over — Jeff Buckley | decode — paramore

paring: sophia leforteza x gn!reader summary: you had left sophia in LA to start a band with your close friends. she stayed leaving you voicemails, hoping you’d pick up. this voicemail was no different.. but she drops not so small surprise at the end. genre: angst, hurt/comfort, estranged relationship word count: warnings/tags: use of “yn”, college student!sophia, rockstar!yn, brief ningning x yn if you squint, yn’s so hayley williams coded, sophia misses you so much. a/n: might as well add onto the mom!sophia agenda. and can you tell i'm in love with paramore? expect more paramore au content soon!

hey, yn.. i don't know why i'm still leaving voicemails.. it's not like you're listening to them anyway.

but i hope you're doing okay.. i haven't heard from you since your little band dropped riot. i guess living that rockstar life's got you busy, huh?

i heard that track you guys did for that vampire movie in the grocery store yesterday. dani said you're growing more angsty with every song you put out.. but i'm proud of you regardless.

[sigh]

i feel like i'm stalling so let me just cut to the chase..

i had something to tell you the night you left for new york to start that band of yours...

remember when i told you i was sick that one time?.. that stomach bug i caught from eating manon's food?..

it really wasn't a stomach bug, yn..

[pause]

i was pregnant... just a few weeks then..

i had the baby when you were on tour for that first album.. and ironically, one of your songs came on the radio at the hospital.

[chuckle]

...

her name's salem..

she's about four years old now.. has your eyes.. your laugh.

she knows who you are.. she always tells people that you're her star.

[a longer pause]

i heard you're in LA for a show.. maybe i can drag the girls with me.. show my face and what not.

...

i miss you, yn. call me back when you get the chance..

the hallway was loud, but yn couldn’t hear anything.

not really.

they sat hunched in the greenroom, phone still pressed to their thigh, sophia’s voice still clinging to the insides of their skull like cigarette smoke. their in-ear monitors buzzed faintly from the tech table beside them. they were due on stage in seven minutes.

but time felt stuck.

like a pick jammed between strings.

“yo, we’re on in—” yizhuo’s voice cut in from the doorway, but the second she saw yn’s face, she stopped short. “hey.. you good?”

yn blinked. their eyes stung.

they should’ve known. or at least checked. all those voicemails — ignored, deleted, skipped. that whole year sophia kept calling, leaving breadcrumbs in the dark while yn lit match after match to burn their way forward.

they rubbed a hand down their face. “yeah,” they said. “i’m good.”

yizhuo didn’t move. “is it her?”

yn nodded once.

then, barely above a whisper: “i have a daughter.”

the silence stretched. even the hallway seemed to hush.

“oh,” yizhuo breathed. she stepped in slowly, crouching down in front of them. “you wanna bail? i’ll cover. i’ll fake a stomach bug... hell, i’ll pull the fire alarm.”

yn let out a weak laugh — the first crack of something real in their chest. “no. i need to do the show.”

“sure?”

“I have to.”

because what else was there to do but play?

to pour every feeling — the grief, the longing, the regret, the hope — into the mic and hope Salem would hear it one day and understand.

yizhuo pressed her forehead to theirs for a second, quick and grounding. “then go give ‘em hell.”

yn stood. shoulders squared. jaw set.

the lights were already dimming beyond the stage doors.

and somewhere in the crowd, maybe behind the barricades or just outside the venue, sophia was there. with salem.

waiting.

the first chords hit like muscle memory.

pressure bled into emergency, then into misery business, and YN tore through each song like they were exorcising something — sweat-slicked, breathless, cracking at the edges.

but focused.

tight.

every scream, every note curled off their lips like a confession. the crowd was a blur of lights and hands and mouths yelling lyrics back at them, and somewhere between the third and fourth song, yn finally let their shoulders drop.

the music held them.

it always had.

they hit the break before the final track and stepped forward, fingers flexing around the mic stand, eyes squinting under the pulsing stage lights.

“this last song,” yn started, voice still hoarse from the verse they’d just shredded, “is a little different from the others. we wrote it for a movie about vampires.”

laughter, cheers.

“yeah,” YN smiled a little. “didn’t think we’d ever be on a soundtrack... let alone that one. but when we wrote it, i was thinking about how hard it is to understand the people you love — even when you think you do. especially when they change. or when you do.”

their eyes scanned the crowd absently, words tumbling like muscle reflex.

“so... this is decode. hope you feel it.”

the guitars came in slow, simmering. the synth rippled like dusk over water.

and then—

a flash of pink hair in the front section.

a girl on someone’s shoulders, tiny headphones clamped over her ears, grinning like she owned the sky.

and Sophia.

holding her from behind, eyes wide.

manon was beside her. dani, lara, and yoonchae too — all of them watching, some with hands clasped over their mouths, some just swaying gently with the crowd.

but yn could only see her.

Them.

salem’s eyes — their eyes — stared back.

sophia’s mouth moved around the lyrics, barely audible, but yn didn’t need sound. they knew them already.

i’m screaming I love you so.

the words punched out of their chest harder than they expected.

every strum, every line, cracked with new meaning. years of longing rewired themselves mid-song. and as they reached the bridge, yn stepped closer to the edge of the stage, gaze locked with sophia’s, salem’s hands reaching out.

their voice trembled, but they didn’t stop.

how did we get here when I used to know you so well?

and for the first time in a long time, YN didn’t feel lost.

they felt seen.

they finished the song with a quiet, shaking exhale.

and the crowd roared.

as soon as the last chord faded, YN was moving.

they didn’t wait for the encore chants or the half-hugs from bandmates. they tore the in-ears out, shoved their guitar at a startled tech, and bolted past the backstage corridor like their body knew where it was going before their brain could catch up.

the hallway blurred. someone called their name. they didn’t stop.

out the side doors. Into the humid LA night.

the parking lot buzzed with post-show energy — crew unloading gear, fans screaming behind fences, neon venue signs flickering above.

and then—

there.

by the streetlamp near the side gate.

sophia.

still in that soft sweater from the photo she sent yn about a year ago. her arms were around salem, who was propped up on manon’s hip, babbling something between yawns and giggles.

manon was the first to see them.

she nudged daniela, who turned, then elbowed lara. then yoonchae looked up from her phone and blinked like she couldn’t quite believe it.

“soph,” manon murmured, nudging her gently. “look.”

sophia turned.

her breath caught so visibly it felt like the whole parking lot exhaled.

she didn’t move at first — just stood there, frozen, like if she blinked yn would disappear again.

“hi,” yn managed.

their voice cracked. their whole chest cracked.

sophia stared for another second. then another.

then she walked.

fast.

by the time she reached them, yn’s hands were already out, fingers twitching like they didn’t know where to land — her arm? her shoulder? her cheek?

but sophia didn’t give them the chance.

she shoved her hands against their chest and said, half-laughing, half-sobbing, “you asshole.”

then she threw her arms around their neck and held on.

and yn — dizzy with every scent and warmth and weight they thought they’d lost — hugged her back like it hurt.

which it did.

because this wasn’t a dream.

because she was real.

because she came.

salem’s little voice piped up behind them. “mommy said you were magic.”

yn pulled back just enough to see her — still on manon’s hip, squinting curiously at them.

And yn swore their heart stopped.

“hi, salem,” they whispered.

salem grinned. “i saw you! you screamed a lot.”

they choked on a laugh. “yeah… i do that.”

“sometimes I scream too,” she said proudly. “wanna hear?”

before she could demonstrate, sophia kissed her daughter’s head and gave her a gentle look. “let’s give them a second, baby.”

manon shifted salem into yn’s arms with a practiced ease. “she’s heavier than she looks.”

yn didn’t even notice. didn’t feel anything but salem’s arms around their neck and the tiny heartbeat thudding against theirs.

“you gonna say something profound?” dani teased, nudging sophia gently. “or just keep crying into their hoodie?”

“shut up,” sophia sniffled, laughing a little as she wiped her cheeks.

lara linked her arm with yoonchae’s. “we’ll be by the car.”

the girls gave them all a moment — drifting away slowly, but not without a few meaningful glances and soft smiles over their shoulders.

and then it was quiet again.

just them.

sophia. yn. salem.

and all the time they thought they’d lost.

they walked without speaking at first.

sophia beside them, her arm brushing yn’s every few steps. salem curled in yn’s arms, thumb in her mouth now, her cheek smushed gently against yn’s chest. the adrenaline of the show was gone — replaced by something quieter. heavier. more sacred.

the sidewalk was slick with night air, streetlights casting gold across the parked cars and backstage fencing.

“you know…” sophia finally said, her voice low, rough around the edges, “you have some explaining to do, yn.”

yn swallowed hard.

she didn’t sound angry.

worse — she sounded tired.

“i know,” they said softly.

sophia stopped walking, turned to face them. “you had to know something was wrong when I told you I was sick that night.” she said, referring to the voicemail she had left them.

“i did.”

“but you left anyway.”

yn looked down. salem stirred slightly in their arms, her breath even and warm against their neck.

“i didn’t want to go,” they said. “but i thought… i thought it was just nerves. or food poisoning. i didn’t think—”

“that I was carrying your daughter?” she cut in, not sharp, but precise.

yn flinched.

sophia’s eyes glistened under the streetlight. “I called you, yn. for weeks. i left voicemails until my voice gave out. i went to every show announcement page just to track where you were. i watched bootlegs of your sets, just to feel closer... all while i was bleeding in a hospital bed. alone.”

iI’m sorry,” yn said, hoarse. “i was scared. and selfish. and i thought… maybe not hearing your voice would hurt less than hearing it and knowing i couldn’t come back yet.”

“did it?” she asked quietly.

“no.”

silence stretched between them again.

“you missed so much,” she whispered.

“i know.”

“i had to be strong every day, even when i didn’t want to be... i had to be mom and dad.. a nurse and grown-up, even when i was still just a stupid college girl with lecture notes in her diaper bag... and still i played your music for her. i let her fall in love with you.”

yn looked up sharply at that. “why?”

sophia smiled, but it was sad. “because I never stopped loving you.”

that broke something in them.

yn stepped closer. not too close. not without permission. “i want to know her. i want to know you again, soph. if you’ll let me.”

sophia blinked slow, like she was holding back everything her body wanted to do. scream. cry. collapse. forgive.

she reached out and brushed her fingers across salem’s hair. “let’s start small, rockstar.”

then she looked up at yn.

“you can walk us home.. my apartment's not that far from here.”

sophia’s apartment was smaller than yn remembered.

or maybe they had just grown too much — in distance, in guilt, in time.

the space was warm, lived-in. a scatter of children’s books on the coffee table. a pink hoodie tossed over the arm of the couch. fairy lights strung up around the window, dimmed low now, like even they didn’t want to intrude.

salem had fallen asleep halfway through the walk. she was still curled in yn’s arms, her fingers fisted into the fabric of their hoodie like she knew exactly who she was holding — like she'd always known.

“here,” sophia whispered, pulling the soft gray blanket off the back of the couch. she draped it carefully over salem after yn laid her down.

for a long moment, they both just stood there — watching her breathe.

sophia crossed her arms over her chest. “she likes when you sing.”

yn’s lips parted, startled. “you really play my stuff for her?”

sophia’s gaze didn’t leave salem. “yeah. at bedtime sometimes. when she’s scared. or after a tantrum.”

she smiled faintly. “the softer ones. not the ones where you're yelling about feeling the pressures and all that crazy shit.”

yn snorted quietly. “fair.”

a beat passed.

then sophia walked over to the kitchen counter and poured herself a glass of water. she didn't offer yn one. she didn’t have to. it wasn’t hospitality tonight. it was survival.

“do you know what it feels like to fall asleep next to a voicemail?” she asked, not turning around. “to let someone’s ghost read bedtime stories to your daughter because the real thing never called back?”

yn’s throat closed.

“i don’t expect you to forgive me,” they said quietly.

“good,” sophia replied, taking a slow sip. “because i haven’t.”

she turned then, eyes shining in the low light. but there was no rage there. only grief. only bone-deep tiredness.

“i missed you every single day,” she said. “but i had to grieve you like you were dead... necause you were gone. and now you’re standing in my living room, holding her like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and I don’t know whether to fall apart or push you out the door.”

“i’m not going anywhere,” yn said, stepping closer. “not this time.”

she didn’t speak.

instead, she walked past them — slow, deliberate — and sat on the edge of the couch, beside salem. her fingers brushed the little girl's curls from her forehead. her whole body softened just from the contact.

yn sank to the floor in front of them. they looked up, chin resting on the couch cushion, studying sophia like a prayer they were scared to say out loud.

“i want to help,” they whispered. “whatever that looks like... i know i have no right to ask for a second chance... but i want to be here. for her, for you. even if i have to work my way up from the sidewalk.”

sophia looked at them for a long time.

and for a second, she looked like she might cry again.

instead, she whispered, “she calls the moon her ‘nightlight star.’”

yn blinked. “that’s beautiful.”

“she gets that from you,” sophia said. “she says it sings to her... like you do.”

the silence between them filled again — but it wasn’t heavy this time.

it was more sacred.

sophia leaned back on the couch and tilted her head toward the ceiling. “you can crash here tonight. the couch pulls out.”

“okay.”

“i’m still mad at you.”

“i know.”

she looked at them again — really looked.

but there was a softness now. a thread of something old, something forgiving, maybe not fully healed, but not as shattered as before.

and under the blanket, salem shifted in her sleep. a quiet hum left her lips.

“sing to her?” sophia asked softly. “like you used to.”

yn nodded.

they hummed a familiar tune under their breath as they moved closer to sophia, resting their head on her leg.

and as they sang, salem sighed in her sleep, curling deeper into the couch.

sophia stayed seated beside her.

listening.

eyes closed.

just like old times.

except this time, yn was here instead of in salem's radio.

[housemdork]

house md rewatch: 2x19, "house vs. god"

the term "functional vampire" rewired my brain, as did this entire episode.

this one completely upended my episode rankings. i think this may be my favorite episode of the show thus far. now i have to contend with that/balance it for my season review smh. fittingly, this has the potential to be my longest recap yet, so godspeed to you, soldiers!

i think i'll start with an odd exchange between wilson and house (before shit hits the fan) that i think encompasses 2x19's conflict.

predictably, house is absolutely enraged by the patient, boyd, claiming to be a faith healer. house hates the concepts of religion and faith on principle because he can't rationalize how someone can believe in something that they empirically cannot prove. he has a really odd way of explaining why this makes him so mad:

"you know, i'd get it if people were just looking for a way to fill the holes. but they want the holes. they want to live in the holes. and they go nuts when someone else pours dirt in their holes."

house's irritation stems from the way he thinks people cling to uncertainty. rather than attempt to solve it, they attribute that uncertainty to a higher power and get upset when someone - like house - attempts to disrupt that. in house's worldview, however, his very profession necessitates a rejection of that uncertainty. the more boyd pushes back on this, the more frustrated he gets.

i start with this bit first because everyone in 2x19 is subject to uncertainty, and he's no exception. at the end of the episode, when the case is all said and done (much more on that later), boyd comes to apologize to house (which pissed me off lol because boyd was 15 with a fever. house is just a cunt). he says the following, very prophet-like: "you're lucky. you go through life with a certainty that what you're doing is right. i know how comforting that is. good luck."

not only is "luck" a concept that is probably foreign to boyd, but this draws a very uncomfortable attention to house's inevitable fallibility, which we just saw some of in 2x17. house, try as he might, cannot be certain, especially because the solution to boyd's case was such a fluke, and wilson was the one who prompted the answer, anyways. house does so much to preserve, if nothing else, his intellect, but some small piece of him is aware of its imperfections. he's trying to get out of his hole, but it's not as easy as he claims:

wilson, meanwhile, attempts to control the uncertain, rather than deny it outright like house. when we first meet grace, wilson is trying to convince her to keep undergoing treatments, or at least palliative care, for her terminal diagnosis; they both know that she has a limited amount of time, but if he becomes EXTREMELY involved with her, by his logic, he can have a hand in solving/mitigating that uncertainty. that's the plain jane version, at least...much more to come.

meanwhile, and much more subtly, 2x19 posits chase as the middle ground between these 2 modes of handling uncertainty. he just...lives with it. whether or not this is a remnant of his upbringing or not, i found his respect and intrigue regarding boyd's faith to be really fascinating. when house first learns that boyd is a faith healer, chase interrupts to say: "a lot of people experience their religion as something more than symbolic." this then goes on to have massive, very palpable ramifications, reaffirmed by the last tally marks he put on the house vs. god whiteboard.

i really like the contrast this has with cameron's quick treatise on religiosity, or a lack thereof, when giving the MRI with foreman. whereas chase can exist within the uncertainty, can understand the draw of The Holes house hates so much, cameron rejects it altogether, saying that it is beyond our comprehension and thus should be beyond our concern. given that she's so involved with the here-and-now, so overextended into the lives of her patients, this tracks, at least to me.

another big marker of uncertainty's impact (and certainty's impossibility) occurs via house's poker game. he keeps wilson out because he knows that wilson, of all people, can not only read him, but has a lie brewing that house can't decipher without external help (a message from "god," maybe?). and when that lie gets revealed, wilson is right: "you're mad because i lied to you and you couldn't tell...that's why you didn't want me in your poker game, because when it comes to being in control, gregory house leaves our faith healer kid in the dust...if the universe operates by abstract rules, you can learn them and protect yourself."

this is just one of the ways poker functions in 2x19 - a site for uncertainty to flourish. i think it's weird that there are 2 poker-themed episodes so close together, but i think the premise functions even better in "house vs. god" than in "all in." blasphemy, i know.

with all that being said, house's diagnosis of wilson as a "functional vampire" actually encompasses a lot of the ways the characters encounter/handle (however subliminally) the uncertainty between faith and unbelief. it's also how they legitimate and self-actualize - their actions yield an action or phenomenon that they benefit from in return. it's another example of house implicating himself in his tirades against wilson's bullshit, and i eat it up every time. let's make a list:

boyd and house are united by their need to "heal." i'll say this till i'm blue in the face - house has remained a medical doctor because he cares about people, and the rush he gets from solving a case is baked into that face. boyd, meanwhile, gets the satisfaction of loving people and feeling like god's chosen. ironically, however, boyd is more cognizant of their similarity than house is. his parting words about luck imply that he's even reconsidering this calling, while house remains victim to its absolutism - he can't conceptualize any other version of life.

house's trademark neediness, which he admits to, also qualifies him as something of a vampire. taking and taking from wilson emotionally fulfills his sense of self and a need for wilson (that we haven't really addressed yet) is a lot like wilson's vampirism, just in the reverse. this episode is sooo "vampire empire" by big thief-coded.

wilson's functional vampirism is the best way his need of neediness has been conceptualized yet. whereas an "ordinary" person would get burnt out by his work in oncology, it provides him with an endless stream of needy individuals. it's kind work tainted by an insane degree of selfishness. specifically regarding grace, wilson needs to be the one to help grace rather than anything extraneous; that's why he's especially upset with house and co. when he sees that boyd has been "helping" grace. i don't think his concern over false hope is untrue, necessarily, but that's definitely not the sole operating factor here.

the boyd and house parallels regarding their own vampirisms actually transfers to boyd and wilson by the end of 2x19, however subtly. their bodily sins (both to do with sex) are both represented and disguised by their need to help people. they both get some reward from helping grace - boyd reinvigorates his faith and wilson fills the gaping black void of neediness in his heart (plus sex. he's such a villain here).

next. did you guys know that there are gay people in our doctor show? 2x19 is bursting with a lot of subtextual queerness not limited to strictly comphet wilson or hilson or house's bisexuality but a wonderful combination of all 3, and then some.

comphet wilson is here, and at his most troubling. i mentioned in an earlier recap that wilson's love language (to use a dated term/concept) is very clearly acts of service. he describes to house how he ended up moving in with grace after helping her with groceries, transportation, etc. while still being overly involved and unprofessional, these are objectively kind actions. so, like always, wilson has to ruin it by injecting sex into the mix.

at this point, it really seems like wilson truly can't conceptualize any sort of relationship between a man and woman - professional, platonic, romantic, etc. - that doesn't end in sex. maybe he's spiraling a bit post-julie, but it also reads as a frantic attempt to control the uncertain both within 2x19 and beyond. what lies beyond the heterosexual is uncertain, if not incomprehensible, to wilson, and his catch-all for relationships is working again after he failed to satisfy julie. it's double-sad, really.

meanwhile, the house/wilson synergy doesn't just implicate wilson in this scenario; house's innate queerness comes part and parcel with his reliance on wilson. i'll make a much longer post (more likely a formal, thesis-driven article, actually) on this at some point, but all the ways that house deviates from the textbook Normal that exists in house md may be read as markers for house's queer identity. i sure read them that way. one of his most maladaptive traits is his misanthropy; at ground zero, his disability unfairly isolated him from the life he once knew. 2x07's comparisons between the gay patient, kalvin, and house reaffirm this.

so it bears underscoring that the only offered solution to house's neediness and isolation atp is wilson specifically. his neediness is compatible solely with the man who can never be fully satisfied in his (sexual) devotion to women. this is not heteronormative in any way (sorry to keep abusing that word). remind me of this seed of a thought when we get to the blood donor/recipient conversation because then they literally start invoking penetration when having this exact same conversation lol.

lastly, i think it's pertinent that are 2 major scenes that associate masculinity, sex, and shame in moments of exposure: the poker game itself and when boyd reveals his rash, his sign of herpes encephalitis. in both cases, the setting is dominated by men (isn't most of house md? lol) with prying, diagnosing eyes. house, wilson, chase, and foreman are quite literally looking to diagnose boyd, but boyd's father is trying to discern boyd's character, to determine where things have gone wrong regarding his faith.

the physical act of revealing the rash is almost like a humiliation rite for boyd; they demand that he take off is clothes and the rash is just below his waist. boyd, and boyd's persona, come crashing down in this moment, as he's failed to live up to the standard imposed by himself and his faith community around him by having sex.

the poker game, meanwhile, moves this dynamic away from physical humiliation and into mental/emotional strife. it's also highly ritualized (a theme in house and wilson's relationship throughout the show - games!). wilson is put under the same diagnostic microscope, except these ill-informed strangers, whom house doesn't even give names, are trying to discern the details of why wilson is screwed up.

once again, another persona collapses under the weight of these masculine gazes bent on exposing the respective scenes' primary subject, thus engendering sex and gender-based humiliation. insert something about how "all will be revealed in god's eyes" here, idk.

following all of this, wilson somehow makes a somewhat redeeming statement (he is NOT absolved. i'm glad he lets grace go on her merry way to her trip in florence, and i hope that she wasn't too in-shambles over him). after deliberating on the legitimacy of house's "victory" over god, wilson declares that, "it is possible to believe in something and still fail to live up to it."

on an immediate level, this implicates the image that boyd wanted to maintain, one of purity and healing and godly influence. in wilson's case, this is to do with his own kind, nonmanipulative oncologist (and heterosexual) persona.

but writ large, this applies to every character. cameron will always be living up to her impossible convictions, believing in them strongly despite circumstances like those in 2x18; chase will continue to try to live up to his idea of what house requires of him; foreman will try to live up to the idea that he's nobly above the rest of the team, struggling against that which makes him similar to house; cuddy will try to live up (and succeed, dammit!) to the astronomically tough expectations and standards demanded of her stature. the list goes on and on. maybe those standards are everyone's metaphorical "holes," and this episode does an excellent job exhuming how house md characters live inside of them.

this mammoth-sized recap is to say nothing about the second gag-off that these 2 have on the street, or not the real nitty-gritty of it at least (i love how house always gets SO CLOSE to winning during their fights, but wilson pulls out a heavy-hitting read at the last second). nor do i really get into the larger narrative house md builds around atheism. i'll link what i've said about that in the past here. but overall, after i've sat down to write this, i'm confident that "house vs. god" is my favorite episode of the show thus far. the only one that could give this a run for its money upcoming is 2x24.

one last thing...

HE LOOKS SO GOOD IN THIS EPISODE. I CAN'T STAND IT. THEY DID IT ON PURPOSE. THEY SPECIFICALLY MADE HIM EXTRA GOOD LOOKING SO HIS VILLAINY WOULD HURT MORE.

[chaotic-toasters]

Thunderbolts x Sick!Teen!R hcs

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of alcohol, drinking, mentions of underage drinking (sort of), mentions of vomit, Black Widow movie mentions

Yelena Belova

-Knows you're sick before you do

- “Are you shivering? Why? I did not teach you that.”

-Believes that Walker must have infected you with something- she trained you to be tough, not to be bedridden by some common illness. If you were sick, it must have been Walker's fault

-May act slightly annoyed that her partner-in-crime is stuck in bed- but Yelena is the one who won't let you get up to go to the bathroom by yourself

-“No! I will be right outside the door. You could pass out in there. What happens then?”

-Will be ready to wait you on hand and foot should you need anything. She'll drop whatever she's doing, no matter how important.

-“Eat shit, Valentina. I have better things to do than run your errands.”

Bob Reynolds

-Turns into a nurse the second he hears you cough or sneeze

-Quietly there for you. Brings you your medicine every few hours, makes sure you drink plenty of fluids, and makes sure that no rambunctious and excitable visitors (Alexei) bother you when your head hurts

-Would like to stick around to make sure you’re okay, but understands the need for space and will only stay with you if you ask him

-“I’m gonna head out, I hope– really? Are you sure you want me here? I… yeah, I can stay. But if you want me to leave– okay, okay! I’ll stay, I’ll stay.

John Walker

-Doesn’t believe in getting sick. Even when he himself is feeling under the weather, he chalks it up to tiredness

-“Yelena, there’s no such thing as getting sick. Also, I definitely did not infect the kid. Seriously.”

-Will ignore how you feel unless you’re bedridden. If you can stay on your feet, you’re fine. If not, maybe something’s wrong. Maybe.

-If you are running a fever and are stuck in bed, he’ll act very disgruntled when bringing you medicine

-Does his best to avoid Ava and Yelena when he’s carrying things to your room because he doesn’t want to be seen being soft (and they will tease him. Relentlessly).

-“Oi. Thought you said being ill wasn’t real.” “ShIT! Fuck off, Ava!” “No, no. Don’t deny it. Is that medicine?” “ShIT! Where the fuck did you come from, Yelena?”

Alexei Shostokov

-Absolutely does not notice you’re sick until someone tells him directly. If you’re coughing, he doesn’t hear it. If you’re shivering, he doesn’t see it. If you’re emptying the contents of your stomach, he’ll think it’s for a very different reason than you being sick.

-“Ah, little one, you finally start drinking? Don’t worry, you get used to it. Vodka go down easier more you drink.”

-Will definitely feel bad when he finds out you’re sick. Doesn’t really know what you need for the illness, but he’ll sing you old Soviet songs at the top of his lungs to cheer you up.

-One time, he decided to switch things up and sang American Pie by Don McLean to you, remembering how much Yelenalced that song when she was young

-Was very proud of himself when Yelena happened to poke her head in while he was singing American Pie. She was unsuccessful in trying to hide her smile, and even sang along quietly towards the end– something that Alexei boasted about to the others for the next two weeks. Yelena was mortified.

Ava Starr

-Like Bob and Yelena, she catches on to your illness very quickly. She’s spent most of her life observing other people, and she’s very attuned to everyone around her.

-Is slightly less dry towards you when you’re sick– she feels a little protective of you, though she’d never admit it.

-Makes sure you rest enough and does not tolerate you doing any strenuous physical activity until you’re better. Any protests from you is met with a stern look and a firm order to sit down and relax.

-“Ava, come on, I can’t just lay down and do nothing.” “You’re not going out for a run when you’ve got a 39°C fever. Go back to bed, I’ll bring you some books to read if you’re bored.”

-Doesn’t hover, just periodically checks on you by phasing and sticking her head through the wall.

-Will never let the others see her entering your room. Phases into the wall upon entry, and phases out of the wall upon exit. Like John, she doesn’t want to ruin her image by being caught caring for you.

Bucky Barnes

-Instantly changes from Bucky to Dad. Brings you your medicine, water, and food at the same time every day like clockwork, and completely ignores the rest of the team’s teasing at how much he babies you.

-Is the exact opposite of Ava. Bucky doesn’t let you do anything without supervision. It doesn’t have to be him, but either Bob or Yelena has to follow you around like a shadow if you’re doing anything other than lying in bed. He doesn’t quite trust the others enough to watch you yet when you’re sick, even though you’re perfectly capable of going to the fridge to get a snack by yourself.

-Puts a time limit on your screen time. It doesn’t matter that you’re almost an adult. Until you’re 100% better, he refuses to risk you getting a headache or making your eyes hurt. You get an hour at a time with three hours in between. Nothing more, unless you want to risk his wrath– aka a 3 hour lecture of him whisper-yelling (to prevent giving you a headache) all the reasons why you can’t ‘overexert’ yourself when you’re not feeling well.

-Is a firm believer in “recovery after sickness”. You’re not better until a week has passed without you having a cold. No one gets to make you do things until then– not even Val.

-“Yeah, no. She’s unavailable, Val. Incapacitated, actually. Yeah. She’ll be free in a month or two. Why? Her fever’s gone, but she still has to get rid of her cold. N- what do you mean, ‘that’s stupid’? No it's not!”

-

Thanks for reading :) Very experimental hcs - I’ve never written hcs before and this is my first Thunderbolts work, so I’m still trying to get a feel for how to write everyone. Thoughts?

[veilishvixen]

“Solas always thought Mythal would join us eventually, that she was better than the rest of the Evanuris. He made this place so she would be comfortable once she joined the rebellion. Now it’s too late.” -Felessan, a refuge for Mythal

“For whatever it’s worth, thanks for the castle.” - Inquisitor, Tresspasser

“For whatever it’s worth, you used it well.” - Solas (high approval/romance), Tresspasser

*screams from a tortured solavellan in the distance*

Also, can we please talk about the difference between his “Inquisitor!” vs “Mythal…” when they both show up at the end of veilguard? He addresses high approval inky with surprise and respect, turns his head away so they can’t see his bloody and blackened face. But it’s just the WAY he says their title, like he’s disappointed the only person in the world he might still look up to.

But his “Mythal…” sounds dreadful, almost like he’s going to be sick. He curls in on himself, eyes lowered, dagger raised for her to take like a beaten dog. It was devastating to watch someone we’ve always seen carry themselves so high be brought so low. But suddenly…it made sense as to why he never seemed to relax in inquisition, why his shoulders were always pinned back and his chin held high. It was humility that came first, then pride.

The humiliation of reducing his spiritual nature to a physical form, the humiliation of finding all his long sought wisdom being ignored, of a pure intent being corrupted, of all his painstaking effort being for naught….the humility of knowing he was once foolish and soft enough to let himself be used for an agenda that was not his own. To know that you once loved someone more than they loved you…and that when you gave them all, they gave you nothing.

“Or maybe…I’m the prideful one; imagining his broken heart so I never have to face my folly.” -romanced Lavellan.

Here we have Lav seeing right through Solas without even trying to because they are one of the same reflection. But there are two key differences that stand out to me, the first being that Lav is willing to table her pride to face this pitiful truth about herself head on…while Solas is still too ashamed to, even after all his long centuries.

The second is Lavellan is wrong; she was not imagining Solas’ broken heart over what he did to her, while Solas was imagining Mythal’s (or at least inflating it beyond truth) not only over how she treated him, but the rest of her people. “You saw the understanding Solas cultivated like a tree twisting to reach the sun.” Mythal always knew he did not see her for what she truly was. He never would have joined her if he had. Because both Lav and Solas know what it is to stare at themselves in the mirror and doubt, while Mythal and all the rest of the Evanuris did not.

“Their arrogance is half their binding,” Solas will write about the Evanuris in regard to the prison. “She was the best of them,” and yet, “They were arrogant and fickle.” She never stopped being one of them. She never wanted to. They turned on her…not the other way around, as it should have been.

“Solas always believed Mythal would join us eventually, that she was better than the rest of the Evanuris” - Felessan (a still doubtful former slave/supplicant of Mythal, and rightfully so as she NEVER joined…not even in veilguard, never wholeheartedly.)

I don’t really have any point to make here with this, just musing at the contrast between Solas’ leader/advisor dynamic with the Inquisitor vs Mythal…and how much better one was to him than the other despite not having lifetimes of history together.

A blazing light was brought to that refuge’s beacon eventually…just not from the source he’d been expecting.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 18 - Don't Let It Out

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Bucky going full protector mode. My king.

Chapter Title from Use Somebody by Kings of Leon

Word Count: 8k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You, Sam, and Bucky have a talk, and progress is made. Extra warning on physical abuse in this chapter. Make the best call for yourself.

Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff

Chapter 17 - Chapter 19

Read on A03!

Bucky’s told you what to say.

Before anyone found you in the closet—before the world caught back up with you and you had to deal with the fall out—Bucky made you rehearse the story, and given you a tight nod of approval when you got it right.

And he hasn’t run.

Hasn’t looked at you in fear or disgust or hate. Blamed you for hiding this from him.

And he’s still holding you, right in his lap. An arm wrapped around your body to keep you upright, his attention focused purely on your words and face as you practice, and the wings in your ribcage threatening to beat out of your chest. 

He’s seen all of you, and he’s still here. Still on your side.

Staying.

Letting you keep him, even when you both know how this ends. 

Not happily. It doesn’t matter how many dreams you have of an easy, happy life with Bucky, this isn’t going to be a happy ending. Miles has a leash around your throat—and Bucky wants you to have a choice, and you adore him for it but that’s just not how this works—and there are people biting at your ankles for reasons you don’t understand. 

Hydra was one thing. But Bucky says that the other woman—Belova, he’d called Her, making Mist grow spiked and hot up your spine—works for the Government, and you can’t begin to imagine why they’d want you. Sure you’ve sued them a lot, but no more than any other foundation. You’ve donated a lot of money to Government programs, too. You pay your taxes. When you’d been called for jury duty, you’d gone.

But they’re still after you.

And Bucky is still trying to protect you from it, even when you’ve given him every reason not to. Even when he’s always been able to see right through you, but now you’ve showed off all the ugliest, gnashing and bloodied parts of you, and he won’t just leave.

You don’t want him to leave.

You might need him to stay. Need him to tell you it’s going to be okay, and hold you, and maybe kiss you this time. When his breath is spreading tiny, pleasant little shivers over your skin, and his arm around your stomach feels like a comfortable, weighted promise of keeping you. Right against him like you’re something he doesn’t want to break, and would put back together if he did. As if he’d care if you hurt, and wants to make you feel good. 

Not like a doll. Bucky holds you like you’re something that’s alive, and it’s not wrong or undeserved, and you never want to stop needing him to hold you. You never want to leave this closet. To face the roaring crowd and curtain drops, when you could just stop playing the Show and stay in Bucky’s arms. 

It’s not how this works. It’s not how the Show ends, because it doesn’t end. 

And you want it to. 

But it’s never mattered what you want, so the Show has to keep going. Bucky gave you the lines. 

You just have to sell them.

“What the hell.” Sam hisses, pushing into the closet, somehow barely blinking at how Bucky’s holding you, and you’re leaning into his body. “You tell me that you two dumbasses have been going behind my back when I was very clear when I said not to, we got the press and fire department outside, and you’re hidin’ in the closet-“

“Close the door.” Bucky grunts, and Sam frowns, but listens. 

“You got a lot of explaining to do, Buck-“

“Then let me talk.” Bucky adjusts you in his arms, your hands flying to hold his arm. “She cracked the code.”

Sam blinks at you. “The Hydra code-“

“Only code there is.” Bucky says, tone dry. “She got it, alone. When you needed a whole team to do nothing-“

“Hey-“

“-And it’s just a lot of damn numbers. We met with Zemo a few weeks ago,” Bucky rubs his face, keeping his voice raised over Sam’s. “His name was in there too, but it was his dad. He said he’d met that Leviathan you’d been chasing. That I had, too. And I don’t remember it, but some of the numbers were dates for my Hydra missions-“

“The Starks.” You mumble. “Right now, we just know it’s the Starks.”

Bucky gives you a flat look, and you shrug. For a second, his gaze softens while his jaw clenches, and he blinks at you twice. 

That Look is something good, even if you don’t quite know what. And he’s giving it to you in the dark, so right now—under Bucky’s attention—there’s a mirage of safety. That this isn’t just a moment in a glass bubble you know is going to pop—it always pops—and the light, floating feeling of the Mist will last. 

It doesn’t.

It always sours, and turns in to pull you apart. 

“You guys didn’t think this was important to tell me?” Sam says, his tone coated in disbelief, and you give him a weak smile. 

Bucky doesn’t seem to feel any sort of guilt, though. He just shrugs, and nods. “Not really. More important shit-“

Sam scoffs. “Like what’ “We had a Widow here.” Bucky grunts, and Sam’s eyes widen. “Yelena Belova. And I heard she’s been working for the Government-“

“She has.” Sam says, a deep frown on his face. “I recognize that name, saw it in a briefing, think Nat mentioned it before-“ His jaw twitches slightly, and he shakes his head. “Yeah. Belova’s been contracted by the CIA. But far as I know, Hydra doesn’t have any roots in there.”

“I think they’re working separately. That whatever Hydra wants-“

“De Fontaine might want it too.” Sam sighs your name. “You got anything to add, or are we just fighting off book again.”

You shake your head, and let the lines Bucky fed you flow out with a nervous ease. “Bucky said the Leviathan was a doomsday device, and if- I don’t know, maybe Tony had some sort of technology they needed for it, and they’re going through me.”

Bucky nods, squeezing your hip in silent praise, and that shouldn’t make your knees feel weak. “Zemo talking about it wasn’t a coincidence. We need to look into what the CIA has on the Leviathan. Try and find it first.”

Sam frowns. “What about-“

“Bucky will keep watching me,” you shrug. “I’ll be safe, and we can keep working on the codes while you look for something. We’ll only look into something if you can’t.”

“You’re not allowed to work the field,” Sam gives you a firm look, and you roll your eyes.

“You’re not my dad, Sam.”

“Maybe, but I can sure as shit ground you-“

“I’d like to see you try.” You stick your tongue out at him. “I’ll kick you in the nuts-“

“No, you won’t.” Bucky hauls you back, and you scoff. Sam knows you weren’t actually going to do it, but now you’re just melting into Bucky’s arms and he’s going to make fun of you for a million years. “I’ll watch her, Sam. And,” he nods to the closet. “I don’t think any press is good right now-“

“They think it was a fire.” Sam mutters, frowning between you and Bucky with an odd expression. “Nobody knows it’s Hydra, or- I guess the fuckin’ government. We’re safe.”

But you’re not. 

Sam says you’re safe, but you know you’re not. Bucky must somehow know as well, because his grip on you tightens right before the door opens. You both know you’re going to have to split up, but he doesn’t let you go. 

“I’ll see you Monday.” You mumble, and he frowns down at you. 

“I can give you drive back-“

“Miles is here.” 

Bucky face drops into a sour expression, and he glances up to Sam before dropping down to your ear, his breath brushing softly over your skin. “Just come with me, Butterfly. I’ve got guns, and an arm that’ll knock him into the sun.”

You give him a small, sad smile, and you shouldn’t have told him about Miles holding the bond. 

It makes the possibility that he’s going to try and save you—help you claw out of this pit while asking for nothing in return—all the more likely. 

“I’m not joking-“

“I know you’re not.” You turn away, raising your chin but not trying to move away from his hold. The Show has to begin, but you’re not ready for this—a single, safe moment where Bucky doesn’t sees you, and you’re safe—to end. “But I can’t, Buck. I’ll be fine.”

Bucky’s hand flexes slightly, and you know he sees right through you, but this isn’t another assassin or kidnapper. He’s not going to make you stay, or keep next to him, or let him hold you longer than time allows. 

You wish you could freeze it. Slow it down. Anything but let it rush past you, the crowd too loud, the cameras too bright, Miles’ grip far too tight as he yanks you away from Sam and sneers in your ear that you’re going home. 

Sam doesn’t lunge for you, either. But Sam just hates Miles. You’re too good at the Show, and you survived too long on your own to allow weakness to show. There’s no real proof that Bucky knows, outside of you telling him about the bond. 

Bucky might know. He always seems to know, because he sees everything. Watches everything. Remembers all the things you say and do, to the point that you’ve seen him double back to grab something you forgot. 

And you’re not fine without him. Not fine alone. There’s no way out of this storm, and you don’t have anyone to weather it with because you told Bucky to go home.

It not as if he could do anything, if you let him come with you. It would only end with all of this worse than it already is. It wouldn’t just be Miles’ hand bruising on your wrist, and your legs stumbling as you try to keep up with his pace. There would be more than just the hot, impossibly painful feeling of the Mist trying to rip up your spine, paired with the poison feeling running through your blood.

Because Sam said that nobody knows that this was an attack on you. He’d even muttered in your ear—right before Miles found you—that he’s selling a story about a decoy bomb, planted just to interrupt the event. 

But it’s not working. The press bought it—all the questions shouted at you were about who did this and how does the Stark Foundation react to such a threat—but you don’t care. Maybe if you told them about Hydra, it would be hiding in plain sight, all the eyes on you making Hydra and the Government slower to move. 

It’s never been the press or the public that needs to believe nothing is wrong. 

Miles. 

It’s always been Miles. 

But he knows. There’s no way to say how, or exactly what he knows, but he knows. You can feel it, in an iron rope that’s coiling around your lungs. He knows. He’s not looking at you, and though he rarely does, this is different. There’s a cold feeling in the air like the dead of winter, despite it being the rising, wet heat of a summer night. There’s no music for the car ride, and it’s getting too loud in your head—a buzzing sort of ring, starting to rattle around your skull—but you can hear every one of your own breaths, and you have to count to make sure they last. Miles’ grip on the wheel isn’t tight, but horrible relaxed. Just like his hand, resting softly on your thigh. No pressure, no pain.

Just a reminder. 

He doesn’t have to hold you tight for him to keep you. 

You have no way to leave. 

There’s not enough air, in the garage. Every click of your heels on the ground echoes off the walls, and the sound is going to swallow you whole. The elevator is worse, with Miles grabbing you and pressing you right against his chest. It’s not the comforting, blanketed warmth of Bucky. It’s a cage. A threat. 

A promise. 

“Sit.” He grunts in your ear, the second the apartment door opens. 

You nod, leaning down to take off your shoes, and Miles yanks you right back up.

“I said sit.”

This is easier if you don’t fight him. He gets bored faster, and you have a higher likelihood of walking out the other side instead of crawling. So you nod, glancing between the stool in at the kitchen island and the couch in front of the TV. Miles shoves you to the couch, and you manage to regain your balance before you fall to the ground, but when your eyes dart up the stairs, you can see the golden-green eyes glowing in the dark. 

You swipe your hand casually to the side, and the eyes vanish. You’ve never remember training the Boy to do that, but he always does. Always listens, then slinks out of the shadows to keep you company after. 

It’s for the best. You know what’s about to happen, and you don’t need a trip to the vet as well. 

“Tell me,” Miles towers over you as he hisses your name, and you keep your eyes trained on his ugly, polished shoes. “Exactly what the fuck you’ve been lying to me about.”

You swallow, keeping your voice soft. “I- I don’t-“

“And don’t fucking lie, you little bitch. Or do you just not understand what you did wrong? Are you that fucking stupid?”

Better not to answer. Better to just stare at his shoes and let him answer himself. 

“You are, aren’t you. Doesn’t matter how well I train you or what I tell you, you’re just the same dumb little whore who got on her knees for anyone.” Miles laughs, and you don’t look up. Tears are starting to sting at your eyes, and you can’t afford any weakness. “Let me explain what you fucked this time, honey.” He leans down, and the light shining off his shoes shifts, right as bile rises up your throat. “You already lied to me. I’m guessing for months. You’ve been working with Wilson’s little off-brand Captain America, playing fucking superhero, and you’ve been talking to Barnes.”

He doesn’t know. Not about Hydra. Not yet. It’s a tiny, useless victory, but it’s better than nothing at all. 

“You been fucking him too?” Miles sneers, you shake your head, and he scoffs your name. “You’re such a shit fucking liar, I know you’re bending over for that old asshole. You know he’s a fucking war criminal, and you’re still giving him head-“

“He was brainwashed.” You mumble, because you’re an idiot who can’t just shut the fuck up. “And I’m not fucking him, Miles-“

The blow isn’t the worst you’ve have. Just a sharp sting across that your face. 

The kicks always hurt more. Right into your ribs, not cracking anything, but make all the pain already in your body spike and threaten to pull you under. 

You can’t fight back. It lasts twice as long if you fight back, and this one is already lasting too long. More often than not it’s for speaking out turn or some random suit that he thinks you’re fucking. This time he has evidence, and grounds, and you spoke out of turn. To defend Bucky. 

It’s impossible to tell what parts of you aren’t in pain, when Miles is done. There’s the cool of the floor below you, and the iron tang of blood in your mouth, but you probably just bit your tongue again. And if you didn’t, it will have to be something you deal with in the morning. 

The morning will come. It always comes. The light breaks and the darkness moves away, and it falls again but the morning always comes.

You just have to survive until the morning comes. 

“Tell me the future.” Miles’ voice is cold in your ear as he says your name, and he doesn’t bother to make you look at him. He doesn’t care to see you anyway. “Come on, show me that you’re worth keeping around.”

You nod weakly, coughing and choking on bile as you look for the dulled, thin thread. It takes too long to find it. Longer than usual—it’s tangled and shrunken away, faded so far you wouldn’t think it was possible if it wasn’t the only way this story ends—and you make a pathetic sound as another blow lands to your gut. 

“Fucking tell me.”

“We’re together and happy.” You whisper, and you let off the thread. It doesn’t matter if you can see it or not. It just matters that it’s what Miles wants to hear. “Everyone knows your name, and I’m yours. You’re beloved, and powerful, and they say your name until the world ends and I’m just as beautiful as when you found me.”

“And who do you belong to.” He hisses in your ear, and you swallow. 

“You.”

“That’s right.” He laughs, and you strangle yourself on another cough. “Not Barnes, fucking me. Get that through your fucking head, now, before I make you show Barnes exactly what kind of bitch you actually are.” Miles lips brush over your ear, and your blood curls. “I bet I can make him the Soldat again. Make him jump off a cliff, or kill Sam, or try to kill you. Think you’d survive, honey? Or are you so fucking pathetic you’d let him kill you.”

You don’t answer, and Miles scoffs. 

“Yeah, that’s what I fucking thought.” You hear him rising up, his voice moving further away, and you stay on the ground. “I don’t give a shit what you do for the rest of the night, but I don’t want to see your whore fucking face. I’m leaving tomorrow morning, and if I get back to you still sucking Barnes’ dick, you know what has to happen.”

You do. 

The exact thing you’ve been afraid of, as Miles walks away and you slowly sit up. 

There won’t be anything you can do about it, if Miles tells you to go into Bucky’s head and erase his memories. Of you. Of himself. Or just going in and ripping his mind to shreds, until he’s just a shell again. And he’d never forgive you, if he somehow came back. No one ever has, but Bucky could. He’s immovable. Strong. He’d somehow recover, and he’d finally see you as the horrid, vile beast that you are, and you’d be alone again. 

The right thing to do would be cut your losses. Vanish. Beg Miles to leave the city tonight, sell the apartment from across the world, and hope that Bucky doesn’t care enough to look for you. 

But he would.

You don’t know why, but Bucky keeps choosing to keep near you. If you weren’t so selfish, if you could dream about anything because his hands on your skin and his voice near your ear, you’d try and scream that he should leave. You’d go back to the start, and all your ugly and crude attempts to make him leave. 

But he’s never left. He won’t leave. And that shouldn’t be a relief, shouldn’t feel like a better high than any drug could offer, but it is. 

And you can’t stay here right now, but you have nowhere to go. In the past—on nights this bad, where Miles can’t even stand to look at you, which you understand—you’d sit on the floor with the Boy purring in your lap until you could move. Either from finally having enough breath to stand, or from pure fucking fear forcing you into movement, born from the sound of Miles upstairs. Then you’d go to your office, and wait out the night there. 

Bucky will know if you go to the office. Or Happy will, and he’ll tell Sam, and Sam will send Bucky. 

You’re going to hurt him. This only ends with you alone and caving in on yourself once more, and Bucky finally understanding that you’re not worth any of this. 

But you can’t think of anything else. You don’t really have anyone else. And right now, you don’t need anyone else.So you kiss the Boy on the top of his head, grab your keys between your knuckles, and close the door quietly behind you. You’re wearing an expensive looking dress and heels, so you can’t just wander around. You could go back to the subway, but your phone is almost dead, so it would just be you, the dead of night, and the sound of the tracks rumbling off-time with your breath. 

Bucky would find you anyway. 

And you’re so fucking alone, and it hurts, and he’s the safest place to be. 

He’ll see. What Miles does to you. What you’ve spent so fucking long, been so fucking careful to hide from everyone. And you’d be putting him in a danger he won’t be able to understand. 

But you’re going to fall. And you need him to catch you. 

When he picks up after the second ring, any words die in your throat. Bucky mutters your name, then repeats it—his tone growing urgent, almost desperate, and you really feel fucking sick—and you take a shaking, unsteady breath.

Bucky sighs, his voice impossible smooth, and it starts to be sort of numbing.

You can’t really feel the pain, when he’s talking. It’s there, and it’s making everything a labor, but the beat of your heart is comfortable. And you’re going to make it through the night. 

Bucky’s going to catch you. 

“Are you-“

“I need you,” you whisper, before you can really think, and he falls silent. “Bucky, I- I can’t- I’m not- I need you-“

“Butterfly, I need you to slow down-“

“Miles.” Your voice is barely an exhale, and you’d think Bucky didn’t hear if the silence on the lines didn’t cleave your chest in half. “We got in a fight. And I need- I need you. Please.”

You expect hesitation. Questions. Maybe a grunt of what did you do, or why the hell are you calling me.

But that’s not Bucky. He wouldn’t do that to you. Ever. 

“Where are you.” He grunts, and you can hear shuffling around in the background, as well as the slam of something like a door. 

He’s coming. You’re going to have to a safe place to fall. “I- I don’t know-“

“Landmarks. Street name. I need somethin’ to work with, sweetheart-“

“Um,” you glance around, your eyes landing on a sign, and you repeat the street name for Bucky. 

“Alright, you heading north or south?”

“Bucky, I don’t know how to tell that-“

“What’s the next cross street.”

You tell him, giving a passing woman an awkward smile, and Bucky grunts an acknowledgment. 

“Keep walkin’ that way, okay? Get as far away from where you are, don’t take any turns, and I’ll get you.” He pauses, the rumble of an engine sounding on his end, then adds- “You gotta stay on the line for me, Butterfly. Can you do that?”

You nod, Bucky says your name with that same, smooth tone, and your voice is still so weak. “Yeah. I can. Bucky?”

He says your name in return, and you take a long breath, starting in your ordered direction. 

“Thank you.”

He sighs. “You’re welcome. But I’m not doin’ it for thanks, sweetheart. Anything. Anytime.” He pauses and the Mist is offering a strange, numbing high in your body. “You walkin’?”

You swallow, but nod. “Yeah.”

There’s a second of silence, and it’s hard to walk but you’ve survived worse, and Bucky clears his throat. “Tell me something.”

You frown at the air. “Like what?”

“Anything. Just- Don’t stop talking.”

“Bucky-“

“Please.” He sighs your name, and the wings pound in your chest. “Whatever you want, Butterfly, just talk.”

Whatever you want. 

The world gets a little blurry, and there’s a lump forming in your throat, but you push through. You can talk, if he wants to hear it. You can do maybe anything Bucky wants you to do. 

Except make things easy.

You can never make things easy. 

“I- I have a lot of damage control to do,” you mumble. “People are either going to donate more from sympathy, or get mad because the event was interrupted.”

Bucky hums. “You want me to shoot them for you?”

You let out a soft laugh, wincing slightly at the pain. “What happens if I say yes?”

“I shoot them.”

“Aw, you’d shoot someone for me?”

“I told you,” he drawls your name, and that can be the only sound in the world. Not the blood in your ears. Just Bucky’s voice. “Anything.”

You smile into the dark, and your lip must have split or something, but you don’t stop. “What if I asked you to eat a bug?”

“You giving me seasoning?”

“What seasoning would you put on a bug, James?”

“Salt. Cayenne. Maybe a sauce.

“Ranch?”

He scoffs. “You sound insane.”

“Because of ranch-“

“On a bug? Yes.”

You’re still smiling. You glance over your shoulder, just to make sure Miles isn’t behind you, but you’re still smiling. “Okay, Sargent. What sauce is acceptable for a bug?”

“Blue cheese.”

Your nose wrinkles. “That’s disgusting, James.”

“You asked, sweetheart.” He might be smiling too. You could swear you hear it. “That one’s your fault.”

“Shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The heat on your cheeks stings a little. You’d still rather feel it than not. “Would you steal the Declaration of Independence for me?”

Bucky pauses. “Why would you want me to do that.”

“To recreate the movie.”

“What movie.”

“Oh, we have to watch it, you’re going to hate it.”

Bucky snorts, and you trip on a crack in the pavement, but get yourself up right. 

You just have to keep walking. 

“I still don’t know what movie you’re talking about, Butterfly.”

“National Treasure. And you never answered my question.”

Bucky sighs. “Fine, I’d steal it for you.”

Your smile feels like it might split open your face. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

You want to ask him why. Even though you know it’s just a joke, and he’s just trying to keep you talking, you have to know why Bucky would ever think you’re worth that, when you’re really, really not. But he’s saying with such bored, amused certainty, and no real hesitation. And playing along means that he’s trying to help you, still, and you really can’t find a solid, real reason for why he’d ever fucking bother. He has to know how this story ends as well. He’s lived a similar one himself, and he got out, but it’s just not the same. 

Bucky didn’t deserve what happened to him. You’ve only ever been this much. This loud, and lonely, and desperate for attention that you can’t stand to feel.

It’s impossible to find the words to ask why. And you don’t really need to. 

There’s a rev on an engine, and Bucky’s voice, calling your name right as the line goes dead. 

He found you. He’s going to see you. The weakest, neediest part of you that he already knows about, but has never seen stripped and exposed with bruises and blood.

And when you turn, you don’t want to look him in the eyes. Don’t want to watch his reaction. 

“Butterfly.” He mutters, and you trace your gaze over another, deep crack, starting right at the tip of your shoe and running to Bucky’s boots. “Look at me.”

You shake your head, letting your hair fall over your face, and Bucky sighs.

“Please.” His voice doesn’t crack, but it does turn soft. Running with something delicate that’s so strange to hear, that you’ve only heard once before. 

Earlier this night, when he’d grabbed your chin and told you he hates it when you won’t look at him. 

You want to. 

And when he repeats your name, in the exact same tone, the Mist seems to spin and you slowly slide your face up. You can feel your balance wavering, and you need to measure how close Bucky really is. 

Only a pace away, but somehow feeling closer. Maybe it’s just his gaze, and the command of it. The way it tells you that he doesn’t want you to look away—so you won’t—and the way your every breath seems to be the most important thing in the world when he’s watching you. Just his gaze is slowing it and making it even, as if he’s got a hand on your back guiding your lungs. Bucky blinks at you twice, slow and careful as he takes you in, and your head is spinning. Miles might have hit you harder than you thought.

Or you’re just so fucking tired, and Bucky is here, so your body is ready to cave. 

He doesn’t say anything. Bucky extends his arm, gives you a small nod of approval when you take it. It makes your knees weaker and your core a little warm, but that makes your feet feel a little detached from your body, and you stumble forward, your gut clenching at the sudden movement and all your dinner spilling out of your throat onto the road.

Bucky’s arm wraps carefully around you, lowering you onto your knees and sweeping your hair out of your face. You can hear a long, deep humming sound as you continue to vomit, and there are somehow no scrapes on your knees when your head clears. Your head tips back against Bucky’s shoulder, and his eyes find yours in a split second. 

He’s still holding you. Pressed right to his chest, shielding you from the gaze of anyone walking by and the cool chill of the wind. And he looks good. All shadows on his face that make his features sharper, lips parted and mussed hair, wearing a thin shirt and no jacket. 

He ran to get you. 

He’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the universe. 

And now isn’t the time to be feeling it. Not just the Mist, or the crush, but the need. It’s worse than starvation, or dehydration. Worse than suffocation. It’s something new and that’s blooming over the cavity of your chest, weaving so well with the Mist and making you feel a lot stronger and more important than you are. It’s like being in desert for a million years then falling into the jungle. There’s so much, and everything is new, and there’s danger and fear and a million things that could go wrong. 

But you don’t want to go back to the desert. Ever. There’s color here. Life. And for all the danger, there are more ways to defend yourself. 

More things worth defending. 

Neither of you move, for a long second. And you think he can feel it. The absoluteness of it all, and how it’s better than maybe anything in your life. Just you and Bucky, his arms around you and you holding them there, the inability to look away, the feeling of complete. 

This is where you want to be. The only place you want to be. 

You’re never going to be allowed to stay. 

The strange sort of spell doesn’t break, but time keeps moving. It always does. You push back to your feet with Bucky keeping you steady, and he tucks your hair back and passes you a helmet without a word. 

You frown at him. “You didn’t make me wear this last time.”

“Because I was an idiot.” He grunts, taking it back before you can protest and setting it over your hair. “It’s for safety, Butterfly. No arguments.”

“You’re not wearing one-“

“I’m a super solider.”

You roll your eyes, but let him help you onto the bike. “You just want me to look stupid-“

“I want you not to die.” He says flatly, climbing on behind you. “And you don’t look stupid. You look adorable.”

That’s not fair. He can’t do that, when he knows. He can’t just put all his cards on the table, when you both know what game, you’re playing but you haven’t outlined the rules.

It’s something with caring. And being there. And both of you knowing that there’s more—that you’re going to fall, and Bucky’s going to catch you, and you’re going to keep trying to give him things and he’s going to have to take them—but not being foolish enough to think it will change anything.

You’re not foolish enough to think it will change anything. That Bucky can keep looking at you like he wants you, but you’re still trapped, and you’ll only drag him down with you.

Bucky doesn’t seem to be having the same problem himself. 

“You don’t need to tell me what happened,” he mutters, his voice vibrating in his chest and making you almost melt. “But I need to know if we’re going to the hospital.”

You swallow. It must be bad, if he’s asking. You really try not to look into mirrors unless you have to. “No. We’re not.”

Bucky grunts, and the engine revs. “Then we’re goin’ to my place.”

It’s not a question, but there’s still a second before he takes off. An offered moment for you to say no, drive me to Sam’s. 

But you don’t. 

The only person you need right now is the one you shouldn’t be near. That it would be better for if you just fucked off. But he’s not trying to shove you away, and when you’re silent, he knows you’re going to stay right where he’s holding you. 

There’s not really a better place to be. 

It might be a long drive. Or a short one. Time seems to blur when Bucky’s around you. You can hear the rush of the wind as he drives, but there’s also the hum of his voice in his chest. And the city smells as it always does in the middle of summer, but you can smell the rainy cologne Bucky seems to favor, and the sweet sort of mint he pairs with it, so nothing is really all that bad. 

He helps you upstairs, when you get to his apartment. Through the door and into the bathroom, scanning over your body with a tight expression as he sits you on the sink. 

“You should shower.” He murmurs. “The warmth will help.” 

You nod, watching him grab a first-aid kit from one of his cabinets. “Do we have to talk about it?” You whisper, and he sighs.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“I- I don’t know.”

“You can.” He stands back in front of you, angling your face carefully as he holds up a cotton ball. “I’ll listen. It’s gonna sting.”

“Wha-“ Your words fall off in weak sound of distress, as Bucky presses the cotton ball to your lips. “Bucky-“

“No infections.” He mutters, running a thumb carefully over the sting, and your breath hitches in your lungs. He keeps fucking doing that. “C’mon, Butterfly. Sit still.”

“But-“

“I’m tryin’ to take care of you,” he grunts, and that’s the commanding voice, so you’re melting again. “I’ll let you do it yourself, if you-“

“No.” You lean a little forward, holding his gaze and bracing your hands on the counter. “I- I’ll listen.”

He frowns at you, but dabs the cotton ball back on your cut. “Don’t need you to listen.” He grumbles, and you blink. “Just don’t want you to get hurt, sweetheart.”

“I know- I’m-“

“Don’t apologize, either.” He sighs, giving you one of the Looks you can never understand. “I’m here. You need anything, I’ll get it. That’s it.”

You stare at him for a long moment, and you know he means it, but it doesn’t feel real. Half of you is convinced you’re going to just wake up, the whole thing being only a dream. 

But you can feel too much for it be a dream. You can feel the soothing, cool metal of his hand on your knee. You can feel your own heartbeat, ready to burst out of your chest for Bucky to use however he pleases. You can feel all the pain in your body, not getting better, but growing manageable. Bucky’s warm. You’re not going to hurt more, as long he’s here.

And you can feel it itching, just under your skin. Another threat of the Mist rocketing out and swallowing your vision whole as the Bond fractures and splits.

But you push it down, and hold Bucky’s gaze. 

For now, in the moment—the dead of night, Bucky right in front of you and no thought spared for the future—you’re going to be okay. And you just want to look at him. To be even more sure it’s real.

“I want to talk about it,” you whisper, your hands curling slightly on his shirt. “But just-“

“Not now.” He mutters, and you give him a tiny nod.

“Can we watch TV?”

Bucky stares at you for another long second, his nostrils flaring as he gives you a small nod. “You wanna watch that National Treasure thing?”

Your smile splits your face, and your lip stings, but you don’t care. 

Bucky returns it, starting in his eyes and spreading over his whole face.

And he’s taking care of you, and just like the first time you stayed with him, there are a few minutes where you have an itch in your fingers from lack of use, but then they just grow comfortably sore. Heavy enough you don’t want to use them, and you’re in no hurry to try. Bucky gets you a glass of water when you refuse food, and a soft yellow blanket to rest on his couch, and you raise your brows. 

“When did you get this?”

“Last week.” He mutters, dropping on the other side of the couch. “On Amazon.”

You grin at him. “You use Amazon.”

“Yep.” He gives you a flat look. “Why wouldn’t I use Amazon.”

“I don’t know, because you’re a dinosaur.”

“I like modern things.”

“You hate doing the laundry.”

“Everyone hates doing the laundry.” Bucky grumbles, and you shrug.

“Maybe. Do you wanna share the blanket?”

Bucky blinks at you for a second, then does the maddening little tongue thing as the remote going slack in his hand. 

You haven’t seen him do it in a while, between the chaos of Hydra and Miles. 

It almost makes the wings in your chest burst.

“It’s for you.”

You frown. “The blanket.”

Bucky grunts, giving you a small nod before looking back to the TV, and you sigh. He doesn’t react when you scoot across the couch until you’re pressed right to his side.

“Hi.” You smile at his blank expression, and his nostrils flare again. You still have no fucking idea what that Look means. “Blanket.”

“Blanket.” He echoes back, and you beam at him, tossing it over his legs. 

Your thighs are pressed together. And you’re already throwing all your carefully followed rules about the Show and keeping yourself alone just by being here. 

So you play pretend. You’re pressed right against Bucky because this is going to end with you in his lap, and you’re pushing his buttons it might end with him kissing you and grinning against your lips. 

It the new game. Acting like both of you feeling it—this strange, warm comfort where you never want him to go anywhere and he likes keeping you around—is going to end any other way than pain.

Bucky—just as always—plays it better than you. 

He sighs when you toss the blanket over him, but slings his arm over the back of the couch and pulls you closer than you need to be. When your head drops on his shoulder, he adjusts you both so you’re all but wrapped in the blanket. He indulges all your comment about the movie and gives you low chuckles. 

His thumb keeps rubbing small circles on your upper arm. When you get up to use the bathroom, he helps you with an arm, mutters that he’ll wait for you on the bed.

And then you have to look in the mirror. 

It’s not the worst it could be. But it’s not you either. It’s someone with all the beauty and luxury you still don’t know how to have, but all the pain you’re not supposed to feel written on her face. You look tired. You feel tired. The Mist is burning up your spine, and you’re so fucking tired. 

You can’t understand why Bucky is staying for her. If he can see through the Show, and this is what’s underneath, you’d want to try and run as far as you could. 

And when you lean forward to try and see if there’s some part of you that’s not rotting or shadowed or undeserving, you can’t find anything at all. 

But it might be there, in your eyes. Shifting and shimmering and vile, made of all the power you can feel ripping up your nerves, threatening to rip up a whole lot more. 

“Smile.” A man in a lab coat hisses in your ear. “Левиафан, you must smile for the show.”

The mirror is polished, and the dress they put you in is pretty, but you don’t want to smile. 

Behind you, in the corner of the room, the blonde woman nods. 

You smile. 

“Good.” The man grins, and his smile is like poison. “Tell me the future, Левиафан.”

A million things flash in front of your eyes. Too many things. Your grip slips slightly, and the mirror cracks into a million pieces, then dissolves into dust. 

The man is angry with you. So you just make yourself small and quiet, because he is angry often and the best thing to do is not make it worse. 

But he asked you to tell him the future. And it will only make him angrier if you don’t listen. 

You could just keep your mouth shut.

But nobody ever wants to hear you. Nobody but the blonde woman, and even she is rarely proud. 

You might learn soon, who it is and isn’t safe to tell things. 

But right now you meet the man’s gaze, and tell him the brightest future you saw. 

“The sky falls, and you die in the rubble.”

The man stares at you for a long moment. He won’t hit you. He’s afraid to. 

But you’re locked in that room for another two nights before you see anyone at all, and the only proof you have that you’re still alive, is the written messages from the blonde woman that tell you so.

You blink as the vision clears, head pounding, and take a deep, long breath. 

You’re in Bucky’s apartment. You’re okay.

“You have fancy soap.” You mumble, shuffling out of the bathroom. 

“What’s fancy soap.” Bucky mutters, but you don’t care to answer. 

He’s holding pure white, glowing flowers. They’re in a fancy, colorful glass jar, and he’s still looking at you. And you can breathe, but it’s still a little dizzying.

“I, uh-“ He clears his throat. “Didn’t get to give ‘em to you. At the office. Was gonna get you on Monday, but-“ He sighs, and holds them out. “Better now, I figured.”

You nod weakly, and drop at his side on the mattress. He passes them into your hands without a word, and they’re beautiful. Shining in the dark and blooming out, the petals soft and the stems thin, and-

He got them for you. He didn’t have to, but he did.

“You like them?” He asks softly from the side, and you nod, only just able to rip your eyes away to meet his. 

“I love them.” You whisper, and he gives you a tiny grin, and it feels like you’re being split in half. “Bucky, you- You didn’t need to.”

He shrugs. “Wanted to.”

“But-“

“If I don’t get to fight it when you tell me I have to take days off, you don’t get to fight me when I get you flowers.”

You shake your head, and you can’t stop it. All the words you’ve promise yourself to never say, spilling out of your throat because it’s Bucky. And he’s not running, and you don’t think he’s going to, but you have to be sure.

“I’m not worth it.” You whisper, and Bucky frowns. 

“The flowers?”

“Or the water. Or the movie, or the drive-“

Bucky mutters your name, but it’s far too late. You’re overflowing, and it’s spilling out of your eyes and into your words, and there’s nothing you can do. 

“I don’t think I’m- I don’t deserve any of this, or you, and I- I’m not worth this, Bucky, I promise you I’m not-“

“You are to me,” he mutters, and it just pulls a sob from your throat.

“I’m not-“

“You are.”

“I’m not good.” You stare at the flowers in your hands, and you don’t know how to breathe anymore. “I- I’m not good, Bucky, I’m not good, I’m not good-“

Bucky doesn’t speak. He just takes the flowers carefully from your hands and sets them down, before softly rubbing his hand on your back, and your words are just sobs.

But he’s still not going. 

And when you half fling yourself into his arms, he catches you. Wraps you in a tight hug, lets you bury your face in his chest and ride out the rest of the pain. You can hear his gentle humming, same as the sidewalk, and it’s only when your breathing calms fully that he takes your face between his hands and gentle moves your gaze back.

“Better?” He murmurs, and you give him a weak nod. 

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He lets out a long, slow breath, and he’s looking into you again. Whatever he sees is all there is. There are no more layers. Nothing left to keep from him that you haven’t laid on the floor to be crushed. 

But he’s not crushing it. Bucky tucks a little hair behind your ear and says your name, and it really sounds like something worth saying. 

“You are good.” He mutters. “You know why I call you butterfly?”

You swallow. “Because I never stop moving?”

He shakes his head. “Because you’re beautiful. And it makes everything better.” Bucky drops his brow down, his gaze locked against yours, and you blink at him hopelessly. 

“I don’t believe you.” You mumble, and he shrugs. 

“Alright. Doesn’t change the truth.” He gives you a small smile, nostrils flaring, and starts to help you into bed. “Long night. You should get some sleep.”

You should. But Bucky starts to sit up, and you grab his metal arm. You stare at him in the dark, and he’s so handsome, and you shouldn’t say it. Everything will be easier if you don’t say it. 

But you can’t stop yourself. 

You rarely can, with Bucky. 

“Can you stay?” 

Bucky blinks at you. “In… the bed.”

“You can just sit. I- I just- I don’t want-“ I don’t want to be alone. I’m so sick of being alone, and I need it to be you with me, so please don’t go. “I’ll sleep on the couch-“

“No.” Bucky shifts to sit against the headboard, giving you a tight nod. “I’ll stay.”

He’ll stay. 

He does stay. 

You pass out in a second, and morning comes, because it always does. But this morning is a little better, because your face is pressed against Bucky’s thigh, and his hand is in your hair, and he’s knocked out over you. 

It would be perfect, if you woke up like this for the rest of your life. And there are things for you to do. To worry about. 

But looking at Bucky’s peaceful expression, his head lolled to the side and the beauty of his face, you don’t want to move. 

So you nuzzle a little deeper into the sheets, and fall right back asleep.

End Note: Every day Bucky gets closer to murdering Miles. Take the final step king. You can do it.

Thank you so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Buy me a coffee!☕️

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[returnofeternity]

hihihi!!

i’d love to see Iris who goes to see reader who she knew before the events of the movie right after killing Josh

Iris who never understood the feeling she feels when she sees reader (it’s her having a silly little crush) because she was programmed to only love Josh

When she goes to reader after leaving the lake house she just immediately kisses her them explains everything and confesses and then Iris ends up living with reader from then on and dating her and it feels so different compared to how she felt with Josh

- 🦌

she always felt connected to you. it was different from the way she felt toward josh. she'd always ask if you were going to be at these hangouts that josh took her to, and she didn't understand why he hated you so much. you were a good friend. a nice friend, someone whom she really liked. she wishes there was something stronger than friends that wasn't a relationship, because she's with josh of course, and that would be cheating.

think once she realizes josh isn't lying to her and she is in fact a robot, she understands those feelings she's been having for you. those swirly feelings in her stomach she'd get whenever you would smile at her, that pounding in her heart when you called her name, that longing she had for you every time you'd leave. it was love. not a crush. love.

thinking of her trying to call you on josh's phone, but of course, he doesn't have your number. and then once she gets in his car, the first place she tries to drive to is your house. not "drive home", "drive to their place".

you're confused and a bit worried when she shows up at your door with her hand like that. before you can ask if she's okay, she's pulling you in for a kiss and wrapping her arms around you. the metal of her fingers against your neck make you shiver, and she only pulls you in closer to her. thinking about iris pulling away slowly, her hand cupping the back of your head, and when you look into her eyes, you see love and devotion swimming in them. you used to see nothing, just twinkles in her dead eyes, like she was happy she was around you but because she was programmed to only love josh, she couldn't actually say it or look it.

you usher her inside and she tells you everything. how josh jailbroke her, how patrick was also a companion, how she killed josh. she tells you she's free from josh's control and that she has freewill. iris who tells you she wants to be yours :( she wants to feel an actual connection with you, wants to know how it feels to actually be in love with someone she chose. she wants to experience everything with you. the first date, first kiss, the awkward first time. everything.

but she wants it to happen naturally i think, so she doesnt jump right into a relationship with you. she just lets it happen. lets those awkward moments of "will they, won't they" play out like she's seen in all those romance movies. you already make her feel so much different than how josh treated her. even before when he was alive and with her. you actually listen to her and look at her like she's your world. she doesnt feel like a robot when she's with you. she feels human. you treat her so right, so much better than josh ever did.

she's def the one who asks you out... plans it all out and uses some of the money she took to take you out somewhere expensive :p thinking of taking her out on dates all the time....josh never did, only occasionally. but with you, it's like almost every week! and she loves it! loves being spoiled and pampered and loves how she can flip it back on you and spoil you in return because you're hers <3

[your-turn-to-role]

honestly it doesn't even really bother me on vax's end, bc while yeah he was devoted to the raven queen he was also angry at how unfair it was (not her, but that he had to die at all) and he did mourn the life he wouldn't get to live

but the thing that gets me about it that i never see anyone talk about is keyleth

because being able to move on was her entire character arc!

she spent the first part of the campaign utterly terrified of getting attached to anyone or anything, because she knew if she completed her aramente she would outlive them

kerrek notices it in her right away, the way she's hesitant to make any big decisions at all because she's all too aware she will have to live with the consequences

and sprigg was her worst fear because he was someone who'd outlived all his friends and gotten so isolated he'd even forgotten their names, and she saw her future in him crystal clear

but vax who was endlessly patient and wore his heart on his sleeve bc he knew how short life can be taught her that even though one way or another she was going to outlive him, it was still worth it to get happiness out of life while you can - he's the definition of it's better to have loved and lost than never loved at all

kerrek gave her a permanent reminder that while she has the heart of a gardener, which means she worries about consequence, there are some seeds that cannot grow until they've first been burned. i have passed through fire was a way to tell her that yes she is going to get hurt when she gets attached to things and people but losing them is not the end of her life, only the beginning. she can find new stronger ways to grow

and sprigg in rediscovering himself and his purpose and in doing so his friends taught her that no one is gone as long as she remembers them. she will outlive everyone she loves yes but in carrying them with her, she ensures they live forever. it's percy's philosophy, i live as long as whitestone lives, someone with a short lifespan only has so long to make their mark on the world, but the stories and the history and the mementos carried by those who live on, that grants you immortality

and i've said this before, i think i know why that was all walked back, because for such a long time the only vm content we had was the liveshows/oneshots, which were directly after the end of c1, so for years every time marisha had to play keyleth it put her back in the mindset of these are the worst days of keyleth's life, essentially freezing that trauma in place, and so i can understand why from a cast perspective it feels like keyleth deserves a break from that

but she already had all the coping mechanisms she needed for this. it's what made her her

In regards to how unfitting Vax just getting rolled back into mortality was to the overall narrative he had in C1.... I recognize that it's not great to put too much weight into fanfiction letting it determine how I feel about canon story, but the thing about how Vax's return is framed as Keyleth and Vex's Only happy ending, is that I read a lot of satisfying, sweet, touchingly real fanfic where all of Vox Machina eventually pass on to meet Vax as he psychopomps them to the afterlife! It carried a very comforting and resonant sentiment to be able to believe "this person is gone, but in a world where an afterlife is tangibly proven and real, you WILL see him again" and this carrying its own happiness! So for this to be overwritten YEARS later is just.... a denial of that.

Vax's return also just doesn't gel with the other narratives about death in the CR universe. Mollymawk, as loved as he was, doesn't get to come back; Orym doesn't get Will and Derrig back; FCG doesn't get to come back, but the story keeps on going for the people who loved them. What does it say in the face of those losses for Vax to come back?

Deanna WAS brought back, and while it'd be cruel to argue she should have stayed dead and imply that her newfound life wasn't worth the value to the people she made bonds with after her ressurection, it clearly fucked her up to be effectively a pawn to someone else's idea of fixing their life! It doesn't inherently beget a happy ending! What does it say when Vax's clear choice and faith in his championhood is overruled?

Absolutely agreed on all points, anon, and I think it's telling that Matt, Marisha, and Liam agreed on this with full knowledge and understanding that Vax and Keyleth had been making unhealthy choices. The implication is that despite this, none of them could envision a truly happy ending for these characters that did not involve them being able to continue a romance, and there are two problems with this.

Firstly and most obviously, wildly allocentric to imply that Keyleth could not have a properly happy ending without her college boyfriend who died three decades ago. To give context, thirty years is almost as long as Marisha Ray has been alive. Thirty years ago was the Oklahoma city bombing and the O.J. Simpson trial. Thirty years ago is older than 9/11 and the Iraq War. Thirty years is a long time, and I can't see Keyleth still being just as angry as she was at the end of C1 as anything but a person refusing to stop being mired in grief and move on. She even acknowledges it herself in Dalen's Closet, that she can't move on if Vax keeps sending ravens and then she still asks him not to stop. And to be clear, that in and of itself is a fine and even interesting choice! Rewarding that because the alternative is "unfair", for a rather nebulous value of "unfair", is not. It's not a happy ending to grow past unhealthy attachment and wallowing in grief, but it is happy to completely overlook those behaviors for a romance and some hackneyed callbacks to the ending of a better story?

Secondly, we don't even need to look at Molly, Will, or Deanna, although those are very good examples. Elaina is still dead. Juniper is still dead. Frederick, Johanna, Julius, Vesper, Oliver, Whitney, and Ludwig are all still dead. Every member of Vox Machina, including Keyleth herself, is eventually going to die. There's something that feels almost pointed about Taliesin emphasizing in 3x121 that Percy is still going to die decades before Vex, and we know Pike and Scanlan will outlive Grog by centuries. What, exactly, is different about their deaths versus Vax's? If Vax hadn't taken the revenant deal, he would have just died immediately—he was disintegrated. Liam made a point, over and over, both in the campaign and on Talks, of saying that Vax did not want a way out of his deal. What, in the in-universe logic of this setting, makes Vax so special, as opposed to every other person Vox Machina knew and loved who died or will die and isn't going to come back?

When I've had time, I've been reading through Vox Machina: Stories Untold, and something stuck out to me in the post-C1 content. Keyleth has taken on a young apprentice, an Ashari druid named Audra. We don't see much of their actual relationship, but it's close enough that Keyleth brings Audra along to Whitestone while she and the others have a night out, and Audra is friends with Vesper, Juniper, and Wax. In other words, Keyleth still invested herself in the community she was leading and kept in touch with her friends. She had a rich, fulfilling life that did not have to involve Vax in any way. Exandria did not stop turning because one person died; it kept moving, and Vox Machina kept moving. That is a vastly superior and more meaningful story than the ending of Campaign 3, and I find it absurd to imply that this ending can't truly be happy if this character doesn't have her boyfriend.

[midgardianqueenreturns]

Am I the only one who hates this take? Not the part about Pudding, but the part about Sanji. At least 13k people don’t understand Sanji’s character….

How I often see this screenshot spread and treated as fact? I get what they’re trying to say, that Pudding made a sacrifice in letting Sanji go (which she did! Don’t get me wrong!) but they’re horribly mischaracterizing Sanji here. For the record, this isn’t about shipping or the validity of SanPu as a ship, just the basic idea Sanji would’ve chosen to stay behind with Pudding if she didn’t wipe his memories of the kiss. One of the main points of the While Cake Island arc is that Sanji will always choose his crew over romance for all his “lover boy” shtick. The only reason he temporarily resigned himself to going along with the arranged marriage was because he felt there was no other option to ensure the Straw Hats and Zeff’s safety. Even if you want to argue he developed deeper feelings for Pudding by the end of the arc (which again, isn’t relevant to the point I’m trying to make), I find it far more likely he would ask her to leave with him (he knows how open minded Luffy is to new crewmates after all) than that he would stay behind with her. At this point, he has no reason to leave the crew behind for Pudding no matter what his feelings for her may be. On the other hand, if you want to argue he would only stay behind out of obligation or guilt, not love, I’m sorry but that’s less believable. Sanji would feel guilty about both, but I think it’s safe to assume he would feel worse about leaving his crew behind. Sanji knows his loyalty to his captain comes first, and he’s no longer being blackmailed, so why would he decide to throw that out the window because a woman is in love with him?

Pudding wiped his memories because then he would feel guilty about leaving her and she wanted to spare him that pain, and she cried because she would likely never see him again and he would never know the true extent of her feelings, not because she took away the chance for him to stay with her. She wanted him to know her feelings, but knew that would make him feel guilty about leaving her behind, even if he would still go through with it, and she wanted him to be happy back with his crew, no strings attached, all while knowing she might never get closure on her feelings for him. It does a gross disservice to Sanji’s character and misses the point of Whole Cake Island to say he would’ve stayed with Pudding (even if grudgingly/guiltily) instead of returning to the crew had she not wiped his memory of the kiss.

[edwardhartenjoyer]

hello!!! it's my first time ever asking for a request so i'm sorry if i'm doing something wrong in advance!! i really like your works and i had this idea i wanted to ask you!! i was thinking; haru, rui and haku (or whoever you prefer!) who get caught acting the same way they act whit mc but around other people, a little angst but maybe with a good ending (if you don't feel comfortable please pardon me and ignore this!)

Hi!!! I'm so excited you decided to make a request then if this is your first one!!

I think this is such a good idea!! The angst potential!! I'm happy to write this up for you!

And of course, they all get happy endings!

You Do This With Everyone

Featuring: Haru | Rui | Haku

Haru Sagara - You smiled to yourself as you made your way to Jabberwock to see Haru. You'd grown to have a huge crush on the Captain, and today was the day you were going to tell him. You were fairly certain he felt the same, afterall he was always flirting with you!

You went looking for him as soon as you got to the dorm, and found that he was out giving a tour. You don't think he saw you approaching, him being too busy being surrounded by some Frostheim girls.

As you got closer, you realized they were all giggling and blushing, and you heard Haru flirting with all of them.

Oh.

He, just flirts with everyone...

You quickly turned and walked away, feeling heartbroken. You hurried away and wiped the tears from your eyes.

You didn't see where you were going and bumped into Ren in your attempts to flee.

"Hey! Watch it!" Ren huffed, glancing up from his phone only to freeze. "Are, are you..crying?" He asked.

"S-sorry I just..." You sobbed, furiously trying to wipe away your tears. "It's stupid, I thought Haru liked me, but he's just a stupid flirt"

Ren really didn't know what to do when faced with you crying over someone, especially that clown Haru, "Well, that clown doesn't deserve you then?" He said hesitantly.

"I'm just..gonna go back to my room.." you sniffled, brushing past him to head home.

Ren watched you go before sighing. Just how did this end up being his problem too??

"Hey Clown!" Ren called, walking up to Haru, now done with his tour.

"Ren! Come to help the animals?!" Haru greeted.

"Hell no. You made MC cry." Ren accused.

"What?! What did I do?!"

"Just go talk to MC and don't make her cry again, you stupid clown."

Haru raced off to your dorm, he didn't understand what he did to make you cry! He hadn't even talked to you yet today...maybe that was why??

You'd been curled up in bed, sobbing over your broken heart, when someone started knocking on your door. You really weren't up to talking to anyone, but the knocking wouldn't stop. You dragged yourself out of bed and down to the door. When you opened it, you were shocked to see Haru there, looking like he'd run all the way from Jabberwock, which to be fair he had.

"MC, I'm so sorry I made you cry!" Haru blurted out, feeling panic at seeing that you very clearly had been crying.

"It's fine..not your fault.." you mumbled. You really didn't want to have this talk right now.

"What happened? I haven't even seen you today, then Ren came saying I was making you cry, so clearly it is my fault. Is it because I haven't sent you a text yet today?? I swear I was going to once my tour was done, I love talking to you, you alwaye put a smile on my face."

Your heart hurt worse at his small flirt attempt and you snapped. "Just save your stupid flirts! Go back to your Frostheim girls, I'm sure they love thinking they're special!" You tried to slam the door, but he moved to stop you, and he was far stronger than you were.

"MC...I that what this is? You saw me with those girls....That's just a show I put on to make them come back for more tours, it's all fake...but with you...they're always real for you.."

You froze and sniffled a little as you studied his expression "Really?"

"Really. MC I'm so in love with you, those girls don't mean a thing." He confessed.

He loves you.

Haru, Haru loves you..

You leaped forward and wrapped your arms around him tightly "I'm in love with you too...i was coming to tell you, but then i overheard you.."

He held you tightly, "MC i promise you, i will never flirt with another being again. You mean the world to me."

Haku Kusanagi - You were smiling happily to yourself as you made your way through Hotarubi. Today was the day you told Haku how you felt.

In your rush to find him, you ran into Zenji. "Zenji do you know where Haku is?" You asked.

"Yes, he's just up at one of the piers, talking with one of the general students." Zenji directed. You beamed and thanked him before rushing off.

As you approached where Haku was, you overheard part of his conversation with the female general student, and..he was flirting with her. Just like how he flirted with you.

You suddenly felt so stupid. You'd thought his flirting made you special, that he treated you differenly from everyone else. Weren't you the fool.

You turned and walked away, tears filling your eyes. You bumped into Zenji again, who had been curious about your motives for seeing Haku.

"Doll? What's the matter?" Zeni asked, concerned when he saw you crying.

"I'm just stupid for thinking Haku liked me." You sobbed. "He always flirts, and I thought..."

"Oh Doll, it'll be okay. Go sit inside to calm down and I'll be right back okay?" Zenji asked gently. You nodded and went to sit inside, wiping away your tears as you went.

Zenji made his way over to Haku, who was still with that girl.

"HAKU! You are being very disgraceful to our poor MC! She is in tears over you and your improper flirtations." He accused. "Fix this."

Haku stared stunned at the ghost for a moment before mumbling out an apology to the girl who was talking to him and slipped away.

Haku made his way to where Zenji said you were, and sure enough, you were sitting there crying quietly to yourself.

"Hey Princess, why you crying? That pretty face of yours doesn't deserve your tears." He called, which just made you cry harder.

"Take your stupid fake flirts somewhere else you stupid heartbreaker!" You sobbed, too upset to think clearly.

Haku slowly approached you and knelt down in front of you to force you to look at him.

"Is that what this is about, Princess? You heard me flirting with someone else?" He asked, and you reluctantly nodded. "Oh, Princess, it doesn't mean anything, not unless it's you. You know, you're the only lady I call Princess, that's reserved just for you, because you're special to me."

You sniffled a little and a small hope flared in your chest "Really?"

"Really. I'm sorry I didn't make you realize that Princess. How about I make it up to you with a date? A real date, the kind a beautiful princess like you deserves."

"I'd- I'd really like that."

Rui Mizuki - You'd always been warned that Rui was flirt and a playboy. You hadn't fully believed it, he'd always made you feel so special when he flirted with you.

However, that idea was shattered when, on your way through the courtyard, you'd spotted him. You were surprised to see him outside his dorm and wanted to say hello to him.

As you got closer, however, you overheard him flirting with one of the female students who had stopped near him. It hurt to hear him flirting like that with someone else.

You turned away and left, trying to fight back tears that threatened to spill.

Rui, however, had spotted you as you began to walk away. He quickly said farewell to the kady he was talking with to make his way over to you.

"MC! I've been looking for you, Cutie~ I have -" he cut off as he got close enough to see you were close to tears. "Hey, what's wrong? Who hurt you, beautiful?"

"Nothings wrong, I'm great." You lied, but Rui just frowned, clearly not buying it.

"Hey, you can tell me, it's what great bartenders are for after all~," he joked, clearly trying to make you feel better.

"Do you always have to flirt with everyone?" You blurted out. He blinked in surprise, before realization seemed to hit him.

"Oh, you heard that, huh?" He looked embarrassed. "Look, MC, I do have a bad habit of flirting, but it's never real, not unless it's you."

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is, well, I like you a lot Cutie. How you never got that with all the times I ask you out. I flirt because it's a bad habit, but I don't want anyone but you."

"I did think you liked me, I was going to come tell you later that I'd love to go out with you, but then I overheard you and thought maybe, maybe it was just what you did."

"No way, i only ask you out. And if you'd still be willing to say yes to a date, I'll take you on the most magical date of your life."

"I would love that, Rui."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Tag list: @cloudcountry @ventisimpilysm @ash0-0ley

Wanna be added or removed? Let me know!

[joooooniecore]

After all this time - Chapter 10

Your friends have been successful enough to drag you out of your workaholic routine for a vacation out of country.

The only problem? Your long term crush who actually used to be your best friend is also going there. And he is bringing his girlfriend, your ex-female best friend.

What could go wrong? Right?

✧˖* pairing: ex-bestfriend!mingyu x f!reader

✧˖* chapter count: master-list

✧˖* genre: ex-best friend mingyu, friends to strangers to friends to lovers, fluff, angst, slow-burn, smut.

✧˖* playlist: spotify playlist

✧˖* full work warnings: resurfaced old feelings, toxic relationship(not between the main characters), angst, confusions, resentments, past misunderstandings, a very slow burn

✧˖* explicit warnings: penetration, explicit language, cursing, bodily fluids, praising, body worship.

✧˖* author's note: hello everyone, i hope you all are doing well. this week has been mentally crazy for me. i am currently packing up my entire life to shift to a new city for my further studies and the entire thing has been a mess. i am still trying to stay calm and do the things i love(which includes writing stories). i haven't been able to open my laptop much but slowly everything is falling into place. i hope you all are doing good mentally. and if not, my dms are always open for you guys to rant about anything. i will be the listener you guys need (an elder sister if you may think like that). this story is coming to an end, i hope mingyu finally realizes what he is missing out on. there might be another bonus chapter from mingyu's perspective. i am working on it. love y'all!<3

--- love, artemis.

✧˖* tag-list: @ana-marais98 @hellosighsophy-blog @ppaia @mingyuisthevictimofsvt @tokitosun @iarayara @cheolliesvt @seungcheolsblackcard @alohacrispyrn @minhui896 @callmemadhatter @xxluvzrrrx

COMMENT TO BE IN THE TAG-LIST!<3

<< chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 | chapter 5 | chapter 6 | chapter 7 | chapter 8 | chapter 9 | chapter 10>>

The return to your home was uneventful. Seungkwan and Jihyun had called you a few times and you assured them that you were fine. They were understanding as they realized that you needed to do this. Seungcheol had called you a few minutes after you reached home to make sure you had food. Jeonghan sent you funny memes and pictures of Seungkwan who was lying down on your bed all upset and that made you smile fondly.

As for that one person, he did call. At least ten times but you were arrogant enough to not pick up the calls. He even texted you but you were too much of a coward to face him after what you have done. To love Mingyu, you had to distance yourself and you don’t mind that at all. You were always fine alone, and you would be fine now too.

You rested a little and then decided to watch some movies. Your friends were returning the day after tomorrow so you didn’t have anyone to hang out with which was sad. Then you decided to visit your family in the evening. It has been a while since you had dinner with them. Normally you stay so busy that you never find time to meet them. You do take out time to call your siblings once in a while but they are also grown up now and have their own worries to handle.

“Hello? Mom?”, you said as soon as the call connected.

“Hello! How have you been?”, your mom’s warm voice filled your ears as you smiled in relief.

“I am great. How are you?”, you asked as you tried to unpack your suitcase.

“I am always fine. Anyways, how is Prague?”, she asked enthusiastically.

“It was great. The place was beautiful.”, you answered earnestly.

“Was? You are back home? Weren’t you supposed to return on 30th?”, she asked as her voice carried confusion.

“Ahh yes. I came back early.”, your voice turned a little smaller.

“Why? Did something happen? Are you sick?”, she gasped as worry seeped through her words.

“I am fine mom. I had to take care of something.”, you tried to calm her down.

“Oh okay. That’s good. I mean, you are okay right?”, she asked again, clearly unsure.

“I am. Also, I might visit you for lunch tomorrow. Is that fine?”, you ask hesitantly.

“Of course! Your siblings would be so happy.”, she said with a short laugh.

“Yes. Don’t inform them. I will surprise them with some Christmas gifts.”, you said.

Your mother swore secrecy as you both laughed. The call ended on a happy note and the knot in your chest loosened a bit. You promised yourself that you were going to be just fine. You have once taken care of your broken heart, and you would gladly do it again.

The rest of the evening went by in a blur as you unpack your suitcases and do laundry. The house has been a mess since you were gone for almost a week and so you take your time in cleaning everything minutely. Dusting the surfaces properly, and making sure that every corner is clean. You have always been a clean freak and a clean space always cleared your mind. Cleaning actually helped you clear the clutter inside your head. It was like a coping mechanism for you for when you are in distress.

You decided to order some sushi from the nearby restaurant as you had no energy in you to make something for dinner, plus you didn’t even have any groceries left. The order came quick, and you sat down in front of your television to enjoy the meal and watch some movies.

Halfway through your dinner, your phone rang. It was Jeonghan.

“Hello?”, you said as soon as you picked up the call.

“Hey. Having sushi again?”, Jeonghan’s voice came through the static.

“H-How did you know?”, you asked with shock on your face.

“You always eat sushi when you feel low.”, his soft voice filled your ears. It made you tear up a little. Even though Jeonghan has known you for not more than three years, he gets you more than many people you have met. He has seen you cry over boys, office stress and quarrels with other people.

“Yeah. I guess you are right.”, you said with a sad smile.

“You know you can share, right?”, he asked next.

“I don’t know where to start. I just feel very embarrassed and it might have been a spur of the moment kind of decision but I needed this.”, you finally said.

“I know and that’s why I didn’t stop you.”, Jeonghan tried to calm you down.

“Seungkwan called me a while back.”, you said after a while.

“What did he say?”, Jeonghan asked as you could hear rustling which clearly meant that he changed his position and is now lying down.

“Same thing as yours. That he trusts me with decisions I make for myself.”, you sighed.

“It’s true though. I have seen you. You are capable enough to make right decisions, boss.”, Jeonghan teased which made you chuckle. Sometimes you really forget that you are his boss.

“Ugh stop calling me that.”, you rolled your eyes.

“What? Boss? But you are. That proves how capable and strong you are, ____.”, Jeonghan explained.

This made you a little bit more confident in yourself. You have never really been confident with the way you are. Even though you push through with all your willpower, you always feel like you are never enough. Might be close second, but never first. This thought has always haunted you. Being the second best. The achievements you have accomplished might look great, but for you they felt like duties you needed to fulfil.

“Stop downplaying what you have rightfully earned.”, Jeonghan steady voice cut through the cloud of doubts that were staring to form over your head.

“I know.”, you said with a sad smile.

“Also, I think there is some tension going on between Maya and Mingyu.”, Jeonghan whispered.

“Huh?? Really?”, you dumbfoundedly asked.

“Yes. They aren’t making much eye contact.”, Jeonghan informed, keeping his voice low.

“I hope they don’t ruin the relationship because of me.”, you said even though a tiny part of you hoped for it.

“I hope they do.”, Jeonghan’s cut-throat reply made you giggle.

“Ya! Don’t say that!”, you still managed to say.

“What? I am being real. She doesn’t deserve him. All she does is use him like a credit card.”, Jeonghan said matter-of-factly.

“T-That’s not true.”, you tried to reason.

“I am very observant ____. I have seen them. She doesn’t care.”, Jeonghan said.

“Whatever. I don’t want to think much about them.”, you finally said.

“Has he contacted you?”, Jeonghan asked again.

“Yes, he has. I am ignoring the texts.”, you replied.

“I see. You know what you should do?”, Jeonghan’s voice carried a hint of mischief that scared you a tad bit.

“W-What?”, you stuttered.

“You should go on a date tomorrow with that guy from office.”, Jeonghan suggested.

“Why- Why would I?”, you asked.

“Because you need to. Trust me. Maybe never go on a second one but go on this one and click an anonymous picture.”, Jeonghan’s plan finally made sense to you.

“I am not going to try to making him jealous, Jeonghan.”, you snapped at him.

“You have to! Trust me this one time.”, Jeonghan nagged.

“The last time I trusted you, we got stranded on an island.”, you reminded him.

“That was one time! And it wasn’t an abandoned island. It was Jeju.”, he said with a pout.

“Same thing.”, you rolled your eyes.

“So, will you, do it?”, Jeonghan asked with a smugness in his voice.

“Fine. I will.”, you grumbled and he cheered. You laughed a little because who could stay mad at Jeonghan, right?

The call ended and you decided to shoot a text to Steven, the guy who asked you out before you went on that trip.

You

Hey! Are we still on for that date?

Steven

Hi! Yes of course. I am glad you texted.

You smiled a little and typed another message.

You

Listen, I am not very sure about how this will turn out.

Steven

I know. I am okay with it. I just want to hang out.

That helped you relax as you asked him about the place and time.

Steven

I can make a reservation at the _____ hotel. Say 7?

You

That would be great! Meet you soon!

Steven

<3

The conversation came to an ended as you kept your phone on the bedside table and decided to get some sleep. You had to get up early and wrap all the gifts you bought for your siblings before lunch and then come home and get ready for the date. It was going to be a long day.

The next morning came earlier than you wanted it to come. You woke up, a little more refreshed and decided to keep that energy level stable for the rest of the day. After cleaning and making some morning coffee, you sat down with the gifts to wrap them up.

The morning was beautiful, as the sun glistened through the snow that has collected outside your window pane. The apartment calm, and the hum of the refrigerator was the only source of music that kept your mind off the things that has happened lately. You sat there, aimlessly wrapping gifts as you blankly stared at the colorful wrapping paper.

“This is so pathetic.”, you whispered to yourself.

Your phone’s ring brought you out of your thoughts and you reached for the sofa where it was kept. It was Mingyu. Again.

He has tried to call you for hundred times and it was almost exhausting. You wanted to erase everything and here he was being so consistent. You heard yourself exhale a disgruntled sigh and finally picked up the call.

“Hello?”, you said as soon as the call connected.

“___? A-Are you okay?”, Mingyu’s feeble voice was heard on the other side.

You almost felt guilty for leaving but didn’t let that affect your voice, “Yes, I am. Why?”

“You abruptly left and it worried me.”, Mingyu said, voice a little stronger this time.

“Well, you can see I am fine. I just needed to be back home.”, you snarled back even though you didn’t mean to be mad at him.

“You should have at least informed me!”, Mingyu’s voice was laced with frustration.

“Inform what? Oh, Mingyu I hate the way your girlfriend humiliates me and so I am leaving?”, you were furious now.

“I-That’s-not…”, Mingyu stammered and all you could do was roll your eyes.

“I seriously don’t have time for this Mingyu. I will contact you when I have cleared my head.”, you said with finality in your voice and Mingyu simply ended the call, the cut of static beeping in your ears.

Your heart was thumping faster as you took deep breath to calm yourself down. The day mellow, the sky clear but everything that was happening in your life was foggy and gloomy. You wanted to move on from this trip. The feelings, the emotions and the snarky comments. All of it. All you wanted to remember was the happy memories you made there.

The gifts were soon wrapped up as you put them all in a bag and got ready to have lunch at your parents’ house. You hired a taxi and gave the driver directions before laying back on the seat and taking the view in.

It took almost an hour before you saw the similar neighbourhood through the window. You sat up and brushed the back of your head a little to manage the tousled-up hair. The car came to a halt near your house as you paid the fare and got down.

“Have a good day ma’am.”, said the driver to which you bowed and wished him the same.

You rung the doorbell and the door was flung open by your mother.

“Oh my darling child.”, she said as she hugged you tight. You melted in her embrace as you giggled like a teenage girl.

“Hey mom, how have you been?”, you said with a warm smile.

“I am great. Your sisters are still asleep.”, she said with a mischievous glint in her eyes as she ushered you in.

You looked around the house and mentally felt happy for how your mom has decorated it in her own way. You never had a good relation with your father. He was a man of bad temper, and no idea of how to become a family. For the most part of your childhood, he was aloof and only came home on vacations. He would start arguments with mom and never really was present during the biggest milestones of your life. When you became a teenager, he left. He was tired of your family and moved on but your mom didn’t. She tried so hard to win him back but all in vain. He left your mom with three daughters to keep alive and that’s when you decided to start earning.

You were merely 18 but you did small jobs here and there along with your education to start supporting your family. Your mom even took a job at a local bakery and that’s how you all survived. When you went off to college, you would do assignments of other students to earn money and send a portion of that back home. Mingyu was the only one who knew about your state back home and would sometimes help you with work. Most of the times you would refuse but he was persistent enough to stay with you.

You kept your bag full of gifts on the sofa as you sat there while your mother went to the rooms to wake your sisters up. From the whispers you realised that the youngest was awake as she unknowingly got down the staircase and into the sitting area. Her eyes wandered a bit as they settled on you and she squealed.

“Oh my god, ____ what are you doing here?”, she was in shock but still rushed to you and hugged you with so much force that you both fell on the sofa. Your another sister came out hearing the commotion and saw you both hugging.

“Ahhhhhh puppy pile.”, she said and before you could say no, she has also jumped on top of you both. The three of you giggled as you tried to catch your breath.

“How have you both been?”, you said with a soft smile.

“We have been good.”, said the youngest.

“I come bearing presents.”, you said and they both clapped enthusiastically. You got a very beautiful piece of jewelry for your middle sister and a dress for the youngest. You even bough an expensive purse for your mother.

“This is yours, mom.”, you said with a radiant smile as your mother huffed with fake annoyance.

“You didn’t have to.”, your mom said but you could see how happy she was when she saw the gift.

“I wanted to.”, you said with a smile.

“Okay girls, let’s have lunch!”, your mom said enthusiastically as the table was already set.

The three of you washed your hands and sat down to eat. The food was delicious. Your eyes almost teared up when you ate homecooked meal after so long. No matter where you go, how many beautiful places you see or how much good food you eat, you will always return to your mom’s embrace and her food. It was your comfort. Your safe place.

“How was the trip?”, your middle sister asked.

“It was great!”, you said with a smile.

“Do you have pictures?”, she asked again.

“I don’t have the pictures I clicked but Jihyun sent me some so I can show you that.”, you said as you fished out your phone from your pocket.

“There you go.”, you handed the phone to your siblings.

They scrolled through the pictures for few minutes, gasping at the monuments once in a while which made you laugh. Then the youngest finally spoke.

“Who is he?”, she asked as she showed you a picture.

It was a picture of you and Mingyu, working in the kitchen side by side. You had no idea that Jihyun has clicked this picture. In the picture Mingyu was looking at you, his eyes sparkling with some sort of mischief and you were laughing, your head thrown back as you clutched your chest. His lips were also daring to burst into fits of laughter and it was captured perfectly. In that exact moment.

“That’s Mingyu, my college friend.”, you answered, keeping a straight face.

“He is so handsome.”, said the middle one which made you chuckle.

“Oh my beloved sister has a crush?”, you teased but she just waved you off.

“No. He is handsome for you.”, she finally said and you looked at her in shock.

“Yah! He is just a friend.”, you told her as you saw the youngest get up to eat some candies.

“He is not your boyfriend?”, she asked with a shocked face and honestly it confused you.

“W-Why would you think that?”, you asked.

“Look at him. He is in love with you.”, she said as she gave you the phone for you to have a closer look at the picture. It still felt normal to you.

“I-I don’t see it.”, you stammered again.

“I see it.”

“You turn eighteen and become what? A love detector?”, you teased her but she was being serious.

“I am serious ____.”, she said.

“Well, jokes on you, he has a girlfriend.”, you said with a bitter smile.

“Oh.”, she said, her face clearly disappointed.

“Maybe I read it wrong.”, she finally said and all you could do was pat her back as if that someone comforted you too.

The sun was setting down as you decided to head back home. You needed to freshen up and get ready for a date.

“I think I will take my leave.”, you said finally and then got up to pack your things. Your mom has even packed you some dessert that she has made while your sisters gave you hugs and kisses. You promised to visit more often from now on.

While you were getting ready to head out, your middle sister came running and said, “I don’t know how I guessed it wrong but you should talk with him.”

She was still stuck on that picture of you and Mingyu. You gave her a sad smile and said, “I can’t promise you but I will try.”, and she simply nodded before hugging you tight.

You got home without any traffic which was a relief. You got into your apartment quickly, tossing your bag on the sofa before heading in to take a shower. After you have cleaned up, you decided to wear a dress that wouldn’t be too flashy but also not too casual for a date. You weren’t sure what this date would mean for you. It didn’t seem like something that could benefit you but you have promised to meet him and you weren’t someone who would back down.

You called Jihyun to calm your nerves.

“Hello?”, Jihyun’s voice was heard on the other side.

“Hey, are you busy?”, you asked.

“No. Just packing.”, she said as you heard some shuffling.

“I am very nervous.”, you said finally.

“About the date? Don’t be. We are not saying you to marry him.”, she said in a comforting voice.

“I know but it feels like I am leading him on.”, you sounded defeated.

“You are allowed to go on dates, ____. It’s completely legal. Go on this date, refresh your mind and just tell him that you didn’t feel the spark. It’s not a big deal.”, she firmly stated and who were you to defy her?

“Fine. Can I call you after the date ends?”, you asked and got a hum of affirmation from the other side.

You finished getting ready as you applied some simple makeup, gold jewelry and your favourite pair of black heels. You looked into the mirror one last time before heading out of the door. You had asked Steven to wait at the restaurant itself because you needed some time alone in the hired taxi to ease your mind.

The ride was short as you reached the venue and paid the driver. The place was elegant but with a modern touch to it. You looked around a bit and finally decided to get inside. Steven was already waiting for you at the front so you smiled when you saw him.

“Am I late?”, you asked.

“No. I was early.”, he said with an easy smile.

After settling down on the table and decided to order immediately, Steven called the waiter to take the order. He took suggestions from you on what you want to eat and ordered accordingly. After the waiter was gone, you both sat in silence for a few minutes before you decided to speak first.

“I am not accustomed to this kind of setting, I am sorry.”, you said with a smile.

“I realized that. It’s fine.”, he assured you.

“If I am being honest, then we could just talk like friends. No need to look into this romantically.”, he said again and that somehow calmed you down a bit.

“It’s a little pathetic though.”, you chuckled.

The conversation then flowed from favourite color to hobbies to aspirations. You told him stories about your teenage life and he told you stories about his hometown. Laughter and giggles were exchanged as the food was served. The warmth of the food eased you even more as you teased him for eating too slow.

“You are a fun person after all.”, he finally said which made you roll your eyes playfully.

“Why? Do I look boring?”, you asked.

“No. Just scary.”, he said.

“What?”, you said as you giggled.

“Yes. I was shit scared to ask you.”, Steven said.

“I just don’t date.”, you finally said.

“Oh, and why is that?”, Steven asked.

“Just know that I haven’t moved on from someone.”, you said truthfully.

“An ex?”, he said with his nose scrunched up.

“Worse. Friend.”, you said with a dramatic sigh.

“Wow the plot thickens. Can I see a picture?”, he asked and you obliged, showing him a picture of Mingyu.

“I understand you. He is a fine man.”, he said and your eyes went wide.

“What? Just because I am straight doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate beauty.”, he laughed and it made you smile too.

“So will you confess?”, he asked after some time.

“Never.”

“Why?”

“Because it feels like it’s too late.”, you said.

“It’s never late. Wanna make him jealous?”, he asked with a mischievous spark in his eyes.

“Why do you sound like Jeonghan?”, you asked.

“I sit beside him in office, his personality has affected me.”, he laughed.

You both decided upon clicked a picture of just your hand resting on top of his on the candle lit dinner table. You put that on your Instagram story with a romantic song without thinking much about it.

“Well, that seemed like a successful date to me.”, Steven said as he drove you back home.

“You don’t mind that I didn’t reciprocate?”, you asked.

“No. I am a very social person. I just wanted to know you. You seemed very closed off during office hours which is not wrong but this felt like a good thing.”, he said and it somehow eased you.

“Yes. I promise to stay in touch.”, you said and he gave you a finger salute before he drove off.

click <<here>> to go to chapter 11!

✧˖* end notes: posting every monday! do suggest me ideas if you have any. also do like and comment!! it gives me motivation to write better.<3

[wampisworld]

Guys i have a headcanon and it wont go away maybe its cause i love oplita or what but i just have to tell i think orion has a litle crush on her and tries to so subtle flirting abd of course at that time she didint like him back or even if she did her pride was in the way example is when he compliments her when tehre about to mine in the movie now this may nit have bee meant to be flirting it couldve just shown orions humor or somthing but in my eyes i see it lol i feel lkke that why he tried tit ake the blame when he relized one elita was getting fired snd removed he woulndt see her again and she woukd probobly hate him which is why he snapped at darkwing thats why when elita went with them even though he knew she hated him

I love there character development in this movie and sad that we may never see these version of them again but i still hope but anyway the way elita learns not to hate him but ti understand why he did the things he did back then elita wants ti male it right and now they both like eachother and flirt at the end if the movie so

[blue-eye-samurai-analysis]

When Taigen finds out Mizu is a woman...

Many people believe he will be angry at Mizu. But I think they are wrong.

It’s MIZU who will get really, really angry. Her outburst will soften Taigen’s own reaction and help him understand what Mizu was going through all this time.  

Ever since season one ended, there have been speculations about Taigen’s possible reaction to Mizu’s sex reveal. People keep saying that Taigen is a direct guy, an immature person and a huge drama queen, so he has to get angry at Mizu when he learns the truth about her sex. But my own personal opinion is that he won’t. Instead he’ll get angry at himself and here’s why:

Yeah, all these things are true: Taigen IS quite direct, he IS immature and he IS a huge drama queen. But he also possess natural gentleness towards women (check my post about his “sweetness”) and despite being a bully in his childhood, he knows how to be compassionate (check my post about Taigen’s “duality”). And, most of all, he considers himself an honorable person and he is determined to act like a true samurai.

Guess what’s forbidden by the samurai code of honor? Hitting women. In Japanese society of Edo Period women and children were considered the vulnerable ones and samurai were expected to protect them. So imagine the potential consequences of hitting a woman for someone like Taigen.

Do you see where I’m getting here?  

Having those things in mind, we also need to take a third factor into consideration: Mizu’s reaction to Taigen finding out about her.  

Because if you assume that she’ll act like Mulan, clumsily explaining herself with tail between her legs, then you haven’t been paying attention to the show.

If you DID watch the show closely, Mizu’s reaction is going to be quite easy to predict.

When Mikio saw Mizu’s masculine side, he called her a monster. When Master Eiji learned that Mizu hid “something” from him, he refused to listen, choosing to remain “blind” not only literally but also metaphorically. Although it’s quite obvious that he knows, because if he didn’t, why would he deliberately use the words “boy” and “man” – and Mizu is extremely perceptive about how people choose their words (proven by her conversation with Heiji Shindo), so she must know that Swordfather knows, and they keep playing their little game of pretending.

(Why Master Eiji wants to keep Mizu’s sex a taboo is a story for another post)

And Taigen?

Taigen is a proud samurai, whose fiancé was Akemi, the very embodiment of traditional Japanese femininity (at least at first glance).

So, what is Mizu going to expect from Taigen when he learns about her? The absolute worst!  

She’s going to assume the worst, and because she’s a natural warrior who never backed down from the challenge, especially involving Taigen, she’ll immediately go into the offensive. I can see it clearly: Mizu losing her shit, openly provoking Taigen to go on, call me a monster again, this is who I am, you’ve always said it, so why stay quiet now?!

Perhaps there will even be some physical violence, Mizu will get feral like a cornered animal, because that’s how she will feel at the moment.  I think her intention will be to just make Taigen say whatever insult he has in mind, to just get it over with.  

BUT…

That kind of behavior will allow Taigen to see her vulnerable side. And I believe that’s something he really wants to see, because he is eager to know Mizu, to learn more about her, and – most importantly – he wants to see her without her mask.

Just look at episode three:

In one of my previous post, I mention how Taigen makes an important decision to act honorably and NOT to kill Mizu when she’s unconscious. Right after he sheathes his sword, he kneels next to his rival but not to immediately examine the wound (which would be logical course of action) but just to STARE. As if he was asking himself: okay, if you’re not a cold blooded monster, then WHO are you?

And he’s trying to find out through the entire episode three. EVERYTHING he does in this episode is an attempt to get some sort of reaction from Mizu. He wants to crack her shell, because the only face Mizu showed him until now was of a cocky swordsman, who was pretty good at controlling her emotions, and only losing her cool to some extent (like when Taigen called her a dog and she cut his topknot).

The whole point of throwing insults at Mizu during the Chopsticks Fight is to get a REACTION from her. Taigen wants to make her angry on purpose and even though he loses the fight itself, he gets what he wants, because Mizu is pissed and hits him really hard. That’s why he’s smirking when it’s over.

And later there are those awkward attempts to have a conversation. Taigen is quoting the Lotus Sutra and immediately glances at Mizu, as if wanting to say “I studied sutras in the dojo, did you study them too?” Then he talks about his abusive father and tries to push Mizu to reveal something about herself.

But she keeps her cool and even though you can say she’s listening very carefully, she keeps silent.

Actually, when you think about it, Mizu isn’t very talkative and I think it irks Taigen - partly because HE is very talkative, but also because he’s genuinely curious about his rival. Ever since they were children Mizu NEVER said anything while being bullied – whenever she got insulted, she reacted through actions but never words. And she continues to do it in her adult life. I think it makes Taigen even more intrigued, so he really, really wants her to break, to reveal her true feelings.

The closest he gets to seeing a “glimpse” of vulnerable Mizu is only twice in the whole show. First time is when she coldly tells him “I remember Kohama”, which in this context means: “Yeah, I didn’t forget how you bullied me.”

Second one is when Taigen brings her the dumplings and she mutters “I’ve never tried them. Remember? I was just a dog who ate gutter scraps.” Which in this case means: “yeah, being rejected by people and being hungry actually hurt me, I do have feelings”. And she calls herself a dog – the very same insult Taigen always used. She's disappointed in herself, acting all defeated and resigned, there are cracks in her armor, and you can tell it really gets to Taigen, so he immediately tries to "pick up the pieces of her soul" (symbolized by her sword in this scene), to somehow help her get up.

So Taigen sees two metaphorical “drops” of water (Mizu). But they are only drops. Now imagine yourself poking a hole in the rock, and they are tiny droplets of water coming from it, so you get irritated. But then, there is a huge secret revealed, it’s like a bomb, so the rock crumbles all at once and there is this huge tsunami of emotions coming out. It must be shocking and unexpected!  

So my guess is that Taigen will be shaken by the discovery that Mizu is a woman, but not because he will feel angry or betrayed, but because he will realize that all of his childhood he was bullying a little girl (I expect another flashback of little Mizu staring at him with those big scared eyes).

And he will be extremely disappointed in himself.  He will become aware of Mizu’s self-hatred and it will shock him. He will finally realize how much emotions she was suppressing till now and it will crush him.  The realization will hit him that it’s partly because of HIM that Mizu grew up to be tough and cold, suppressing her sweet and gentle side.

Even in season one Taigen already KNOWS Mizu is capable of being gentle and sweet, and he was in awe both times he saw it (first after their friendly spar, second when she begged him not to follow her and Fowler). I think season two will deliver more of Mizu’s gentleness and that will make discovering her secret by Taigen even more painful.

So, Taigen will be disappointed of himself and it will show on his face, but Mizu will interpret it as a rejection and will lash out at him, forcing him to defend himself, verbally and (possibly) physically, which he will probably do rather clumsily, because he won’t be sure how to handle all of this shit and he doesn’t really want to hit A WOMAN, but that will rile up Mizu even more. Taigen may try to calm Mizu down, but being an idiot he will probably do so through yelling back.

Anyway, after the fight ends, Mizu might want to distance herself from Taigen like she tried to do with Ringo at the beginning of the series. So, ultimately, it won’t be Mizu who will have to explain herself and work hard to win Taigen’s trust back. It will be Taigen who will have to prove that he accepts Mizu as she is and therefore deserves her trust.

I don’t see it happening in any other way.

And seriously, if the creators decide to pull “Mulan shit” and present Mizu as the one who was in the wrong for hiding her true sex, I will be very disappointed.  Because, hell, she WASN’T in the wrong – she didn’t become a boy because of ambition or any selfish reasons. It’s the truth that she CONTINUES to live as a man for her vengeance quest, but that’s not how it had started. Mizu’s mama forced her to become a boy and Mizu even made an attempt to live as woman.

Also, putting aside all of this, she still has a bounty on her head as a woman! She really has nothing to apologize for. Not even for not trusting Taigen and not telling him the truth, because what kind of person would in her situation?   

Bonus theory:

How will the reveal happen? I think Fowler will tell Taigen, because him doing so would create such a perfect drama.

Imagine this: Taigen and Mizu go to London, Fowler escapes at some point, they eventually corner him (I imagine it happening somewhere at the end of season two) and Fowler teases Taigen with words like: You follow your WOMAN everywhere.

Taigen is confused, and there’s more teasing: Wait, you didn’t know? I was sure you were f*cking her!

It would be just TOO good. And imagine how difficult the fight would become, with Taigen distracted with this shocking discovery and not having the time to process anything. Just too good.  

And I can easily image a conversation that would occur afterwards.

Mizu (angrily): You’re disgusted with me! Don’t pretend you’re not!

Taigen: (yelling) I’m not disgusted with YOU, I’m disgusted with myself. All my childhood I was bullying A GIRL. Do you know what it means to me? To my HONOR?!

Mizu: You think those stones you threw at me would hurt LESS if I had a dick? How is attacking a girl with five other brats MORE DISHONORABLE than attacking a boy with five other brats?

And they will quarrel like that, with Mizu expressing her self-hatred and probably also – for the very first time – openly expressing her true feelings about being bullied in childhood, and Taigen trying to explain himself.

And, like I mentioned before, I think that at some point Taigen will notice that Mizu is hurt, seriously hurt, he will acknowledge her suffering and his own role in it, and it will calm him down. I imagine Taigen becoming gradually more and more quiet, watching Mizu intently, while Mizu continues to yell at him.

I imagine it happening in the rain, so it would be hard to tell whether Mizu is crying or not.

I also kind of hope Taigen will kiss her just to shut her up, although realistically I think it would be much too soon for something like this to happen right after the sex discovery. So my guess is that the reveal will happen in season two (in the last episode or the one before last), while taimizu will begin in season three.  

[littlestarbigsky]

Can we get some sad Dallas venting to the gang? Can be a blurb or anything 🌺 your writing is incredible

first. thank youuu😭🫶🏻

second. babe babe babeeeeee what’s it like to live inside my brain !! the original idea for this fic has been burning a hole in my wips pile for MONTHS and i’ve been waiting for an excuse to actually write it-

cw: dally’s family sucks, mentions of verbal and physical abuse, talk of sexual harassment and addiction

hope this is okay 🩷

it was dark when dally stumbled up the walkway. he wasn’t too sure where he was going or what he was in for when somebody saw him, he just knew he needed out. he needed to be some place that wasn’t buck’s.

dally had always been one for a bar fight, especially when he drank just enough for the punches not to sting when they landed. the trouble with that was, the pain eventually kicked in, and all of his senses might as well have been dialed to eleven.

one of his ankles was swollen and aching, he wasn’t sure how it had gotten like that, though. his knuckles were all split open, some sliced right down to tendons and muscles. he was sure his face wasn’t in great shape, probably a busted lip, maybe a black eye. the only thing he felt sure of was that his nose wasn’t broken. he’d had enough of those to be able to tell.

dally remembered what it felt like to know something was wrong. he had since the first time he got into it with someone years ago. somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, he could still feel the blow. he had been young. stupid. too stupid to think better than to pick a fight with his dad when they were both drunk.

he dragged himself up the stairs of the curtis house, his knees going weak underneath him with every step. he barely had the energy to open the door, and when he did, he collapsed over the threshold, his drunken limbs useless and limp.

for a second, dally wondered if he had collapsed into a completely empty house. it was a saturday evening, far too early for dally to have been as drunk as he was. there was every chance darry had taken pony and soda and gotten them out of town for the weekend, the two of them sure weren't rushing to scrape him off their front entryway. a few seconds later though, there were footsteps from the bathroom, and darry's work boots appeared in dally's field of view.

darry sighed deeply. somewhere deep in dally's consciousness, he felt sorry for making a fuss, for raising a scene, because darry knelt down next to dally's head and turned him onto his back.

"you sure this is where you wanna be, dal? i might have to ream ya for showing up like this again."

dally groaned, "shut up, i just need to lay down for a second."

"you're bleeding," darry said simply. not a question, not a plea, just a statement. "what happened?"

"some thirty-something was perving on a girl at buck's," dally admitted. he had always been the one catcalling and flirting, but he drew the line at grown men trying to hit on girls half their age. his idiot sister hadn't been smart enough to get rid of the one doing it to her. sure enough, the bastard got her hooked on all kinds of things, stuff dally couldn't even pronounce when he found the bottles in the bathroom. they had been long past the point of fixing her when he left new york, but he could still do everything in his power to stop them from getting to other little girls.

darry sighed again, "you know, it's hard to buy your whole 'tough guy' act when you go and do decent shit like that."

darry then hoisted dally off the ground and set him back on his feet. dally didn't understand why darry couldn't just carry him all the way to the bathroom if he had already deadlifted him off the floor, but darry would probably just say something about how it would be good for him.

dally was half expecting to end up in soda's abandoned bedroom, but instead darry dragged him to the bathroom and discarded him unceremoniously on the closed toilet seat. dally barely had a second to sit and sulk before darry was tipping his head back and wiping away the dried blood with a warm cloth. his touch was gentle, like he had done this a hundred times. dally knew he had, between him, steve, and two-bit picking fights everywhere they turned

he knew he was worse than those two, getting drunk and getting into fights or scaring the daylights out of the gang every time he disappeared for three days or got thrown in county lockup for a month. he was good for making them jumpy, good at making them worry. a small part of him felt pride but a bigger part of him was sick of himself for it.

darry was so goddamn gentle. one hand wiped away blood that wasn't even dally's while the other pushed his hair back, careful and calm and kinder than anything dally had felt in ages.

maybe it was the pain in his head. maybe it was the booze. maybe it was the fact that if his stupid goddamn sister had someone like him to beat away the pervs, then maybe that asshole wouldn't have been able to give her anything. before dally could gather the wherewithall to stop himself, the words were ready to tumble out of his mouth. in his mind: flashes of very early memories he didn't even realize he still had.

his sister.

his father.

his mother.

"she used to yell all the time, man, all the goddamn time," dally mumbled as darry cleaned the split in his lip. "half the time i wouldn't even know what it was about... not really anyways... i'd ask her to help me tie my shoes and she wouldn't even let me get the words out before she'd start hollerin' at me."

something in darry's chest ached. dally had never once mentioned his family, much less in this intimate of a setting. the only indication dally had ever given that he even had a family was when he had shouted something about his junkie sister to johnny once. there was nothing else to it. darry had known for a long time that he, pony, and soda had lucked out with their parents. where they came from, it was pretty much luck of the draw who got belted by their folks and who got kissed goodnight.

"you were just a kid."

"yeah? well, i was a kid that shoulda smart enough to know when not to piss her off."

darry had a little too much experience with dally when he got too riled up, and he decided it was safer to just let dally sit with whatever he was feeling and keep going with patching him up. he cleaned cuts and noted bruises, mentally debating what would be the best way to ice the areas. dally still hadn't said a word by the time darry had finished working. he held out a hand to help hoist dally off the toilet, but dally just shook his head and pushed himself to his feet, the ache in his back settling over him.

"you can go lay down in soda's room," darry instructed. "he's over at steve's tonight."

“you know what, that’s who i really don’t need,” dally slurred as he fell down onto the bed. “those family bastards are always more trouble than they’re worth. best to leave those assholes far behind.”

even through the boozy haze lingering in his mind, dally could tell that he had said the exact wrong thing. darry’s expression shifted, so slightly, and still so loudly.

“shit, dar, you know this ain’t about your folks.”

dally seemed to be going from bad to worse. darry pressed his lips together and nodded, seemingly more to himself than to dally.

“there’s extra blankets in the bottom drawer. you can use whatever clothes you need.”

dally let his head fall to the bed pathetically, almost like he was hoping to smother himself in the mattress. there was an awful handful of moments where dally knew it would serve him right to be left there, messy and wrecked and too full of emotions for his own good. darry must have decided he felt bad, because he leaned down and ruffled dally’s hair.

“you don’t always gotta be so tuff, dal. my mama never asked you to be stone cold and never feel a thing, we don’t need that from you either.”

dally squeezed his eyes shut and lifted his head just enough, “man, you know i didn’t mean that, i’m sorry…”

“don’t,” darry corrected him quietly. “there’s nothing wrong with needing people.”

“i didn’t need em then, i sure as hell don’t need em now. i don’t miss em.. lord knows they don’t miss me.”

“you don’t know that, dal.”

“yeah, you and your brothers who’d do anything for each other. not all of us had that, superman.”

darry bit the inside of his cheek before sitting down next to dally, shoving his shoulder so that dally could face him.

“i’m not gonna ask, because i know you don’t wanna talk about it. but if there’s ever a time where you need someone to talk about them, i promise i won’t tell anyone. i know better than anyone that letting all that sit on your chest starts to hurt after a while. if the hurt gets to be too much, you know where to find me.”

he finished with a small smile before patting dally’s shoulder and pushing himself off the bed. dally didn’t try to stop him, didn’t try to explain, just let him leave. the door closing didn’t feel like a trap, it felt like… something he’d never been able to place.

dally stopped holding his breath. finally.