#i want to try to head out like this at least once a week + cook and prep a real meal at least once a week too

[aquaticmercy]

Full Throttle

Summary : Bucky thinks he hooked up with a really pretty mechanic. 

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x motorcycle racer!reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : cursing. Sex is implied. Bucky on a motorcycle. Purely self-indulgent fic.

Word count : 3.9k

Note : reader is a MotoGP rider! I’m still reeling from the championship battle last week that I just needed to write this. Also I apologise for everyone who wasn’t tagged in waste a moment! I lost half my notes and I’ve been trying to recover it. Hopefully it’ll be resolved by tomorrow. Enjoy!

Bucky Barnes wasn’t just drawn to motorcycles because they were fast or dangerous— at least not entirely. 

He loved them because of the freedom they gave him, the sense of control when everything else in his life felt it had spiralled into oblivion. Riding demanded focus and precision—all the things he’d spent the last couple of years training. 

When he was on his bike, the world faded away. There was only the hum of the engine, the wind in his hair, and the open road.

And sure, being on the road was fun, but sometimes, all he wanted was a challenge.

That’s when he found the dirt track in the edge of town— a place where he could train for missions that called for high-speed chases— a place he could lose himself for a while. 

It was something fun to do once in a while, you know? Sam would call this a hobby.

The roar of engines and the earthy tang of kicked-up dirt felt like home. In a way, it was strangely meditative. It reminded him of what it felt like to be human— to push himself to the limit, to make mistakes and learn.

Every Tuesday, after training, he came to the track. 

And every Tuesday, so did you.

The first time he saw you, Bucky had to do a double take. You were standing by your bike, helmet tucked under one arm, dirt streaked across your padded leather jacket.

Bucky was no stranger to beautiful people, but there was something about you that struck him differently— maybe it was the confidence in the way you carried yourself or the fire in your eyes when you looked his way. Either way, he was floored.

At first, he figured you were just another skilled rider trying to forget the world. That it was just a hobby, like it was to him. But as the weeks went on, you realised this was your life. 

It must be.

The way you rode was… incredible. Every turn was sharp, calculated. Precise. 

And despite your obvious talent, you never made a big deal about it. Just like you never made a big deal out of the fact that he was the fucking Winter Soldier. 

Of course, you knew who he was—he’d caught the occasional glint of recognition in your eyes. But you never brought it up, never asked for autographs or photos. Instead, you treated him like just another guy at the track.

That didn’t mean you didn’t flirt, though.

Every now and then, you’d throw him a cheeky grin. You’d playfully tell him things like, “Nice lap, soldier,” and Bucky would just blush (which you found adorable, of course).

He would always try to laugh it off, but the truth was, your teasing left his heart racing faster than his bike ever could.

—

Bucky had been working up the nerve for weeks, and today, he thought he would finally bite the bullet. 

Today he was going to ask you out. 

You were wiping the sweat from your brow when he leaned casually against his bike, trying to look more confident than he felt.

“You’re always here on a Tuesday,” he said, before mentally groaning at himself

What the fuck was that? He thought. Is Always here on a Tuesday really the best flirty opening line he had? It was not even an open-ended question. It was just an observation. Nice one, Barnes.

But instead of brushing him off, you paused, setting your gloves down with an amused spark lighting up in your eyes. “Could say the same for you, Barnes.” You tilted your head and gave a casual shrug, acting as if having a stunning super soldier gawking over you wasn’t flattering. “You stalking me?”

The corner of his lips curved upward, the nervous tension melting away ever so slightly. “Maybe I just like the view.”

That earned him a smirk. You let your eyes descend over him—his dark hair falling in perfect disarray, his shirt clinging to his chest under his jacket. “Sure,” you teased. 

He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “Maybe I’ve got a good reason to show up.”

“Oh?” you asked, stepping closer, tossing your helmet onto your bike seat with a little dramatic flair. “Don’t tell me the Winter Soldier needs more practice catching bad guys on a bike. Thought you had that down.”

“Yeah, well,” he drawled, letting his gaze linger on you. “Never hurts to train. Especially when there’s someone like you around to keep me humble.”

“Humble?” You quirked an eyebrow, folding your arms as you leaned a hip against the leather seat of the bike. “Looked pretty cocky last week, pulling that stunt to take down the bad guy.”

He blinked, genuinely surprised. “You saw that?”

It had been a theft— some guy thought he could steal experimental weapons from an old Stark warehouse and get away with it. Not his cleanest chase, but he did the job.

“Please, it was all over the news. Did you not see the four helicopters following the chase?” you said, a mischievous glint in your eye. “I gotta say, you’re not bad, Barnes.”

“Not bad?” he echoed, feigning offence.

You leaned in just a little, dropping your voice. “I’ve seen smoother turns. If you want pointers, I could teach you a thing or two.”

His lips parted, but no words came out for a moment as he processed how close you were. “You offering lessons now?”

You laughed before gesturing at his bike. 

This was his dirt bike, a recreational bike— not the one he used for the chase last week. Still, it could use a bit of… fine tuning. 

“Tell you what, soldier,” you said, “Fix that lag in your throttle response first. Then I’ll teach you a thing or two about taking corners.”

Bucky tilted his head, narrowing his eyes “There’s nothing wrong with my throttle response.”

“Oh, honey,” you purred, stepping just close enough for your shoulder to brush his. “I could hear it lagging from halfway across the track.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. 

“You saying I need a tune-up?”

“I’m saying,” you said, your voice like velvet, “that if you wanna keep up, you’re gonna need a better setup.”

He couldn’t help the grin tugging at his lips. He still didn’t have the guts to ask you out that day, but he walked away with hope, that maybe, this could grow into something more.

—

“So, you gonna tell me why you’ve been walking around with that goofy smile lately?” Sam asked, leaning back in his chair with a knowing look.

“What smile?” Bucky muttered, immediately defensive.

“The one you think nobody notices,” he shrugged. “Spill it, Buck. What’s her name?”

Bucky hesitated, running a hand through his hair. He hadn’t planned to tell anyone about his little crush. least of all Sam, but the look on his friend’s face said he wasn’t getting out of this conversation.

“Fine,” he said, exhaling. “There’s this girl.”

Sam grinned. 

“She goes to the dirt track I go to every Tuesday,” Bucky said, staring at the bottle in his hands like it held the secret to not sounding like a lovesick idiot as he told him all about you. 

—

From then on, Tuesdays became his favourite day of the week.

Bucky found himself counting down the hours until he could see you again, his mind replaying every smile, every laugh, every teasing touch.

You became bolder, not afraid of calling him handsome, of touching his arm even if it wasn’t necessary. 

And damn it if didn’t make his heart race.

One evening, after a particularly thrilling session on the track, Bucky decided he’d had enough of dancing around what he wanted. 

Leaning casually against his handlebars, he called out, “Race me.”

You looked up, one eyebrow raising in surprise. “What’s in it for me?” you asked, folding your arms and tilting your head in that way that always made his stomach flip.

“If you win,” he started, “you get bragging rights for a week.”

“A week, huh?” You repeated dramatically, “and if you win?”

Bucky’s lips curled into a slow grin, trying to appear confident even though his heart was pounding in his chest. “I get your number.”

Your giggle rang out, bright and sweet, and for a second, Bucky forgot how to breathe. “You got yourself a deal, soldier,” you said, shaking your head. 

—

The two of you lined up at the start of the track, engines growling. 

Bucky’s focus sharpened—he wasn’t just racing for pride; he was racing for the chance to finally take a step toward something he had wanted for months now. 

When the signal came, you both shot off like bullets, dirt kicking up in clouds behind your tires. Bucky pushed his bike to the limit, leaning into every corner, his muscles strained with effort, grappling the dirt bike for control. But no matter how fast he went, he couldn’t shake the feeling that you were holding back. 

You were supposed to be faster, more precise than this sloppy performance you were giving. He’d seen you before. What happened?

As you neared the final stretch, you slowed, just enough for him to surge ahead and cross the finish line first. 

He skidded to a stop, panting and exhilarated, but the smug grin on your face told him everything he needed to know.

When you walked over later and handed him a scrap of paper with your number scrawled on it, you leaned in close enough for him to catch the faint scent of sweat and motor oil. “You won it fair and square,” you said.

Bucky narrowed his eyes, his lips twitching with a grin he couldn’t suppress. “You let me win.”

“How dare you accuse me of such a thing,” you feigned innocence, but couldn’t help the grin widening on your face.

He tucked the paper into his pocket, shaking his head.

As you put on your helmet back on, you casually remarked, “Throttle’s still lagging, by the way.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Bucky groaned, pretending to be annoyed. Secretly, he was thrilled to keep the conversation going. “I think it’s the fuel filter, but I haven’t had time to swap it out.”

“I’ve got one at my place,” you told him, turning on your engine, “Why don’t you come by?”

His head snapped up, surprised at the offer. “Now?”

“Why not?” 

—

When arrived at your place, he had braced himself for something simple—a cosy apartment, maybe a small cluttered corner dedicated to your bike tools. 

What he hadn’t expected was this.

Standing in the doorway, he blinked at the modern yet homey design laid out before him. The floor-to-ceiling windows bathed the space in golden evening light, reflecting off polished floors and expensive-looking furniture. The view of the city stretched out like a postcard behind you as you stood, arms crossed, watching him with a hint of amusement.

“This… is your apartment?” he asked, taking a step inside. His greasy leather jacket suddenly felt so out of place. His gaze darted over to a marble countertop in the kitchen, a plush couch, and then the walls— lined with the kind of art he’s only seen in high society auctions.

You tilted your head, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “Not what you expected, Barnes?”

He huffed a soft laugh. “Not really…”

“Ah,” you replied, moving toward a door off the main living area. “So just because I work with bikes, I can’t have nice things?”

“I didn’t say that,” he countered quickly, following you.

You threw a sly glance over your shoulder. “Didn’t have to.”

He tried to think of a witty response, but he was distracted by the thought of you—the way you moved, confident and unbothered, like you belonged in every room you entered.

You led him to a heavy door and pushed it open, revealing a contrast to the rest of the apartment— your workshop.

The workshop smelled like oil, grease, and faintly of rubber, the air swirling with the comforting scent of metal and machinery. The walls were lined with shelves holding neatly organised tools, spare parts, and bottles of lubricants. A stripped-down high-performance bike stood at the centre of the room, its engine exposed, wires and cables hanging loose. 

Now this room, he thought, was undoubtedly you.

“This is more like it,” he murmured, his lips curving into a faint smile.

“See?” You smirked, moving to grab the replacement part he needed. “I’m not as fancy as you think.”

After pulling his bike through the back, he leaned against the wall, watching as you crouch next to his bike and get to work. 

For a moment, he was quiet.

He watched in silence— the way your hands moved with precision, the way you were entirely in your element. 

“So,” you began, glancing up at him. “What’s the Winter Soldier doing on a dirt track every Tuesday, anyway? Don’t you have, I don’t know, a world to save?”

He chuckled, folding his arms across his chest. “The world can wait.”

You laughed softly, returning your focus to the filter. 

“I get it, kind of,” you replied, loosening a bolt. “Wanting to get away from everything.”

From then on, the conversation came effortlessly. 

At first, he kept it light, sticking to anecdotes about the track or the occasional joke about his less-than-smooth bike handling in the beginning. But there was something about the way you listened—your easy, genuine curiosity—that made him feel safe, like he didn’t have to keep everything locked away anymore.

At one point, he couldn’t help but ask how someone who worked with bikes could afford a place like this. You only shrugged with a smile, giving the same answer you always did: “I got lucky.” He didn’t press, though he was curious—the ease in which you sidestepped the question intrigued him.

Before long, the conversation drifted again. He found himself sharing more than he ever thought he would. He told you about his missions, the chaos of his Winter Soldier days, the things he’d done and the memories he was still piecing together. 

And you listened—not with pity, but with an understanding that felt rare, even among the people he called friends.

“You’re good at this,” he finally said. 

“Bikes?”

“People,” he admitted, his eyes flicking to yours.

“Well, bikes are like people,” You tilted your head, studying him with a small, curious smile. “Both require care, attention, and understanding to perform at their best.”

When you finally finished, you stood, wiping your hands on a cloth. “All set,” you said, gesturing toward his bike. 

“Thank you.” he said, though he made no move to leave. Instead, he lingered, his eyes on you as you leaned back against the counter.

“So,” you said, breaking the thick silence, your voice dipping into something almost playful. “You gonna stick around, or do you have somewhere to be?”

“Nowhere important,” he admitted quietly.

He took a step closer, then another.

The space separating you seemed to dissolve, his eyes locked on yours, pulling you in like gravity.

“Careful,” you murmured, teasing. “I might think you’re stalling just to spend more time with me.”

His lips curved into a faint, almost shy smile. “And if I am?”

The words hit you like a shot of adrenaline, your heart beating out of your chest. There was no humour in his tone, no hint of the usual back-and-forth banter that had defined so many of your conversations. Just desire staring back at you.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely audible. “I wouldn’t mind.”

He was close now, so close you could feel the heat rolling off him, his metal hand brushing against the counter as he leaned in.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his voice rough, a low growl in his throat. He cupped your jawline, mustering all the courage she could possibly gather. 

You didn’t.

Instead, your lips parted in anticipation as he leaned in. Unable to bear it any longer, you tilted your head up, meeting him halfway.

The first press of his lips against yours was gentle, and the second was anything but. The restraint shattered immediately, giving way to something feral. His hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair as he pulled you closer, his lips moving with a hunger that’s been brewing since he first saw you on the track.

Your hands found his chest, sliding up to his shoulders, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt. You tugged him closer, your chest pressing against his. He let out a low moan that sent a shiver down your spine.

When you finally broke apart for air, your foreheads rested together, your breaths mixing in the narrow space between you. His voice was husky, as if he was still recovering. “I should really take you out on a date first.”

You let out a shaky laugh, your hands still fisted in his shirt. “You can still do that.”

His lips brushed yours again. “Aren’t you trouble?”

“You love it,” you whispered, grinning wickedly as you pulled him back in.

The next kiss was hotter, hungrier—  it consumed you both. His hands slid to your waist, gripping you firmly as he backed you out of the workshop and into the apartment. 

Your movements were uncoordinated, messy, your lips never leaving his as you stumbled against walls, furniture, and whatever else got in the way.

By the time you reached the bedroom, nothing else mattered.

—

Bucky woke to the soft light peeking through your curtains.

The scent of coffee reached him first. When he stumbled out of your bedroom, he spotted you at the marble kitchen counter, leaning on your elbows with a steaming mug in hand. You were dressed in one of your oversized shirts— and looked far too innocent for all the filthy things you did to him last night.

“Mornin’ doll,” he greeted  as he sat across from you.

“Morning,” you chuckled at his adorable tousled hair. 

“So…” he started, his voice thick with sleep, “about that date…”

You smirked, setting your mug down and sauntered around the island kitchen. “Thought you’d never ask.”

“Sunday?” he offered, watching you with a lazy smile as you perched on the stool next to his.

You shook your head, “I work weekends.”

That caught him off guard, but he didn’t let it show. “Remind me what exactly it is you do?”

“Bikes,” you said simply, the corner of your mouth twitching like you were holding back sensitive information.

He chuckled, assuming you were talking about your mechanic work. “Fair.”

You hummed, but the mischievous glint in your eyes didn’t escape him.

He tilted his head, curiosity tugging at the edge of his thoughts, but he decided not to push. You’d tell him when you wanted to. Instead, he flashed a small grin. “I’ll text you to arrange something, then.”

“You better,” you teased, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “You won my number, Barnes. Don’t make me regret giving it to you. 

The challenge in your tone made his smirk widen, his hand slipping around your waist to pull you closer. “Oh, I won’t.”

—

That Sunday, Bucky was slouched on Sam’s couch, one leg kicked over the side of the coffee table, a book resting on his chest. Sam, on the other hand, was waging war with the TV remote, flipping through channels at record speeds.

“Just pick something already,” Bucky grumbled without looking up.

Sam rolled his eyes, ignoring him. 

“Oh, MotoGP’s on,” he said suddenly, tossing the remote aside.

Bucky didn’t even glance at the screen at first, the low growl of engines and the commentator’s frantic observation was little more than background noise. But something about the sheer speed on display tugged at his attention. He finally looked up— and when he did, he could not take his eyes off the screen.

The camera focused on a Ducati weaving through the pack with a relentlessness that looked… familiar. The rider’s movements were fluid, each turn carved with precision, every overtake risky but calculated.

“Holy shit,” Sam muttered, leaning forward. Sam wasn’t the biggest fan— but he did watch these races from time to time. It always intrigued him, the danger they willingly took to win a race. “Look at—did you see that overtake?”

Bucky didn’t respond, his eyes locked on the rider. There was something about them—the way they leaned into each corner, never hesitating, always pushing for the absolute edge of human limitation.

The commentator’s voice broke through his thoughts.

“And there it is! The factory Ducati taking the lead with that beautiful overtake from the inside line! Unbelievable control!”

The Ducati was now in front, pulling away from the others as the final lap approached. 

Bucky watched, as they flew through a sweeping right turn, knees and shoulders skimming the asphalt like it was second nature.

As the Ducati roared down toward the finish line, the chequered flag waved. 

First place.

The crowd erupted, but Bucky barely heard it. The rider slowed, their gloved fist pumping the air, before coming to a stop after the cooldown lap. 

The other riders were congratulating them, patting their helmet with friendly taps.

Soon, the camera zoomed in, capturing the moment they pulled off their helmet.

And Bucky’s stomach dropped.

It was you.

No helmet, no visor—just you, smiling that confident smile that he knew so well.

Oh. He was stupid. Bucky Barnes was so incredibly stupid.

Of course you were a motorcycle racer. The sleek apartment, the effortless style, the way you moved on the dirt track. The way you told him you worked on weekends— it all made perfect sense.

And yet, somehow, he'd convinced himself you were a mechanic. Of course he did.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, bolting upright.

Sam shot him a confused look. “What?”

“That’s her,” Bucky said, his voice low in disbelief.

“Who’s ‘her’?”

“The mechanic,” he said, gesturing at the TV, as you celebrated with your team of race engineers. “The girl I told you about. That’s her.”

Sam blinked, staring at the screen, then back at Bucky. “Wait—you’re telling me she fixed up your fuel filter?”

Bucky didn’t answer, still staring at the screen. You were heading toward the press now, handing your helmet to a crew member as reporters swarmed you.

The camera cut for a post-race interview. You looked exhilarated, but still composed as you answered questions about your strategy— about the win. 

Then the interviewer threw in a curveball:

“You’ve been on a hot streak lately. Is there anyone you want to dedicate this victory to?”

You hesitated just long enough for a sly grin to tug at your lips. Then, you looked directly into the camera.

“This win’s for a super soldier,” you said, your tone as playful as ever. You made a phone gesture with your fingers and winked. “Call me, Barnes.”

Bucky’s jaw dropped.

Sam burst out laughing, but in no less shock. “I cannot believe you hooked up with her! Bucky, You lucky son of a—“

But Bucky wasn’t listening anymore.

He couldn’t believe it. Of course he could keep up— you were literally leagues ahead of him.

And somehow, you were still into him. 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Sam said, nudging him hard enough to make him wince. “You gonna call her or not?”

Bucky didn’t answer, already scrambling for his phone. His hands trembled a little as he unlocked it, a smile already tugging at his lips.

He wasn’t sure what he was gonna say when you picked up, but he knew one thing for certain: Tuesdays just got a whole lot more interesting.

-end.

[drabblesandsnippets]

Whatever You Need

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus-size female reader

Summary: (3.3k) Bucky comforts you during a rough time. 

Background: Reworking of this snippet. It’s been a rough few weeks (for a lot of folks, I’m sure) and I couldn’t stop thinking about this one. To everyone who struggles with their mental health, please be kind to yourself. 

Warnings: 18+ Only. Mention of insomnia, depression, anxiety. Angst. Fluff. Attempt at a bit of humor? Soft and sweet Bucky. Established relationship. Pet names (sweetheart, doll). Non-sexual nudity & touching. Kissing. Cuddling. Brief mention of/alluding to past sexual intimacy.

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

You sit by the open window, breathing in the heavy scent of the steady rain, listening to the thunder getting closer. You should be in bed, with Bucky’s arms wrapped around you, snuggling you back to sleep. But, you can’t seem to make yourself go.

It’s been weeks of this. Insomnia. Depression. Anxiety. Every day, things feel just a bit more hopeless, like you’re barely treading water, surely to go under at any moment. Rationally, you know this will pass, as it always does, you just have to wait it out and hope you don’t drown in the meantime. 

The closer the storm gets, the more anxious you feel. As if the energy of the weather is triggering your fight or flight response. You push open the window a bit more and scoot closer to the screen, imagining yourself out in the storm, getting soaked to the bone. At least then you’d have a reason for the way your body is currently shaking.

“Sweetheart,” the tenderness of Bucky’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts and you glance over to find him watching you from the doorway. You have no idea how long he’s been standing there, wearing just his underwear and an obvious look of concern on his face.

You let out a heavy sigh and bite back the unnecessary apology, turning your attention back to the storm, a wave of guilt making your stomach flip. Bucky’s done everything he can to be patient with you, and never once has he made you feel like you’re a burden, but it’s taken an obvious toll on your relationship. The way you’ve kept him at arm’s length, scared to let him see how much you’re really struggling.

Your racing thoughts are interrupted again when Bucky comes closer, now barely a foot from the window nook where you sit. “I just wanna take care of you.” You turn your head to watch him slowly crouch down next to the seat, never once taking his eyes off you, a soft smile on his face. “It’s okay if you don’t want me to.”

You immediately shake your head, needing him to understand it’s not about that. Your mouth opens, the words on the tip of your tongue, but nothing comes out. This is how it’s been for weeks. Words desperately trying to claw their way out, only to get stuck in your throat with no escape. 

The frustration easily builds, fresh tears pricking your eyes, and you look away again, letting out a shuddering breath. Bucky should just give up on you. Leave you to wallow in self-pity and loneliness. He never will though, no matter how much you think you might deserve it.

“It’s also okay if you do want me to,” he continues, his hand slowly reaching out towards you, the tips of his fingers ghosting over the blanket wrapped around you, waiting for permission to touch you. 

Bucky sees you, understands you in ways no one ever has. Your independence is your shield, something you’ve carefully cultivated. You’ve handled everything that life’s thrown at you on your own, and relying on someone else doesn’t come easy. It has absolutely nothing to do with him, but he can still be there for you, if you’ll let him. 

“It’s okay if you need me to take care of you.”

His gentle assurance breaks your resolve, the tears currently blurring your vision spilling over your lashes, and the only thing you can do is bury your face in your hands, trying to hide from him. Bucky’s not one to give up so easily, choosing to join you, taking a spot on the edge of the seat instead of breaking the physical distance, his hand now inches from your sock-covered foot.

“You don’t have to look at me,” he promises, letting the words process before he continues, “I just want you to listen, okay? Can you do that, please?” 

All you can manage is a slight nod as you try to stifle a sniffle, your breaths uneven, willing yourself to stop the fresh tears threatening to build. 

No matter how many times you’ve been down this road - both alone and together - it never seems to get easier. Especially when Bucky’s male ego tells him he’s supposed to fix this, that it’s his job to put you back together and all you have to do is let him.

It’s a ridiculous notion, one he does his best to ignore, choosing instead to tell you, “I know it’s scary to admit you’re not okay, especially when you’re still trying to figure out what’s happening inside your own head. So, I’m not expecting you to have the energy to talk about anything tonight, I just want you to know that whatever you need from me, you have it sweetheart, even if you’re never able to tell me what’s going on.”

You try to fight through the rush of emotions, his words bringing a fresh wave of tears, your body aching for his comfort. You’re so tired of being strong, of forcing yourself to power through, pretending it’s not as bad as it seems. Bucky’s your one safe place in this chaotic world and for a fleeting moment, you have the courage to bridge the gap, the tension in your shoulders easing just a bit as you let your hand drop towards him.

He takes it for what it is, catching your hand before it can fall to his thigh and brings your palm to his lips, placing a sweet kiss right in the center. At the feel of your pulse fluttering from his simple touch, Bucky’s smile grows and he’s encouraging you closer with a soft, “co’mere,” his metal hand sliding along the outside of your arm to help guide you.

Pulling you into his lap, your soft curves molding perfectly to the harder planes of his body, Bucky wraps you up in his warm embrace, cradling your head against his shoulder. Your tears come more freely now and for a while, you just sit there, listening to the steady heartbeat of the man you’re lucky to call yours, the sound a gentle reminder that you’re not alone, regardless of what your brain tries to convince you of sometimes.

It’s not until your breath begins to even out, your sniffles slowly subsiding, that Bucky softly breaks the silence to ask you, “How do ya feel about a bath, sweetheart?”

A soft noise of protest comes out muffled against his skin, your arms tightening around his torso, content to just stay here as long as he’ll let you. Still, you can’t help asking, “is this your way of saying I smell?” It hasn’t been that long since you forced yourself to shower.

Bucky’s laughter gently shakes your body, your own smile building in return and he wastes no time in nuzzling your hair, his head dipping to dramatically sniff along your jaw and neck. “Nope,” he says matter-of-factly, meeting your gaze with a grin before repeating the action along the other side, drawing an unmistakable laugh from you. “You smell just as good as you always do,” he promises with a tender kiss right below your ear. “But, a bath might make you feel a little better.”

There are a multitude of reasons to say no - the energy it takes just to get in, the stark contrast of the cool air after getting out, having to dry off every inch of your skin before you can even think about getting into bed, just to name a few. All it takes is one look at Bucky and you’re realizing none of them matter because he already knows. 

His assurance that you won’t have to lift a finger comes quick, reminding you that he’s here to take care of you, in whatever way you need. He’ll even carry you, if you’ll let him.

To both of your surprise, it doesn’t take much for you to agree and the moment you do, Bucky seeks permission to kiss you, showing his appreciation, murmuring words of adoration against your lips. He takes a moment to savor the intimate connection, silently thanking the universe for bringing you to him, for allowing him the privilege of loving you.

He drops you off in the bedroom, resecuring the blanket still wrapped around your body, convincing you to rest in bed while he draws a bath. Once he’s gone, you actually start to doze off, snuggled with Bucky’s pillow, the distant thrum of the bathtub filling a nice break from the near constant rush of thoughts trying to occupy your mind.

When he returns, the vision of you resting peacefully is almost enough for him to break his promise to wake you. He’d happily sit watch, keep an eye on you for the rest of the night to ensure your sleep went undisturbed.

It’s the last thing you’d want though. You’d wake disoriented, feeling constricted in your clothing, worse off than you were when you fell asleep. 

With a heavy sigh, Bucky shakes his head, a regretful smile crossing his face as he reaches out to stroke your cheek with the back of his fingers. “You ready?”

His voice is barely audible, your mind not comprehending his touch until his beard is tickling your nose, his lips brushing against your forehead. Your response comes in the form of a confused grunt, your face scrunched, hands reaching up to touch him.

“The bath’s ready,” he explains, his smile evident in his tone, giving you one last lingering kiss before pulling back. “Are you ready, or do ya wanna rest a bit longer?”

It’d be easy to just stay here, let Bucky undress you and put you under the covers, your body craving rest. It won’t last though. You’ll start to get restless, toss and turn in hopes of finding a better position, all the while your mind will refuse to quiet, growing more on edge until you’re forced out of bed yet again.

A bath isn’t a cure-all, and maybe it won’t really help, but you owe it to yourself to at least try. To let yourself be vulnerable, no matter how scary it feels. 

Bucky effortlessly carries you from bed into the dimly lit bathroom, the heater already keeping the room relatively warm, ready to be adjusted when it’s time to get out. After setting you on your feet next to the tub, he gives you another reassuring smile and starts to undress you, careful not to snag your shirt on your hair.

You have to close your eyes when he kneels to remove your sweatpants, your body fighting the urge to take over and do it yourself. It’s far from the first time Bucky’s undressed you - and it certainly won’t be the last - it’s just not usually under these circumstances. 

The lingering tension starts to fade when he looks up, his obvious love for you shining through even your most persistent insecurities. Once he’s freed you of the rest of your clothes, he helps you in, the oversized tub providing more than enough space for you to sink down, the water coming up to your chest.

Bucky takes his time, giving you a minute to adjust to the heat of the water while he gathers the necessary supplies, the bath pillow already secure behind your head. All you can do is watch him, your throat tight with emotion, tears starting to prick your eyes, the nagging voice in your head trying to convince you that you don’t deserve someone like him.

Biting back the urge to tell him what’s going through your mind, you blink back the tears, your eyes cast to the ceiling for a brief moment. He gives you more time than necessary, his focus on dipping the fresh washcloth in the water, then reaching for the body wash to pour a generous amount.

Seeing him preparing to bathe you makes the moment fully come into view and a soft, incredulous laugh leaves you, “are we really doing this?” You’re not sure you’ve ever felt so naked and exposed, despite all the sinful things you’ve let this man do to you.

Bucky’s grin does wonders for your anxiety, as does his soft assurance of, “not if you don’t think it’ll help.” He tilts his head, holding your gaze, ensuring you hear his next words, “But, if it’s because you think I don’t wanna do this, or I’m not gonna enjoy every single second of it? Doll, come on, this is me.” 

His words cause another exhale of a laugh and a blush spreads across your cheeks, Bucky’s smiling growing wider, his tongue peaking out to tease along his bottom lip. 

“I’m getting to take care of you, be near you, touch you. I live for this shit,” he laughs, his brows raised to drive home his point. “I’m obsessed with you, remember? I’d literally drink your bath water.”

You barely have time to react before he’s leaning forward, having every intention to prove it to you. Your wet hands reach out just in time to push against his head and shoulder before his face gets any closer to the water, a loud laugh spilling out of you, “What- Stop, Bucky, oh my god!��

His laughter joins yours and he allows you to turn his head at the last moment, taking the opportunity to close the distance to share a kiss, Bucky smiling against your lips. You can’t resist keeping your hands on him, the water dripping down his bare torso, but he doesn’t seem to mind, his own hand reaching out to cup your jaw.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” he promises, peppering kisses across your cheeks and forehead, ending with one on the tip of your nose. Once he’s sure your worries and insecurities are starting to fade, he reaches for the washcloth again, telling you, “Now, just relax and let me take care of my girl, okay?”

A playful roll of your eyes and a smile you don’t even try to hide as you tell him, “fine,” begrudgingly doing as requested. Bucky takes it in stride, his smile never faltering, happily reaching for your arm to start taking care of you in one of the few ways you’ve let him recently.

He can’t help but take advantage of the opportunity, taking his time to bathe you, massaging your muscles in the process, his movements smooth along your soap-slicked skin. By the time he’s given each limb equal attention, you’re putty in his hands and you make no objections when the washcloth dips under the water to wash your stomach and hips.

Your eyes remain closed for the most part, Bucky’s occasional glance telling him you’re enjoying this far more than you anticipated. He makes a mental note to convince you to make this a regular thing, not just when you’re going through a rough time. You deserve to be pampered every day, but he’ll settle for at least once a month.

Not missing how careful Bucky is as he moves higher, the washcloth not lingering on your breasts any longer than necessary, you finally open your eyes, blinking slowly up at him. He meets your gaze with a soft smile as he starts to wash your collarbone, the warm water calling you to sink lower, as if it might erase the clinging numbness that refuses to dissipate. 

The words tumble out of you before you can overthink them, your question catching Bucky off guard, his hand stilling on the edge of the tub. “What if I never get better?”

“Sweetheart,” Bucky murmurs with a slight shake of his head, his brow furrowing to  match the frown beginning to appear. Your mouth opens to respond, the words failing you before they can even form, wishing you could rewind time to prevent the worried look on his face.

He breaks the silence before you have to, offering you an empathetic smile as he asks, “Can I get in with you?” It’s the last thing you’re expecting as a response and it catches you off guard in such a way that your mind stops racing long enough to scoot forward, making room for him.

There’s no time to waste, Bucky quickly discarding his underwear in order to join you, the oversized tub giving him space to sit behind you, pulling you back against his chest. With his arms wrapped protectively around you, he kisses your shoulder, rubbing his beard along your skin in hopes to ground you, “This isn’t going to last forever. Eventually, something’s gonna shift and you’ll start to feel better.”

Bucky’s not wrong. What you’re experiencing right now, regardless of how long it’s lasted, won't be forever and things will go back to normal at some point. Right now isn’t what you’re referring to though. With a heavy breath, you pull your knees up, letting the air hit your skin, goosebumps threatening to spread. “But that never lasts either.”

He can hear the emotion in your voice, the tears starting to build again, and it makes his chest ache, wishing he could ease your pain. “Maybe not,” he agrees, keeping his tone gentle, “but that’s okay. It’s all part of being human, sweetheart. We have good days, and we have bad days, and no, I’m not keeping score.”

An exhale of a laugh leaves you at the same time a tear escapes your lashes, causing you to automatically wipe it away, your wet hand leaving several drops of water in its place. Bucky gives you the space to collect yourself, using the opportunity to grab the washcloth and bodywash again, determined to complete his mission of bathing you.

You welcome the distraction, leaning forward to give him better access, his fingers soon working out the tension in your back. Your delicate mental state leaves you vulnerable, Bucky’s touch sending you further down the rabbit hole of negative thoughts, the once receding emotions returning tenfold, leaving you crying.

“You deserve better than this.”

“Hey,” Bucky soothes, gathering you in his arms to pull you flush against his body, your weight welcome on his lap, your face pressed against his neck, tears mixing with the water. “There is no one out there better for me than you,” he promises. “You’re it for me. You and your gorgeous mind and insanely hot body, and yes - all your ‘issues’,” he grins, kissing your temple.

There’s nothing you can do except sigh, your breath shuddering out of you, your hand pressed against his chest, drawing comfort from the strong beat of his heart. What he’s saying is starting to break through, reminding you what it’s like when things don’t feel so heavy. How easy it is to be loved by him when you’re not so scared of being a burden.

“I just want you to be happy,” you manage to whisper, working past the emotions trying to overwhelm you again.

“Good,” Bucky’s quick to respond, his fingers on your chin tilting your face up to meet his warm gaze. “‘Cause that’s exactly how you make me feel.” He can’t help but shake his head at you, his smile growing, as if you don’t realize how ridiculous you’re being, “Every day you make me feel like the luckiest guy in the world. Nothing is ever going to change that. Got it?”

Another heavy breath, and a tear that Bucky casually wipes away, but this time it’s accompanied by a twitch of a smile, the waves of anxiety starting to recede. “Got it,” you whisper, meeting him halfway for a kiss, solidifying your devotion to each other, your promise to work as a team to get through whatever comes, without pushing the other too far out of your comfort zone.

It’ll take time, and it won’t be perfect, but at least you’ll have the rest of your lives to keep trying.

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

Comments and reblogs very much appreciated!! 🩶

Main Masterlist

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Once upon a dream

Heyy guys, I hope you enjoy this Charles one-shot inspired by once upon a dream, if you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist.

The pale light of dawn filtered through the curtains, soft and ethereal, as if the world itself had been crafted from a dream. You blinked, trying to shake off the clinging remnants of sleep. For the past week, your dreams had been haunted by the same stranger—a man with eyes like shards of emerald and a face that could have been sculpted by angels. Every night, you would get closer, feel the warmth of his presence, see the curve of his lips as he began to speak, only for the dream to shatter and reality to pull you back into its grasp. It was maddening.

Sitting up with a groan, you glanced at the clock. Too early for work, too late to fall back asleep. The weight of another unanswered dream settled over you. It felt ridiculous—obsessing over someone who didn’t even exist. Yet, his image lingered, vivid and undeniable. His gaze followed you into waking hours, his half-spoken words echoed in your thoughts.

With a sigh, you decided coffee might help. If you couldn’t escape the frustration of this dream, at least caffeine could clear your head.

The café was quiet, the kind of tranquil that only existed early in the morning. You ordered your usual, the rich aroma of roasted beans offering a small comfort. The first sip was blissful, warm and grounding, and you let yourself relax, imagining the stranger’s face fading into obscurity. Maybe this obsession was just a phase.

Stepping outside, you inhaled the crisp morning air, adjusting your coat against the chill. The streets were slowly coming to life, people bustling past with their own quiet worlds of thoughts. You took another sip of your coffee, savoring the moment, when a sudden blur of motion caught your attention.

A tiny dog—no more than a handful of fur and energy—was bounding toward you, its tail wagging furiously. It reached you and immediately set about sniffing at your boots, its enthusiasm impossible to resist.

“Well, hello there,” you murmured, crouching down to pet the little creature. It barked softly, nudging your hand as if demanding attention. You smiled, scratching behind its ears.

“I’m so sorry for my dog,” came a voice, low and slightly breathless, from above you.

You froze, the familiarity of the tone sending a shiver down your spine. Slowly, you looked up, your hand still resting on the dog’s soft fur.

It was him.

The man from your dreams stood before you, his green eyes wide with shock, his face as breathtaking as you had seen night after night. The world seemed to tilt for a moment, your breath catching in your throat. He stared back at you, his expression mirroring the disbelief you felt.

“I know you,” he said, his voice soft, filled with wonder. “The gleam in your eyes... it’s so familiar.”

Your heart raced. The moment felt impossibly surreal, like stepping into a waking dream. “Yeah,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Like in a dream.”

His lips parted slightly, as though he wanted to say more, but for a moment, neither of you spoke. The world around you faded, the bustling street, the noise of passing cars, even the dog at your feet—all of it dissolved in the pull of his gaze.

“I’ve been dreaming about you,” he confessed, his voice shaking with emotion. “Every night. For weeks. But you—every time I tried to speak to you, you disappeared.”

Your pulse thundered in your ears. “Me too,” you admitted. “I thought I was going crazy, dreaming about someone who didn’t even exist.”

He let out a soft laugh, one that was more relief than humor. “So did I. But here you are.”

You both stood there, caught in the sheer impossibility of the moment, until the little dog barked, snapping you back to the present. He glanced down, his lips curving into a sheepish smile.

“This troublemaker’s name is Leo,” he said, gesturing to the dog. “I’m Charles.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his awkwardness. “I’m Y/N.”

Daniel nodded, repeating your name as though savoring it. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

There was a pause, the weight of unsaid things lingering between you. It felt as though the universe had bent itself to bring this moment to life, and you were both afraid to break it.

“Do you…” he began, hesitating. “Do you believe in fate?”

You tilted your head, considering his question. “I didn’t,” you said honestly. “Not until now.”

He smiled, his eyes lighting up in a way that made your heart flutter. “Neither did I. But maybe… maybe this was meant to happen.”

Leo barked again, wagging his tail as though encouraging the two of you. Charles laughed, the sound warm and inviting, and you couldn’t help but join him.

“Would you let me buy you a coffee?” he asked, hope flickering in his expression. “So we can… figure this out?”

You glanced at your nearly empty cup, then back at him. “I’d like that.”

As you walked back into the café together, the strange pull between you growing stronger with each step, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning. For the first time in days, you weren’t afraid of waking up. This wasn’t a dream. This was real.

[softfem-dom]

the girl interrupted syndrome 🐇 ,, featuring MENTAL HOSPITAL x-men AU

" why do these eyes of mine cry? " bot m.list

You're just a poor unfortunate soul that has been shown the worst faces of earth, of humanity. You're broken, at least your mindheart is. Will you be able to find solace within the halls of Xavier's Centre for Troubled Youngsters?

that's solely up to you, dear user.

⌢⠀ ★ .ᐟ

XMEN BOT SERIES !

I N T R O D U C T I O N !

hello and welcome to this little idea of mine that has popped into my head just recently! have you ever dreamed of some tooth rotting fluff with your favourite superheros holding your hand every step of the way to your recovery? or are you the kind that just wants the most gut-wrenching angst to feast on because we like to make ourselves cry?

Either way, here —if anything related to mental health recovery fics calls out to you— you'll find exactly that!

this is a compilation, an ongoing character ai bot series, about (some of)the different x-men characters working as staff in the Mental Health Care Hospital you've been admitted to!

For what? Well, that's up to what you want to request and yes I'll write for any and all mental health cases (or two/three at a time).

These are bots made explicitly for platonic use and diversity means, I don't care if your illness is barely spoken about. You ask me and I deliver! This is about you, dear reader!

MEET THE WORKING STAFF !

Charles Xavier —head psychologist, founder of the Centre. sadly not available for requestable bots :(

Jean Grey —head nurse, she gives the meds and handles the infirmary.

Ororo Munroe —general nurse, watches over the kids and their needs.

Scott Summers —general nurse, watches over the kids and their needs. on guard duty when you go out to the garden.

Logan Howlett —general nurse, only takes late evenings and night shifts. war veteran, surgeon just incase you try something kid.

Hank McCoy —psychologist, handles the talks and the exams.

Remy Lebeau —chef, he makes the meals for the kids. might sneak you a sweet or two if you're feeling down.

Kurt Wagner —pastoral consuelor, he's just a nice christian guy that tries to offer reassurance and be there for the kids. he cares for them while teaching those who want about the god above

Wade Wilson —'child' entertainer, he comes in twice a week to run activities to keep you all going. might not or might've tried to sneak you out once or twice to take you out for ice cream.

BOT REQUESTS FOR THIS SERIES ARE OPEN! any mental health issues and illness are welcomed, specially those that don't get that much recognition! you can request any character from those above except charles and you must dive a bit into the scenario you want!

ex : hey, I would like a Hank Mccoy bot where he has the weekly talk with suicidal user and he notices that she's starting to make self-depricating jokes/comments again. Thank you! <3

⚠ YOU NEED TO SPECIFY THE MENTAL ISSUE AND IF IT'S NOT REALLY WELL KNOWN GIVE IT'S FULL MEDICAL NAME SO I CAN SEARCH IT UP!!! ⚠

go wild !

[toomanyfanficsbruh]

@theroundbartable here you go! Your Sick Fic 2.0

Better Together (I wouldn't leave you even if you wanted me to)

Camelot was calm and peaceful; the air was a little cooler, the grass moved a little slower, and the sun shone just enough, so laying in the gardens was like another world. At least for Merlin, it was like an escape from the rush and hurry of the court, where he had been officiated as the Court Sorcerer, just over two years ago. And those two years felt like a century, another weight on his shoulders after one had just been lifted.

It was not easy, though Merlin had learnt this after the years by Arthur’s side; the weight of the decisions he had to make, the people he had to consider and the overshadowing look of his father. A painting of Uther had been hung in the meeting room after he passed away a year before the magic ban was lifted, but the harsh strokes depicting the judgement in his eyes, became something that watched Arthur’s decisions, as if he were still there, unsure of Arthur’s worth. The first time Merlin saw it, was when Arthur officially lifted the ban and Uther watched, waiting for the next mistake. Lord forbid Merlin was a worse person, he would have taken a dagger and ripped the painting, from corner to corner. He was better than that. Maybe. He wouldn’t have disagreed if someone had accused him of thinking it - he thought it every time he walked into the room, staring Uther down as if he would come back to life. 

Even though Merlin’s duties were extremely different to Arthur’s, there was a certain comfort in knowing that someone understood the pains of court life. Even if it was a surprise to every person who lived in Camelot, it’s not every day you find out that the King’s manservant is the greatest sorcerer ever to live, a dragonlord and would much rather you call him a warlock because he isn’t a sorcerer since he is actually magic itself. Many people fainted that day. Many more people did not believe him. But to Merlin’s surprise, Arthur did not doubt his words and instead asked what he would like done. And also asked if Merlin could do something about the horrid headache he’d been having for the past 4 weeks and as quickly as he could, after all, he was a very powerful sorcerer, and instead got a gorgeous rose placed in his palm. No, it’s not every day that things like that happened, or at least, until the ban had been lifted. Once that happened, flowers bloomed every day and Arthur’s headaches? Well, he wouldn’t tell Merlin about it, in case he worried too much. 

“Merlin! What are you doing laying in the garden, with your crown on?!” Merlin was gifted a circlet from the Druid people - two silver dragons curling around his head - it was quite comfy and nothing like the horrid thing that Arthur had to wear. If only he knew the pleasures of not wearing gold on his head during every meeting, he would definitely be a calmer and kinder person. And of course, if Arthur could remember the name of the circlet, the world would flip on its side. 

Turning onto his stomach, and holding himself up with his elbows, Merlin saw Arthur, watching him from the balcony, “Taking a well-deserved break from whatever was going on in there! And my circlet is quite comfortable on my head, thank you very much!”

If Merlin had started kicking his feet, Arthur would have combusted, right then and there, whether it be from the extreme amount of cuteness that Merlin threw into the air, the exasperation of Merlin leaving his duties or a little tinge of jealousy; Arthur would never tell. At least, he liked to assume he wouldn’t tell, something about the little smile on his face gave him away. 

“If you don’t get back into this throne room this instant, that crown won’t be on your head much longer,” crossing his arms, Arthur stares down at Merlin, cocking an eyebrow and trying his hardest to put on a serious face. It doesn’t really work. It never did when Merlin was involved.

Standing up and stretching, Merlin turns his head to the side, with a twinkle in his eye, “Oh? What will you do? Try it on, maybe? It’s so much better than the preposterous slab of gold you have.”

“I think I’ll ask Gwen to turn it into a paperweight, or maybe a pitcher to replace the one you dropped a few days ago. Much better than you wearing it on your pretty little head, that’s certain.” 

“You think my head’s pretty?”

Recollecting what he said, Arthur puts his hand to his temple and mutters something about being tired or more likely, telling Merlin to shut up.

“You really must stop muttering, I think it’s seeping into your normal voice. Nobody can understand half the things you’re saying.” Merlin appears beside Arthur quite suddenly, even though Arthur’s stopped questioning it - he still gets a bit of a shock.

“I do not mutter.” 

“Mumbling, perhaps. Kingly mumbling, if you’d prefer.” Arthur fixes his crooked circlet as Merlin watches the soft sun rays reflect on Arthur's eyes. Maybe, if he stopped time, just for a moment, he could look at them longer than what was deemed appropriate. He could. But should he, was the question. 

“I would much prefer you didn’t say I mumbled,” doing exactly that, contradicting himself, “I would also prefer you didn’t walk out in the middle of meetings.” He leaned in the smallest amount, “I believe there are some grumpy, old men in there, that are feeling a tad bit jealous.”

Arthur watched Merlin’s mouth creep into a little smile, trying not to laugh too loud, lest the said grumpy, old men heard the noise. Well, they may assume it was a noise, Arthur, on the other hand, thought of it as a stress reliever, a breath of fresh air, a little glimpse of what life without the crown was like. He had mentioned, long ago to Merlin, that he would find a farm and live off his work, had he been given a choice, and of course, Merlin would be taken along, to do the actual work. He knew that without Merlin, he might not be alive, but Arthur would never admit it especially not to Merlin. 

“Sire! They’ve left! You may come inside now!” the sound of the doors closing, and Leon’s tired voice, allowed Arthur to exhale the breath he didn’t know he was holding. A soft pat from Merlin reminded him he should walk back to the room. 

“If I had known you wanted a distraction, I would have brought you out here myself!” 

“Really, Merlin? For what reason?”

Merlin takes a moment, feigning a thought process, because when had he ever really thought about a proper explanation? “I'm sure I would have thought of something, like every other time.”

“And when has that ever worked?”

Turning around to look at each other over the chairs and table in the meeting room, a smile washed over Merlin’s face, “I believe it worked quite well when I was still your manservant. Didn't you believe my excuses?”

“No. I most definitely did not!” Arthur pauses and at an ungodly volume, sneezes.

A few knights turned around and Leon, from the hallway, nearly jumped into another knight. He shook it off and kept walking, he really did not get paid enough for whatever was going on with Arthur and Merlin nor did he care enough to want to find out. 

Merlin stifled a giggle, “I think it's time to start spring cleaning, your Highness, lord forbid you sneeze like that in front of the people. They'd assume a plague was around!”

“I'll get some people onto that immediately,” Arthur heard another giggle from Merlin beside him, “What do you want me to do about it? Get a feather duster and start dusting?”

“Only if you’ve had too much to drink,”  Merlin says under his breath, catching Arthur’s eye a moment too late. 

“What was that?”

“I said, that’s a great idea, don’t you think?”

“Well, yes I believe it’s a good idea, after all I thought of it. But I think it would be better suited for someone like yourself!”

“You want me to dust?”

Arthur scoffs, “It’s better than lounging around in the sun!”

“Now who sounds like a jealous, grumpy, old man?”

They walk together in exact movements, turning the corner without signals, the same footsteps and keeping in time. “Couldn’t you just magic it clean, or something?”

“I could, but relying on magic can be dangerous, and personally, I would much rather the castle didn’t collapse in the middle of the night.” 

“That could happen?” Arthur’s eyes widen in fear. It had been a while since he was frightened, especially with Merlin constantly by his side. 

They reach Arthur’s door when Merlin looks at Arthur with a soft smile to reassure him, “That’s exactly why I don’t use magic for everything. But no, unless the spell specifies that the castle should collapse, then we’re safe. Don’t look so scared!”

“I’m not scared! I’m just…concerned for the people… in case the castle collapses…I want to be ready for anything!” Assuming he was taking deliberate pauses, Arthur thought he sounded thoughtful and wise. Anyone who heard him assumed he was shaking at the knees. Merlin knew he was scared, but decided to let Arthur have his delirious moment of philosophical thought. 

Shaking his head, Merlin turned around to walk to his chambers, “If you say so Arthur. Goodnight. I’ll see you tomorrow for yet another meeting.” 

“Goodnight Merlin.” Arthur retreats into his room and falls straight onto his welcoming bed. It felt right, to go to bed in his day clothes, slightly suffocated by the amount of pillows that covered the mattress, sink into the warmth and pretend the day was not emotionally exhausting. The only thing missing was another person to hug him. 

Tempting the idea of annoying Merlin with another set of questions, Arthur exhales the deep breath he had been holding, sinking further into the layers. It was a possibility, only Arthur would have to walk to the other wing and he would need a foolproof reason to do so, at this time of night. Originally having offered the chamber next to his, Arthur’s hopes of being slick and nonchalant were truly far from it. Merlin laughed and said that he did not want to deal with Arthur’s snoring and took a room in another wing. 

To be honest, taking a room so far away was not Merlin’s plan, but being put on the spot, shocked and flustered, he didn’t know what to say and instead, in pure Merlin fashion, freaked out. And in Arthur’s defence, he truly did miss Merlin. Not his morning wake-up calls but having casual conversations and spending time with someone as a person and not a regent were Arthur’s favourite moments in his rushed life. Not that either would tell the other the truth, both simply nodded in understanding and tried to make up for whatever happened. 

Merlin would still be the first to see Arthur if he woke up on time and Arthur didn’t leave early, and Arthur would not let a day go by without talking to Merlin unless either of them had to leave on a quest. With their relative constraints, it was not so simple, but unknowingly they both worked at it because truly, one did not work without the other. 

“Good morning sire! I have your breakfast ready and when you allow me, I shall open the curtains!” A peppy voice was exactly what Arthur needed first thing in the morning, alongside a horse in his face, a burnt wooden table and a troll beside him. It was not at all what Arthur wanted, but the new boy he had put in the position could not do much else. He was a bit scared of Arthur and reverted to peppy when he was uncertain. 

And to match the graciousness of his character, his name was Pickles. Because in Camelot, he truly was in a pickle. 

“Good morning Pickles, yes draw the curtains immediately when you arrive, alright? And don’t forget to put ouACHOO!” Again, with the ungodly sneeze, Arthur shocked himself awake. A first for the king. 

“I mean, please put out the rACHOO! The ACHOO! Put out the rACHOO!” Sniffling, Arthur’s relay of sneezes would not end well for anyone in his near vicinity, they were sure to catch whatever he was throwing.

“I understand what you mean sire, do not worry. Shall I call the physician?” Pickles did not understand what Arthur meant. 

Calling Gaius would mean Merlin would find out, and if Merlin were to find out, then Arthur would not be able to do anything for a minimum of eight days. Not that he would complain, but he felt that the people of Camelot would not be entirely joyous. Finding out the King had come down with a fever would push the citizens of Camelot into their houses and keep them there until he issued a notice that everything would be fine. Perhaps it wasn't a bad idea. Eight days of no duty, no people, no questions or queries. And mainly, eight days without any meetings. Such would be the life of Prince Arthur, but unfortunately having taken the crown and responsibility, it was not the life of His Royal Highness Arthur, the Great King of Albion.

"I would rather you didn't call for him, but tell me, Pickles, did you not say you were trained in the basics of physicianing?"

No, it would not end well for Pickles, in any circumstance.

It worked for exactly 12 days and 14 hours. That's what Arthur thought.

In reality, it worked for a little under 4 days and 19 hours. Pickles had been keeping count of every hour.

Every morning, as Arthur woke up he would sneeze at a horrid volume, cough for exactly 13 minutes until he was dressed and head off to his first meeting of the day. Often rundown by a burning headache, he would retire to his room for lunches and dinners, spent with another round of sneezing and coughing. Pickles, with his minimal knowledge of fevers and aches, kept the King quiet and hidden for as long as he could. The main objective of this whole charade was to not let the Court Sorcerer know of the King's illness, lest the King was told something he did not want to hear - bedrest, for anything longer than 8 hours.

It was fine, until the early hours, when the sun had not risen and the start were still shining, on this certain day when the King started sleep-talking in his delirious mind. Well, it was more like sleep-yelling and he only ever said one thing.

"Merlin?"

Pickles rushed around the room, opening and closing windows, adding and removing pillows, wrapping and unwrapping blankets around the King.

"mERlin?"

In his best whisper, Pickles leaned down to the King's ear, "You told me not to wake him, Sire, I believe he would be asleep in his room. Shall I go g-"

"MERLIN!! Where is he?"

"My Lord! I can get him tomorrow if you'd like, but he is currently sleeping. As you should too!" Pickles understood the depth of the events.

"merlin?"

Pickles did not understand the depth of the events. Nor did he know what to do, when the great King of Albion, the most courageous man that anyone had ever heard of, started weeping. Among the plethora of pillows that surrounded his head, Arthur was crying, he was on the brink of despair and self-rot, wallowing in his sadness, since he had not seen his past servant, Court Sorcerer, friend and silent love, for the entirety of the 4 days he was sick. And in Arthur's mind, he had not seen him for 12 days, much longer than it actually was, but much more painful than anyone had known.

In a rush of emotions, Pickles ran as if his life depended on it, which, in theory, was true. If he did not get the Court Sorcerer, the King may die. If he did get the Court Sorcerer, the King could have his head on a platter. But at least Albion would have a King! So, Pickles ran, quicker than he had ever before and knocked on the Court Sorcerer's door, only to be greeted by a sleepy man in his nightrobes, shocked by the circumstances.

Before Pickles brought a chair next to the King, Merlin was seated on the bed beside him. "He needs a cold cloth and water, also we need to remove some of these pillows beside his head! Pickles, did you really think a man with a fever needs to be surrounded by heavy bedsheets?"

"Well, I…"

"No matter for that now, please, hurry!" Merlin looked down at Arthur, with a hand on his head, feeling his temperature, "It's alright Arthur, I'm here, How are you feeling?"

Pickles was sworn to secrecy after this moment, leaving all knowledge of it to the three men in this room.

Arthur, opening his bloodshot sky-blue eyes, stared at Merlin for all of two seconds and fell promptly asleep after stating that he was "better". A ridiculously large grin grew on his face as if he had begun to dream of the house and the farm and the animals he tended to with Merlin, and had just needed to confirm that Merlin would join him. Almost as if he was dangerously close to admitting that he was not falling but rather buried in his love for the Court Sorcerer, and would have announced it to the world, only after he had seen his face.

"Did I kill the King?!" Pickles had a shiver sent down his spine with goosebumps all over his arms, as he looked at Merlin.

A lovely beetroot red flushed over Merlin's face as he looked back down at the sleeping King, almost as if he understood all that Arthur wished to say, preparing for Gaius to tell him that Arthur needed to be kissed to be woken up.

Turning back to Pickles with a soft smile plastered on his tired face, "It's fine Pickles, he just needed to see me."

For once in his career as the King's servant, Pickles understood that it was not a situation for questions or queries, but rather finally time for him to go to bed.

And as he left, he would swear he didn't hear the softest, "I wouldn't leave you, even if you wanted me to" from the Court Sorcerer to his beloved King.

Once Arthur had taken his well-deserved eight rest, all was well. The people of Camelot were not at all stressed by the situation and understood that the King had his duties, leaving warm food by the citadel, and showing their love for their King.

Merlin had stayed by his side the entire time, ensuring that Arthur did not fall into a pit of self-languish or pain, reminding him that it would be the two of them, forever and always.

Had they ever spoken of that night again? Perhaps not.

But was there an understanding of what truly lay underneath the moment of shared eye contact? Perhaps.

Perhaps they had known all along, and in the end, what mattered more than that?

<3

[girlwithwolftatoo]

What is chained -Chapter 1

Summary: There was a dream named Rome, and saving it doesn't always mean to chop heads off.

Words: 1677

Characters: Marcus Acacius, emperor Geta, emperor Caracalla and others.

Chapter 1: Taraxia -Disturbance

Any man who has been to sea knows that, when a storm approaches, it is preceded by a shivering calm where silence and stillness are only the desperate cry of an inevitable terror. The air becomes salty, suffocating, the sails hang lifeless, the oars are stowed. And so Acacius thought of his own ship as the slaves loaded their belongings into a wide cart, pulled by a beautiful Gaul steed with its shaggy ankles and curly mane. Lucilla watched, paralyzed with anger from the porch, her hands wringing a sprig of lavender as she struggled not to cry. Her father said that what a free man earns should not be taken from him without cause, but her brother would have sadly agreed with his successors, those two little red-haired devils. Acacius turned away, once he had signaled to the servants that they could retire, and approached the woman with what he considered a reassuring face, which he well knew was not going to do much good. It broke his heart to provoke her to so much distress, but he knew, for that is only learned through years of iron and blood, that refusal would have been worse. “I'll be fine,” he told her, reaching out a hand to stroke her face. Lucilla closed her eyes, bowing her head over the powerful hand that tried to comfort her “Listen, give me a week, two maybe, I'll send messages in the meantime and then… I'll negotiate with the senate. They'll be reasonable, once they see results.”

Lucilla sighed, looking at him defeated. “I never wished this for you, and look at you…you're being sent into the jaws of wolves.” “I'll be able to handle them, you trust, don't you trust me?” he said it lightly, smiling, but his wife didn't play along. “When you raise your sword I do not fear for you, but these… enemies… how will you defend yourself if…?” “With the senate. One word from me and they will regret it. Please…” he added in desperation, giving her a kiss on the cheek, "trust, I know what I'm doing, or at least Gracchus does.’ It was all part of a defensive plan, Acacius said to himself after saying goodbye to Lucilla, riding with his things in the wagon that was taking him to his destiny, was that destiny? he wondered as he left his villa back to the scandal of the city. No celebrations, no making the matter public, that was the decision of the good Gracchus, a great and loyal friend of his wife and her father, so as to avoid angering the demons. It was true that in any case, the demons were already angry. Thraex was still trying in vain to reassure them when the cart stopped at the palace stables, so that Acacius barely set foot when he had clear duties to perform.

“General, I thank the gods you made it” whined the man, exiting through a double door from which could be heard shouts of two men fighting loudly. Acacius looked with exasperation at the door.

“They didn't take kindly to the news, I'm afraid.”

“No way, they're a wild beast, when I told them I thought they were going to kill me.”

Acacius was already used to Thraex hypersensitivity, so he didn't take it so seriously either, and walked through the double doors as if he had just entered an enemy barracks.

On one side, there was Geta, using one of those platters for exotic meats as a shield, and at the other end, his face so reddened that it showed under the heavy makeup, Caracalla, whose raging voice had become so high-pitched that Acacius thought he was going to summon bats.

“You can't tell me what to do!” he shrieked, waving a narrow-mouthed vase varnished in gold.

“I know, I know, I just want you to listen to me, if you keep going on like that...!”

“Do you think I care, I've never been insulted... like that...!”

Geta turned his head and met Acacius, his expression soured but he did nothing but clench his jaw, Caracalla instead dropped the vase - which shattered - and went running towards him, his brother unable to stop him; the older one clenched his muscles in case he rammed him, but the little twin was reduced to stopping a good few feet away, pointing a finger at him as he groaned:

“Et tu, Justus?”

“Calm down, you're embarrassing yourself,” Geta warned him, putting a hand on his shoulder. Acacius relaxed, he detested them both in equal parts, but ruefully admitted that the older twin was a bit more reasonable. “Your Majesties… I see the patrician Thraex has already informed you of the news in the senate.” “News? You call that news?” shrieked Caracalla, wincing ”They have mocked us, that's what they did, and you participated!” “If it wasn't me, it would have been someone else, my lord, and perhaps someone less sympathetic and more… interested in the privileges to be obtained than in the good of you and Rome” continued the general. “I don't know if you haven't noticed but we are no longer children, general” Geta rebuked him, still holding his brother ”We have ruled this empire for years, since we were very young, back then no one cared about our decisions and suddenly…” “You must understand, your majesties, that the people of Rome are no longer as they were in the time of Marcus Aurelius” at the old emperor's mention, Caracalla grimaced and Geta rolled her eyes, ”when the common people were… easily satisfied because they had all they could ask for. The empire is larger, yes, but not stronger or more prosperous.” "How are they not satisfied? We give them parties, shows, military victories, what more do they want?” hinted Geta, supported by his twin who nodded vigorously. Acacius made an effort not to change his expression, that was worse than talking to an infant.

“Yes, but none of it brings food to their tables or fire to their homes. Not all of them are nobles, or wealthy dynastic providers. That's why... that's why the senate has decided...”

“Yes, yes, we know! A curator...” The tone of contempt was not lost on the general.

“See this better as a... advisor in the face of the people” he tried. Acacius regretted not knowing how to speak with the astute finesse of politicians, just now a little lip service would do him good. “If I am always at their majesties' side and... advise them on matters of the people, nothing more, then the people will perceive you as... more... approachable.”

His brain was struggling to find the right words, and he wished he had Lucilla with him, she would surely know how to explain them better. Meanwhile, on the twins' faces there was an identical internal struggle. It was Caracalla who spoke first:

“Who was the idiot who suggested this plan? It couldn't have been you” He said it as if the very idea mortified him.

“No, I certainly don't know, the senate communicated to me only the decision... and that they voted for me as your... advisor.”

“And well, will you be glued to us at all hours? Will you follow us everywhere to tell us how to do our work, general?” asked Geta.

“Their majesties know that I don't know about politics. Of war, on the other hand...”

Yes, he thought suddenly, now that he could explain.

“Come, please, I want to show their majesties something” he requested as politely as he was able, approaching one of the exquisitely narrow windows. The twins followed him, wary. “See out there? Beyond those marble statues and those white steps…that's Rome, your subjects. Tell me, if you were down there, like them, arguing in the marketplace over the prices of a bit of garum and taking your boots to be darned for the third time in the year, how would you feel?” None answered, it seemed too existential a question for their brains. “The enemy can become an ally, if conquered…and it must not always be through violence. You want those people at your feet? You will have to win them back. That's what I'm here for.” The thought brought a strange smile to the twins' faces. Geta, the sharpest, nodded. “Ah, I understand… you'll make them love us, won't you? They adore you, how they get when they see you marching in your chariot! They almost deafen us, don't they?” he asked, turning to Caracalla. “Oh yes, good General Justus, they would make you emperor if they could…” he added with venom.

"Well then, if your majesties would offer your help, I could… well, I would take this matter very seriously. My duty…” he felt a shudder as he said it, "is for Rome to love you once more." That seemed to be enough for Geta, at least he was calmer. Caracalla however continued to insist. “What's in it for you, general? You already have a beautiful house, a noble wife, a superb horse… what more could you want?” Acacius thought it was amusing that the boy spoke to him as if he could bargain. “I do it for Rome, the people I swore to protect and glorify. Nothing more.” “Well… they certainly haven't announced the matter with fanfare” Geta commented, thoughtfully ”We would have expected you to arrive with full honors, a little party for your appointment…”

“No way, I'm not doing it for my own benefit and besides, it would be improper for me to have a party for such a thing. Too many parties would anger the people.”

“Especially since they are not invited” reasoned Caracalla with a silly chuckle ”Yes, yes, that's all very well, I think we can survive this. Don't overdo it, General, and I don't see why we shouldn't get along.”

“Excellent.”

Acacius took his leave, in order to go to his assigned quarters. Part of being curatormeant that he had to live in the palace, the one thing he abhorred most about that job; if Lucilla wasn't so friendly with Gracchus he would punch him in the face for getting him into that mess, but he would have time to ruminate on his frustration, perhaps later in the bath when he could relax as well. For now he had to go back to being the general, and come up with a strategy for this unequal war.

[frozenjokes]

it’s not even language barrier induced miscommunication at this point we are just lying

better reading experience on ao3

It was a rare thing to see the humans freeze up like this, so much like a prey response, and it took Mumbo a few seconds of inquisitive clicks to realize what they were looking at. Oh.

“Is.. That a mermaid?” Scar asked, quiet, but thankfully not scared, goodness, Atlas could have told Mumbo they were popping up to say hello! They knew Grian had been so jumpy about Mumbo that he’d run away for a whole week! So stupid. Mumbo had just gotten through to him! Mumbo swiveled back toward the water, fins twitching irritably, but he didn’t get the chance to tell Atlas off before they spoke first.

‘Why are they looking at me like that.’ Atlas shifted where they were perched, distrust and discomfort clear in their stiff posture. ‘Make them stop.’

‘You were staring at them first! Get out of here.’ Mumbo shot back, though Atlas huffed, unimpressed.

‘Just wanted a look. This is deeply unnatural, Mumbo, I’ve decided.’

‘Good for you. Have fun thinking about it at the bottom of the lake.’

‘When is the human speaking mermaid going to visit?’

Mumbo didn’t get the chance to tell Atlas for the millionth time that he didn’t know and had no way to contact Etho when Scar began to trot towards the water, Mumbo stuck staring dumb as he went. Given that Grian had a similar look of bafflement on his face and Atlas was.. tense.. Mumbo guessed all three of them were on a similar wavelength.

“Hello!” Scar waved as he reached the waterline, radiant and innocent and so, so stupid. “Are you one of Mumbo’s friends?”

‘What is it doing.’ Atlas raised themself a little higher on their rocky perch. ‘Make it stop.’

“Scar!” Grian’s voice was shrill, “Let’s try not approach the stranger mermaid! We do not know if it’s friendly!”

Scar scoffed, “Uh, of course it’s friendly! Mumbo clearly knows the guy, they must be friends! I think if this was a stranger, we would know. For god’s sakes, Grian, you saw what he tried to do to Etho!” Scar continued to wave, stepping slowly into the water. Mumbo moved to intervene, frightened once again by the human’s blunted survival instincts, and at the same time Atlas hissed, long and low. At the very least Scar had the sense to stop where he stood, but he looked no less bright. “Hello, hello, I’m Scar!”

Scar startled when Mumbo ducked over his head from behind, blinking in rapid succession with those large, empty of thought, green eyes.

‘Stop it. They don’t like you. They don’t like humans.’

Scar stared blankly, as if enchanted. He smiled, disgusting in his innocence. “Well hello there!”

‘Stop being stupid.’

“I love you too!”

“Human, bad, annoying.” Mumbo was pretty sure he remembered those words correctly; if he’d pronounced them wrong he would never know, because Scar’s expression did not change. To solidify the meaning, he extended to Scar his most stern thumbs down. Scar did not react to this either, and Mumbo was starting to wonder if his brain had been melted in a heat vent.

Whatever trance had befallen them, the two of them looked up at the sound of a large splash, Atlas retreating back into the water. Mumbo’s fins relaxed, while Scar made a long noise of distress, hopping a little further into the water as if he’d ever have a chance of catching up. Mumbo left him to it, unconcerned. His fins prickled as he turned around, hoping to approach Grian, but unsure if the human would be receptive. As it stood, Grian was still staring starkly into the water, concern etched over his face as Scar hopped around in the shallows. Mumbo whistled, something light but sharp in an attempt to catch Grian’s attention, and was relieved that when Grian turned to face him, the stress in his brow eased.

Mumbo moved forward, and when he sensed no extreme fear, he continued, settling a comfortable distance away, but close enough for Grian to hear him. Scar seemed to notice this change at a delay, scrambling onto the beach to Grian’s heroic rescue, goofy as that was.

“Etho is here?” Mumbo had been meaning to ask for a while, but he wasn’t exactly sure which human words would get his point across clearly. Scar nearly tripped over Mumbo in his clumsy run up the beach, but Grian didn’t react to him, more focused on the question Mumbo hoped he’d asked correctly. Grian was so intent, it took him a moment to call Scar off as his companion sternly reprimanded Mumbo, who showed Scar just how much he cared with a brief flash of teeth.

“You want to see Etho?” Grian asked, and Mumbo didn’t know what he said, but he assumed that Grian would come to a more accurate conclusion than Scar would if whatever Mumbo had said ended up being more nonsensical than anything. He found himself frustrated at how hard this was; he’d felt alright going through the motions with Etho, but he’d always gotten feedback, and if Mumbo was stuck, they could work together to smooth things out. Maybe he was frustrated by just how much he’d forgotten. Mumbo had quite a good memory, a facet of himself he took quite a bit of pride in, but with no one to practice with him, it felt like nearly everything he’d learned about the human language had slipped away.

Truly, Atlas was the central reason that Mumbo was asking, but he also just.. wanted to see them again.

“Yes,” Mumbo tried, and he hoped the confirmation he was giving was for the correct assumption.

“I’ll call him!” Scar announced proudly, Mumbo cringing back from the noise, then cringing further when Scar scrambled over to their bags to get his Dreaded Noise Machine. It was a phone, Etho had told him as much and used one as a means to contact Joel, but Mumbo did not like or trust it, and he hated when it made noise. Humans were hard enough to understand in person, why in the world would they talk to each other through a horrible distorted noise box where nothing made sense. Both humans seemed to find Mumbo’s distaste for their phones amusing, which was all the more irksome.

After a little bit of fiddling, the phone began to dial. Then it stopped. With another press of a button it started again, then stopped, then started and stopped and started and stopped until Etho’s distorted voice sounded through the speaker.

“Hello, Etho! You’re on speaker, and I’m at the beach with Grian and Mumbo. What’re you up to?”

Whatever Etho said in response was a garbled mess, not even understandable as words. Mumbo shrunk away, giving up at trying to parse any of the words from either party until a soft whistle sounded through the other side, heavily distorted, yes, but intelligible.

‘Glad you’re well. I do not want to come to the beach.’ Well. Typical of Etho, if Mumbo was being honest.

‘Will you travel as a mermaid here? Sometime soon?’

‘I hope not.’ What a lovely ray of sunshine Etho was, Mumbo had forgotten in their time away from each other. Etho had inherited a focal trait from their time as a human, being that they went out of their way to be as utterly insufferable as possible.

Etho switched back to the human language after being pestered by Scar and Grian, only for the two of them to react in similar expressions of outrage, which was vindicating if nothing else.

“Etho-!” Scar really started to lay into them then, and while Mumbo shrank at his tone, that did not stop Scar, “Your friend wants to see you after he’s been gone for two whole months, he’s asking about you and you- you do not just get to say no!”

Etho started to say something, meek sounding, but Scar cut them off, “Sure you’ll be around when you do your little switcharoo, but that is NOT what you told him- he probably thinks you don’t want to see him! Huphuphup, just because you and Joel are engaged in some kind of pissing match right now doesn’t mean you can act all aloof when someone tangentially mentions your issue-“ there was a brief pause of garbling over the call before Scar bristled, “I’m not saying it’s your fault! He’s an asshole! That doesn’t mean you get to make it everyone else’s problem! Apologize!”

There was a short pause.

‘Sorry.’ the whistle came through softly, ‘I’ll be back next time I change.’

Mumbo brightened, but before he could tell Etho this was exactly what he wanted and that he was very excited to see them, Scar cut in, probably demanding to know what Etho had said, probably. Mumbo was really starting to get annoyed with Scar, all this yelling and pestering- but before Mumbo could whack him, Etho was whistling again.

‘I will be there tomorrow.’

Mumbo blinked, fins flicking.

‘As a mermaid?’

‘No.’ Before Scar could interrupt again, Etho hung up, the line going dark. Scar didn’t seem entirely pleased with this, but Mumbo wanted no more of his noise machine, making an attempt to snatch it out of his hands, an attack which Scar clumsily avoided, eyes wide.

“Mumbo- Mumbo no! Not my phone!” You would think the humans understood by now that kicking and flailing around on the beach activated some amount of Mumbo’s prey instinct, but they did not, so Mumbo took great joy in chasing a panicked Scar around the beach for a little while until his scales felt a little too dry and itchy from the sand, and he retreated into the water. Mumbo was relatively sure phones were one of the human items that could not get wet, so he hoped he gave Scar a little spook in revenge for the great crime of being annoying.

If Mumbo had indeed scared Scar, the human certainly didn’t hold a grudge, gallivanting right back into the lake after depositing his phone. Ultimately, Mumbo was quite pleased; he didn’t like to hold a grudge either, and at a moderate volume, Scar’s constant babbling was a noise he’d grown to miss in the quiet of the deep.

Still, he was a little concerned about Etho’s visit tomorrow.. he really hadn’t planned for Atlas to meet the human version, but.. it was probably fine. All in all, Mumbo was a little too excited at the idea of showing off the human language to reject an Etho visit, even if it might take longer for Atlas to really warm up to the guy.

Maybe he’d work on Grian’s prosthetic tomorrow as well! He’d do it now, but wasn’t sure how much tolerance Grian had left for him today, and in hindsight, maybe chasing his suicidally reckless friend around the beach for ten minutes was a stressful experience for Grian as an onlooker.. oh well.

Tomorrow was going to be a great day.

…

Mumbo usually spent his days with Atlas, tinkering or otherwise, but ultimately just being in their company, hoping to ease their discomfort with being so close to the surface. It was stressful for Atlas to be up here for such a long time, so close in proximity to an apex species that was waging a war on their people and their home, a war the mermaids would lose, and a place Atlas would never get to see again.

Atlas was curious and motivated, but they were also deeply worn, clear as the old scars that littered their body. Despite chasing change, collecting knowledge in hopes to preserve it, ensuring that no mermaid people were ever truly lost, Atlas did not always handle that change well, especially when things did not go their way. Convincing them to come here was probably a stressor within itself; this was a departure from Atlas’s self declared life mission, preserving language, connecting the travel-wary mers across the world through new song, new spells, and bolstering a species loyalty across nations so that when one pod chose to fight and die for their right to live as they’d done for thousands of years, others might join them.

This was a vacation. A pursuit of a passing interest in intelligent, complex language, for once not directly motivated by the slaughter of the Northern mers. It was not easy for Atlas, Mumbo knew it, but after so many years of endless work, Mumbo was also relieved they were taking a break to do something for themself.

Today, though, Mumbo was not at the bottom of the lake. He was up by the shore, in part working with Grian’s prosthetic and making minor adjustments (both humans had seemed VERY confused when Mumbo tried to take the glove back; couldn’t they see it didn’t fit properly yet?), as well as trying to figure out how in the hell to tell Atlas that the human-speaking mermaid Mumbo befriended was actually also a human. Mumbo was also concerned about Etho in general; he had forgotten how difficult to get along with Etho could be sometimes, and Atlas was, by all accounts, the same way. Either they would mesh or they wouldn’t, and Mumbo had a feeling that Atlas’s realization that Mumbo had kinda sorta fudged the truth might not go down so well.

But Mumbo was going to tell them. Just as soon as he finished this one final adjustment on Grian’s glove…

And then he heard crashing through the brush, looked up at the sky, flinched because ow the sun, realized it was midday, and promptly dove into the water. Atlas must have sensed Mumbo’s panic by the way he was swimming, alert and tense by the time Mumbo made it down to them, which was not the atmosphere Mumbo had wanted to have this conversation in.

‘What’s wrong? Humans?’ Well, that was a concerning if not predictable place for Atlas’s mind to go, again, not suitable for the information Mumbo needed to break to them very quickly.

‘Yes- Well, no, it’s just my humans but they- Listen, you remember the human-speaking mermaid I told you about, Ghost, right?’

‘I remember.’ But to Mumbo’s alarm, Atlas had started to move towards the surface, as if they didn’t believe that everything was fine and dandy like Mumbo had said- he would have been offended if Atlas was not swimming directly toward the thing Mumbo was not ready for them to see yet-

He tried cutting into Atlas’s path, but the other mermaid bullied their way past. ‘Is Ghost dead.’ They whistled the words like they were already resigned to the outcome, Mumbo left frantically trying to save this before it got out of hand.

‘Ghost isn’t dead! They’re here! They’ve just- they’ve got this condition-‘

‘Here?’ This seemed enough to stop Atlas in their tracks, clicking with some alarm as they scanned their surroundings, ‘No one is here, I would have seen them come in.’ Atlas continued forward, faster, like they were concerned Mumbo might have hit his head and become an unreliable messenger of the danger at the surface.

‘They’re sick!’ Mumbo stressed, uselessly, ‘You have to understand, Ghost is sick!’

Atlas’s concern only seemed to grow, stopped only briefly just feet from the surface to give Mumbo a quick once over, sniffing for blood or perhaps illness, to which Mumbo flinched away and Atlas moved on. Both mermaids surfaced at the same time, face to face with the three humans on the beach.

Scar looked like he was seconds from his usual routine of sticking his head under the water and screaming, and Grian hadn’t noticed yet, fiddling with their bags, but Etho was looking directly at them. They clicked their tongue once, perhaps an old habit, then shaded their eyes from the sun with a hand despite the cloudy day. Etho couldn’t see well, but regardless, Mumbo had a feeling they would be able to parse out the shape of a second body in the water.

“Mumbo,” Etho said, catching both Grian and Scar’s attention, ‘Who is that?’

Atlas’s reaction to this could only be described as violent, so starkly terrified they nearly leapt out of the water then back under again, like a fish woken from a sound sleep by the jaws of a barracuda on its scales. Mumbo only felt tentacles at the end of his tail for a moment before he was yanked under the water.

‘Did that human just speak!? Who taught it how to do that? Was it you?’

‘That’s Ghost,’ Mumbo said, shriveling into himself at every word, every second of stunned silence that followed the revelation, ‘They really are a mermaid.. just.. sick.’

‘WHAT!?’ The rise in tone was not conveyed through volume, but the utter intensity of Atlas’s stricken body language, limbs strained near quivering. Mumbo thought they might just explode. Again, Atlas exploded above the water, but they didn’t stop there, barreling towards the shore. Compared to Mumbo though, Atlas was not nearly as fast, and he was able to intersect and slow them down at several points, the both of them wrestling and fighting the entire way, Mumbo ending this battle by holding on for dear life and praying that Atlas didn’t intend on investigating with their teeth. But by the time the two of them reached the waterline, all three humans were behind the thick foliage and Grian was high in a tree. Mercifully, Atlas did not leave the water, staring and clicking rapidly like gathering this information at a faster rate would make any of this make sense. Etho looked quite a bit jealous of Grian’s position right now, bristling and terrified. Scar.. Well, when Scar took a step outside of the treeline, Grian screamed at him and Etho yanked him back. Maybe this proof of fear helped to relax Atlas, their posture loosening, but the stalemate remained, and Mumbo’s stomach churned when he realized he’d have to be the one to break it.

Slowly, awkwardly, he shuffled out of the water, facing Atlas with fins as relaxed and confident as he could make them.

‘Atlas.. This is Ghost.’ Awkwardly, Mumbo gestured, but it was pretty clear who he was talking about regardless, ‘My friend. Mermaid born, but- cursed. Sorry, I did not mean for you to meet this way.’

‘Mumbo!’ Etho’s whistled cracked like a human voice would from stress, ‘Did you drag me here to meet a hostile mermaid without any warning!? I wouldn’t have come! I didn’t want to come!’

Mumbo bristled, turning on them, ‘It’s not like I could get a word in edgewise! Scars wouldn’t shut their mouth, and you cut the line before I could ask you to wait until the change!’

“Scar!” No longer hiding behind him, Etho whirled on Scar, who jumped back in alarm, “He didn’t even want me here today!”

“What!? But he-“

Mumbo hissed, successfully stopping Scar from whatever nonsense he meant to defend himself with, ‘I’d say you’re both the problem, stop with the noise. I’m sorry for my own part in this, but you’re here now. If no one has a problem,’ Mumbo glanced at Atlas, whose body he couldn’t quite read, but seemed mild enough, ‘Then we can chat a little, right?’

‘I have a problem!” Etho balled their fists, throwing a little tantrum with their arms that Mumbo cared very little for.

“Is it.. safe..?” Grian asked, hesitant, to which Scar gave a noncommittal shrug.

‘Keep the other two on the beach, and I will be civil.’ Atlas looked wary, but not aggressive. When Mumbo looked to them, they briefly flashed their teeth, which.. Mumbo supposed was fair. He kept his fins low, an unspoken apology.

He kept this stance as he turned back to Etho, more of a pleading than anything, but when Mumbo gestured to a shaded corner of the beach, Etho seemed to give in, shoulders hunched. ‘Not like my ride will let me go home anyway.’ They retrieved something from their bag, one of the long blankets the humans commonly brought with them, and traipsed to the suggested spot. Scar started to follow, but was stopped in his tracks by a hearty hiss from Atlas and Mumbo, recoiling like a kicked pup.

“Is he mad at me?” Whatever Scar had asked, Etho shook their head without looking back.

“Just annoyed. I’ve got a hunch this new guy doesn’t like humans so much, so maybe don’t test your luck today.” Those seemed to be the magic words, Scar retracing his steps back to Grian. While he kept glancing back at Atlas, Mumbo was relieved he got the message. Once Mumbo was sure Atlas and Etho got along, he would tend to the humans on the other side of the beach.

Etho set their blanket near the waterline, but not close enough to get nicked by the tide, which was fine by Mumbo. He had a feeling Atlas would be more comfortable with the space, and decided to splay himself on the beach, half in and half out of the water. Despite this introduction being a minor disaster, he was pleased to see Etho, and excited for his two worlds to meet.

‘Are you from the north?’ Etho broke the initial silence, perhaps intimidated by Atlas’s admittedly unfriendly demeanor, glaring at Etho as if sizing them up. Though, honestly, that’s just kind of how Atlas looked on a good day..

They took their time responding, appraising, ‘You know Northern mermaids?’

Etho met this question with equal caution, ‘I know of them. Not so many of your stature here, at least there weren’t back home. I’m sorry. I’ve known human violence.’ Mumbo was quite shocked; maybe he should give Etho a little more credit, but in the time Mumbo spent with them, he hadn’t known Etho to speak with this much.. consideration.

‘What happened to you?’ The same could not be said for Atlas, who lacked any tact, but Mumbo sensed discomfort from them more than distrust, maybe exacerbated by Mumbo’s knee jerk reaction of shrinking back.

Etho only looked tired. ‘There’s a.. being not far from here. They take a human form, but hold a greater power. Curse, as Mumbo said, is an apt word. They took my body, and gave me theirs. Sometimes they will switch us back, and if you remain, you may see me around again.’ Briefly, Etho pulled down their mask, tracing the scar across their cheek, all the way down to where it disappeared under the rest of their clothes, ‘One of many violences afflicted upon me, all the way down my tail. The others did not scar, a facet of their magic. In a separate instance, I have also had my scales stripped, which I know you’ve likely seen in some capacity. I’ve heard they chain their still-living victims in the ice under the water. As bait, and renewable resources. Not a legal practice among humans, though I doubt this brings you any comfort.’

‘They- You- What?’ Mumbo did not know either of those last two tidbits, fins flared in alarm, but Etho shook their head.

‘I was healed magically. I will not say more.’

Mumbo accepted this wordlessly, though concern still gnawed at his chest in the wake of this new information. For Etho, yes of course for Etho, but for Atlas as well- Mumbo knew humans could be cruel, he knew many were monstrous, but he did not know to what extent.

Atlas straightened, meeting Etho with more respect, ‘I am Northern. They called me Cub, born of a mer of the same name, one hundred and thirty fifth to hold it, and another of a long line, Iskall. Both were killed by human hands, as was my twin. I defected, my great burden. With it, I’ve rescinded the name, though I do hope one day to pass it on in honor of their memories.’ Atlas paused, shifting, ‘I left to preserve a culture I am certain will be destroyed. I hope to connect our many peoples through language, so if battles like the ones up north are being waged, the other pods will not sit idly, but.. That is not why I am here.’ Atlas looked embarrassed momentarily, or maybe guilty, shrinking into themself, ‘Maybe I should not be here.’

Mumbo straighted, fins flicking as if he could physically dismiss the thought, ‘You can not carry the world on your shoulders. You have apprentices to continue your work, a little time away will not doom you.’

‘Call me Atlas,’ Atlas ignored Mumbo, not even acknowledging him with a twitch or flick of their tentacles, but this wasn’t unordinary behavior, just.. unfortunate. If Mumbo could not convince them otherwise, he would have to settle with this, bringing Atlas here, getting them to see the sun again.

Etho nodded, which Atlas seemed to understand as acknowledgment.

On an absent click, Mumbo sensed something behind him, turning with some exasperation to see Scar. The human blinked rapidly from his place in the sand where he’d been sliding on his stomach, looking guilty enough to know he’d been caught. Perhaps trying to hide, he let his face fall into the sand. Mumbo snorted, miffed, but not without amusement. He decided to leave Etho and Atlas to it, snaking around to take care of their nosey pest. The look on Scar’s face when he realized Mumbo was charging him was absolutely priceless, the human yelping as he scrambled to his feet, then yelling and laughing equally as he ran, sounds Mumbo had come to learn stemmed from great joy.

Needy human, can’t go a couple of minutes without constant attention.. Well, Mumbo would teach him to be careful what you wish for!

[midnight-mourning]

Better Strangers. (Unless?)

Well it took a bit more time than I expected, wonder why THAT is (side eyes the wizard that put a curse on me, currently tied up in the corner) but it's here now, so I hope you enjoy! She's long, and I had to cut some stuff because it wasn't working, but such is life

If you've never read Confused Spirit, this will make a lot less since to you lol, so I recommend reading it first (though it's not a requirement). Again, this bad boy is canon to the story, but will never be directly mentioned in it

Word count: 7500

Song rec: Tommy's Party - Peach Pit (ignore the lyrics, it's the vibes that matter here)

Also posted on Ao3 if you prefer reading that way.

Content warning: Mentions of self-depreciation, self-gaslighting, depression, bits of yelling, etc. Small bits of using alcohol as a coping mechanism. Additionally, if you've never experienced what it's like to be anxious-drunk, you're in for it. Reader discretion is advised

☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙

"Okay, money's on the counter, Lisa needs to do her math homework before cartoons, and if you could do some flashcard practice with Gabe that would be super great but no worries if not, okay bye!" You say in a rush before opening and closing the front door. 

You lean back against it briefly, take a deep breath, and force yourself to march over to your car. 

It's your least favorite day of the quarter, second only to your least favorite day of the semester.

Parent-Teacher Conferences.

Comparable to Report-Review day at work, or tax season. The reason it was your second least favorite was because the other Parent-Teacher Conference day usually landed on a Friday, meaning you had one more night of the week you had to go out. 

This one was just a bit more bearable in that yeah, you had work afterward, but at least you could use all of tomorrow evening to recharge. And you certainly intended to. 

The school parking lot is filled with parents coming and going, chatting with those they know. You briefly greet anyone who says hello, but keep on your way, you want this to be quick, you've only got an hour or so before your late shift.

The meeting goes about how you'd expect, Lisa's the perfect little angel at school, it's just with you that she's a complete and utter menace. You'd considered the evening to likely being end on a high note based on this, but you'd be wrong. 

Very wrong. 

It's as you're walking out that you run into what would be your catalyst. 

"Oh, funny seeing you here, dear!" Helen says as she approaches. 

Inside you're saying every swear you can think of, outwardly you smile, "Hi Helen. It's parent-teacher night, of course I'd be here."

"I know, I know, merely joking." 

You stand there, awkward, head nodding once, "Well if that's all then I'll be on my way then-"

"Well it's just, how do I put this," She tutters, shaking her head, "I can't imagine what your meeting must've been like. And I won't speculate of course, I just want you to know that I'm thinking of you, is all."

Your brows furrow briefly, but you try to remain neutral. Chill, you're chill. You can kick Helen's ass in a fight if you wanted, it's fine. 

"The meeting went well, actually. Lisa's a good kid, I only stopped by because Mrs. Isley's been wanting brag on her in person."

This doesn't deter Helen, which you'd been, actually you can never tell what to expect with her. Doesn't matter, she keeps that sad look on her face, hand coming to rest on your shoulder, "Well, I wasn't sure if she was aware of the tumultuous situation with your family is all. It sounds like something that would greatly be affecting Lisa's performance. But I'm so glad to hear that's not the case."

"What, what do you mean?"

"Well, I ran into your aunt, Hannah's her name, right?" Helen tsks, "She told me all about your situation. Just awful to listen to, you know."

It occurs to you to glance over to where Helen came from, her typical group of parents she gossiped with. They're looking at you now, that same, bullshit look on their face. And you can just catch some of the things they say. 

"To think someone like that's taking care of Lisa."

"I know, could you imagine, being so cruel to your family?"

"Typical twenty something, has no regard for anyone but themself."

"It is selfish, isn't it? Their parents would be ashamed."

You freeze then, something in you shutting down. You don't know what to say, how to react, how to even, think, for a moment. 

This is possibly one of the worst case scenarios you could ever imagine. Helen knows an exceeding amount of information about you that you've done your best to hide for the sake of your siblings. Stuff that would otherwise be harmless, where you work, where Lisa goes to school, what daycare you use, etc. But could be incredibly dangerous when the wrong person find out about it. And at this point, you have no idea one way or the other if they have. 

Has Rick's family tried shit in the past? Of course. Have they ever taken it that far? Debatable. You'd done your best to keep your personal life unknown to them for a reason however. But did you really know what their limits were? You had absolutely no clue.

And that terrifies you.

And it's your fault in the first place.

"Are you alright?" Helen asks, in a tone that is so fake you swear you can taste plastic. 

You snap out of it. Not here, not now. Instead, you beam, "Of course! Why wouldn't I be?"

This throws her for a loop finally, "I, well I-"

"I appreciate all the concern, Helen, really, I do. But we're doing just fine," Your hand pats the one of your shoulder and she flinches back. Ironic, you know. 

You laugh, it's loud and fake as hell but it does what you need it to, "I don't know what you've been told, but let me assure you, there's a reason we're not on great terms. Didn't file that police report for nothing!"

At this, people start to turn towards you both, muttering quietly. Usually, such a thing would embarrass you. But you're channeling your rage to smother your panic. Your shame.

Hannah and the rest of Rick's family lives on the complete other side of the city. Helen would have had to go out of her way to manage to run into any one of them. And it sounds like she had. 

If you had to guess, it was probably incidental, you have no social media, they all do. All it would take is a bit of profile browsing to find the connection and if she ever came across any of them, could easily strike up a conversation. Still crazy, but slightly less crazy than other options.

"Is everything okay over here?" Looking to your side you see Mrs. Isley, glare on her face, pointed toward Helen, before sharing a concerned look briefly with you. 

You nod, "We're just fine, but I do have to get going now. Thanks for the, words of encouragement, Helen."

Her face has grown red, and can't even muster a response. Satisfied, you lean in as you pass her by, voice low, but still loud enough for the teacher behind you to overhear, "Hope you got what you wanted from that. Because next time, I won't be so nice and just say outright how the PTA president goes out of her way to find someone's toxic family members and delve into their personal life for no damn good reason."

You give her a rough pat on the back, and march out of there. Behind you, you can hear Mrs. Isley start to lay into the soccer mom who had so much free time on her hands to try and upset the 23 year old who, apparently, must be doing a better job at parenting than she was, as that what the only explanation you could come up with for her vendetta against you.

Once you make it out of the building is when you allow the facade to start to break down. You're panicked, you're freaking out. You're trying to determine if you're going to have to switch school districts now or what. You really don't want to uproot Lisa because of a mistake you made, which was believing that Helen Chase would mind her own damn business and-

Someone is calling after you. You look up from unlocking your car to see it's Mrs. Isley. 

You raise a hand as she makes it over to you, out of breath, "It's fine, Aubrey. Just the typical bs. I'm okay."

"I'm sure you are," She says, pointing back to the school and shaking her head, "But that, was unacceptable behavior on her part and I am not going to let it fly by, rest assured. She's the head of the PTA, she's well aware of the school's 'no-contact list'."

"I-"

She raises her hand now, "No. Not this time. I get it, you don't want to make waves. But this was too far, and it's not fair to you in any which way to just leave it lie. She will be reprimanded, and if anything happens because of it," She shakes her head, "Well, I'm not going to let it."

"Thanks," You manage to choke out. The stress and relief both getting to you in that moment, due in large part to her firmness on the matter. 

The teacher hugs you then, squeezing tight, "We have rules in place for this kind of stuff. And I'm sure once her husband hears wind of this he'll do his best to make sure nothing comes of it," She pulls back, hands on your cheeks, "Okay?"

You nod, hoping she can't see the tears pricking your eyes, "Okay."

Aubrey lets you go, "You're sure you're fine?"

"Yeah," You shake your head, "Just the words of someone who doesn't know how to mind their own business. I've had worse."

She nods, "Alright. Have a good night, and be safe."

You say goodbye and she walks off. You have to grip your wrist with your free hand to keep the one that's shaking steady enough to grab the door handle. 

You drive in silence to the Plex, both hands tight on the wheel. 

You're not going to let it get to you, you're not going to let it get to you, you know she's wrong, she's always wrong, she's just an asshole and you know that you're doing your best, you're doing great! Lisa's proof of that, Gabe's proof of that. You're fighting and you're trying, you're trying, you're trying-

The doors to the Daycare shut behind you, interrupting your thoughts. 

Adjusting your bag on your shoulder, you look around for your beanbag, finding it absent. 

"What are you doing here?"

You turn, finding Sun cleaning up art supplies across the room. 

You shake your head, "Not in the mood for this tonight, Sun. If you didn't want me around you could've just said so."

His rays flick back and forth, "What are you talking about?"

"Uh, my beanbag?" You nod to the empty spot, not ignoring the confusion he also displays, "Not the end of the world, really, but still."

He just stares over at you. 

Then, "Bright Eyes, it's Friday."

Shit. It is Friday. You'd lost two days. Too caught up in work and stress and so on, to the point you'd hired Clara for the night and hadn't even realized. Not that it was her fault, she had no reason to question your foolishness. Your fault. Your mistake. Your fuck up. 

Like always.

"I, right, yeah."

"Now, as much as I'd be thrilled to continue to entertain you, I have a preparations to be making," He walks over and starts to guide you, not gently, towards the door, "You understand I'm sure."

You shrug him off, embarrassed, not helping your already growing negative feelings and thoughts, "Yeah, I got it. Night."

You walk out, a bit aimless now. You're frustrated, you're upset, and you really, really, are feeling a bit shitty. There's tears pricking your eyes again, and honestly, you don't know what you need right now to fix it.

"Boss? What are you doing here?"

You turn, "Pete? It's eight o' clock on a Friday, why aren't you home?"

He puts both hands on his chest, "I'm here for my best buddy Jacob's birthday. See the hat," He points to his head, where indeed, he's wearing a party hat, "Did you want to join?"

"I, you know what? Yeah. I would."

"Great! Come on," He slings an arm around your shoulder, changing your direction to the West Arcade, "Some of the gang's upstairs. Savannah was busy, and Jesse's out of town, like a loser, but you'll know most everyone I think."

"You're not going to question me anymore?" You ask. 

He shrugs, "Well no, not my business what you get up to. Unless you want it to be?"

You shake your head instantly, you didn't need to embarrass yourself by telling your coworker you let a middle-aged woman's words make you cry.

He nods, looking forward again, "Besides, you looked like you needed a distraction. For a bit anyway."

"Thanks, Petey," You sigh, "I do."

The atmosphere inside the West Arcade hits you instantly as you walk inside. 

People are chatting, dancing, drinking and making fools of themselves, what you'd typically expect from a Plex party. Or really, any party with a bunch of burnt out twenty-somethings. 

You meet up with Liv and Tyler, and are given a party hat and a drink shortly thereafter. 

You stare down at it for a moment, briefly, and check the time, you have Clara until 11:30, you can have one and sober up in time. 

You say the same thing after the second, and after the third argue that you can just, pick up your car tomorrow, grab an Uber. 

After, drink four, you take the time to sober up for just a moment, which ends up being a mistake. Because now you're alone with your thoughts, and after the night you've had, that's the worst place for you to be. 

The words said to you by a bunch of women in their 40s should not upset you like this, they're the ones choosing to pick on someone half their age. Sure, maybe they weren't wrong but that didn't, that didn't give them the right to talk like that, right? 

You weren't just thinking about yourself, right?

They wouldn't be disappointed in you for not trying to make ammends.

Right?

Fuck, you really should sober up, sober up and go home. 

"Hey, you alright?"

Liv's sitting next to you now. You give a practiced smile, "Just need a little more water. I'll be fine."

"You're sure?" She waves over the bartender to get you another water and order another drink for herself.

You nod, "Positive. If I wasn't I wouldn't be here."

Lying through your teeth is somehow so much easier when you're drunk. 

You drink another water, and don't feel any better. You just feel more, aware. Aware of how you don't fit in, how you're here because Pete took pity on you, how awful of a friend, a sibling, a daughter, a partner- No, not that last one, we're not getting into that mess tonight. 

Has it really been that long since the last time you drank this much? You check the time, it's been an hour or two. You still had time. Fuck it, have another drink and try to have some fun. Something's gotta distract you from this feeling eventually, right? 

When you check the clock again and realize it's 10:40, and it'll take at least twenty for an Uber to get here, you fumble for your phone and call Clara.

"Hey, I'm uh, gonna be home a bit later, is that okay?" You ask against the loudness of the room. You should have went outside instead of going to the quietest corner you could find, but you're kind of losing your logic. 

You have to strain to hear her response, "Yeah, not an issue, I'm mid breath of the wild playthrough so time has no meaning to me."

"You've got breath of the wild? Jealous," Focus, you need to focus so you don't sound stupid, "Anyway, I'm guessing another hour or so, and if it gets too late you can stay over so you're not driving home so late."

"As long as you don't mind me gaming in the living room into the late hours of the night that's cool with me. What are you up to out of curiosity?"

You swallow, "Birthday party."

"Oh, Jacob's yeah? Savannah told me about it but since I was busy I couldn't swing by."

"Oh?" Why does that make you feel bad? Why do you feel so excluded now? That your coworker's sister got an invite and you didn't? Or did you get an invite and you forgot? Why do you care? You're not friends with Jacob. You’re not friends with these people out of work, really. Right?

"-speaking class."

You don't know what she just said, "Gotcha, gotcha. Well, I'll see you later tonight then."

"You got a ride?" You can just make out her button-mashing, followed by a sigh, "Sorry, if you've been drinking I mean."

"Yeah, I'll be good. Thanks."

After hanging up, you just stare down at your drink, then out to the dancefloor. You see everyone having such a great time, so why can't you? Why do you have to be like this? Why can't you just let yourself be happy? What does it take to make you relax and just, chill the hell out? 

You haven't relaxed in months you realize. Not after what happened that night. Ironically, at the last Plex party you attended. If anything, you think being here, doing this, has just made everything that much worse. 

You need to get out of here. You need to go somewhere else, do something else, be someone else. 

Too bad you can't make that last one happen.

You finish your drink, and after a small head rush, walk over to where your friends? coworkers? are and say your goodbyes over the music. 

"Hey, it was really good seeing you tonight!" Pete says, then nods to where Jacob's at on the dancefloor, "Jacob appreciated it for sure."

He's lying. He's just being nice because you're his boss. 

Liv gives you a quick hug, "We should hang out outside of work more often. Maybe somewhere a bit more quiet."

She doesn't mean that. She's pitying you. 

"Yeah, that'd be great!" You smile. 

Tyler raises his fist and you bump it, "See you Monday, broski. Stay safe out there."

"Can do, have a good night guys."

"See you!" And "Be safe!" are shouted out behind you.

You believe the genuity of that. You may know that they hate you, but they're nice people. 

Your feet walk you in the direction you don't want to be heading. Split between this impulse decision and just going home. But you can't make yourself go home, you can't go home, home just remind you of everything, and everything you're not-

The Daycare doors feel heavier than usual, which makes sense considering how much you've had tonight. Inside, you find it's, pretty much the same as usual, you don't know what all the fuss was over on Sun's part. 

Speaking of, where is he? 

You shuffle in, taking note of the small plastic tea cups and saucers sitting on a table that's been moved to the center of the space. Along with... snacks? Right, Chica's supposed to be here. Seems she hasn't shown up just yet.

You're trying to remind yourself why you came here as opposed to calling for a ride, when you hear the doors open again. 

"Oh. You're back."

You turn, Sun is holding a tray with a teapot, and there is indeed, steam coming out of it. Now you know. 

"Did you want something or are you just here to bother me?" He swiftly walks past you, setting the pot and tray down with pointed showmanship.

Something about his tone sets you off. Not unusual. But because you're not sober, you speak your mind in a way you otherwise wouldn’t. Unfortunately unusual. 

"You know, starting to wonder that myself."

"Really now?" He speaks with a bored enthusiasm that grates on you.

"Yeah, really. You know, I don't sleep at night because of you," You shake your head, "My dreams are just, filled, with nothing but that night. Over and over again, it plays in my head. And you see, the worst part is that it's not even the idea of seeing him in that stupid machine. You know what keeps me up? You. And what you did to me," You take a deep breath, looking back to him, "And what I did to you." 

Sun's rays tick a few times. 

Then, "You're intoxicated."

"Yeah, no shit, glad you finally got up to speed."

"I'm just rather surprised you'd be interested in taking such risks again considering what happened to you last time."

You scoff, "Don't even try to pull that, I wasn't wasted, I had a concussion."

"I was referring to being at the Plex so late alone, Starshine," His gaze narrows, "But rest assured, you're increasing my concern the more you speak."

"Concern for what? Because we both know it isn't for me. And that's fine, shouldn't expect, don't deserve it. Even if I-" You stop yourself, you're not out of it enough for that, "I'll just give it to you straight; you have no reason to be concerned. For my siblings? They don't need me, Clara sees more of them than I do and she does a hell of a lot better job. My work? Someone else would fill the gap when I'm gone, my team's more than competent without me. My friends? They've got each other, or, or partners. And our little investigation? You," You slow down for a moment, "Well, I'm sure with that charming personality of yours you could trick another sorry sucker into helping you with ease."

You throw up your hands, laughing, "So, no need for concern here, Sunny. If something happens to me no one will notice!" Your face feels wet, "No one's going to fucking care. So, you can take your concern and shove it."

You bring a hand up to your face, confirming that you are crying, "Fuck, exactly what I needed to top off the night."

You sniff once, and then turn around, you seemed to get everything you'd wanted to say out of your system, maybe you can go home and be happy now. Or something. 

"Why did you come here tonight?"

You pause, then laugh quietly, hand coming up to run through your hair, "Hell if I know."

A hand is set on your shoulder, one that makes you spin around. The motion slightly jogs you.

Sun's gaze is down at you, rays spinning once or twice but otherwise motionless. 

"Stop that. I don't like being analyzed," You mutter, averting your eyes. 

His other hand comes up to guide your focus back to him, "You're in no condition to go anywhere. Not right now."

You manage a half-hearted chuckle, "Give me some credit, Sun. I'm calling an uber as soon as I'm out of here."

You think if he could frown he would, instead, his eyes narrow and grip tightens just a tad, "Not wise. Not if you're alone. I suppose there's other options. Hold still. And don't look down."

"What are you-hey hey hey, what are you doing?" You argue, anger flaring momentarily as he takes hold of you, your feet coming out from under you as he lifts you into his arms. 

Before you know it, you're up in the air, having to squeeze your eyes shut so you don't get dizzy from the change. You feel Sun land on solid ground again several seconds later.

"You say a word about anything and I'm putting you in the theater instead," A brief pause, "Or on a naptime mat down below."

You open your eye, "Wha-Oh."

"I mean it. Not. A. Word."

You put your hands up, "Okay, okay."

He didn't say anything about making private observations to yourself. 

The Attendant's room is somehow exactly what you expected and not at all. Your first thought is organized. Your second thought is empty. 

Clean also comes to mind, there's not a speck of dust in sight. You take note of the different standout features. An old, Hollywood style dresser with matching mirror and lights, string lights hang from the ceiling among the rafters. There's a set of cubbies containing spare toys, and some seemingly ongoing craft projects. 

You spy your bean bag in a corner with a few others. There's also a large pile of blankets and stuffed animals, almost like a bed. Lying nearby you see a charging port. 

The most interesting thing to you, however, is the green tube in the left wall, leading obviously to somewhere, you just don't know where exactly. 

You don't get to find out, Sun sets you down on the blanket pile, and if you weren't so hypervigilant you'd sink right in, exhaustion is starting to hit you after the combination of drinking, yelling, and crying. 

You hear a click and realize he's left the room. It's the perfect opportunity to snoop, but the desire for rest outweighs this urge. Besides, it's rude. And you're not that rude.

You feel like all you did was blink and he's back again. You rub your face and pat it a few times to try and wake up, glancing over to the bot.

"I've already taken the liberties of informing your babysitter that you will be home after several hours of sleep. And agreed upon compensation." Sun answers your look of concerned confusion by raising his hand with your phone, "You dropped it when I picked you up, she had asked about your well-being. You can check to confirm I did nothing else if that eases you."

The fact you can't recall that happening proves it's probably for the best he did that.

"God she's going to hate me," You groan, rubbing your face with both hands. 

Sun sets your phone down beside you, and sits down in front of you, glass of water in one hand, "She does not. Drink."

You eye the glass with suspicion.

"Are you seriously debating whether I've tampered with it?"

"Should I not?"

A scoff, "It's a glass of water, I've done nothing to it."

"Sound like something someone who did something to it would say," You muse.

Another scoff, and he leans down, rays clicking, "If I was going to do something, Bright Eyes, it would have already been done. And need I remind you, I can't cause harm even if I wanted to."

"Fine," You huff, taking the cup and muttering as you sip, "I'm surprised they let you have glass."

No answer. You look over, eyebrows raised. 

Then it clicks, "Ah. Contraband. Noted," You finish the glass and wipe your mouth, "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

No words for a bit, your head hurts, but this helps. That might be a good thing to bring up, you're not a fan of this kind of silence.

"Why did you help me? Or I guess, why are you actively, helping me?"

Sun shrugs, hands clasped in his lap. You expected a snarked out comment that you're strangely not receiving.

Then, "I'll get you another glass. You should rest in the meantime." He stands up, and in your current state the action panics you. 

"Wait," You reach out, grabbing his arm, "Don't go. I'm, I don't want to be alone. Please." God, you sound pathetic.

You also realize what it is you're doing, and to whom, and you let go, "I, shit, sorry. Just, yeah just go get the water. I'll be fine."

You pull your knees up to your chest, controlling your breathing. You didn't need to start crying again. You're fine, you know you'll be fine.

A soft jingling sound interrupts your thoughts, and looking up you see Sun unwrapping one of the ribbons from his forearm, then his wrist. Once he's finished, the ribbon and bells piled in one hand, he holds it out to you. 

You furrow your brow, but take the offering. 

"It's the best way I can think of to assure you I'll be back. I'd look rather silly if I went around like this, right?" He waves both hands up by his face. 

You sniff, "Yeah."

"And if you're truly, concerned, just ring, and I'll be here," He stands straight again, taking the glass, "I'll just be a moment."

"Ok."

He leaves the room, and you're alone.

Having nothing better to do, you lean back against the numerous pillows and stuffed animals behind you, hands clasping and resting on your chest. 

You take note that the ceiling has a few glow in the dark stickers you recognize from the Daycare proper. Someone must've snatched the extras when they had the chance. The thought makes you laugh softly. 

It also occurs to you then that Moon is additionally assisting in this, mess, you've created, given that the theater is probably dark, and you don't believe that door leads anywhere else. 

You close your eyes, shame welling up in you. This is pathetic on your part. Truly and utterly. You're an adult, and you can't take care of yourself after a night of drinking? You can't manage to drink responsibly, avoid the typical stereotype and make a fool out of yourself saying shit you shouldn't? God, you're so-

You're being gently jostled awake, "You can't sleep like that, friend. You'll regret it." More quietly, "And he won't shut up about it, for that matter."

You open your eyes, they feel a tad heavy from the short nap you got. Your senses perk up however, when you smell something greasy yet heavenly. Pizza, currently in Sun's hand, soon to be in your stomach if you have anything to do with it.

"Thought you were just getting water," You say, as if you're not two seconds away from devouring that pizza whole. 

He scoffs lightly, setting the pizza in front of you and handing you the water, "I had a feeling if I told you what I was doing it would only make things worse."

"You'd be right," You take a brief drink of water, then open the pizza box and grab a slice. It's divine. And you don't say that lightly when it came to Fazbear pizza. 

You groan mid-bite, leaning back against the plushes behind you, "God, I wish you could taste how good this is right now. Like," You take another bite, "So frickin' good."

You're too focused on eating to overhear Sun laughing quietly at your antics. You managed to scoff down three slices before he takes it away from you. 

He places it over on the dresser, "You'll get sick. And preferably, I'd rather not be cleaning up vomit at 1 am, if it's all the same to you."

"Just one more! Come on," You whine, then pause, eyebrows shooting up, "Oh I am not sober, that's for sure."

You realize Sun's staring at you, and your face heats up.

"Don't look at me like that, it just makes it worse," Your hands come up and cover your face.

At that Sun laughs. And maybe you're a bit out of it, but it doesn't sound mocking, or pretentious. It's genuine. 

You feel a compulsion to right your wrongs from earlier, or at the very least, try to.

"I'm, I'm sorry for what I said. You didn't deserve that."

"I don't accept." Sun states. 

You cringe, and nod, "Fair."

He chuckles, "I don't accept, because it wasn't directed at me. You may have said those words at me, but I think we both know their true target."

You think for a moment, nodding solemnly, "Helen."

"Who? I-" He shakes his head, "Starlight, I meant yourself."

"Oh. That makes a bit more sense." You decide to give him a bit more context to save some trouble, "She runs the PTA. My third worst enemy, behind you, and Grab Ass. You got a Katie Chase in that little directory of yours?"

"Yes? But-oh. That one." 

Your brows raise for a moment, "Wow, I've never heard you speak with that much disdain before."

"We all have limits, friend," His tone shifts, like he's about to boil over with rage, "We all have limits..."

You yawn, and his attention shifts. He motions for you to take off your shoes and the likes, and you get the hint. You lay back into the bed-you're pretty sure there's a mattress buried under here somewhere, feels like it-letting loose another yawn.

Sun takes one of the blankets and tosses out over you, it falls slowly down on top of you. Then, he bends down and presses his smile to your forehead, pulling back after a moment and patting your head.

"What was that for?"

His rays spin, eyes widening a fraction. Seems he's just now realizing what he did, "An unfortunate matter of programming. One I'm hoping you'll forget by morning."

You scoff, smile on your lips, "That's not how being drunk works, you know. Only if you've drank a lot."

That seems to relax him.

"So explain it to me then," He sits at the end of the blanket pile, "I'm curious."

You sit up slightly to make eye contact with him, "Really? All the stuff you could learn about and that's what piques your interest?"

He nods.

You stare at him a moment, then lay back down, "I mean, alright. Do my best here."

You explain. Sun asks you a question every now and then. You just, talk. You talk to each other for, awhile it feels like. You talk until your throat starts to get sore. You, you haven't spoken with someone like this in a long time. Long enough you can't remember when the last time you did was. 

You start to get tired and Sun notices immediately. He mutters a brief goodnight to you, and the lights are shut off soon thereafter.

You roll over to your side to watch Moon appear. 

"Thank you. Both of you," You say, as he walks back over to you, "You didn't have to do all this, it's, appreciated."

He nods, "You are welcome."

A sudden realization hits you as sleep begins to take over. 

"My stuff..." You mutter, "I, left my stuff back in the West Arcade, if it's not stolen already."

Moon stands, "I'll retrieve it for you. Will you be alright?"

You sleepily raise your hand, bells jingling in your grasp, "Got these. And I'm a bit more sober now. I'll be okay."

Moon nods, "Then I'll return shortly."

"I might be asleep by then," You yawn, "So I'll preemptively say thank you, and goodnight."

"Goodnight, Diana. Sweet Dreams."

You huff lightly, "What, no goodnight kiss?"

It takes you all of 0.5 seconds to realize what you just said.

"Oh goddammit-"

Moon leans down, and presses a kiss to your forehead, his tone cheeky as he pulls away again, "Is that satisfactory, your highness?"

Your face is hot with embarrassment but you refuse to lose. 

"'Twas," You turn over and away so he can't see your wide-eyed 'holy shit' stare, "But I'll have you know that I'm not that demanding when I drink. This was a one-time thing. Won't happen again."

"Of course not."

You snuggle further under the blanket, mumbling, "It won't. I mean it. It was a stupid mistake. One that's going to haunt me for a while."

Quiet. You feel him sit down beside you, "Everyone makes mistakes, Icarus. It's how we learn from them that matters."

"Trust me, I know."

A hand on your shoulder presses down and makes you lay back on your back. You stare up into red eyes, narrowed with concern down at you. The gaze makes you uncomfortable. You try to brush it off.

"I don't need a pity party, Moon. I gave myself enough of one earlier."

He tilts his head, "It's funny how you always assume care to be pity. I wonder why that is?"

You're about to say it, and play it off as a joke, but he beats you to the punch. 

"Well, it's not fair to speculate. So I'll just tell you, you don't have to suspicious of such with me. Or either of us for that matter," His focus goes back on you, "We mean what we say."

You raise a brow questioningly.

"For the most part, I should say."

You chuckle, "Yeah, I know."

"Your friends mean what they say too, you know. They care about you. As does your family. It's obvious to anyone that sees it. You just simply need to allow yourself to." He pokes your forehead. 

You sigh, looking up to the ceiling briefly, "Oh, that's a lot harder than it sounds, Moon-man."

"I never suggested otherwise. I merely intended to remind you."

"I've been reminded," You smile slightly, "And I'll do my best to continue to do so."

"You'll have assistance." You can't tell if that's a tease, a threat, or a promise. You'll just be on the safe side and assume all three. 

You smirk, "Goodnight, Moon. For real this time."

"Goodnight, Andromeda. For real." He rises from the bed, giving a quick two-finger salute.

You snicker, shake your head, and close your eyes. 

A few moments later you hear the jingle of bells fade out into the Daycare itself.

Your hand clutches the bells and ribbon in your hand a tad tighter, and you feel yourself start to drift off into sleep.

You find yourself awake some time, you're guessing, much later. Your head isn't nearly as heavy, and you feel as if you slept for at least a decent amount of time. 

Groggily, you fumble for your phone, finding that it's been about three hours since you fell asleep. 

You become keenly aware of someone staring at you, and scanning the room find Moon staring down at you from the rafters. 

Normally, this would be an alarming sight at 4 in the morning, for you and your half-asleep mind, it arouses mild surprise. 

"Why are you awake?" He asks. 

You sit up, fumbling for the glass beside you, "I become very awake in the hours after drinking," You gulp down the glass, "For a very short period of time. I'll probably start feeling tired again in a few minutes."

You wipe your mouth and look up to the Attendant, "Why were you watching me?"

Moon shrugs, "Bored."

"Yeah right," You scoff, "Not with the amount of shit you get into on the regular. What's your real reason, sport?"

"Sport?" He asks.

You wave your hand, "It's a combination of sleepiness and leftover drunkenness, just ignore it and save me some embarrassment."

"Noted."

"You didn't answer the question. Don't think I didn't notice," Your arm moves jankily as you point your finger at him. 

His faceplate spins, "We simply wanted to ensure you were alright."

"We? That's a shocker. I'm surprised he isn't having a hissy fit about you making such an implication."

There's a bout of binary before Moon answers with a sigh, "He is now."

You giggle, "Sorry."

Quiet for a few moments.

"Your belongings are located beside you," Moon points to where your bag sits on the floor not too far from the bed, "They appeared to be in order, though I can't say for certain."

Your eyes widen for a moment before you nod your head slowly, "Oh yeah, forgot about that. Thanks."

Moon nods.

"Sorry if I um, ruined your evening plans."

The Naptime Attendant chuckles, "Plans? What is it that you think we get up to, Pandora?"

"You know what I mean, I know you don't just sit and stare at the wall for hours until open," You shrug, "You explore, fuck around with your mechanics, which I don't approve of still," You send him a scolding glare, then continue, "Sun has gossip night with Chica, seems to be a bit crafty as well."

Moon whistles, or plays the sound, at least, "Impressive."

"Yeah, yeah," You wave him off, yawning.

"Seems you've expended your remaining energy."

You settle back into bed, "Getting there."

"Anything I can do to help?" He asks, shifting position to hang upside down from the beam, feet hooked over the other side. 

You scoff lightly, "You, aiding those in desperate need of rest? I don't buy it."

"It's my specialty." He insists, and you both quietly laugh.

"Want me back to bed that bad, huh?" You ask, hands clasping on your chest while you stare up at him, thinking.

"Have any good bedtime stories?"

His faceplate spins, "More than you'd imagine."

"Pick one for me then, and I think that'll do the trick," You nod once, affirmingly.

"Very well."

He starts, voice smooth, soft. Really, perfect for storytelling if you're being honest. It helps your mind to settle again, and well before the end, you're asleep again.

Waking up the next morning, you find yourself face to, back? with a yellow animatronic. 

Sitting up, you see Sun is slouched beside the bed, facing away from you. Examining him more closely you see there's a charging cord plug into the back of his head. 

Curiously, you reach out to poke him. 

"I'd appreciate the ability to recharge in peace, friend."

You jump back, cursing under your breath. 

Then, you huff, "There's no way you could tell what I was going to do."

"No, but a bot can have his suspicions," He turns to look back at you, "And plenty of mine have been right about you."

"'Plenty of mine have been right about you.'" You mock quietly. 

"How are you feeling?"

You sigh, shrugging, "Fine. Maybe a little hungover. I'll live, if you were worried."

"I wasn't," He retorts as you snicker, "But good to know."

You nod to the charging cable, "Thought the two of you switching kept you from using that too often."

At this, Sun flusters. Taking a moment to articulate himself.

"Typically. However, Moon felt-" A bit of binary, before doubling down, "Moon felt it would be unfair to have the lights on in any manner of speaking while you slept. So they remained off throughout the night."

You muse on the words for a minute, nodding thoughtfully. Inside, part of you is overjoyed, and the other is a mixture of shocked and maybe touched? You're not going to think on it further. Point is, Sun gave up his hours-willingly or unwillingly-to give you the chance to sleep. 

"Well, it's appreciated," You reach up and flick his forehead, narrowly dodging around him to grab your phone as he shoos you away. 

He grumbles a response you don't catch. 

Checking the time, it's around 8 am. Looking at your messages, Sun told Clara you'd be home by 10. Yikes. Good to know how little faith he had in you. Well, best not waste it. 

You stretch, giving a final yawn, "This place have a breakfast special? Feel like I swear I've heard about it at least once."

"It does, but I'll inform you it's not one that's served in bed."

"Relax. I can take care of myself just fine now," You throw off the blanket and stand up, "I'll be back. Hold down the fort in the meantime, yeah?"

Sun sputters, a "What?" As you pat him briefly on the back and march out of the room, on the prowl for food to satisfy your hunger. 

Once you find it, you sneak your way back into the Daycare. The Plex is still pretty much abandoned at this point in the morning, but you don't want to have to explain yourself if you don't have to. 

Walking in, you plop down on the bed beside Sun and dig into your breakfast sandwich. Either you're much more hungover than you thought, or this is delicious. Potentially, both. 

"Sorry you missed out on your shit talking session," You say between bites, "As a fellow disgruntled employee I know how important those can be."

Sun scoffs.

You turn to look at him, "And thanks for taking care of me. It's appreciated."

This appears to surprise him, rays ticking to one side, "You're welcome."

"You're not the worst person I've ever met, you know," You take another bite, "Up there, but you have your good qualities."

"That means the world coming from you," He says, hand on his chest and voice syrupy sweet.

You nod, "I know."

He huffs, it turns into a laugh after a moment.

"You're not the worst person I've met, either," His gaze meets yours, "Not as much as you believe yourself to be."

You pause, surprised. Then, you swallow, coughing, "T-thanks."

He turns away again. You continue to eat. 

A thought crosses your mind. 

"You know, if you were really worried about the light, you could've just closed the curtains."

Sun freezes. Then, he sighs, heavily. Hand coming up to run down his face before falling into his lap. 

"Yes. I suppose that would have, been an option."

You burst out laughing, which only grows as the two attendants seem to argue back and forth with each other. 

As you bask in the moment, you find yourself thinking back. 

Yeah, you weren't perfect, but you cared. A lot. And you think that says a lot. Means a lot.

To someone, at least.

☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙☀️🌙

Well, you can probably see now why this bad boy was scrapped as a chapter. Believe me I had the full intentions of saving it, but I'll admit once I saw an out by using it as a one-shot I jumped on it lol 

I don't know if it's everything that I wanted, but I think I hit the main points I'd originally set out to. 

To those who wanted affection with the CS boys, you got it! Just maybe not how you were expecting :) Ah, who am I kidding, you knew it was going to come at the price of angst

Sorry that I went awol for a bit, the antibiotics DID knock me on my ass and it was, rough, to put it plainly and I'm still going to have to get a scan lmao

idk man, I just want to be better already, I gotta propose (MY THESIS, I MEAN MY THESIS, I AM SINGLE) in a few weeks I don't have time for this >_< (she says, as if this hasn't been a 3 month saga)

Gahhh, anyway, hope you enjoyed! Have no idea how I'll feel from one day so you may or may not see me but know I'll be writing in the meantime (and enjoying it i promise, it's my hobby afterall) thanks for reading!

Tag list (hope I did this right, if you did not want tagged simply let me know and I'll remove you!):

@scarletcowboy @beemyhuneybee @fishm0ther @deviouscrackers @elsajoyagent8

@luckyyyduckyyy @zenkaiankoku @jogimote @local-shrub @eternal-soup (IT WON'T LET ME @ YOU I'M SORRY)

@robinette-green @everlightreader @sinister-sincerely @starredeclipse

If you want to be added to the tag list, or check out my other stuff, see this post here for more information, bye!

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

I read your fic, Remember the good days, and I liked the idea. What if Frisk/Chara/Aliza gets shot during an ambassador discourse, right on the stage? Who would act fast enough to save them? Who would catch the one who did that?

Undertale Sans - Sans doesn't hesitate one second and throws himself in the way as soon as he hears the gunshot. He ends up getting badly hurt instead. He noticed the guy who did that and had a bad feeling. He trusts Toriel to have his back. He promised to protect the child. He's not backing out. He ends up in a coma, but Frisk is safe.

Undertale Papyrus - He tries not to panic after what his brother did and decides to follow Undyne, who immediately chases after the man. They run after him for a solid thirty minutes before Papyrus catches him randomly as he turns to escape Undyne. He keeps the guy on the floor until Undyne arrives. He's shaking, but at least he was useful. As soon as the situation is under control, he runs to check on Sans, terrified. Hard weeks are to come.

Underswap Sans - Blue stays completely frozen after the kid falls face first. He was supposed to assure their security, and even if he doesn't like them, that's a huge failure. He takes a deep breath and jumps into action, running to check on Chara, and immediately calling the rescuers. He tries to keep his calm, but he knows the kid might reset yet again if they die and he doesn't want the nightmare to start again. He's not letting them die.

Underswap Papyrus - Honey is too in shock to do anything. He stays out of the way of the crowd, running in panic to flee the place, and stays next to Asgore, who is already freaking out for his child and trying to get on the stage. Honey doesn't know what to do to help and ends up having a panic attack, hiding behind the stage's curtains. Blue comes to check on him after Asgore starts healing the child. He's not letting go of his brother.

Underfell Sans - Red gasps in shock and runs on the stage to protect the kid from a second attack. Frisk is very young in this universe and Red just got too attached. He picks them up and immediately teleports to the nearest hospital, screaming for help. He's trembling, and not trusting any human, but he lets them take Frisk. Thanks to his quick thinking, Frisk quickly recovers. But Red is not trusting the humans that easily ever again. If they can shoot at a child, what else can they do?

Underfell Papyrus - Edge saw the red spot on Frisk, and the man with the gun, but arrived too late to stop it. He enters berserk mode and runs at full speed to grab them. He doesn't give them any chance. He blasts them at full strength and ends them with a bone crossing their body from head to toe. He doesn't care if that guy is not judged. All they deserve is to die. Undyne has to physically restrain him and drag him away as Edge won't stop stabbing the man long after they die. That's at least a good warning to all of his rivals if one of them still had some ambition to attack him. No one is getting close to him for a while after that. He feels guilty afterward for not thinking this more, but knowing Frisk is alright despite everything is comforting.

Horrortale Sans - He stares, completely dissociating. The hell you want him to do? He doesn't have any superpower to stop this. He is frozen, just staring as the rescuers come to save Aliza. His brother then comes to try to make him snap out of it, but Oak is still staring at the emptiness, in a state of shock. He only starts to recover long hours later, not sure what happened. He's going to be quite jumpy for a while.

Horrortale Papyrus - Willow is in shock as well, and all the blood is for sure not helping. He can't do anything to stop the man who shoot at Aliza, but at least Willow saw his face and he has an extremely good memory. They're not escaping that easily. Once the crowd has left, he realizes his brother is still standing on the stage, frozen, and goes to check on him. Oak isn't reacting anymore, but he's not injured either, which is a good thing.

Swapfell Sans - His first thought is that he's dead. He hates the child, with all he has. But they are under Toriel's protection, and though under his protection. He failed as a general. He didn't secure the place enough. He failed as a soldier as he did nothing to even check on the child or to stop the man who did that. He's not even feeling anything about their bloody body on the floor even though he hoped it would happen eventually. All he knows is that Toriel will kill him for this, and he's surprisingly at peace with the thought.

Swapfell Papyrus - He was watching the thing on live TV, and didn't care before he noticed the way the Queen looked at his brother before they cut the live stream. He hesitates, but he knows way too well what that stare means and he doesn't think his brother realizes it in time. Rus teleports right in front of his brother, grabs him, and they both disappear before a gigantic beam hits the ground. Rus goes back home with Nox, who is completely unreactive and in shock, and starts to pack thing. This time, they don't have any choice. They have to leave the country or they both die before the end of the day. He just hopes his brother will pull himself back together before it's too late because he's clearly the brain in their duo and he desperately needs a plan right now.

Fellswap Gold Sans - He's not happy about this, as he actually cares about the child, but that was so predictable. It was such a huge risk for nothing. Humans hate them, obviously, sooner or later something like that would have happened. He can't believe the King and the Queen are still on the throne. Their way of ruling is outdated and it's time to do something about it. Maybe it's time to rebel for good and to give them a real reason to fear him.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - As usual, his brother keeps him away from the important things. He knows something bad happened, but his brother won't let him have the information. He has to find out all by himself in the news that his friend got shot and that because of Wine he's not even authorized to check on them. He hates it. He hates he can't be there for his friends because of stupid rivalry. He's upset both at himself and at his brother.

[clubsmarties]

"You'll never guess where Mr Jeckyll took me?" Wally didn't bother with a greeting, he was just glad she had answered this call. It had been a dragged on week and it wasn't even finished yet. Though, talking to her was a welcomed distraction from the humming of the AC in his hotel room. "Oh by the way I'm pretty sure this hotel is haunted. Actually the entire hallway," his face scrunched up as he put his toothbrush back into his bag and grabbed a long sleeve off his baggage to put on. "How's Dolly? Has she been okay? How's your week been so far?" He didn't say much about the way he knew Jamie had dropped off groceries for her since he hadn't quite believed her when she spoke in a lightening manner and gave him that excuse back in her kitchen. He hadn't said anything but his brain was already working on doing something nice for her. At least he'd like to think she thought it was nice and not like he was trying to impose.

Talking about Dolly was a safer topic he thought than telling her he had missed her. Days just weren't the same without the casual eye roll or the banter she usually reserved for him. "Weirdest thing that I'm now ahead of you guys by three hours. How crazy is that? Anyway, enough about me. What have you and Dolly done so far? Anyone officially called her yours?" Liz ended his nightly check ins so her voice was the last thing he heard before he fell asleep. He covered a yawn as he climbed into bed and brought the blankets over him. Hoodie on he rolled his sleeves up and set the phone on his side and put it on speaker. He would try not to fall asleep on her but would make no promises. The week had been long but it was also a lot of desk duty and looking over files that blurred together the more he stared at them.

He smiled as he remembered the last thing she did when he walked out of her door. Having hair get tucked behind his ear was sure something he didn't expect. It felt nice and the tingle of her fingertips lingered against his skin the more he thought back to it. "You didn't really say much about it through texts but what happened to the douche cop," his head leaned on the pillow as he waited for her response. His voice was low like speaking too loudly would spook her.

As he closed his eyes he smiled against his pillow. "So, I also finalized the first day for our adventure week." Our was such an easy thing for him to say. It wasn't like he had a second thought about it. It came as naturally as breathing did. "I know you said Wildfire would be one to kick you. No, she's a baby. Super nice and just wants to be loved. She may give you a side eye if you don't feed her fast enough but other than that, harmless. But don't take my word for it. You'll see for yourself. I figured going to the ranch would be easiest and work our way down. Don't worry you don't have to get on a horse. Only if you feel like it but there's lots to see once you're there. Who knows maybe you'll surprise yourself and feel inspired to get on one. We could always share a horse. Anyway, way ahead of myself there. Mm also sent you a fax. No, ill send you a fax tomorrow. It's for that case of yours you talked about. Turns out police department here are willing to help when you bring them a box of Randy's donuts."

[musubiki]

lately ive been thinking about the contrast going on in Early Lime where hes like "tbh im pretty sure i could have any girl i wanted including mochi i mean i guess if she wanted we could give it a shot one day but i dont really care lol" and then very easily becoming completely unhinged for her the second he gets a tinge of romantic affection

[autistic-shaiapouf]

Fuck it, we're joyblogging now, went to the beach for a few hours and swam for the first time in literal years, walked along the shore a bunch, and now I'm gonna make Japanese curry for dinner with some vegetables I pre-chopped + some chicken, and might watch some eva while I have my curry

[tardis--dreams]

Girl you gotta write your term paper and not cry about your poor life choices

[phagodyke]

friends are making plans to go stay with each other but it's the weekend I'm going to see my favourite band. the universe fucking hates me

[ursuguru]

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒, fetishes & turn ons . . . 𝐎𝐇 𝐌𝐘 .ᐟ

⭑ SYNOPSIS [ wc﹐893 ] gojo, geto, toji, sukuna & what i think some of their kinks would be.

⭑ CONTENT [ mdni﹐dead dove ] afab! reader. oral (f), overstimulation, p in v, begging, teasing, praise & degrading, cockwarming, slight somnophilia, daddy kink, nippleplay, consensual non con.

GOJO . . . enjoys overstimulation, especially when it comes to giving you head. your clit is already sensitive to the touch, so much so that he cannot place a finger on your bare clit without you gasping and squirming, shooting sensations pulsing from that area. he has to rub you over your clitoral hood, so that there’s at least a soft, cushiony barrier between your most sensitive parts, and his roughened thumb; but when it comes to his mouth, it’s just heavenly. the way he laps you up, tongue peeking into your hole as deep as it will go, pushing in a finger as his mouth works on your clit, sucking and swirling. after a bit, you start to get overwhelmed, the sensations coming from your abdomen making you squirm almost out of his grip. “mmhnnn.” satoru shakes his head slightly, wrapping strong arms around your already shaking thighs. “please, no more, i can’t take it.” you plead with him, just before his mouth releases your clit with a wet and sloppy ‘pop’ before telling you, “you’ll take as much as i want you to. you’re mine.” viciously sucking at you until you’ve came, again and again.

GETO . . . likes cockwarming. sometimes it was while he was on the game, noticing you walking around the house in damn near nothing, whistling to get your attention. he would pull his shorts down just enough, motioning for you to come sit on his lap. of course you had no issue with this, discarding your panties to go sit on his lap, with his cock buried deep inside of you. sometimes you would wiggle around and earn a harsh slap to your ass, or what he could reach of it. other times he was thrusting into you after losing, or even winning a match. you didn’t mind, as long as he was giving you attention. sometimes cockwarmimg geto was a little different, like when he is tired and needy, snuggling with you in bed. he can feel your ass pressed against him, and whether you were trying or not, you made him hard. sometimes he will pull off his shorts, sticking the tip against you and if you’re wet enough, it slides right in. you can hear him hum softly, settling in, feeling the warmth of your walls, he wraps his arms around you to sleep for the night. once he wakes in the morning, and realizes his cock is still hard and inside of you, he fucks you awake.

TOJI . . . has a daddy kink, ironically. it started off as just a joke, him calling himself big daddy, or telling you he was your daddy; and at first, you didn’t know how to feel about it, but weeks of thinking, and possibly some subliminal conditioning from your lovely, perverted boyfriend had changed your mind. “do it, slut.” he was hovered over you, tip of his cock pressed against your slick hole, teasing, but only enough to have you frustrated and almost begging. he wouldn’t put it in until— “say it.” he demanded of you, hand coming up to grip your soft cheeks, keeping your focus on him. you wanted to, but it felt so foreign on your tongue, saying it when you were alone just to get a taste of the word in your mouth. “daddy?” you finally let it slip, your voice light and airy, the word coming out almost as if it were a question. “that’s it, good. say it again, like you mean it.” less demanding this time, but he still wouldn’t put it in until he was satisfied, and he could tell it was bothering you. the way you wiggled your hips and tried your best to push yourself down onto his cock, but it was useless in that position, lying on your back you were helpless beneath him. “daddy please.” this time it sounded better, more natural as the words just fell off of your tongue, begging him to finally wreck you; to which he did, until you were a crying and cumming mess.

SUKUNA . . . likes cnc. he rather enjoys watching you squirm and cry beneath him, begging for him to stop. you’ve already established a safeword, and he always confirms it before going into a scene; knowing that if that word fell from your lips, he would stop immediately. “baby, what’s your safeword?” he asks you, and once you respond he begins to push himself onto you, feeling up your thighs, squishing soft skin and pushing his rough fingers between the warmth of them. “please..” you whimper, knowing it turns him on to hear you beg. he ignores you, his free hand pulling your tank top down to reveal your chest and already budding nipples. with his head dipping down to put one in his mouth, his other hand worked his way up your thighs and right against your panties. “please, stop!” you protest, gasping at the feeling of his teeth, nipping and sucking before releasing their grip, his fingers down below pushing past the fabric of lace, plunging themselves into your sweet dripping hole. “you know you want this, that’s why you don’t fight me.” the man snickered at your obedience, the way your hole clenched around his fingers when he spoke. “relax, enjoy this.” he hums, pumping his fingers in and out until you’re begging for him to let you cum.

© ursuguru 2024. do not copy.

[suguae]

Haunted

Toji cannot move on, until he realized too late.

Warnings: Angst, slightest fluff (reader and baby 'gumi moment)

You were just a girl, standing in front of a man, asking him to love you.

How hard was that for him? Yes, he wasn’t good with his words but he wasn’t good at anything else either. He was just there.

Maybe because the woman he truly loved—he was still mourning over her. His sad eyes every time he watched an old couple dance together, wishing he had been doing that but with her. The cute babies babble with their mothers as Megumi babbles with his father, how he wished his wife was still here instead of you. He never said it, but that’s what it felt like. 

And perhaps that's what it was. 

Sometimes he curses himself out when he accidentally calls you his wife's name. During intimate times only. You tried—trying to keep the emotions in as if it wasn’t breaking every part of you, was the hardest part. “Look he’s walking...” You smiled at the dark haired baby who was walking towards you. Toji smiled, making sure he’d record every second of it; deep down he wished his wife was the one the baby was walking towards instead of you.

And it was wrong—so wrong. 

“This relationship, I’m with you but Toji—Toji this is the loneliest I’ve ever felt.” You whispered while he ate his leftovers, his brows still furrowed from the argument occurring earlier. Having Toji work from 9–5 wasn’t the best but good thing he had you, helping him out with so much. Picking up groceries, picking up his lovely son—until you mentioned that one of his teachers mistaken you as his biological mother. That right there was enough to make Toji angry for weeks at least.

But not this time.

He stopped chewing on his food after you spoke, waiting for more of an explanation. Which you figured he needed, “I don’t think you’re in love with me–” 

“I like you [name], a lot.” He cleared his throat. He leaned back on his chair as his arms crossed waiting for you to continue the sentence he interrupted. 

Right, he liked you a lot. These three rough years you’ve been dating Toji—that particular l word was never uttered once, not even if he was drunk, or having a special moment with you. You huffed trying to find the right words for Toji to understand. That was until little Megumi started crying from his room. “I’ll try to put him back to sleep, finish eating.” He watched as your fragile little body sulked its way to Megumi’s room.

He knew this was gonna happen, he knew you were bound to leave him sooner or later. 

You smiled as you opened the door to see the little Megumi standing on top of his little bed. His hands wiping his tears as he ran towards you, his arms now wrapping around your legs. “Sleep with mama and papa.” He cried out as you leaned down to pick up the little boy. “[name] and papa, not mama okay?” You corrected him, if Toji were to find out that he had been calling you that, then that argument would’ve climaxed.

The little boy nodded, his tears now gone as you swayed him around. “Sleep with you.” He mumbled, leaning his head on your shoulder as he played with a strand of your hair. “Just for tonight.” You whispered, watching Megumi pick up his head and smile. Content with your answer. 

Toji’s heart could just swell at the sight. You treated his son as if he was your own and nothing looked so much better right now, except for the fact that he wished it was his wife.

Megumi was now soundly sleeping between you and Toji, “I don’t think I can do this anymore.” His eyes shut tightly hearing those piercing words leave your mouth. It hurt when his wife left him, but this hurt was different—different because he knew it was coming yet he didn’t want to do anything about it. 

“I’m sorry—”

“You don’t need to be the one apologizing.” He watched your soft gaze stare at completely nothing. He was confused, this was his fault. He never treated you how you needed deserved to be treated. “It was my fault for throwing myself at a man who simply was not ready.”

The next morning was silent—baby ‘gumi was confused at the saddened look on your face. Constantly walking up to you asking if you were okay. He was still just a baby, yet he read the room so well. “I’m sure we can work this out—” Toji now sitting next to you on the couch, some cartoon playing in the back as Megumi’s little head sat on your lap. “You’re not ready, Toji.” You nodded, eyes still glued on the tv as if it was meant for you and not the little Megumi. 

“And how are you so sure—”

“Tell me you love me then.” Your eyes are now fixed on Toji’s. It was hard, he felt as if his mouth had been glued shut. You sigh, bringing your gaze back to the tv, “I love you—but it’s hard when it’s one sided Toji.” 

It hurt much more, seeing you drive away as the clueless Megumi waved you out. Poor thing thinks you’re simply going to the store. The house that once felt like home was so dull now. Toji sat little ‘gumi down on the couch. 

His constant, “mama?” or “[name]?” while he kept his gaze on the door every so often. Nothing prepared Toji for this. Megumi cried that he wanted to sleep with his mama and papa, his heart swelled knowing that he had been talking about you.

You were gone, just like his wife. But it hurt—it hurt so much more knowing that you’re alive trying your best to…move on. He stayed up late that same night, stumbling upon a video from two years ago. When Megumi first learned how to walk. You and Toji had just started dating but the look of happiness plastered your face as you watched the little baby walking. 

That was one thing Toji never forgot about, how much you loved kids. Telling him how once you had kids of your own you would finally be able to live in peace. How he heard of it less and less as the years went on, he wonders if you still think that.

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