#i'm so close to self destructing and just

[riamaple]

Life on Your Line (Ch. 18)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Summary: Cursed to sacrifice your life to save another, you were never able to connect with others, always meant to drift before you could belong. Death was all you knew. Then, one day in Brooklyn, you saved a young man, and for some reason, you kept seeing him again. And again. And again. No matter where you went, across decades, you always found your way back to him.

He was forced to live to destroy, you were forced to die to save—bound together in ways neither of you could understand.

Warnings: Angst (with an eventual happy ending). Death and Dying. Self-Sacrifice (Immortality / Resurrection). Canon-Typical Violence / Description of Wounds. Suicidal Thoughts. Implications and References to Child Death, Suicide, Self-Destructive Behavior / Self-Harm.

Additional Warning(s) for This Chapter: Implication/Reference to Sexual Assault & Non-con (Bucky as the victim) — No graphic descriptions and is only one line at the end. Read with caution.

< PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Word Count: 9.9k (I'm back from my trip, so here's a long chapter for all of your patience! ❤️)

CHAPTER 18: September 16, 2024

James faltered when you finally stepped out of that door.

As his own feet stepped backwards, he couldn’t stop watching you walk towards the truck full of fireworks. The streets were in chaos—every person was scrambling in panic and confusion, unable to comprehend why aircraft and buildings were crashing down in their city. But you moved so calmly, like you were just going to greet an old friend.

It was wrong. 

Death wasn’t your friend. It continuously snatched you away, leaving him helpless as you had no choice but to obey the twisted rules of your life.

No one should ever be that prepared for death, but you were.

The back door swung closed, and James leaned against it, breath heavy and hands shaky by his sides. His lips trembled while his cheeks were still damp with tears, so he quickly wiped his face with his gloved hands. And soon, he began to bolt through the alleyways before his heart was strong enough to yank him back to the store—to the streets where he would scoop you into his arms, stopping you from fading into a ghost again.

It hurt. Stop— It fucking hurt. Go back. Go BACK! 

Go and save her. Save her NOW! Please, it wasn’t too late—

An explosion went off, and James collapsed to his knees. 

He covered his ears, teary eyes shut close as he tried to tune out the explosion of the truck. Shrieks and car alarms echoed in the distance, and sirens could be heard speeding towards the new explosion that threatened lives.

This was his chance.

Run. Run!

R…run…

James slowly opened his eyes, his lips ajar to let his quivering breaths escape. He then dropped his hands to his lap, letting the screams nearby fill the silence in his chest. His teardrops fell to the ground, decorating the concrete with the sorrows of a broken man. 

He had been freed.

All because of you.

With a sharp intake of breath, James ripped himself from the ground and ran for freedom, all while you gave up yours once again.

<><><>

“Sir? Are you…”

Blurs of bodies and lights moved past as all the noise around Bucky rang. The scent of smoke stung his sensitive nose, yet his clouded mind distracted him from the madness around him. 

“Sergeant Barnes? Are…”

He couldn’t focus, nor could he move. All he felt was pure loss rumbling in his chest and twisting his guts. 

He should’ve stopped it.

He could’ve been faster.

He was supposed to save you.

For once, he was supposed to—

“Sergeant!”

Bucky blinked and slowly looked to his left, facing a concerned firefighter. “Sorry. Did you say something?” he asked, his voice dry and quiet.

“Yes. Are you sure you don’t need to go to the hospital?” she asked with worry, looking at the ashes and soot that lingered on his appearance. “You were the last person who left that floor. You must’ve breathed in a lot of the—”

“I’m fine.” He sighed. “Trust me, I’m good. I’ve dealt with worse.”

“But, still…” She looked up at how the smoke escaping from the garage's crevice turned the sky black. 

“I appreciate the concern, but I’m really fine,” he reassured her, then glanced at the firetrucks and ambulances. “Are the people okay?”

“Yes, they’re okay.” She smiled. “We have to thank you, Sergeant Barnes. Some of them told us that you helped them out.”

“Please don’t. I didn’t do much.”

“You did a lot, sir. In times of panic, everyone needs a guiding voice. Someone who can command a room.”

Bucky didn’t respond. Instead, he looked over at the paramedics again, watching them tend to the civilians who were on the same floor as him. Then his stomach churned when he spotted a little boy hugging his mother tightly as she frantically explained to the firefighters about something.

The woman took a horrified glance at him, and he knew she was talking about you.

Quickly, Bucky stood up and gave the firefighter a nod. “You guys are all okay here, right?”

“Yes, we’re fine. We’re lucky, actually, that there were no casualties.”

Bucky wanted to fucking scream.

He wanted to grab the firefighter by the shoulders, beg her to send another crew inside to check again. To go to the back of the parking lot, dig through the rubble, and pull you out before it was too late.

But it was already too late, and he couldn’t say a fucking word about it.

With tight lips, Bucky gave her another nod and quickly walked away. He slipped into a crowd, full of bystanders who watched the smoke fly into the sky, and then turned back to spot the woman from earlier. He stood there as the little boy quietly snuggled into his mother’s grasp while she wildly gestured to the parking garage. The firefighters were trying to calm her down as she turned to point at Bucky, but faltered when he had disappeared from where she last saw him. She spun around, trying to look for him—the only other witness to your demise.

Bucky watched her try to explain to the authorities—to anyone that would believe her—that someone was still trapped in the parking lot, and his hands curled into fists at seeing her desperation.

Finally, he stormed off, stomping away to escape this hell, but it followed him. It clutched onto his shoulders, trying to drag him to the ground and leave him trembling against his will. His feet were heavy, yet his body moved so lightly against the breeze as if there was nothing less within his soul.

He didn’t even know where he was going. The morning streets were no longer peaceful, and the feeling of home he strived to achieve disappeared from his grasp. All he could hear was the sound of concrete crashing down and your screams, begging him to go before the flames engulfed him too.

But he should’ve stayed. 

Right?

He should’ve tried to save you. Even as the room grew dark and bright at the same time, burning with gas and oil, he should’ve pulled you out, carried you to the medics, and sent you to the hospital.

But then that boy would’ve died.

Bucky dropped down to the edge of the curb, elbows on his knees as his body shook.

The boy.

Fuck. 

You weren’t there to save Bucky. Not this time—you were there for someone else. An innocent child, but a stranger nonetheless. Someone you didn’t know, and yet you had the exact same fear displaced on your face whenever you had to save him. 

Why?

Did you just have to save anyone in need of saving? No matter who they were?

Did it matter that you had known Bucky for nearly ninety years, and the boy for less than a minute?

Or… Shit, maybe you knew the child. If you revisited Bucky throughout the years, then surely you must’ve met the boy before. But…the child was like, what? Five? Six years old? Had you already saved him before, or was this truly the first time you saw him?

Did… No.

Bucky’s hands curled into his pants as his breath hitched, the leather gloves squeaking from the pressure.

Did any of this matter right now?

You were gone. Dead. Taken away once again.

He finally got you back, only to leave you behind again. Ninety years of loss and grief, only to let you slip through his fingers again. Would he find you again? Was that even possible? You said you’d come back, but when? Would it take another ten years before he’d see you?

And when he finally did, would you pretend to be someone else again?

Did he lose you for good—

Bucky shot up from the ground and rushed through the streets, his feet scraping the sidewalk as he tried to keep his emotions in check. His heart pounded against his chest, scratching and screaming at him to move faster to the place you had touched—had greeted him at. The place where he saw you first and held you last.

The place that gave him hope—through the quiet conversations and subtle touch you both shared—that he could have a life with you.

He didn’t know how much time had passed—how fast he had been walking or running—when the front door of Cherry Nook opened a bit too harshly, clashing with the gentle atmosphere inside. There were a few customers here and there, quietly browsing the shelves while Mandy sat behind the front desk, tapping at the computer with a stack of books beside her.

But you weren’t there.

You weren’t at the front desk, staring at the top shelf that you couldn’t reach until the ladder was fixed. You weren’t kneeling on the floor, wiping up a spilled drink. You weren’t walking through the store, moving any misplaced books, and helping customers.

You weren’t there at all.

Bucky felt sick. Fuck, he couldn’t stay—

He was already at the front desk before he realized, staring at Mandy, who was startled by his urgent movement.

“Where is she?” he immediately asked, his voice sharp and cracking.

She blinked, now noticing the dark dust on his skin. “I’m sorry?”

“Where is she? Rose, where—” He closed his eyes, rolling his hands in fists by his sides while trying to make his voice steady. “I’m sorry. Where is your boss?”

She continued to stare, moving her hands from the keyboard. “Uh… If you’re talking about Avery, she’s not here yet. She said she’d come in later today.”

“Then where is she now?”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Bucky, I can’t tell you where she lives. That’s really inappropriate.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what is it you mean?” Mandy stood up from her seat, a stern frown plastered onto her face. “Because I’m very confused by why you want to track down my boss.”

“I…”

Bucky paused and looked at the floor. What did Mandy know? How could he explain what had happened earlier without revealing secrets that she didn’t know?

As Mandy crossed her arms, waiting for an answer, he stood up straight and tightened his fists. And when he finally looked at her, she faltered at the sudden grief in his eyes.

“I was supposed to meet with her this morning,” Bucky started slowly, gauging her reaction. “We were gonna go out for coffee. But…”

Mandy tilted her head, drawn by his unexpected story. “But…?”

“There was this fire…at a parking garage…and…”

“Wait.”

He stopped, seeing horror slowly seep into her eyes, and he found it familiar.

It was the kind of horror that he experienced again and again—the kind that was only felt when realizing that a loved one was going to disappear.

“I saw on the news just now… The fire at the parking garage by Feathers Street—” Her breath hitched as her eyes picked up on more of the ash and smoky scent on him. “You two were there?”

Bucky could only nod and watch the color drain from Mandy’s face. She gazed at him for a moment before her eyes darted around, looking for the same person he was.

Then her voice fell to a cracked whisper, and she managed to speak, “Where is she?” 

He bit his lips, stiffening at her question. “I was hoping you could tell me that.”

She froze for a second, and with a heavy breath, she quickly ran around the front desk and made her way to a small group of customers.

“I’m so sorry,” she said to them with a painful smile. “I know we just opened, but I need to close the store right now. I— I got a family emergency.”

Though there were a few confused murmurs, no one argued. Instead, they all showed her empathy before gathering their belongings and heading out the door. The moment the last customer stepped out, Mandy slammed the door and blinds shut, and the soft clatter of the metal chain echoed in the quiet room. 

For a moment, no one moved. Bucky watched Mandy stand still, head slightly tilted down as her mind tried to process the predicament they were in. Then, slowly, she looked up and turned around, her eyes glazed as she brushed past him and disappeared into the back room. Before he could figure out whether to follow or not, she returned with a chair, dragging it along the wooden floor. She set it down in front of hers, and with a long exhale, she sat down facing it.

When Bucky still didn’t move, she looked up with an anxious frown.

“Are we gonna talk or not?” she finally asked, her voice trembling unwillingly.

With slight hesitation, Bucky sat down across from her with stiff and exhausted movements. Even now, his left ankle throbbed and his burn wounds stung, but nothing was more painful than finally sitting with someone who also felt your missing presence.

It was just further confirmation that you were gone.

Neither of them spoke at first. There was a silence that hung between them, respectful yet also so dangerous. What could they say? What did they know? For a while, they both stared at the floor, unable to look at each other.

Then, finally, Bucky spoke, “She’s gone.”

And his words felt sharp, as if someone had pierced his throat with broken glass. 

Mandy didn’t react—her eyes stayed empty while she quietly responded. “What happened?”

“We were gonna meet today for coffee,” he slowly began to explain. “She parked at the nearby parking garage, but there was a gas leak. The ceiling exploded and… There was this kid. He was gonna get crushed by the ceiling, but Rose—” His breath hitched as his hands tightened onto his knees. “She pushed him out of the way.”

She didn’t respond right away, her fingers twisting tighter in her lap as she continued to stare off. Bucky let the silence pass as she processed his words.

But when she finally looked at his eyes and whispered, Bucky felt seen.

“Did she save him?”

His lips went ajar, eyes slowly widening at the particular way she phrased the question. It wasn’t about the boy being okay or you getting injured.

No. It was about you saving him.

The question wasn’t about the boy—it wasn’t even really about you. It was about what always happened. And suddenly, Bucky knew that Mandy already understood the truth.

She knew you had died, and she wasn’t surprised.

Mandy sat up straighter, gazing into Bucky’s frost-blue eyes as she searched for the truth she already feared. “Did she save him?” she repeated.

Bucky nodded, maybe a bit too quickly and desperately, but he couldn’t help it—he was staring at someone who knew as well. 

There was a pause, heavy in the air between them.

“Was…” she started, her voice catching in her throat, “was it at least quick?”

He grimaced, his jaw clenching and chest rising unevenly as his eyes wavered. Without another sound, he shook his head. And at that, Mandy’s lips parted as if to speak again, but a word couldn’t leave her throat. Instead, her eyes brimmed with tears while her breath caught on the edge of a sob.

“Fuck,” she hissed as she looked away, roughly wiping at her face.

Bucky let out a soft breath, almost like he was apologizing for sharing the horrific news. “She told me to go. I didn’t want to, but she said I had to.”

Mandy nodded as she collected herself. “Or else the kid would've died.”

“Yeah,” he responded with hollowness in his voice. Then he shifted in his seat while trying to steady himself as well. “You know about her power.”

She didn’t flinch, nor did she try to deny it or act surprised. Instead, her expression softened, her shoulders dropping ever so slightly. “I do.”

For a moment, the air between them lightened. Not because the grief had lessened, but because it wasn’t just his or hers anymore. They were finally speaking it aloud—the truth that had always lingered just beneath the surface. It was a cruel kind of comfort that your death had opened the door to honesty, but in that shared truth, neither of them felt as alone.

Mandy slightly cleared her throat before bringing her hands together. “You said you two were gonna meet. I didn’t even know she agreed to meet with you. When… When did you two…”

“Last night. I came back here and told her I knew it was her. I…” he briefly hesitated. “Mandy, I’ve known her for a long time.”

“I know.”

Bucky stiffened, his eyes narrowing at her. “What?”

“I know you do, Bucky,” she gently said. “Avery told me all about what you two went through.”

He blinked, his thoughts racing as it jumped to all the little moments—the glances, the silences, the confusion. The way Mandy always seemed to have a slight worry on her face when she watched you lie to him.

“You…” His voice faltered while he winced. “You were pretending too?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to,” she replied with guilt lingering in her throat, “but Avery asked me to lie. To pretend I didn’t know who you were to her.”

“But…why?” he breathed, his fingers threading into his hair as he shook his head. “I… Fuck. I’m so confused. I… What the hell is happening?”

“Okay… Okay, just…” Mandy took a long, deep breath as she settled into her seat again. “This is a lot for both of us, so…let’s just start from the beginning, okay? You know who Avery really is and that she was pretending to be someone else. You two were gonna meet and…what? Talk?”

Bucky nodded while frustration flickered in his eyes. “Basically. I just wanted to talk. About what exactly—I don’t know, but I just wanted to know who she is. I’ve wanted that for so long, but every time we found each other, we…we never got the chance.”

A small, sorrowful smile formed on her face. “Because she had to save you, right? There was never time to talk.”

“Jesus—” A bitter scoff slipped from his throat before he could stop it. “Do you really know everything?” he asked, the ache in his voice expressing just how hurt he was from realizing that there were so many parts of your life that he never got the chance to see.

Mandy paused for a moment, feeling a bit regretful of her words, before she frowned softly. “I was supposed to. But now, I’m not so sure.”

Bucky looked up, raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Her gaze shifted, tinted with nervousness. “You call her Rose. Why is that? How did that start?”

Bucky blinked, taken slightly aback by the question. Of all things, he didn’t expect her to ask about your name. He didn’t quite know what to make of her curiosity, but he still reached beneath his shirt and pulled out your silver locket. But before he could explain what it was, he watched Mandy’s eyes widen, her breath catching a bit.

Her fingers twitched as she leaned forward a bit. “Can I see this?”

Though he hesitated, he unclasped it and handed it over, watching carefully as she gently took the necklace from his hands. Her gaze locked onto it as she opened it, unable to look away from the inscription and etched flower as if it were hidden treasure finally unburied.

Bucky sat up, feeling more cautious of her reaction. “You know something about that locket, don’t you?”

She immediately nodded, still admiring the silver piece. “Like I said, I know a lot of things. But this? This name?” She offered it back to him. “It’s not my story to tell.”

Despite wearing gloves, the sharp coldness of the locket pierced his skin as he took it back, the weight of brand new realizations pressing down on him.

Rose.

Was that not even your real name?

Bucky had been calling you that since you died in his arms—a name he draped around his guardian angel like a cloak he wouldn’t dare to take off. It left his lips without question, as it was the only name that ever felt right. After all, you were like the flower itself: beautiful, yet dangerous. Silky and gentle, but harsh with its thorns if anyone dared to threaten you. You never just survived—you always withstood the world like a wilted rose, losing its petals but never falling over from the storms that blew around you. 

You’d only let yourself fall when you knew Bucky was safe.

But now, if Rose wasn’t your name…

Then, who was he mourning all this time?

Shards of his heart dropped to the pit of his soul as he began to tremble. All these years, he’d clung to a name—a feeling—convinced that it was enough, but Bucky didn’t even know you well enough to mourn you. You gave your life for him too many times, bearing pain that no one should ever experience, and all he could do was poorly offer grief—a kind of grief that didn’t know your real name, your past lives, or your favorite novel.

The grief he carried was laced with the memory of your eyes, wide with fear, each time the world asked you to vanish.

You didn’t deserve that. He couldn’t even grieve for you properly.

Was… Was there anything he did right for you?

“Bucky?”

With a sharp flinch, he snapped his head up to see Mandy, concern embedded in her eyebrows as she continued. “Hey… Are you okay?”

“Yeah… Yeah—” He quickly gave her a small, forceful grin. “I’m fine.”

She wasn’t convinced, but didn’t push any further. Instead, she looked back at the locket in his hand. “How did you get that? Avery told me she lost it before moving out of D.C.”

“Lost?” He shook his head. “She gave it to me there. Back when HYDRA fell.”

“Fuck—when you were freed. Of course.” A small, almost joyful smile tugged at her lips. “And…you held onto it this whole time?”

“It was the only thing I had of her. I didn’t want to lose her.” He lowered his head, eyes falling to the necklace. “The first time I saw this was in the forties. I read the name and started calling her that. She… Fuck, she never corrected me. Even this morning—she didn’t correct me, and I—” His shoulders shook as his breath began to get unsteady. “I let her die. Again.”

A gentle hand reached out, finding itself on his arm as Mandy shook her head. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“But that’s somehow worse. She wasn’t even meant to save me. I didn’t even know that was possible. I… I thought I was the only one, like an idiot.” He then looked up to meet her eyes. “Does she save other people all the time?”

Mandy grimaced before whispering, “Yes.”

“Why?” His voice cracked further as his mind whirled. “I don’t understand. What— What is her power? Why does she die for others? For me?”

She hesitated, biting her lip and tightening her hands at her sides. Then she muttered, almost to herself, “Fuck.” And she stood up from her seat and began to pace around. “I can’t do this.”

Bucky widened his eyes. “What?”

“I can’t be the one to tell you. It shouldn’t be me.”

“No. Please—” He stood up as well, meeting her eyes directly with his frustrated and desperate ones. “You have to tell me.”

“I can’t. Bucky,” she let out a shaky breath, “do you realize how upset Avery will be if she finds out I told you? This—everything—is her story. I can’t do that to her.”

“But I need this.” He took a few steps closer, bringing his hand with the locket to his chest. “I needed her to tell me, and I was so close to getting that. But now she’s gone, and you’re all I have left to turn to.”

Her eyes softened, but her voice remained firm. “But she trusted me to keep her secrets. Keep them safe until she’s ready to tell someone the truth. And she was ready—she was gonna tell you today. I can’t go behind her back.”

“Please, Mandy. Please,” Bucky said, his lip slightly trembling as he tried to regain his composure. “I waited too long. I can’t go on another day without answers, especially now that I’m learning that she’s been dying for others, not just me. I thought I knew her, but now I’m realizing that I knew nothing. I’m— I’m so lost. Everything I believed in feels…broken. Mandy… Please…” he briefly bit his lip, shaking his head before whispering with his fragile voice. “I need something.”

They stood in silence.

Mandy’s hands dropped loosely to her sides as her gaze remained locked on Bucky, picking up how his chest struggled to rise and fall with everything he couldn’t carry alone anymore. Something was agonizing in the way he stood—not just pleading, but unraveling. She saw despair, not of someone grieving a person, but rather the meaning of life itself.

Bucky didn’t speak again—he continued to look at her with glassy eyes and the kind of desperation that made her breath catch. She grew up hearing and learning about the feared Winter Soldier—a merciless killer who hid in the shadows after the fall of HYDRA, prepared to strike and terrify the world once again. But right now, that wasn’t who she saw.

She saw Bucky, the man that you cried for again, and again, and again. The man you described as so fierce with his enemies, yet so gentle with the way he held you in his arms. The man you couldn’t help but smile for whenever you spoke of his frost-blue eyes, and how they seemed to glow whenever he laid eyes on you.

She saw the man who cared about your life when no one did.

Mandy swallowed hard, quickly crossing her arms while squeezing her eyes shut. 

“Damn it,” she whispered, her voice cracking under his gaze. Then, after taking a breath, she looked back at him with a conflicted look. “Avery’s gonna be pissed that I told you.”

Bucky’s breath hitched as hope bloomed in his chest. “Then let her. She can be pissed at me. Tell her that I made you do this. Please, just…help me understand her.”

The silence returned as Mandy looked away, her gaze now focusing on the floor. The air in the room seemed to thicken again, suffocating Bucky as seconds passed at an agonizing speed.

But then, with a soft sigh, Mandy lightly shook her head.

“It’s a curse.”

He froze, blinking endlessly. “A curse?”

She slowly nodded as she moved back to her seat, prompting Bucky to do the same. When they sat back down, she let out another breath. “A curse. At least, that’s what Avery calls it. She doesn’t think of it like a special power or even a gift. She describes it only as a curse because she…she doesn’t know why she has it.”

Her voice slightly wavered, but it was enough for Bucky to see the pain within it. But still, she continued.

“The curse… It makes it so that when someone around her is in danger—is about to get killed—she…she has to go save them.”

“What do you mean she has to?” he asked, his chest tightening with disbelief.

“She said she feels it. Describes it as something pulling at her heart. And when she feels it, she has to make a choice: save them, or leave them to die. But if she chooses to save them, then she…she has to die for them. Every time.”

“Every time…” he softly repeated, the truth crashing into him harsher than he wanted. Every memory of you saving him popped into his mind—every time you had to say goodbye after barely saying hello. His breath got caught in his throat as he quivered. “And she can’t stop herself from dying?”

“She’s never survived.” Her eyes then flickered with sympathy and sorrow. “I know you tried before. To stop it from taking her, I mean.”

His jaw clenched. “It didn’t work.”

“I know,” she whispered.

“I couldn’t save her. I tried… I really did try.”

“I know,” she repeated, but then gave him a faint smile. “Avery told me that you let yourself get hurt before—protected her when she was the one who was supposed to get hurt. You… God, you’d never believe how happy she was when she told me about that.”

Bucky looked up, eyes wide in awe, and yet remained so soft. “Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, she was crying too. It was a sad memory for her, talking about how injured you were. But sometimes, even when she was crying, she’d have the biggest smile on her face while she talked about you. You were the only person she’s saved who cared about her so much that she felt like she deserved a good life. You…you made her happy.”

Just for a moment, Bucky’s heart stopped pinching his nerves, and he felt like he could breathe. Without realizing it, his lips curved into the smallest smile, so fragile but real. Knowing that there was still a reason for you to feel joy because of him…that gave him hope that you two could finally be together. His gaze then dropped to his hand, locking onto the silver locket once again.

It glowed under the dim light, just like you always did in his life.

But then the quiet moment faded as he straightened up in his seat, eyebrows furrowed as he spoke, “How did no one else care? Besides me, there…there had to be someone who wanted to help her, right?”

She bit her lip, fingers twitching against her leg. “Well…they see her die. So, they don’t think they can help her anymore. I mean, how can you save someone already dead?”

“But then, when she comes back, someone must think that they can help,” he argued, urgency rising in his tone. “There has to be someone who thinks that she didn’t have to keep saving them. Right? That’s what happened to me. I kept seeing her, and eventually I couldn’t accept losing her, and I… I…”

Bucky stopped speaking when noticing that Mandy’s face had gone pale. Her eyes were wide, horror from deep within spewing out for him to see. Her fingers no longer twitched against her leg, and her breathing went so quiet that he thought that she had actually stopped breathing.

It was like the room had become haunted with a ghost, speaking through Mandy to tell Bucky that he was wrong.

His heart pounded as he slowly leaned back in his seat, his eyebrows raised as he whispered, “What? What is it?”

“I… Fuck, I’m sorry. It’s just…” She stumbled over her words. “It’s… Uh…”

Her breath sharply hitched before her fingers began to tremble against her leg again.

“She saved you multiple times.”

He blinked, tilting his head to the side as he frowned. “Yeah? And?”

“Bucky…” Mandy’s voice dropped low, like she was trying to help him further ease into the truth. But there was an ache within her voice, terrified of telling him that—

“You’re the only one she’s saved more than once.”

The store went cold.

Although the air had dropped, it felt just as suffocating as the parking garage—the ceiling crashing down and trapping two people in a crushing, inescapable landscape.

Bucky couldn’t speak. Hell, he could barely even breathe. It was like his body was shutting down, and yet his ears—his super-soldier hearing—picked up her words so clearly.

He didn’t realize how dry his throat had gotten until he quietly spoke, “What are you talking about?”

But Mandy didn’t answer. She didn’t have to for Bucky to see the devastation radiating off of her, as there was no simpler way to clarify her answer.

At that, his breath started to get uneven while he shook his head. “No… That can’t be right… It—”

Before Mandy could attempt to soothe him, he shot up from his seat, his chair scraping loudly against the wooden floor. He paced a few steps back and forth, the hand holding the locket pressed against his chest as if it could heal him of all his pain.

“She saved me in Brooklyn. In Poland—” he muttered to himself. “Colorado, London, Moscow, Tokyo— Fucking D.C.— She saved me every time, and I never counted. I never thought to count. She—”

His knees buckled, and he steadied himself on the edge of the front desk, drawing a sharp inhale that sent a jolt of alarm through Mandy.

His voice shattered as he continued, “She always made it seem like this was normal.”

Mandy stood up, reaching out, “Bucky, it’s not—”

“No, stop.” He straightened up with a wince. “Don’t try to explain it differently. Don’t say it gently. Just— Just say what you mean. What do you mean I’m the only one?”

She faltered in her steps, but still nodded as she gave him space. “Whatever that’s happening between you and her curse… It’s not normal.”

“Why?” he whispered, his frost-blue eyes screaming for content. “Why me?”

Her face twisted as she let out a shaky breath. “She doesn’t know.”

His eyes then went wide, the color draining from his face. “What the hell do you mean—”

“She doesn’t know, Bucky,” Mandy repeated firmly, though she was still gentle with her actions. “This connection you two have—this pattern—it just started one day. She doesn’t know why she ended up in Poland to save you for the second time. It just happened.”

“So…if her curse worked properly with me, then I was supposed to die in the war?”

She gave him a small, hesitant nod.

“She wasn’t supposed to show up?” His mouth moved before his thoughts caught up, the shock sending him on autopilot. “When HYDRA was about to kill me… She wasn’t supposed to be there? To block that…explosion from… Fuck…”

Carefully, Bucky slid to the floor, sitting against the front desk as his mind tried to process everything smoothly. With quiet movements, Mandy followed, sitting in front of him while watching him try to catch his breath.

“How… How did she end up there?” Bucky finally managed to ask, meeting her eyes again. “I mean, you said she doesn’t know why she came to Poland, but… How did she know I needed saving there? I was on the other side of the world. How could she have known to come save me then?”

“Oh, no, that’s… Fuck, Bucky—” Her voice faltered as she shook her head, for it hurt to keep peeling back the layers of a story that pained him. “She woke up in Poland. Every place after Brooklyn—at least, every place except for D.C.—she woke up there. She… She teleported to you, and only you.”

He couldn’t even look at Mandy anymore.

It was strange—they lived in a world where fantasy had quietly become reality. Aliens, monsters, sorcery, curses—all of it had woven its way into the fabric of their everyday lives.

And yet, the idea that someone he loved had been teleporting to him was horrifying. Thinking about how the rules of your curse had bent themselves to benefit him stripped him of all his strength. His fingers struggled to wrap around the locket at his chest, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t know what to do with the truth. It didn’t feel like clarity—it felt like guilt.

Why him?

You didn't find him because you chose to, or because of anything he’d done.

It was because something was broken, or twisted, or something worse—the universe had decided he was worth it. He—a shattered man who had ruined so many lives—got the miracle that others dreamed of, at the cost of your own life.

Every bullet. Every explosion. Knife wounds, poison, vehicular accidents—he survived all of those, and you didn’t.

You had died for him.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Because—

“I did this,” Bucky hissed to himself, and it got Mandy to widen her eyes. “I did this to her. I kept needing her—kept on being in danger, because I wasn’t strong enough or quick enough. And she—she paid the price every time.”

“Whoa, hey,” Mandy reached out, squeezing his arm as she shook her head. “Don’t blame yourself.”

“How could I not?” He finally managed to look back at her with eyes brimmed with tears that didn’t fall. “Every ounce of pain, she felt it all because of me. Because she—” he choked on his words as disgust seeped into his heart, “she chose me.”

“She wanted to choose you,” she softly said.

“No.” His jaw clenched, anger quickly rising in his chest. “Not me. Fuck— Out of everyone, she shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t fucking start that shit.”

Bucky flinched before quickly freezing at Mandy’s sharp tone. Her eyes were blazing, damp but unwavering as she continued. “Don’t do it. Don’t say that your life is worth less than hers. Don’t you dare undermine everything she’s done for you to keep you alive. She didn’t fucking—”

She then stopped speaking, startled upon hearing her own voice. The fire in her heart quickly faded as she looked at the floor, slowly letting go of Bucky’s arm while sitting back on the floor.

With a soft sigh, she tilted her head up at him. “Please don’t say that. She wouldn’t want that.”

He swallowed the tightness in his throat, leaning back against the desk with a sorrowful frown. “...I don’t know what she wants, Mandy. I thought I did, but…” he let out a choked, weary laugh, “I don’t. I guess I never did all this time.”

Mandy’s lips went ajar, feeling her chest strain at seeing his loss. After a few quiet seconds, she gently spoke, a hint of apology within her voice.

“Ask her in a month.”

At that, Bucky raised an eyebrow, slowly sitting up. “What…?”

She sighed, closing her eyes as she continued, “It takes her a month to return. It’s the 16th today, so she’ll be back on the 16th next month. When she comes back, you can ask her then. Find out what she…”

Her words vanished when she looked back up and saw that Bucky wasn’t breathing. His eyes had gone wide, horrified, like she’d just said something unforgivable.

“She loses a whole month?” he asked, his voice sharp and fragile at once. “Does that happen every time?”

Mandy flinched slightly. “Bucky…”

“It does,” he whispered just from hearing her voice. Then he abruptly stood up, stepping away from Mandy as she quickly got to her feet as well. “You’re saying she…lost months because of me?”

“Bucky, please…” She took a step closer, her voice breaking. “It’s okay—”

“It’s not okay!” he snapped, his voice loud and raw with something deeper than anger. “Don’t say that that’s okay. I spent my life locked away in ice! I’ve lost years—decades of my life to things I couldn’t control. I was frozen while the world kept moving, and—”

His voice cracked, and he stilled at how nervous Mandy looked. Grimacing, he shifted in his stance with a shaky sigh.

Then he whispered, “I was imprisoned for decades, Mandy. The world evolved and changed without me. And now…I’ve done the same to Rose.”

With quiet footsteps, Bucky moved past her and sank back in his seat, dropping his head into his left hand while gazing straight down at the locket in his right hand. It was like the weight of his survival finally crushed him, because maybe he never deserved it to begin with.

Mandy continued to stand behind Bucky, staring ahead to where he had stood before. She shifted her weight slightly, arms tightening around herself as if her strength could swallow the memory of that day. But the silence—guilt she hadn’t felt in years pressed into her chest. She hadn’t let herself think about it in a while, but ached all over again.

But perhaps that was what she needed to help Bucky at that moment.

After a long pause, she finally spoke, her voice soft and tentative, “If it makes you feel better… I didn’t feel great when I first found out about it, either.”

Bucky’s head lifted, confused as he looked back over his shoulder to meet her gaze. Curiosity flickered in his exhausted eyes as Mandy quietly retreated to her seat as well, sitting down while he kept his gaze on her. Then she looked up, giving him a small, sad smile.

“I mean… Yeah, you’re right. It’s fucking terrible being someone who made her lose time like that. It’s the worst feeling, really.”

He blinked a few times before his breath hitched, his eyes slowly widening as realization dawned on him. “You… Were you…”

“2014. A month or so before HYDRA fell.” She kept her smile on as her eyes began to fill with tears once again. “Was about to turn eighteen. Got into my dream school for Creative Writing. My parents were so proud and happy, and I was too. Then I went on a field trip with my class to see a panel for a famous director and screenwriter. It was supposed to be a good day. But then,” her smile disappeared, “I went to tie my fucking shoelaces.”

She took a deep breath, letting her tears fall while she shifted in her seat. “They weren’t even untied. They were just loose. I went down to tie them and heard tires screeching. But I didn’t even think to look up before someone shoved me out of the way. I turned around to see a bus turning to a stop, and someone tumbling to the side. I didn’t know what to do. Everyone was screaming—my classmates and teacher came to me—but I didn’t know what to do with the person who saved my life. I just—”

Quickly, Mandy swiped her tears away while Bucky stayed attentive, watching her crawl through her story with an aching heart. “I just jumped to her side and yelled at her to stay awake. She was dying—bloody and broken—and I couldn’t do anything but wait until help arrived. I tried to keep her awake, but then she…she smiled at me. Bucky, she smiled… Avery smiled at me and closed her eyes. I was crying. Even after the ambulance came and took her away, I was losing my mind. So, my parents picked me up, but not before I told my teacher to let me know of any news about Avery.

“I was a mess at home. How could I not be? I almost died, and someone else got hurt protecting me. I couldn’t go to school the next day, which was fine. No one expected me to. And throughout the day,” she managed to let out a chuckle, “I actually managed to feel a bit better. Both my parents took a day off to spend time with me. But then…my mom got a phone call from my school. They found out that Avery died at the hospital. I…”

Mandy brought her hands together, tightly clasping them as she sucked in another breath. “I killed her. I got her killed.”

Bucky’s expression softened—not with pity, but with recognition of her pain. “Mandy…”

“I couldn’t eat or sleep after that. Couldn’t do anything. I barely managed to finish high school, and then had to take a year off from college right after I started because I felt like I was going back to a bad place. I just… I just couldn’t handle the guilt. Even though I got better through therapy and with my family’s support, I still remembered Avery and how she smiled at me. She smiled like…like she was happy I was okay.”

She exhaled deeply and tilted her head up, blinking her remaining tears away as she glanced around. “But then, after I graduated from college, I ended up here. My last year of school was weird because…well, it was when half of the world disappeared. Classes shut down for a while, exams got pushed back. I still graduated, but I felt lost again. So, I moved to Brooklyn. Why the fuck not, right? I was looking for a job, or opportunities for networking, so I found a bookstore and walked right in and…there she was. The person who saved me.

“Avery denied it. Just like with you, she denied knowing me, but I was persistent. Eventually, she admitted the truth, and after more convincing, she hired me. I’m really stubborn.” She lightly laughed. “I wasn’t gonna let Avery go. So then, I started to learn more about her. Found out that it wasn’t just me she saved—her curse made her sacrifice herself for someone else. She disappears for a month, at least two, or three, or—if she’s really unlucky—four times a year. When I eventually realized that I also made her lose a month, I… Fuck, Bucky… I felt horrible too. Like I was a bad person for making her save my life.”

Her voice cracked at the edges, like she was trying to hold it together but couldn’t quite. She stared at her hands, like she didn’t deserve to look up. Bucky exhaled slowly. Some of the tension in his shoulders began to loosen, not because the pain was gone, but because he saw it mirrored in her—raw and unguarded.

“But then she reassured me that I shouldn’t feel bad. She…” Mandy then smiled again and looked up at him. “She said she was happy that she got to save someone like me. Like us, actually.”

“Us?” he softly said, his brow furrowing slightly. “Why?”

“Because out of everyone she’s ever saved, you and I… We’re the only ones who comforted her. She said that most of the time, she either dies too fast, or the person she saved is away getting help, or even runs away. She always dies feeling alone… But you… Bucky, you were the first person who ever stayed with her as she died. Cared that she was fading away. And…I was the second.”

Bucky froze, staring at her as he was stunned in silence.

After all this time… Just two? Mandy and him?

His breath hitched, disbelief anchoring deep in his chest. He thought there would’ve been more. There had to have been more. But no—just him, and Mandy.

And he had been the first. 

His chest tightened with something complicated, something that twisted guilt and awe together until it ached. He had never thought of that day in Brooklyn as anything more than helplessness—just a young man clinging to the person who saved him, crying and begging her not to die. But to you, it had meant everything. A breath caught in his throat, and for a fleeting second, the pain in his heart cracked open just enough to let a bit of warmth in. 

Maybe he did do something right for you.

“When she first told me about you, actually, she said that our experiences were similar. She saved us both from getting hit by a vehicle, and we begged her to stay with us. She said that we were the ones who made her feel like she could be wanted by someone else. When she told me that, I just knew that every time she died and came back, I wanted to be there. Even when I realized that she was gonna be gone for a month, feeling sad that she died again, I wanted to comfort her just like I did ten years ago. I just try to be there for her. So…”

She gave him a hopeful smile, wiping away the streaks of tears on her cheeks. “When she comes back next month, you can come with me. Be there for her too.”

Every one of her words settled deep into Bucky’s chest, like stones gently placed in water, not thrown. They carried weight, but they grounded him further. Through all the pain in learning about you, there was also gratitude and a flicker of hope.

He glanced down at your locket, then slowly looked up at Mandy with a quiet, almost disbelieving smile pulling at the corner of his lips. And then he nodded.

Mandy smiled back and wiped her face one more time. “I should open the store now,” she said, standing up while taking her phone out. “But here. Give me your number, and I’ll text you when Avery is back.”

With a small nod, he put the necklace in his pocket before reaching for her phone, but when he tapped the screen, he paused.

The screen couldn’t register his gloved fingers.

In any other situation, he would’ve shrunk—fumbled for an excuse or found a way to leave the room to put in his contact, or maybe even handed her phone back and asked her to type it instead. But after everything Mandy shared… Maybe you were right. 

Right to believe she was the kind of person worthy of carrying a tragic secret.

A small breath left his lips as he set the phone on the front desk before tugging off his gloves. He slid them into his pocket, then picked up her phone again, the cold surface tickling his right hand while making gentle tapping sounds with his left hand. Mandy watched his hands carefully as he entered his number, never saying a word but clearly in awe of his vibranium hand.

Then he handed her phone back and slightly grinned. “Thank you. For…everything.”

She turned her phone off with a smile, crooked but full of light once again. “I’m glad I could help. Bye, Bucky.”

And with a few steps, Bucky was back in the morning light, the cool air brushing against his face like a quiet reminder that the world kept moving despite how fractured he felt. While walking down the sidewalk, he pulled his gloves out and quickly put his left one back on, hiding his prosthetic and the horrors of his past. But before he slipped on his right glove, he paused in his steps.

Slowly, he reached into his pocket again and found the locket. He stared at it, feeling the delicate design yet sturdy material on his skin. Every second that passed felt heavier, weighed down by the truths he’d just learned—your curse, your history, your sacrifices.

But beneath that weight, there was something fiercer—a determination to protect you like how you’d always protected him. 

To be the person who brought you comfort again.

For so long, he waited—for answers, for clarity, for you—but now he realized that waiting wasn’t enough.

He couldn’t wait anymore. He didn’t want you to wait anymore either.

His fingers tapped on his phone screen, looking for a number he frequently called, and brought the phone to his ear. The line rang, then it clicked.

“Hey, Buck.”

“Hey,” he greeted with a quiet breath. “Are you able to come to Brooklyn any time soon?”

<><><>

“You’re free.”

That couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible.

But still, Bucky slowly looked up at Ayo, his whole body trembling underneath all of his burden.

She smiled at him and nodded.

“You’re free.”

He broke.

A sudden, raw sob tore from his throat as he doubled forward, tears falling hard and fast without any shame. He squeezed his eyes shut, face twisted in disbelief as he cried not from weakness, but from surviving something impossible.

He didn’t care how he looked, nor did he try to stop his tears. For the first time in years, his mind was his own, his body no longer moved like it belonged to someone else. No more triggers in his mind or commands pulsing through his nerves. No more fingers tangled in his hair or palms smacking his cheeks.

No more unwanted touches or whispers in his ears.

Ayo didn’t move as he sobbed with a fist against his lips. She simply stood a few feet away, watching him through a veil of quiet joy. She didn’t speak or interrupt—she just let him fall apart in the middle of his healing, feeling himself staggering in his freedom.

It was messy, overwhelming, and so beautiful.

And it was all because of you.

He was free because of you. After seventy years of brainwashing, torture, and assassinations, he was free.

Back in D.C., the control had been broken. But the silence in his mind had still felt temporary, uncertain, like HYDRA’s voice could return at any moment.

But now the leash had been snapped.

You had sacrificed everything—your safety, your body, your future—to make sure he didn’t have to live like that anymore. You gave him your time, your strength, your trust. You bled for him, broke for him.

You cried for him.

And now, within his own tears, he was finally free.

Yes, he knew that he would still have to face his nightmares and sins—all of the wrongdoings he committed as the Winter Soldier—but now, he could face them with his own mind. His own hands and heart. 

He wouldn’t have to worry about losing control again.

He was truly free.

Bucky let out another breathless smile as Ayo finally approached him with ease. He tilted his head up, matching the gentle light in her eyes.

“Thank you,” he breathed.

She lightly shook her head. “This was not me. It was all you.”

Then she reached into a pouch, her fingers closing around something small before taking it out.

She opened her palm, and Bucky’s eyes softened.

The locket.

It had been their failsafe.

From the first day Bucky woke up, Ayo had seen how attached he was to this particular jewelry. And through his recovery, it had been with him, worn tucked under his shirt, clutched in the darkest nights. Ayo had noticed it early on—how he’d pulled it out of his backpack that first day like it was something sacred, his fingers trembling around it.

At first, she didn’t understand. It was just a necklace that was discolored and simple. Why would an assassin—someone who hadn’t been truly alive for decades—cling to something so small, so fragile? How could a necklace be so important to a man without memories?

She just didn’t understand.

So, imagine her surprise when he handed it to her before every session, instructing her to show it to him if anything went wrong. Even though she listened carefully, keeping the locket in a pouch, she just couldn’t believe that a piece of metal could do anything grand to pull his mind away from the controls of the sinners.

Until it did. Just once.

Out of the many sessions, there was only one time when the string of words got tangled too far into Bucky’s mind. All the other times, Ayo either ceased speaking those venomous words in time because she was quick to notice his mind shattering, or Bucky was pulled away, heaving on the ground from not being able to grasp his own body. 

Just once, Bucky disappeared.

Ayo had never been the type to be afraid. But then the Winter Soldier took one look at her, and she froze—the one thing she was specifically taught not to do by her captain. The assassin’s gaze pierced into her soul, firmly grasping it as he got ready to tear it apart.

When she reached for the pouch, the Winter Soldier lunged at her, his hand reaching for her arm as she leaped back. Luckily, she managed to rip the locket from the pouch and held it out in front of him, but still got ready to slash his leg with her spear as a piece of jewelry couldn’t possibly—

She faltered when the assassin froze in his tracks.

He stood up straight, his wavering gaze now piercing the locket. Slowly, Ayo stepped closer, offering the locket from her hand. Eventually, he slowly took it and stared down at it while she kept a careful eye on him. But when he looked up, she lowered her weapon in shock to see Bucky staring back at her.

And he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

It was as if he never changed. Never switched into the Winter Soldier. Maybe he was right to be afraid of the idea that he and the assassin never were separate entities—that they were one and the same. It had haunted him, led him to believe that the person he was—the boy before the missions, the training, the blood on his hands—had been so smothered by nothing but the vessel remained. One body for one weapon.

Bucky hoped that the Winter Soldier was someone else—a shadow that borrowed his face. It made the guilt easier to carry, as it allowed him to divide the blame. But over time, he found that the boundaries had blurred when he still could remember all of his kills, utilize all of his skills, and feel all of his pain.

For so long, that idea made him sick.

But…

Then he thought about you.

Maybe it was true that Bucky and the Winter Soldier were one person. That they both shared the agony of being a brainwashed puppet.

Bucky always tried to claw himself out of the Winter Soldier, but the assassin also always tried to dig deeper to reach him. In a way, they had tried to meet halfway.

This body—if he had been the one to pull the trigger, then he was also the one who flinched. He had followed orders, but also broke from them. He had killed, but also protected.

Fought for his life, but also tried to defend yours.

Both Bucky and the Winter Soldier felt the joy of seeing you—the pain of losing you—the hope of having you. Maybe…if this body was capable of all that destruction, then he was just as capable of rebuilding something from it.

Not quite Bucky Barnes, or the Winter Soldier.

But yours. Your James.

The silver locket gleamed by the fire pit, soaked in Bucky’s tears as he smiled at it. He then opened it, running his thumb over the name.

Not as a weapon. Not as a machine.

But as a free man.

And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like two halves trying to rip each other apart. He just felt…whole.

God. He wanted to hug you. He wanted to run to you and wrap you in his arms, laughing as he told you all about his experience since D.C.

That he tried to live, just like you wanted him to, and learned so much about what it meant to be alive again. To have a choice and a say. A preference and dislike.

He got to be human. No longer a puppet, but a real boy.

Bucky pressed his lips against the locket, closing his eyes as the fire now felt so warm against his frozen body.

You would show up again. He firmly believed that, and he would wait for you as long as it took. And finally, when you’d show up one day, maybe he could finally thank you for everything.

Maybe you'd both be whole, for once, in the same place and time, no longer needing to be ghosts to one another.

Maybe…

He’d get to love you freely from now on.

NEXT CHAPTER >

AN: One of my readers on AO3 named Multipazz made this amazing fanart for me! I'm so happy to see art being made because of my art. Thank you, Multipazz, for this gorgeous piece of work! ❤️

Taglist! @a-century-of-sass @clemicious @fallenxjas @paryl @frog-fans-unite @sebastians-love @buckvoidsyy @nj01 @avengersgirllorianna @western-nightss @chonkybonky @weasleyswheezeys @balatroaddict @herejustforbuckybarnes @redtaytan @lilfuturescars @glossy01 @starstruckfirecat @moon-shampoo @buckysdoll1940 @rainbowpr1sm @phoenix666stuff @hangingmooncloud @ajanauia @maribirdsteele

Thanks for reading :)

[endlesslyhyperfixating]

I don't want people to just think that i'm a chronic shipper for the sake of shipping. Or that I don't "understand the point" of The Bear. Or all of my shipping habits is only in spite of the misogynoir-ist Bear fans who claim Sydney is annoying and therefore unlovable or undeserving of love.

It's because, she's such a beautifully fleshed-out character. She holds so much of herself back and doesn’t open her walls to anybody. She really only relies on her dad, and even then, she hates the feeling of someone worrying about her. And it's one of the realest qualities to any character I've ever had the pleasure of seeing and watching within a piece of media..

So yeah, okay, I ship Sydney with three different guys on the show (I see the SydRichie potential, SydLuca, c'mon they're cute, and OBVIOUSLY Sydcarmy..) (yes, you can LOL) because I think they could all bring her out of her shell in different ways.

And this is not in an “oh, she’s dependent on another person and the show is totally a romance” kinda way , and no not in a "I think in order for her character to be fully fleshed out she needs a romantic interest"— but in a way that recognizes romance is in fact a large part of most people’s lives. And as a well-written character, she deserves a well-written arc that includes her allowing herself to be loved. Cherished. Adored. The way she deserves. The way that she's denied herself. The way that she's closed herself off to. Time and time again. (Her dodging Carmen's obvious about-to-be-ask-out in season two, or the way that she blew off his "I like this" statement just this season)

She’s done so much good for every single one of the other characters. So yeah, fucking sue me if I think:

Luca and his charm and openness to learning and skill and flirtatiousness could make her more confident

Richie’s commitment to growth could open a space for real honesty between them and their connections growth to shift and become something more together (-this I'm kind eh on but I def see the appeal and the potential some of y'all have pointed out)

Or, (as my shameless favorite): Carmen.

Carmen, the damaged, youngest, most driven, most “I-have-something-to-prove-even-when-I-don’t,” the self-destructive and the caring, the altruistic yet insanely flawed young man, could grow alongside Sydney.

In what has the potential to be one of the most beautifully written dynamics in TV history.

The most complex, D1 yearner, and developed relationships to be told in a story already so deep and complex and human.

To have the upper middle-class Italian white youngest son, Carmen, with ambition and anger and years of pent-up emotion, to choose financially struggling Black woman, Sydney, who had to fight to become an absolutely, deliciously impressive chef in a predominantly white male industry. (meta tagged below) And for her to choose him back.

And to be together. Create together.

To hold each other (accountable, and in love)

in consistent apologies, and growth, and change, in discomfort and in the face of adversity.

To keep choosing each other.

To be each other’s partners.

And yeah, none of this is even from a technical or meta mind. This isn't an analysis or a deep set and heavily researched post to show you guys the evidence of how the show will show her love.. it's honestly just a rant at this point. I defend and love Sydney's character so hard and I believe so deeply she deserves the love she avoids and she deserves to be held and looked at longing and lovingly the way she really, already is. And to be okay with it and not only okay with it but to accept it and love it right back.

---

I alluded to a lot of ideas brought up in a couple metas I've read the past few days in this rant so I'll tag 'em here:

@whenmemorydies "system" works

@habaritess "I like this" was a confession

@yannaryartside "why Sydney is the bear..."

[embracethecringeside]

Other people were saying they hope to see Morty die this season so they can see Ricks reaction. But I feel like we've spent most of the show exploring the way Rick experiences grief, have we not?

Now Rick dying this season .... I think I'm much more interested in that. And it's been somewhat foreshadowed, I mean when he meets Karen and Doug in Cryo Mort a Rickver the doctor tells them he's close to death and has very little time left. They spend the episode wanting to spend as much time together as possible and are so happy to hear Rick say he loves them before he dies.

In Ricker than Fiction when he and Morty die, the Robotrees have a funeral for them and give them gravestones. Morty's grave is much more impersonal being labeled as "Son of Thistle" meanwhile Rick's grave actually has his name on it. Rick Sanchez. It's covered in flowers. He was loved.

We have seen Rick die before but not really in any meaningful way, he always has a failsafe. Part of this is he's one of the main titular characters, it means he can't die forever or the show is just over (and he's going through a huge transformation as a character as well which isn't going to be over anytime soon).

I do think this show could still pull off Rick's death in a way that would make it impactful to the story even knowing he'll come back.

Even though I'm not sure how that would happen, I can think of a couple of just half baked ideas.

Self sacrifice, which has been hinted at a few times before (season 2 when he gives Morty his collar, season 6 when he's acting as Pissmaster and gives the illusion that he died a hero, season 8 episode 2 when he exposes himself to the virus and tests out his own vaccine on himself before giving it to Beth, season 8 episode 3 Homesteader Rick sacrifices himself for the Mortys, and most recently season 8 episode 7, Rick sacrifices himself and Morty when they are cornered and Rick no longer wishes to betray anyone.)

The Rickbot in season 6 reveals an interesting view into Rick's mind surrounding death as well. At first, it seems the robot is in distress simply because he is lying to his family and he doesn't want to do that. However, after the truth is revealed, he doesn't feel unburdened, he wants to die. Instead of wishing for forgiveness, he welcomes the idea of his family killing him, as though he feels he deserves it. Everyone but Morty is involved in this, which I think is significant.

We see this idea played around with again in the Curious Case of Bethjamin Button, when the Beth's turn Rick so old he can hardly move on his own and beat him up, he's proud of them for doing so.

Morty has beaten Rick up twice this season, and neither time has he done or said anything about it. As Rick is starting to see the damage he's caused his family, he's starting to see less and less of a reason to defend himself. He doesn't want to be that destructive person anymore, and feels he deserves any treatment he receives.

Back in Look Who's Purging Now, Morty states he's going to kill Rick. In the season 3 premiere for a moment he really believed he shot and killed Rick. In the season 4 premiere he accidentally killed Rick when he crashed the car.

Of course this all could be irrelevant to the rest of the season, but I think there's a possibility we'll see either Rick die by sacrificing himself, or by Morty's hand.

[mozzaremi]

[pergaminaa]

I love how Manon cares for her Thirteen??? In Queen of Shadows when she wanted to know more about the valg and everything she went to Ghislaine because she is the one with the knowledge and just-- I love how she knows where each one of them excels and she doesn't think herself too high and mighty to seek help from others? Sure, she won't do this with anyone, but her Thirteen are literally her family and she trusts them to a great degree.

There is just something about her seeking Ghislaine's help and sitting there listening to her explain the history of the world. It was a small scene but it revealed so much of her character like from that you can easily tell that she isn't like the Matron at all because the Matron would never do that to anyone who she deems is beneath her. First, it was Abraxos, then this scene in Queen of Shadows and we can already see that Manon is not quite as she paints herself to be.

[shannonsketches]

lays on the floor do you guys ever think about how in ResF Bulma falls for Vegeta's fake-out with Freeza and both she and Yamcha are worried about Vegeta's villain fake-out strategy in Champa and Beerus' mini tournament and how it's only been a couple of years since the Buu saga and how Vegeta straight up stopped using that strategy after that tournament

[luna-azzurra]

10 Lies Your Character Believes About Themselves (And They’d Die Before Admitting It)

These aren't the fun, Disney Channel lies like “I'm just a regular girl” while literally being a secret pop star. These are the ugly ones. The ones that get in your character’s blood and start rewriting their whole life without them noticing.

» “If people really knew me, they'd leave.” Not "might." Would. No question. So they smile bigger. They edit harder. They keep conversations surface-level. All while carrying this bone-deep certainty that love is conditional... and they are dangerously close to failing the test.

» “I have to earn every good thing.” Rest? Happiness? A day without guilt? They treat those things like prizes at the end of a brutal obstacle course. No one told them they could just have good things. No strings. No blood price. (So they keep bleeding anyway.)

» “I'm too much.” Too loud. Too intense. Too sensitive. Too complicated. They know it. They've been told. So now they pull themselves in, hold their breath, bite back everything real until they barely take up space at all. (And ironically, they still think they’re being "too much.")

» “I'm not enough.” Neat little trick, right? They’re both "too much" and "not enough" at the same time. Magic. They're convinced everyone else got the secret manual for how to be lovable and they somehow missed it.

» “If I'm strong enough, nothing can hurt me.” They call it resilience. Other people call it stubbornness. Reality calls it self-destruction. They've mistaken numbness for healing and independence for invulnerability. But hurt still gets in. It just hits harder when it’s been bottled up for years.

» “I’m responsible for everyone's happiness.” Caretaker. Peacemaker. Therapist friend. Emotional sponge. They’ve appointed themselves as everyone's safety net, believing that if they don’t hold everything together, everything will fall apart. (Newsflash: it's not their circus, and it never was.)

» “I don't need anyone.” Need is a dirty word. It’s weak. It’s dangerous. So they white-knuckle their way through life, collecting scars and pretending it’s freedom. But late at night? In the dark? They’d sell their soul for someone to just... stay.

» “I'm the villain in someone else's story and they might be right.” They know they've hurt people. Made bad calls. Left damage. And no matter how much good they do now, some part of them whispers, You don’t get to come back from that.

» “My best days are behind me.” Whether they peaked in high school, lost their shot at something important, or just carry a chronic ache of nostalgia, they believe it’s too late. That nothing good can be built from where they are now. (Which, ironically, makes them waste even more time.)

» “This is as good as it gets.” They settle. For bad love. Boring jobs. Half-dead dreams. They tell themselves it's "realistic." "Mature." "Practical." But underneath? It's fear. It's heartbreak. It's the quiet belief that hope is something they can’t afford anymore.

[suhosieun]

it’s genuinely wild how often weak hero gets reduced to "bromance,” like the story is just about a particularly intense friendship and not something far more complicated, far more intimate. this isn't just shippers projecting. this isn't just wishful thinking. you don’t need the director and cast members repeatedly claiming that suho and sieun are each other's first love to interpret that on your own. the narrative already tells you—quietly, devastatingly, and with absolute clarity.

the queer subtext isn’t subtle. it’s not hidden in glances or throwaway lines. it’s built into the structure of their relationship, in every decision they make. suho knew beomseok had tampered with his bike. that wasn’t just bullying; it was a premeditated act of violence. he knew what kind of danger he was walking into when he went to the ring, and he went anyway. alone. outnumbered. no illusions. he knew he could die. but he went. because they hurt sieun. because sieun got hurt for him.

that’s their language. not confession, but action. not sentiment, but sacrifice. die for each other. kill for each other.

and sieun, who had always been defined by his discipline, his detachment, his spotless academic record? he lets himself spiral. he got expelled. stopped eating. stopped sleeping. stopped going to cram school. when he found out suho was in critical condition, he froze in the middle of the street and didn’t move, even with a car speeding toward him. as if life without suho wasn’t a life worth returning to.

he came back from a coma asking for suho, looking for him. suho was already in one because of him. they revolve around each other like twin stars caught in gravity’s pull—self-destructive, unstoppable, and impossibly close. love doesn’t always look like romance, but that doesn’t make it less real. or less queer.

so no, it’s not just a bromance. and if that’s all you see—if you can watch all of that and not feel the weight of what’s being said without words? then i'm sorry, but you’ve missed the entire point.

[tokoyamisstuff]

I know you only write for dilfs usually, but could you make an exception? I'm starved for Invincible content🥺

so many perfectly fine dilfs /gilfs in this series, smh...but for you I'll make an exception. 💌

Variant! Invincible x gn! Reader

Second Chance At Love

...in which another version of Mark invaded your world to claim something he once lost.

Warnings: angst, unrequited love, yandere adjacent, blood, kidnapping, murder, not proofread A/N: I didn't specify which variant, pick your poison

This is it. That’s how you’ll die.

One of innumerable casualties in the wake of this surreal destruction, caused by no one else than the man you were still helplessly in love with. Well, at least the people responsible for this chaos all wore his stupidly handsome face, though the innocence in his eyes despite everything being long since absent in theirs.

You’re cowering in a corner of the nearest safehouse, huddled in there with countless other civilians as you start to reminisce and regret in the face of doom.

Maybe you should have told Mark about your feelings after all. Not that there ever was an appropriate moment to do so, between his relationship with Amber and Eve seamlessly afterwards. Both were amazing women in their own right, and you could never think of comparing yourself to either of them. But damn it you couldn’t even be mad at those wonderful two, even through all your jealousy.

Mark and you had been childhood friends ever since you had moved into the same neighborhood as a preteen. It was a storybook-like friendship that eventually turned into a one-sided infatuation as you grew older, but not wanting to ruin your friendship you cowardly suppressed them until it was too late.

And when your friend's powers finally awakened, you found the perfect opportunity to end this bond once and for all.

You remember it as if it was yesterday: His face, so full of shock and hurt as you broke out in tears and told him you couldn’t do this anymore. It wasn’t a complete lie.

Being this close to a literal hero made you a walking target, you claimed. Even if you as an individual are insignificant in the greater picture, even if villains wouldn’t try and hurt you to get through to him, conflict seemed to follow him everywhere, so you’ll most likely get into harm’s way at some point.

It was a cheap excuse to hide the pitiful truth that you couldn’t stand to see him build a life with someone else. And in hindsight you hated yourself for having done this. Invinc- Mark had gone through so much already, suffered great losses and was carrying guilt that weighed so heavy it astonished you that he hasn’t yet broken down under all the pressure.

And to add insult to injury, you - one of his closest and most trusted friends - abandoned him out of a selfish hurt that didn’t even make up a fraction of what he felt on the regular.

Enough self-pitying. You’re not the victim here.

If – by any miracle – you survive this, the first thing you’ll do is make things right. Contact him immediately, explain yourself, and promise to overcome this silly crush to be a friend he deserves this time.

But just when you made up your mind, a loud, grating noise cut through your pondering…

…and when you looked up, you were horrified to see the view of a bright night sky.

That meant someone had not only found this place, but also effortlessly tore off the rooftop which was made up of strengthened steel.

For the fraction of a second, when your eyes met all too familiar ones, a naive hope inside of you thought it was your Invincible that had arrived, worried for your safety. But the vastly different costume – covered with blood and viscera - reminded you painfully that again it’s just wishful thinking. A dream that would never become reality, no matter how long you refuse to acknowledge it. This world’s Mark is probably fighting alongside Eve right now, not wasting a single thought about you, and you couldn't blame him.

The Viltrumite scanned the crowd for god knows what, his face falling flat as his gaze fell on you. A flash of recognition flickered in his eyes, just to be replaced by an almost predatory glint.

“Found you!” his tone was oddly cheerful, yet sent a shiver down your spine as you could barely perceive him lunging at you with his sheer inhumane speed. You were sure that now you’ll experience pain beyond your greatest imagination, praying he'd make it quick...

...but much to your surprise the impact never came.

Instead you found yourself high in the air, fighting the nausea rising in the pit of your stomach due to the way too fast ascend. Beneath you the outline of the collapsing safehouse became blurred by darkness and distance, the dust driving tears in your eyes even long after the rubble drowned out everyone's screams.

“He’ll drop me” is the only thought present in your mind, feeling tremendously selfish for not caring about the others whose death you just witnessed. Yes, soon this sociopath will make you fall to your death and laugh at your misery like it’s some kind of wicked game.

And you deserved it either way, didn’t you?

Maybe you disappointed Mark in other realities as well. That must be it, that’s the reason he went out of his way just to find you – to get his revenge for you abandoning him in his darkest hour.

Your first instinct was to scream and lash out at him, and yet you knew trying to oppose a force of nature like him was to no avail. So with no other options you cling to your captor like a lifeline.

Clutching the fabric of his costume in tight fists, you hide your face in the crook of his neck, desperately trying to shun out the reality of your situation. Your behavior earns a low chuckle from the villain, who in return wraps his arms a little tighter around you as he carries you through the sky nearly bridal style.

“Don’t tell me your Mark never brought you flying with him?” he asked nonchalantly, as if any of this wasn’t an absolutely terrifying concept for you. Concerned at your lack of response, he slowed down in midair, gently squeezing your sides. “Hey, it’s okay. I got you. We’re almost there.”

You wanted to ask where to exactly, but your voice failed you each time you tried. So you stayed cradled against his muscular chest like this, trying your best to ignore the way you felt his gaze burning into you even though you refused to open your eyes.

“There we are” he announced, carefully letting you down. And still, as soon as your legs touched solid ground again they gave up and you fell to your knees right away. Initially this foreign Mark wanted to help you, to catch you in his arms once again and reassure you that everything was gonna be alright - but upon seeing tears dwelling in your eyes he knew he had to stop himself, hands falling loosely to the sides and balling to fists in mild frustration.

For a while you remained like this, staring at each other in awkward silence while a storm of conflicting emotions was raging beneath.

“You’re safe here” Mark ultimately spoke, and looking around this place really did seem rather peaceful compared to what you've seen in the news. “The others won’t attack rural areas. We were ordered to destroy main cities and crucial infrastructures mainly.”

“By whom?” The question was burning on your tongue but it died right there, because what does it matter? Knowing wouldn’t make any difference since you couldn’t change the outcome anyways. So instead you ask “Why…why did you bring me here?”

You were already dreading the answer as your mind conjured concerning possible scenarios, however the variant merely gave you a confused puppy gaze that almost made you forget the threat he posed.

“Isn’t it obvious?” He sheepishly rubs the back of his head, avoiding your eyes. “I wanted to get you before the others would."

That sounded more like a subtle threat than a honest reassurance.

“Please…don’t hurt me…” you beg and whimmer, overwhelmed by all the recent events. You’re shaking violently, tears now wettening your cheeks. The mere sight of it - and knowing he’s responsible - shatters what’s left of his rotten heart.

“Wha- of course I won’t-" He nervously paces around, wildly gesticulating as if he's struggling to put his thoughts into words - seems like they all do have similarities after all. "Oh man, sorry. You know I suck at comminicating! Shit, I fucked up the first impression already..."

Continuing to mumbles inaudible ramblings under his breath, he grips a pillar so harshly that it's combined to dust, making you shuffle even farther away from him.

“Nonononono, please don’t be afraid of me!" he yells so loud that you wince, and the fact that he keeps making things worse upsets him even more. "I could never hurt you, I swear!"

The man in front of you looks utterly devastated, and you can't put your finger on why that is or what you have to do with it.

After all, you're no one important, especially to him. Right?

At first keeping his distance, he hesistantly approaches you while simultaneously trying to appear as harmless as possible. Hands raised in a placating manner, voice calm and quiet, he whispers "I'm so, so sorry...I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's- it's okay..." you stammer feebly to appease him, your body still paralyzed by fear. A small squeal escapes your throat as you feel his palm stroke your cheek, the blood sticking to his gloves drying on your skin.

The former hero was watching you intently, face contorting through a mixture of relief and despair. But there was something else about him - the Mark you knew never acted like this. It's probably only your imagination, but he's so...

Before you could finish your line of thoughts, he closes the gap between you and his lips crashed over yours in sheer exasperation. You could feel the heat radiating off of him as he pulled you close, the barely contained strenght of his grip both frightening and thrilling.

"Damn...I keep fucking up" he blurts out, an enamored smile playing on his lips nonetheless. "Sorry for...well, this...got a bit carried away."

It was such a bizarre view: Someone possessing an indescribable strenght, unmatched on nearly the whole universe, being reduced to a stuttering, blushing mess in the presence of a pathetic human.

He was still holding you, without any intent to let you go any time soon, blissfully unaware - or rather ignorant - of how insane this whole situation actually was.

"I always wanted more than friendship, you know?" He confessed this so casually, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world - and opposed to all logic you felt your heart flutter at his words. "But in my world I never had the guts to confess...I was too afraid to lose you completely in case you don’t reciprocate."

You shouldn't feel guilty that you briefly thought back about the Mark you once knew, wondering if he ever felt the same, and yet you did. As if you owed the one in front of you right now some kind of loyality just because he was currently pouring his heart out.

No. Stop. What are you doing here? This isn't right!

The man in front of you is a homicidal maniac who did god knows what to his homeworld, and caused mayhem and suffering across the whole globe without any remorse, just to...

...yeah, why exactly?

As if your thoughts were clearly written on your forehead, he tries to explain himself, expression turning somber as he spoke.

"Back at my world I made some mistakes- no. I did so many irredeemable, atrocious things...and I only understood what truly mattered after I already lost it...after I lost you because of my actions. But I won't repeat those errors again, I swear. I promise I'll keep you safe and sound at my side to cherish you forever..."

You shouldn't feel anything but hatred and disgust at his display, yet you couldn't help but pity this forlorn, broken shell of a man that clutched you like a child would cling to their soothing blanket.

"This world's Mark, he...doesn't appreciat you." His eyes were manic, bordering on pure madness and you felt his fingers possessively digging into your flesh just shy of being painful. "But me, I would erase as many planets as it takes if only it meant being able to hold you like this for another day."

This man was truly a wolf in sheeps clothing - a vicious, instable monster that could snap any time shall your reaction not appeal to his delusions. All that's left for you to do is playing the part and hoping that the remnant of his humanity was enough to postpone a horrible fate.

So instead of answering you quietly sobbed in his vice-like embrace, tears mixing with the stains of death on his costume. You felt him rubbing soothing circles on your back, so tender and tentative you wondered just how long it's been since those hands had inflicted anything but pain.

Who would've thought that getting the one thing you had wished for an eternity could turn into a literal nightmare?

[Next Part]

[yoonlyhan]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ in which itoshi sae confesses to you— who's 5 years older than him.

he confessed. so why are you panicking like you were the one who did it?

“calm down, you're acting like we have a 10 year gap.”

“we have a 5 year gap.”

sae raised an eyebrow at you. “so? not a 10 year gap. what's the problem now?”

you darted your eyes at him as you try to breathe slowly. all while sae sips tea from a small cup, seemingly calm from the situation that brings you destruction in your peace of mind.

“the problem is—” you brush your hair up with a sigh. “you liking a woman who's older than you.”

“that's your problem?” he scoffed. “how can that be your problem? it's not like you're responsible for someone who likes you?”

sae tilts his head, almost like he's teasing you. his lips didn't show it but his eyes clearly smirked. and you're definitely not imagining it.

“are you really that bothered being liked by someone like me? last time, you were really being noisy how you're getting older and it's too late for you to get married and stuff.”

you gasped with your furrowed brows. “i did not! i was just saying that i was getting older. don't make me the dramatic one here.”

“really now?”

sae stood up and walked closer to you. he had his hands inside his pocket while he looks at you... and you just can't handle the way he looks meaningful at you so you turned around and grabbed your sling bag.

“forget it. you're probably just confused.” you said.

“i'm confused?” sae replied with a hint of sarcasm.

you turned your head around to look at him. your lips pursed as sae narrowed his eyes at you.

“you didn't even know how much of a headache you are ever since i've thought about it.” sae rolls his eyes and goes back to sit on his chair. “don't go pointing fingers, y/n. you're the confused one here and clearly—”

he glanced at you. “you deny to acknowledge it.” then sips his tea.

you clenched your jaw. “i'm not.”

lies. you were in denial the whole time.

“stop making our age a huge deal.”

“it is a huge deal, sae.”

“you were acting like it's the end of the world. it's ridiculous, really.” he shakes his head.

“it will be. to say that japan's football prodigy is dating a woman half a decade older is—” you tsked. “not good for a rising star for you.”

sae scoffed, he glances at you with a pointed look. “you already thinking of dating me already? thought you don't date younger men.”

you pursed your lips, unable to talk back at him. you avoided his eyes and slowly walks to the door.

“i don't and i won't.”

you twist the door knob and walked out of the room, feeling the weakness in your knees makes you wanted to run away from everything. and just as you were fully closing the door, you heard sae lingering words.

“fool your self more, idiot.”

masterlist ♡

© written by @yoonlyhan. don't plagiarise my content. u will be blocked :x

credits to @strangergraphics for the wonderful divider ♡

[nightingale-prompts]

Saving Batboy

First | Previous | Next

It was as though he was being led through the city. Dick seemed to know exactly where he should go next as he drove.

Dick turned off his location as he closed in on Joker's location. If anyone had doubts about what would happen tonight they knew now. The clown dies tonight.

Batman never did it because he knew there would be no coming back once he crossed that line but he was not Batman.

Tim knew the moment Nightwing's symbol disappeared that he had found Joker's location. He knew he could track him still based on where he was before but he held off. The last time Dick crossed the line and killed the Joker, Tim was there to stop him. In the time since Tim had grown to regret it. Especially after Jason's return. He should be avenged after everything that happened.

Tim never put much thought into what happened when he was kidnapped just like Danny. Joker Jr was just a nightmare and everyone pretends it didn't happen. His past self doesn't exist to him and the gaps in his memory are better as they are.

If Dick was really going to finish this then Tim wasn't going to stop him. Bruce's code was his code alone. What of the Robins that suffer for it? What about his kids that he loves to the point of self-destruction if they die?

It was clear to Tim now. Batman isn't strong enough to kill Joker. If he can't handle it, someone else would.

Maybe Dick just cared more. Or maybe he had seen this happen too many times to sit by and let it happen again. The cost be damned.

Tim took a deep breath. He knew it was a bad move but he shut down the bat computer. No one could locate each other for the next 10 minutes. Enough time to give Dick the lead he really needs. All the comms are down and no information can be shared.

Tim looked up and saw Alfred putting down a cup of tea for him. Tim felt like a child caught doing something wrong under Alfred. But Alfred nodded wordlessly before turning to leave. He cast a forlorn glance at Jason's robin uniform before ascending the stairs.

****

"I was hoping Batman would come for the little bat. Oh sorry, I mean the boy." Joker mocked holding Danny by the back of the neck.

The teen's body was limp. His silver locks stained a rusty brown from dried blood. Blood covered his back and legs. If there had been any doubt if the wings were real there is none now.

"…" Nightwingwing said nothing. His fist clenched.

"You know I debated skinning him next. That fur of his would be a lovely shawl. It's so soft. But it looks like I won't have the time now." Joker provoked, running a hand through the boy's white neck fur.

"Get your hands off him." Nightwing demanded, his eyes locked on Danny for any signs of life.

"You know I am so curious what he was doing here. I was about to build a new trap here for fun when I stumbled upon this little guy here. Practically gift-wrapped. Did he run away from you? Just like you did from good ol'papa bat." Joker's smile widened sickeningly "This all feels so familiar, doesn't it little bird? Are you going to finish what you started?"

"I'm never letting you hurt my family again." No witty one-liners. No games. This bad joke ends today.

****

Batman had scoured the area. He memorize the last location Dick was before the system went down. He wasn't these kids' father for nothing he knew what they were doing.

When sound came back he had already made it to the abandoned factory. The comms rang back to life as the sounds of crying came through.

"Nononono…please no. Wake up. Please wake up." It was Dick's voice. "It's okay. I'm here now. So just wake up. We need to get home soon. Your favorite show will be on soon. WAKE UP! YOU CAN'T DIE!"

Batman bolted to their location and found Dick hovering over Danny trying to resuscitate him.

His son looked at him with pleading eyes.

"I can't hear his heart. He's not breathing." He let out a shaky breath. As distressed tears ran down his cheeks.

Bruce knelt next to them. Danny didn't react to the pressure on his chest. The pain should have at least caused an involuntary jerk if he wasn't too far gone.

Bruce signaled Dick to move back as he checked Danny's pulse again. Nothing. And he wasn't breathing. Bruce looked at his son. Deep down Dick probably knew.

"I'm sorry. He's gone." Bruce said simply as he took off his cloak.

Danny looked so peaceful. Like he was sleeping soundly. Bruce hated that his own suspension had been the thing that had prevented him from having a relationship with his own grandson. He felt foolish to not realize that of course Danny and Batboy were the same. It was a brilliant disguise. But he'd never get to say this to the boy.

Bruce wrapped the boy in his cloak.

"Come on. We'll fix this." He told Dick, carrying Danny for him.

The journey back to the manor was silent until.

"I'm sorry." Bruce said.

"Don't. Just Don't. He's my son. Its my fault." Dick rasped his voice scratchy from crying.

Bruce felt a bitter sting. That was exactly what he felt when he lost Jason and what happened with Tim. When Damian lost his life. These pains didn't go away.

When they arrived back in the Batcave Bruce laid Danny's body on the table. The others were notified about what happened and had already gathered.

Barbara looked like she had bawled her eyes out as she hugged Stephanie.

Damian had pressed himself close to Tim as the older brother told him that it was going to be okay.

The new hole in the wall was clearly Jason if his bloodied knuckles were any clues.

Cassandra paced the floor deep in thought. She was moments away from starting a new crusade.

Duke stared off into the distance. His anger boiling under the surface. All he could think about was the number of lives ruined by the Joker and even in death he took another.

Dick stood still as a statue. Thinking about if Danny could be brought back and even if he was his wings were gone. What if he was gone for good? Could he live like that?

Never had he understood Bruce more than in that moment.

Bruce braced himself for what would come next. He had a plan to bring Danny back at any cost.

But suddenly a sound broke through the tension.

A sneeze.

A fucking sneeze.

It came up from under the cloak.

Everyone snapped to look at the body hidden under the cloak. It shifted under the heavy black blanket groggily and yawned. Then Danny jumped up twisting to feel his back.

"What happened!!" He yelped.

[kenwio]

Joker's kid! reader : how batfamily would react on them trying to end their life

Route : recovered dove

Please read warnings before reading this one!

If you do not feel like reading it, it's okay! (Spoilers will be at the end of this part) Please have tea or hot cocoa, and read relax 💖 and remember there are people who care and support you 💖 I'll be posting more fluff in future parts

Warnings : heavy topics, mentions of death, implications of self-destructive behavior and suicidal behavior, hurt/comfort, traumatized characters.

Idea for this part from this ask here . I also used this idea for comfort part form here

Author's note : I'm including this part in route: Recovered dove only because I want to show that mental healing of Joker's kid is a long way, it had ups and downs, but in the end they have family who acres about them now.

You don't know what exactly triggered it. Maybe it was the fact that everyone started discussing break out in Arkham asylum instead of the usual breakfast convention, maybe it was how Bruce said he didn't have time for you, maybe it was how Alfred was distant today, so you thought something wrong, maybe it was that Dick ignored you today, maybe it was that Jason's aggressive demeanor when you saw him, maybe it was Tim's comment when you brought him coffee, maybe it was Damian's harshness when you meet him near your room today.

That all made you feel so lost. To see them all being unwelcoming to you again was overwhelming. Is it because your father is free again, and they thought you'd be helping him? Wait if your father is free... he will want you back. You don't want back! No! You don't want to be with him again! You do not want to be experimented on again, be beaten up by him again. You thought it was finally over, that you were taken away from that life, never to return. You thought you found family! Why does he have to ruin your life again? He drove her away from you already, the only person who protected you before Batman and his birds, the only person who was your family before them, your mom ... and now he is doing it again; he is taking your family away again! But were they your family? You thought that Bruce was thinking about you as his own child, you thought that Alfred was proud of your progress, you thought that Dick was happy to spend time with you, you thought that Jason was enjoying your shared reading time, you thought that Tim liked to study with you, you thought that Damian finally accepted you. Were you wrong? Was it all a lie? Did they want to use you as bait for your father? Or did they think you would be able to tell them something about him? Was that a reason why they got close to you? But now that they see they were wrong, and after they made sure you didn't know anything, they decided to drop the act?

Was it all a happy dream that's just ended? If it was a dream, you don't want to wake up to the nightmare of your previous life. You can't take the suffering anymore. You need to make it stop to end it, to end it all.

You didn't know how long you were in you were in your thoughts, when you got up. You wanted to live. The room that became your own, became your safe space now felt like JOKE. You needed to get away from it. You struggled to open the window, as it required much strength from your shaking hands. But you were persistent in your efforts to open it, and in the end window opened. You looked down, it was quite high, and you knew that for your body, which was unlike theirs, weak and fragile, it would be enough. You've seen a grown man die when he fell from his high back in a crime alley, so for you, it will definitely be enough. Oh, crime alley, you don't want to go there. You don't want to return to life with Joker. You stood up on the windowsill, looking at the green grass down, feeling the cold night wind against your skin. Your head felt heavy, ringing in your ears just made it all worse. You took one step, and you felt incredibly calm. You took another step, only to be pulled away from the windowsill on the ground and held up. You didn't register the loud voice, the way someone was shaking you. You just sit there staring at nothing in particular, not even able to cry because of how tired you are.

In the meantime, Damian, the one who pulled you away from the window, had already called everyone and was trying hard to make you snap out of it. Yet it was not helping. When Bruce arrived, he moved Damian, who was looking at you with extreme worry, aside. Bruce recognized your expression; he had seen it before - thousand-yard stare - your own mind was protecting you from whatever you were feeling. As he was trying to help you, holding you against him, trying to soothe you, the rest of the family arrived in your room, seeing scared Damian, worried Bruce, and you... you looked so broken. It was too hard on them all

A few hours later, when you fell asleep after you came to your senses and cried for a while, Bruce and others started figuring out what made you feel this way. And it didn't take long; they are a family of detectives, after all. And this all made them feel really bad, guilty. As it turned out, on this day, you were too unlucky to notice only the bad sides of things.

There wasn't any breakout In Arkham asylum. Turns out, the lead they were investigating turned out to be false. Bruce, indeed, was busy, but he failed to communicate this in the normal way: he only added that he would try to make some only by the time you stepped away, which he didn't notice. Alfred was distant because he had a migraine today, but he still wanted to work around the house; there were too many chores to be done in the Wayne manor. Dick didn't mean to ignore you, he was too tired after his few nights of being up and he just failed to notice your quiet presence, being too busy thinking about his bed. Jason was behaving aggressively because of the lead about break out from Arkham asylum, which was the one that he followed for his case, and since it was false; it took the case he was working on back to square one. Tim actually was mumbling about his case, quietly cursing criminals, and not you; just like Jason, he had too much trouble because of that stupid lead. Damian stepped in at the last second to help you avoid stumbling and falling when you were waking in your room, which resulted in his harshness to you, but you were too deep in your panic to notice that his gaze was more worried than angry. If Damian wouldn't have been worried and decided to check up on you... non of them want to think about it.

They spend night in your room and in the morning, they talked to you, communicating how things actually were the previous day, and expressing how important you were to them.

It was a shock to everyone. Even Bruce thought it was going fine, that your session was working and helping you, that you were feeling safe, and that your relationships with the rest of the family were getting better. And he knew that what happened damaged the whole family because they almost lost you. He regretted that he didn't phrase his words correctly, feeling like he failed to show his care for you. He knew he should have been careful with words, he knows how impactful they can be. And since he said he hadn't got time for you he started making time for you. He wants you to know that he cares for you and he will make time for you wherever you need him. His one daily check-up became 2 check-ups, and when he had more free time, he checked up more. He pays extra attention to you. Even your little sneeze will make him worried to the point of examination in a medbay. He stays with you, and sometimes talks with you, encouraging you to open up and share your opinion and feelings. He tries to lessen the influence of "bad guidelines" (that were with you because of Joker) in your head. He helps you talk through your feelings, helps you show them and process them. He reminds you that you are cared for now. And he promises that he will protect you. After hearing you out, learning your fears and insecurities, and when he learned out that most of all you are afraid to go by your father's way, he promises you that he will do everything in his power to prevent you from taking this way. Bruce wants you to be happy, to make good memories. You already got unlucky with your father, who made you experience hell, but Bruce will try to be the best Dad he can for you.

Alfred felt so guilty. He knew you needed care, but he was distracted. He feels like he let you down, by forgetting how fragile and sensitive you are. He knew you were struggling; he had seen it himself. If only he had paid you more attention. But Alfred, better than anyone else, knows that he shouldn't be focusing on the past; he needs to work on the present, and he needs to make sure you feel better. He makes sure to make you more happy while he can. It's always your favorite tea at the tea time you share, with his cookies, of course, which he bakes with you from time to time. It's always your comfort shows or documentaries on TV when you two watch something. He also makes sure no one dares to make you feel uncomfortable, even if it will make him look around like Hawk. But Alfred understands that he can't always be around; that's exactly why he makes sure that he teaches you at least a few techniques that would be able to help with worry and anxiety, and he practices them with you. You are his little star, who may be really quiet but still efficiently lights up his days, and he doesn't want to lose you. When you share that you are afraid your family will reject you, he personally goes to everyone, making sure that they won't be saying something that contains a message. He wants to see you all grown up and happy in the end; he will work hard to make sure your life in Manor will be good.

Even when Dick just heard how Damian called for help for you, he felt shocked, what to say when he saw and understood the situation. What do you mean his baby sibling tried to make their life end when he was blissfully unaware, sleeping in his old room? How? What he missed? Just a few days before, you seemed on your way to becoming the happy sunshine of a kid, and now that has happened? He is your older brother and he missed all the singes?! He needs to sit down. It's too hard to accept this version of reality for him. The reality is that he can lose another member of the family. He knows what it is like to lose a sibling, and he will never want to experience it or feel this pain again. And knowing that it's you who tried to end your life makes it all worse. He tries to understand what pushed you, trying to see what he can do to prevent this from happening. He also tries to distract you from all the negativity in your life with quality time and different activities. The incident shook him hard, and while he hoped to introduce you to cuddles differently, he had to do it now. He needs to make sure you are close, still warm, still safe, still alive. And it seemed like cuddling with him made you calmer; you didn't even realize how touch-starved you were until then. It became a sort of comforting ritual for both of you, cuddling, sometimes just cuddling, sometimes while watching something. While cuddling he often says sweet words of reassurance to you. And while he knows he can't stay in Manor forever, he makes sure you know that he is always here for you, just a call away.

Jason was mad at himself for allowing himself to snap at you earlier. He feels incredible guilt that he was the reason that you were in that state. For a few days after, he could only watch you in your room or living room until he talked about his feelings and the incident (how he calls it because he can't speak that out loud, it physically hurts him to admit it) with Bruce and Dick. He started slowly approaching you, continuing your reading sessions, but also, sometimes, he decided just to start talking with you. He shares with you his experiences in the crime alley, and you share yours; you both know that only you two in the whole family could understand the full horror of this place, and that's aside from the fact that both of you know the full horror of Joker. He says to you that you'll never become like him, because he sees you are different. Jason tries to comfort you, yet he knows he is not ideal in it, but he is willing to try as much as he can just for you. He can understand that you feel lonely; he can only imagine how lonely you get when all the family is busy with vigilante work. It got him thinking, remembering. He remembers times when he was still Robin, and sometimes, when he got hurt, he stayed in his room alone, and. he hated it. Back when Dick gifted him a plushie of a bat, and now, in another attempt to comfort you, he brings this old plushie to you. He tells you that this plushie kept him company and protected him from everything bad, and now it will protect you, and now you'll never be alone anymore; your family's love will be here for you.

Tim was second after Damian to arrive in your room. This sight horrified him. He just froze, in shock. For once, he didn't know how to act or what to do. After everyone made sure you were okay, and his brain began working again, he started to do what he knew best - investigating and researching to find ways of how to help you, trying them with you in the meantime. Art therapy? He tried to hold a few sessions with you. Special games? You both alredy beating third one. Special music? Here is his player, listen when you want. He becomes more attentive to you, noticing every little detail. He knows as a person who likes studies like him, you would want to learn more about your mental health and how to care about yours. He found a way to explain the basics of it all to you in a way that is easier for you to understand, and only when she reads articles (that he chose, of course) about mental health and coping mechanisms. You want to cuddle with him while reading? Good, he will do it (he is happy that Dick showed you how to cuddle and totally not jealous). You want to stay with him while he works? Okay, sure, he is here for you. He makes sure you can ask him anything; he reminds you that you are safe with him and with others. So when you ask about Arkham and your father there he makes sure to show you that Arkham is hard to get out (even if it's not true).

Damian didn't like how it felt to see you on the windowsill. He doesn't like how it feels to see you in this state. He doesn't like fear. But fear made one thing clear: he cares about you. He hadn't understood how important you became until that incident happened. You are his sibling, and even if he did not choose you, even if he was against the idea of you being in the family at first, now he knows you held a place in this family like everyone else. And now he knows that he will do everything in his power to make you safe; he will protect you even from yourself. He asked Bruce to install precautions in your room. He follows you like your shadow everywhere you go. He makes sure that there is no danger in your way. He checks up on how you sleep after patrols. He makes sure to be nicer when he is around you, and he heads to ask Father, Pennyworth, and Grayson how exactly to behave around you. He joins in Tim the research of ways for you to cope with traumas or ways to comfort you, and when he sees articles about how communicating with animals improves mental health, he brings Titus to you, and when he goes for walks with Titis he makes sure to take you on them too since he also found out that walks improve mental health, and since it's walking with Titus it's beneficial in double. He protects you and he cares for you even if he struggles with proving it

---------------------- ♤ ♡ ◇ ♧ ----------------------

Thank you for reading! Feel free to share your opinion and have a good day 💖

---------------------- ♤ ♡ ◇ ♧ ----------------------

Tag list :

@socially-embarrassing , @leovergurl , @deathbynarcisstick , @cryptic-arr0w , @lynns-cornerr , @cxcilla ,  @charlotteking23 , @ninihrtss , @lillycore , @pix-stuff , @tfamidoingwithmylife , @linoalwaysknows , @00hellohello00 , @lilithskywalker , @bagofrice , @lenaisaloser , @devilslittlehelper , @camilo-uwu , @l3v1us , @eyeless-kun , @stargazingbutgayer, @wpdarlingpan , @weirdothatreads , @maybea1 @lyla-viper-wayne @amber-content @lizzyzzn

if i forgot to add someone to the tag list, please let me know, and i will add you to the next part

---------------------- ♤ ♡ ◇ ♧ ----------------------

Spoiler:

Next chapter connected to this (click here) and after that I'll finally write about Joker's kid! reader hair dyeing adventures

[dreammfyre]

too sweet ⊹ ࣪ ˖ frank langdon

SUMMARY. You knew Langdon from the time you started your internship at The Pittsburgh. You knew that a working relationship with him was not going to be easy, he was self-centered and had a fixation with pointing out your mistakes until understood that’s his way of teaching. Frank wanted you be the best and let everyone know that he was responsible for making you the star. You didn't know what you were thinking when thought it was a love relationship, it had been years before the connection went beyond work. But it wasn't easy to deal with his unpredictable personality, until you got to see his vulnerable side.

WARNINGS. fluff and soft!langdon. frank x f!resident.

There were days and days in ER. None like the previous one, that was the reason why you chose that specialty, how unpredictable it was, to wake up and have no idea what the fuck could happen. A constant adrenaline rush that wouldn't let rest for a single minute and made you feel alive, in no other specialty were you going to experience living minute by minute not knowing what was about to walk through that door. You loved this place, more than once it ended you and your peace of mind, but for some reason you ended up coming back every day because knew your place was there, and couldn't visualize yourself anywhere else.

ER was something beautiful, unpredictable and destructive.

If you could relate one person to that site, without a doubt the only name that would come to mind is Frank Langdon. Every word you use to describe your work fits him. Unpredictable, amazing, even exhausting.

Your relationship had ups and downs, you both knew it was going to be that way because your personalities clashed even before the first kiss. They both wanted to be right, that was a big problem, however, sex is amazing, it made feel unique among all the people around you. You could say a lot of good things about your boyfriend, he was attentive, intelligent, come on, a fucking genius, he loved you and every day reminded you of that. He has the best memory, remembered every detail about you even when yourself forgot the things you said without thinking.

"You look beautiful in that scrub. Hey, guys have you seen how hot she’s?"

"Frank, what the hell we're working." You replied as pulled on your gloves. An unconscious patient with weak vitals had arrived, but he always had the pep to blurt out comments like that.

"Just telling the truth." He raised his arms, adjusting his gown.

"Right now?" You put on glasses.

"Oh, please, don't fight now." Cassie McKay thought aloud praying to heaven not to deal with the two of you.

"We're not fighting, Doctor McKay." You said injecting an antibiotic.

"I'm not going to apologize." Langdon excused himself.

"I don't need your apology." You said as checked the patient's mouth finding dry mucous and cyanosis around his lips. With your flashlight illuminated his throat, it was closed and that explained the low saturation. "I'm going to intubate."

"I'll assist you."

You nodded immediately, trusted no one but Frank. He passed the instruments following your orders, correcting if necessary even though you had mastered the technique. Langdon was a third year resident about to finish his specialty while this was your second year of residency. However, he looked at you with admiration and attention, your movements seemed fluid although in your head everything was calculated not to make a mistake, Frank really loved that about you, you were the most studious person he knew because were willing to give everything to save a stranger.

"Perfect." He complimented.

"Thank you." You smiled contentedly. Your locks stuck to your face from sweat and your skin glistened under the white lights. "See how efficient you are when you shut up for a while, Dr. Langdon?" took off your gloves and threw them in the trash can.

The door to the room opened, it was Doctor Robby who poked his body out without entering so as not to contaminate the space.

"Road accident in three minutes. I need one of you." He said analyzing their faces, until he pointed his finger at you. "You, come on."

You couldn't refuse or question the boss's order so you took off your implements to get out of there. The patient was stable so there wasn't much else to do but administer medications, test results and wait for a progress. McKay and Langdon were left in charge.

"She's a genius, isn't she?" He smiled as proudly boyfriend.

"I'd tell you that you're too much in love and not thinking with your head, but you're right." Cassie replied sighing as she stitched up the wound on her arm.

"Oh, come on. You know I always have." That mocking, self-centered tone everyone was used to hearing from her. It came so naturally to him that no one knew if he meant it or if it was sarcasm.

"I still don't understand why he noticed you in the first place."

The shift flew by. Hours and hours attending patients, administering medications, receiving results, routine consultations, rounds, evolutions, more medications. The occasional accident. But that had been your perspective, it was a quiet shift that you knew how to handle. There were only a couple of hours left to go home to rest, eat a hamburger that you wanted to buy so badly, you wanted to ask Langdon if he wanted to go to your apartment to spend the night with you or if he preferred to stay at home, but for some reason you couldn't find him anywhere.

You watched the screen above the nurse's station in search of your next case. You put your hands in your pockets and perused the inpatients without finding anything but vomiting and stomach pains. Kind of boring really.

"Come on, Dana. Tell me you have something exciting to me." You leaned against the counter pouting.

The charge nurse looked at you with a smile, she loved seeing you with such enthusiasm, she had never told you but she was glad to work with you.

"Don't you think that's enough variety we have to offer?" she joked with you, you snorted. "Headache, stomach ache and vomiting. Specialty of the house."

"I have energy for something else." You jumped a couple of times in place making her laugh.

Dana leaned on the table imitating your posture, you approached her excitedly, she seemed to be about to tell you a secret by the way she looked around before talking to you so that only you could hear. She lowered her voice to tell you.

"He's not a patient, but I'm sure you can help him."

Frank Langdon's day had been a complete crapshoot. There was no other way to put it, and the worst part was that it wasn't over yet.

He was leaning against one of the ambulances playing with a bracelet you had given him a few days ago, one of your recent hobbies was making bracelets by hand, that was the second attempt which in your own words was complete crap, but Frank insisted it was good work. You told him that if he thought it was pretty he could use it, you never imagined he would.

"Do you still have it?" your voice was a big bucket of cold water. I didn't want you to see him that way, so dull from what you were used to seeing from him.

He lifted his shoulders trying to smile.

"It’s pretty."

"Of course not." You stood in front of him looking at your creation with disgust and disdain. "I can do you one better."

Langdon denied.

"I prefer this one." He pocketed it. "What are you doing here?"

"I haven't seen you for hours, they told me they saw you leave."

"You should go back inside. It's cold and I don't want you to get sick, you become unbearable."

A weak laugh came out of you, the worst part was that it was true, only Frank had enough patience for you to attend to you. Though deep down you felt Frank wasn't being himself, he wouldn't hold your gaze and his voice was serious, straining to hold a conversation with you. He would sigh in moments of silence and play with his hands as he said vague things to you.

"Dana told me what happened." You confessed gaining Frank’s attention completely. His yes widened in surprise not knowing what to tell you about it, his head still processing it. "It's not your fault. You know that."

Langdon looked at the sky that was gradually darkening, ending the day shift, the noise of cars passing by on the street could be heard in the background. He hated this kind of situation, when you came to comfort him by repeating cliché phrases that he also told you when you had a hard day. You knew you meant well, he was just… tired.

"Don't worry."

"Of course I'm going to worry about you." You took his hands between yours. "You can talk to me, I want to listen to you. Frank, things get to you and you don't ignore them, it's not good."

You were right, shit, of course you were. It was his way, keeping everything to himself because it wasn't impossible for him to open up that part of him. It wasn't the first time he had to take a breath before the shift was over, he hated doing that because it meant he couldn't take the pressure anymore. There are just times when he wished he knew the key to never see any person die again, surely all the doctors wished the same thing, a spell that would save every life, cure every disease, something that would take the pain away from the families.

He sighed deeply.

"It sucks sometimes." It was the only thing he could bring himself to say.

"I know."

"He was a kid." He confessed finally getting a weight off his chest, it felt strange to externalize it, but your soft gaze gave him the confidence he needed to converse. "I did everything I could, I know, but I wonder if I should have tried a little harder. I don't know." He ran a hand through his messy wet hair. "Insist."

You swallowed saliva but it felt like a ball of fire burning your throat as it passed. Yes, you loved your job, you wouldn't trade it for the tranquility of dermatology or the constant uncertainty of cardiology, you respected all the specialties, but you were in love with the ER. One thing Robby had told you on the first day of your internship at Pittsburgh was that sooner or later this job would end up breaking your heart, and that you were going to see suffering even in those you loved. He was right, what he didn't warn you about was how bad it felt to see frustration in the eyes of the one you love.

"Do you think you didn't try everything?" your question was direct, almost an interrogation. "Did you do everything you could?"

Langdon looked at you for a few seconds, nodded yes. You stretched the silence as the wind chilled your face. Unexpectedly Frank took a step towards you without saying anything, he rested his cheek on your shoulder wrapping his arms around your waist, you felt him pulling your body closer and you didn't put up any resistance. You took one of your hands to his back and the other to his messy hair, leaving small caresses while he closed his eyes, he was really taking refuge in you, you had become his safe place and where he wanted to return every day, you had not left him alone when everyone turned their back on him and from there he knew he was in love with you. You transmitted to him the peace he was constantly looking for, but you also gave him joy, headaches, a bit of anger when they argued. You were all the intensity he was looking for in perfect balance with the silence, you were that look he was looking for on the other side of the room, you became that person he seeks to make uncomfortable with his jokes because he liked it when you got mad at him. He loved knowing you were going to be there at the end of the day and into the night.

"I love you, you know that, don't you?" He babbled like a little boy. Squeezing you a little tighter against his chest hoping you would never part from him. You just didn't think about what he was saying and let it out.

You smiled, for real this time. Hearing those words from him knowing how hard it was for him to express himself was a gesture you appreciated, more than that, it made your heart beat fast.

"I love you." You repeated with sincerity in your voice, a phrase you had been holding back from long ago that you dared not say for fear of not being reciprocated. Damn, you were in love with him ever since he stole your first kiss and passed it off as an accident, but you couldn't deny that a relationship with him was the closest thing to walking on a tightrope where the risk of falling was imminent.

You couldn't see it, but you were sure Frank was grinning like a fool too.

"I have to go back inside." You said taking his face in your hands, standing on the tip of your toes to reach his lips and leave a short kiss with little taste for both of you. Your rosy cheeks was a detail he didn't overlook, he loved making you blush because it wasn't a simple thing to do. "It's time to make rounds."

With all the regret in the world he had to let you go, feeling your absence from the moment you parted and the cold hit his body. He didn't know what you had done to him but you had him walking behind you much more animated.

"Hey, doctor, are you single?" He asked with his hands in his pockets following in your footsteps. You rolled your eyes and bit your inner cheek to keep from laughing.

"Sorry, I have a boyfriend." You turned around with raised eyebrows walking backwards. "And he's the hottest doctor in the hospital."

He accepted the compliment pretending to be surprised, you turned your back to him and Frank immediately hurried to walk beside you, he put his arm around your shoulders keeping you close.

"I thought we didn't accept compliments at work." He frowned.

You escaped his grip with a cynical smile on your lips.

"We don't." You moved closer to his face being careful not to graze even a millimeter of his face. "Because you don't want to know everything I think when I see you."

You went straight to the nursing desk to look for a case to attend. It was the ER, it was never going to be empty, you walked around trying to hide the love-struck smile on your face.

"I hope it's nothing bad!" Langdon exclaimed letting you go.

"You'd love to know." You replied before disappearing from his field of vision.

Dr. Robby walked past you with a tablet in his hands reading a file on the screen. He was concentrating walking until he passed you.

"You two. No romance at work."

𐙚⋆°. MASTERLIST

[aventurineswife]

Even Villains Need Sleep

Summary: In the quiet safety of Sylus’s private quarters, the usually arrogant and commanding leader of Onychinus allows himself a rare moment of vulnerability. With the chaos of N109 Zone raging outside, you find solace in each other’s warmth, teasing words giving way to unspoken truths. For once, Sylus lets his guard down, embracing the comfort he never realized he needed.

Tags: Sylus x Reader, Fluff, Soft Sylus, Cuddling, Vulnerability, Enemies to Lovers (Implied), Protective Sylus, Comfort, Gentle Moments.

Warnings: Mentions of past conflict/enemies-to-lovers dynamics, Brief mention of violence (implied from Sylus’s past), Slight emotional vulnerability.

A/N: I'm not sorry for getting into an another fandom... 🏃‍♀️💨

[Header credits]

The glow of neon lights filtered through the wide glass windows, painting the dimly lit bedroom in shifting hues of blue and red. Outside, the N109 Zone was alive with its usual chaos—faint echoes of distant sirens, laughter that bordered on madness, and the occasional pulse of a nearby explosion. But here, inside Sylus’s private quarters, the world was still.

You felt the weight of exhaustion pressing down on you, limbs heavy as you leaned into the warmth beside you. Sylus sat at the edge of the bed, his silver hair damp from a recent shower, strands falling messily over his forehead. His bright red eyes, usually sharp with mischief or mockery, had softened into something unreadable. His right eye glowed faintly for a moment before dimming again.

“Are you just going to stare at me?” he drawled, amusement laced in his voice as he shifted to lie beside you, draping an arm over your waist.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the small smile playing at your lips. “You’re warm,” you murmured, nuzzling into his chest. The crisp scent of his cologne lingered on his skin, mingling with something uniquely him—something familiar and strangely comforting.

Sylus hummed, lazily tracing patterns on your back with the tips of his fingers. “That’s a first. Usually, people call me cold.”

You scoffed, shifting to look up at him. “You are. But not now.”

He chuckled, the sound low and deep, sending a shiver down your spine. For someone who wielded so much power, who commanded entire territories with a mere glance, he was remarkably gentle in moments like these. It was as if the weight of the world he carried so effortlessly could be set aside, if only for a few fleeting hours.

His fingers curled slightly, pulling you closer as his lips brushed against your temple. “You’re strange, you know that?” he mused. “Leaning into the arms of someone you once thought of as your enemy. Should I be worried?”

You smirked, fingers absently playing with the fabric of his half-unbuttoned shirt. “Maybe. But I think if you wanted me dead, you wouldn’t be holding me like this.”

Sylus let out an exaggerated sigh, tilting his head back against the pillow. “Tch. You’ve figured me out. I suppose I’ll have to find new ways to keep you guessing.”

His voice was teasing, but there was something else beneath it—an unspoken truth. He wasn’t used to this, wasn’t used to sharing warmth, to allowing someone this close without an ulterior motive. And yet, here he was, his grip firm but careful, as if afraid you might disappear if he held too tightly.

You reached up, brushing a stray lock of silver hair from his face. “You’re allowed to rest, Sylus,” you murmured, watching as his lashes lowered slightly at your touch. “Even villains need sleep.”

A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest. “And what does that make you, then? The hero that redeems me?”

You pretended to think for a moment. “More like the one who keeps you from self-destructing.”

His smirk faded into something gentler, something almost vulnerable. He didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. The way he pulled you even closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck, said enough.

Silence stretched between you, comfortable and warm. The chaos of the city continued beyond the walls of his sanctuary, but for now, it didn’t matter. In this moment, there was only you and him—tangled in warmth, wrapped in something neither of you dared to name, but neither of you wished to let go of.

[painless-innit-colourful]

now one of the contributing factors to the fact I can't wrap my head around the new, peaceful cclingy ending is that the fandom is so different now that it was then. there's so many fewer of us and naturally that just means that posts circulated for less time, less was made of it because there weren't as many voices repeating it over and over like there was with anything that happened back in the day.

but I think the main reason is that, somewhere deep down, I expected the nuke ending. I expected the desolation. I didn't expect the soft, good ending.

because, in the end, s1 was only ending in one place: november 16th. the pogtopia arc centred around this 'will he won't he' struggle that we were all waiting to see fulfilled, even if only to satiate that sense of curiosity, to see what had been teased to us for so long. it set a trend of shock and angst: the bigger the spectacle (explosion), the better, the more people will want to see the destruction. cool lines, dramatic sacrifices, big moments. those made the animatics. those made it trend on twitter week after week.

when the nuke fell, I accepted it almost instantly. because at least it made sense. this wasn't the blinding tonal confusion of utah, this had been established in the dsmp tone book. a big explosion, angst and self-sacrifice and a firery finale. the wins - first disc war, final disc war, etc - were exceptions to the rule, which was heaps upon heaps of suffering and angst. "the good guys die and the bad guys win," to quote my chemical romance.

but two years later, thanks to jack manifold losing a dare (of all hilariously appropriate things), a much quieter, much softer ending. no dramatic lines: typed remarks in chat replacing the feats of acting we'd seen prior. no spectacle, no explosions; just two people drawing some things to a close, completely unannounced on a sunday night. and I keep forgetting it happened because it doesn't feel like it was supposed to.

and that's not a criticism of it or its execution. one of the strengths of the dream smp was its wild format and how it pushed the boundaries of how to tell a story. sometimes it really worked, sometimes it failed, but I'm glad it always pushed the boat out. and in one of its final outings, it flipped the script one last time. no more showmanship. no more spectacle. here's two characters telling you an alternate story. where the heroes can finally rest. where the bad guys' names fade into obscurity. they're "getting better".

one day, I will get it through my head.

[logaenhowlett]

COME BACK BABY PLEASE - L.H.

Summary: When it comes to you, Logan would do anything - even break his own heart.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female Reader

Warnings: Mature themes (masturbation) 18+ only, Angst (with happy ending), Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual pining (but Logan's a stubborn fool), Empath!Reader

A/N: For @lubdubology's and @yxtkiwiyxt's Loveuary Challenge (great idea btw)! The prompt was DoFP!Logan + We Belong Together by Mariah Carey. Also, I hit 500 followers last week and I'm floored, honestly. Thank you so much for all the love and support! Now, back to this gorgeous man.

MASTERLIST

Logan fucks himself into his fist.

Because there you are, latched onto his mind like some parasite.

Iron, harsh and metallic in taste, blooms on his tongue as his jaw locks. A piss-poor attempt to crush the memories of sun-kissed smiles, of tangled fingers - of your love.

It's like holding water in a sieve, you slip through his defenses, elusive and inevitable. He loathes himself truly for possessing such a traitorous heart.

And still, beneath all that armour, it's you he reaches for.

But he doesn't touch you. Can't touch you. Not when you're living and breathing again just beyond his door, as if he hadn't felt your body go limp between his arms, his trembling pleas silenced by a last kiss, an "I love you" murmured against cold lips.

As if you hadn't died.

Jean notices first. Though she'd sworn off trespassing on anyone's mind, least of all his, it's hard not to. His thoughts are loud, but his agony screams louder. It seems even the kids whisper amongst themselves in the hallways - Professor Logan, their beloved hero, now a man adrift.

Everything becomes awfully clear as Charles explains - the reality a lightning strike so blinding it jolts the room. The time travelling, the ever-present fear of failure, the responsibility he'd shouldered in solitude–

You're an idiot.

Jean's voice rings in his head, unwelcome yet painfully true. His eyes lift, her subtle nod drawing his attention to you. And he'd rather flay himself alive, unsheathe his claws into his own chest, than brave the unwavering love written in your tear-filled gaze.

Just talk to her. You're only hurting yourselves–

Stay outta this, Red.

She's right, he knows it. But knowing and doing are two different beasts entirely. Because now, you're here, and here is a minefield. One mistake, one single moment of weakness, and the nightmare could swallow him whole once again.

Stupidly, Logan avoids you.

Mornings are the most torturous. He remembers chasing your lips as you slipped from his embrace only to be drawn back. The sheets would pool around your waist, barely clinging to your frame as you stretched lazily.

Utterly captivated, he'd watch as you moved about, gathering your things, playfully dodging his kisses between buttons and zippers. "If you keep distracting me, I'll never make it to class on time," you'd laugh, followed by his teasing: "That's the fuckin' point, darlin'."

That's how it used to be.

Now, he paces his room, attuned to the creak of your floorboards, the rustle of your clothes, the unmistakable hitch in your footsteps as you perhaps hesitate by his door.

Maybe today, he thinks. Maybe today, you'll storm inside, fists pounding against the walls around his heart, demand answers and finally scream at him for the coward he is.

Much like yesterday, all the days and weeks before, you never do. And that, Logan realises, is the cruellest curse of all.

It's suffocating; a prison of his own making, brick after brick cemented by fear, bars forged in the white-hot fires of regret. Every cell, every corridor, every inch serves a reflection of his self-destruction. And the key? Lost, or perhaps never truly deserved in the first place.

If nothing else, shame doesn't choke him as harshly in here; dull in the way it gnaws at him. Logan closes his eyes, conjuring you between his legs as he's sprawled on his back, one hand gripping his cock, the other fisted in the sheets.

Within minutes, everything blurs. Like shattered glass, fragments of your lives crash and collide. His vision whites out for a heartbeat, then slowly returns, leaving him limp and spent in the darkness.

And then, nothing.

Just a shuddering sigh tinged with disgust. Wet smears on his palm. A small, pathetic offering to some patron saint of loneliness.

You don't remember the last kiss.

Was it in the kitchen, his fingers on your nape, the counter waking all sorts of purples and blues across your back? Maybe on his motorcycle, the engine dying as he dismounted, leather and gasoline twisting in the air? Or perhaps something else entirely?

A silken thread spun from longing unwinds, stretching and stretching through the fog of time; it frays, it thins, it threatens to snap, leaving behind a faint echo.

When was the last time Logan kissed you?

Rain lashes against the windowpanes, moonlight spilling across the floor in flimsy slants. A hollow reminder of his absence, the dent on your mattress glares back rudely. The weight of his bones, the warmth of his skin, his fading presence - reduced to nothing but a shallow impression on the foam.

You remember other moments, though. Lazy days, the kind where he'd rise first, propping himself on an elbow, hair spiking in twenty-odd directions. Sometimes he'd be content with just admiring you, simply ghosting knuckles across your cheek. And sometimes, those fingers would slip lower and lower while he'd mumble all sorts of filth into the valley between your breasts, chasing your sweet dreams away.

Then, there were times when you'd return from missions, bruised and hacked to pieces, but very much alive. And in no more than three strides, his arms would curl around your waist, all fierce and protective. Home had never felt so precious - so real - as it did in those moments.

So, when was the last time Logan kissed you? And did it even matter anymore, when he's so determined to erase you from his life?

As luck would have it, sleep plays the spiteful mistress tonight, taunting glimpses of oblivion only to snatch them away. Across the hallway, Logan's room offers no comfort either, creaking bedsprings, muffled thuds, a growl - more animal than human - rips through the noise.

He's at it again.

Another restless night, grief rolling off him in thick, asphyxiating waves. It bleeds through the walls, and you know, instinctively, he's reliving everything. You need to help him.

What if you only make it worse? What if your touch only deepens the wounds?

Fuck it.

Six steps separate him from you. Six steps you consider crossing every day. Six steps that might as well be infinite. But now, six steps are simply six steps. Trembling, you gently push his door inward.

Clothes litter the floor, cigar boxes lay scattered amongst the clutter on the nightstand, and a trail of empty Jim Beams leads to the rumpled figure on the bed. If your presence startles him, he betrays nothing - his stillness a deliberate barrier, his back a silent rejection of your intrusion.

"Logan?"

No answer comes, just the ragged, uneven rhythm of his breathing. Carefully, you navigate around discarded boots, jeans - and who knows what else - until your knees bump the edge of his mattress.

Tension crackles in the air, and thrumming beneath is a raging current of heartache, a frequency you know all too well. Nights like this have been a constant ever since you've known him.

The first time had knocked you sideways. He'd been much younger then, more vulnerable. More trusting too, in your abilities, in the connection you'd found in each other. Through long, dark hours, through tremors and tears, you'd absorbed the worst of it, steady hands bearing the brunt of his suffering.

"You're shaking..." Hesitantly, as if approaching a frightened deer, your fingertips brush his shoulder. Then, with a slow, reluctant creak of his neck, he turns. Dark circles obscure red-rimmed eyes, haunted and hollow as they find you. He looks broken. More broken than you've ever seen before. "Oh, Logan," you breathe.

He stares, unblinking and effectively mute as if you've materialised from the very air he'd been choking on for weeks. Confusion flickers across his features, quickly shrouded by something grim, something guarded.

"You shouldn't be here," he finally croaks, dismissive in ways that are suspiciously akin to fear. With me. That's what he's really saying.

"I know you're hurting," you whisper, fighting tears that streak down your cheeks anyway. "Let me help you. Let me take your pain away."

A scoff, sharp and unfamiliar, cuts your words. And for a moment, the man before you becomes unrecognisable - a stranger wearing his skin. "Go away, sweet–" Logan snarls, the near-spoken endearment on the verge of escape before his jaws snap shut. He looks away, almost ashamed, scowling at some unseen point across the room. "Just... go."

"I can't."

"Don't make this worse."

"Worse for who, Logan?" you challenge, bitter like he's never heard. But you've had enough. Enough with the walls, the shields, the self-inflicted exile. "Because this– it's killing you. And it's killing me too." Gently, your hand grazes his own, and when he doesn't flinch, you try once again. "Please."

Hope, a fragile little thing, flutters behind the hazel you've long adored. Logan doesn't resist as you settle beside him, instead falling into a much-needed embrace. Warmth seeps into his chilled body, stress ebbing, hard edges softening. He buries his face into your neck, inhaling deeply for the peace he so desperately craves.

From the dark vines of his nightmares, shadowy figures extend scorching hands, poking the edges of his consciousness. And like always, your powers banish them completely, drawing visions of happier times in their absence. Memories, perfectly curated, lovingly held.

His arms tighten around you, pulling you flush against his chest. Like melted wax, Logan molds himself to your touch. For a long time, you simply exist together, soaking in this closeness, this feeling of home. Two puzzle pieces have never fit so well.

"I don't need your help," he mutters into your shoulder, soft and unsure, as if he doesn't believe his own words.

A small, watery chuckle lures his gaze to yours, you offer a kind smile, damp lashes pillowing the affection in your eyes. "I know," you whisper, running a gentle hand through his dark tresses, lingering a little longer by those grey streaks you adore. "But you're letting me anyway." The corners of his mouth twitch in response.

He doesn't speak again, and neither do you. Words feel superfluous, inadequate as the night carries on. Eventually, sleep begins to claim you both, inviting dreams of a tomorrow painted in the colours of a rekindled love.

Dawn arrives, like clockwork, creeping its invasive presence through the curtains. Disoriented, your fingers brush the space beside you, encountering only the cold, vacant sheets.

It's not a surprise, not really.

Old habits, especially Logan's, die hard.

Tires scream against asphalt, and Logan's pissed. The engine growls angrily, replicating the simmering tension rattling his very skeleton. His grip remains unyielding on the wheel, knuckles bone-white, veins protruding.

"That was reckless, and you know it." His tone is clipped, barely controlling the razor-sharp irritation he's unbothered to hide. Darkening roads ahead borrow his attention, as if the blurred lines are the only thing maintaining his composure.

The mission had been a success, technically. But the phantom impact of the debris nearly crushing you still has his adrenaline jacked.

"I'd do it all over again, and you know it," you snap back, daring in the face of his obvious fury.

"For fuck's sake!" Logan bangs his fist against the steering wheel, the horn blaring for a brief second. "Don't you have any concern for your life?" He doesn't understand your blatant disregard for safety. It's that goddamn martyr complex of yours, always prioritising everyone else. Even if you did manage to save innocent civilians from the collapsing building.

"Don't act like you care!" The venom in your words stings more than he'd ever admit. How can you say that? To him, of all people. "Pull over."

"What?" He shoots you a glance in disbelief, a little afraid even. The request is so absurd, so completely out of left field, he wonders, momentarily, if his mind's playing tricks.

"Pull. Over." You enunciate with a chilling calmness, and somehow that terrifies him more than any outburst. Denial flares in his throat, a knee-jerk reaction waiting for a trigger, but his breath catches, strangled by the sudden movement of your hand curling around the door handle.

The threat is extremely evident. And he just knows you'd do it. Logan slams on the breaks, the car swerves violently before coming to a harsh stop. "What the hell's your problem?"

"My problem is you, Logan. You and your self-sacrificing bullshit! I'm done," you croak. It's not about the mission, he realises with a nauseating lurch in his stomach. It's about everything.

You’re done?

He stares, dumbfounded, frozen to the core until you're unbuckling your seatbelt. "What're you doing?" Desperate, but he doesn't care.

"Walking."

"No the fuck you're not. Safe house's another four miles."

"Good." Cold air rushes in once you exit the car and slowly increase the distance from where Logan sits, alone and upset.

He drove the four miles to the safe house at a snail's pace, fighting the instinct to veer off course and find you. Beg you for forgiveness.

The house was dark and empty when he arrived. With the flickering hope that perhaps you'd reached before him, Logan checked every room. Twice.

Three hours. Three agonising hours since you'd disappeared along an off-beaten path aside the main road. Three hours of replaying the argument, the accusation in your eyes, the finality in your words.

"Goddammit. God-fucking-dammit."

Possibilities, each more gut-wrenching than the last, churn in his mind. You could be hurt. Lost. Captured. Or worse - a thought so unthinkable he tries to shy away.

What if this was it? What if his relentless pushing had finally worn you down, despite the twisted, fucked up part of him that wanted you to fight?

Logan sinks onto the couch, its springs groaning under the weight of his misery. He examines his hands, rough and calloused, capable of inflicting severe damage, yet completely useless in holding onto the one thing he truly cares about.

Suddenly, the steady hiss of running water startles him. Then, it registers. Running water. Like a moth to a flame, he reaches the bathroom in record time, hesitating for a beat before sliding the door open. As the steam clears, Logan stiffens at the scene.

Perched on the edge of the tub, one leg submerged in the water, the other stretched out before you, you stay facing away from him. Wet strands of your hair cling to your neck and shoulders, the damp t-shirt you'd been wearing beneath your suit revealing a faint outline of your bra straps.

A small pouch, one you always carry with emergency supplies, sits open on the floor, its contents spilling out: bandages, antibacterial wipes, sutures - and blood. A thin, crimson line trails down your calf, turning the water a faint, unsettling shade of pink.

"You're bleeding," he says lamely, attempting to quell the guilt - and bile - rising up his throat.

Weary eyes meet his own, but there's something else there. Defiance? Resignation? He can't quite decipher it. "Popped a few stitches," you reply, detached, matter-of-fact. "I'm not the best medic." That's very much known to him, yet your wry shot at humour falls undeniably flat.

Logan kneels beside the tub, fixed on the uneven, inflamed wound you're tending to. It screams of pain and neglect. His neglect. "Let me," he whispers softly. "Please."

And to your credit, you don't oppose his efforts. No winces, no protests, no sounds; he doesn't know what to make of that, instead, working in a meticulous fashion, throwing every stitch with deliberate care.

The minutes tick by, slow and heavy. And after what feels like an eternity, the last stitch is in place, a small knot securing everything together. Sitting back on his heels, Logan doesn't withdraw his touch from your thigh, inspecting his handiwork with a saddened gaze.

"I miss our old life."

Your voice, quiet and laced with an unapologetic yearning, torches the silence, and with it, the remnants of his weakening defenses.

"I'm sorry," he says, tearfully. "For pushing you away. For being an asshole. For letting you... die. I'm sorry for everything."

There's a long pause. Logan contemplates granting you space, giving you the distance he'd so readily forced all along. But then, your hand finds the curve of his cheek, halting his retreat.

"It's not your fault. None of it. I know you did everything you could," you murmur, thumbing away a stray tear. Relief warms his heart, a feeling he recognises as wholly genuine. And it comes solely from you, untouched by your powers. "I don't need to say this, but I will, for you." With a deep breath, you dispel the demons and monsters plaguing his soul in four simple words: "I forgive you, baby."

The iron band around his chest loosens its grip, and Logan takes his first breath all over again. Still mindful of your injury, he gathers you into his arms with a force that nearly throws you off balance.

"I'm right here," you continue, muffled against his shoulder. "I’m alive because of you. So, I'm asking you to come back. Come back to me, Logan."

Tentatively, he tilts his head down, capturing your lips with a reverence so implicitly him. Not even the sweetest nectar could compare to the taste of your love. For it is, quite simply, everything.