#if anyone needs me to add any other content or trigger warnings please please tell me i really dont wanna upset anyone with this

[pyjamaart]

I never needed such help / This is my SOS

(Content warning: self harm) (If you don't have a problem with that, huge Drillman essay under the read more lol)

When I said that I wanted to draw Drillman some more, this really wasn't what I had in mind.

This week, I've been shopping for music on various second hand sites, which made me realize I don't physically own one of my all time favorite albums: "Squaring The Circle" by Sneaker Pimps. I had to change that immediately. (As well as buying like 15 other CDs and vinyls, lol.) As I was listening to it once again, I realized just how much the song "SOS" reminded me of Drillman and his struggles.

If you don't want to look it up, here are some of the lyrics:

"I look much smaller seen from inside out/Far too small to see myself/Down on reflection, cast in hate and in doubt/Flawed and flaws I add myself"

"Oh mirror mirror hanging on the wall/Please just show me someone else/My hopes were low and I got so much so less/Nothing left to save myself"

Listen, this dude got some major problems with his self esteem. He feels like an embarrassment because he was forced into a life he never wanted by his father. Now he seeks revenge on the company that bought his families business, along with him and apparently his bodily autonomy. Think about that for a minute. How fucked would it be if your parents wanted you to be a doctor, but a requirement for that would be to have your hand surgically removed and replaced with a scalpel. That's the exact situation Drillman found himself in.

Now a lot of people probably think "Well why doesn't he just ask Dr. Light to give him a new pair of hands then, if he's this miserable?" This is where we get to one of Drillmans biggest problems: the refusal to ask for help in any way. And even after the finale of the season, why would he go to the Lights for help in the first place? Wasn't it Aki who thought the best way to help him through his problems was hypnotism? And in the process embarrassing him in front of the whole city, ruining the last bit of reputation he may have had? (For real though, that episode is so hard for me to watch. I just feel so so bad for him, since I really struggle with social anxiety myself.)

As the guys from the Youtube channel "The D-Pad" (who reviewed all of the MMFC episodes) fittingly commented: "This would be like fucking Vietnam for him." And they were right. Obviously, Drillman is horrified that Aki would humiliate him like this and lashes out, solidifying his opinion that asking for help is a bad idea.

In that episode, there's this one moment that really stuck with me. At around the 8 minute mark, while Drillman is having a breakdown over the terrible "music" Aki made him perform, there's this one shot where he takes a moment to look at the drills that replaced his hands in frustration. The camera perspective makes it seem as if we are experiencing this brief scene through his eyes. It's actually quite upsetting. (A link to the moment I'm talking about: youtu.be/OC_jdhoeTrE?si=ZPzAXu…)

This is also a perfect moment for me to gush over the voice acting for this scene. Andrew McNee did such a fantastic job of conveying Drillmans distress and anger through his voice. That reminds me, giving him a British accent was honestly such a good decision.

The reason he doesn't talk at all throughout most of his first appearance is probably because the writers wanted to surprise their audience a little. As in, you see this big, imposing construction robot and think "Oh man, what a brute. He probably has a pretty deep voice." And then he actually starts to speak and it's this sophisticated, well-articulated British voice instead. Quite the whiplash.

To get back to the original topic, I'm honestly still upset that they didn't give Drillman a redemption arc at the end of the show. This probably would have happened in season 2, as Mega Man even says at some point "I know deep down your inner bits are good", proving to me that the writers definitely had something in mind regarding Drillmans character arc.

And now that all of that is out of the way, we can finally get into headcanon territory.

You might have seen this image while browsing the tags and asked yourself, "Why is this Mega Man Fully Charged artwork littered with content warnings?" And well, now that you're here and reading this, you probably know why. I can't say I've ever made myself sick with a drawing before. That's a first for me.

My headcanon is, that after the finale of the show, Drillman is just utterly lost. Lord Obsidian, who sought him out specifically because he knew of Drillmans problems and offered him a place to stay and a way to get revenge on the people he thought responsible for his predicament, turned out to be a horribly racist human who was just using him to achieve his own devious goals. After getting his ass kicked by the Lights, the same people who had not only humiliated him in front of the whole city, but who had also left him stuck to his abusive father for an entire day (I bet that ride to the police station was horrible for all the people involved, most of all the police bots who had to hear the Drillmen yell at each other the whole time), Sgt. Night is detained by the police. We don't actually see what happens after that, because that's where the show ends.

I'd like to think that the Lights actually try to talk to the robot masters once everything is over, telling them all the horrible things their so-called "leader" has said and done. And most importantly, what he thinks of robots: That they're nothing but tools to him. That once they had gotten him his Mega key, he would have wiped their minds and turned them into mindless machines.  

I'm guessing none of the robot masters would take these news well, but most of all Drillman. I think that after he ran away from Skyraisers Inc. and fought Mega Man for the first time, he was really relieved to have some place to stay and a new goal, maybe even a robot to look up to. That being Lord Obsidian of course. Who knows what lies he told Drillman and the others? Kinda sad that we never really got to see what the robot masters who stayed with Lord Obsidian did the entire day. When they weren't causing havoc in the city, that is.

None of them seemed really friendly with each other in the finale, now that I think about it. I guess "Obsidians robot sanctuary" wasn't really a great place to stay at after all. But still better than being homeless, like that one maniac living in the forest all by himself. Speaking of Woodman, in my AU, he and Drillman already knew each other at this point. This also reminds me of something I forgot to mention in my last post. While I'd love to see them interact in any way, because they're both my favorite characters, I don't ship them in any way whatsoever. I'd also like to think that Woodman and Drillmans father were schoolmates back in the day, maybe even friends? (I'm still holding onto those 30 years).

Anyway, after all the former robot comrades part ways, now without a leader, what was Drillman supposed to do? Once again betrayed by a trusted figure, feeling useless and without purpose, still with these stupid drills mounted to his body... Still too ashamed to ask for help. After all that has happened in the past few hours he begins spiraling, which ultimately leads him to make a very unfortunate decision. Trying to get at least some of the freedom in his life back, he attempts to get rid of the drills making up his body on his own, using the same tools that have haunted him all this time to finally rid himself of this burden.

He regrets this just seconds after, when he's left with an unresponsive limb, metal and wires exposed and oil splattered all over his orange plating. All he can do is stare at the stained drill in front of him in horror.

"I never needed such help/This is my SOS"

Jesus Christ that got dark. Sorry. I mentioned in my last post that Drillman possibly has really bad body dysmorphia, which I'm also trying to convey here. Don't worry, he really gets his hands back after this. Maybe the Lights find him after that and the good Doctor offers to fix him up. By which I mean not only his arm. Because apparently, Dr. Light also doubles as robot psychologist. I just really need Drillman to get his happy ending. He really really deserves it after everything he had to go trough over the course of the show. 

I also need him to have a DJing redemption, besides the normal redemption. I've seen people headcanon that he exclusively likes classical music, but I personally don't believe that. He'd be the kind of music nerd who would say stuff like "I listen to everything" and then you look at his playlists and he actually listens to everything. Maybe not experimental noise rock, though. I can just imagine Aki and Suna helping him put on an actual show, this time without any hypnotizing bullshit, as a way for Aki to apologize for the dread he's caused Drillman during that incident. Drillman would be highly suspicious at first, but actually goes along with it in the end. Maybe they'd also take Fireman along, who Dr. Light also blessed with a brand new pair of hands. The punchline at the end would be that Drillman would have so much anxiety about embarrassing himself again, that he forgets to make an actual set list for the gig. In the end, he exclusively plays Lady Gaga songs, which no one complains about.

Alright then, enough yapping from me. I've really been writing this essay since 8pm. And now it's 2am. My god. I just have a lot of feelings about Drillman.

But now I really gotta go to bed. Stay safe peeps. I hope you actually read the content warnings. Jenny out.

[eepy-evie]

Twisted Wonderland Senior Headcanons

A/N: i am very tired as i write this, BIBI is saving my life force. I just got screamed at by my mom but the fans (no one) can’t wait 😎. Im sorry Lilia’s is kind of short, im pretty high and have been pushing this off for days.

Contents: Various non romantic headcanons for the seniors in TWST

Trigger warnings (if any): Religion mentions (Trey’s + Leona’s + Vil’s + Rook’s + Idia’s part), eating disorders (Vil’s part), stalking mentions (Rook’s part… no surprise), minor adult themes (idia’s part)

Trey Clover

I might have this feeling only because i also bake but he has beef with multiple people about bread.

Like i mean people spreading misinformation (NO YOU DO NOT NEED TO ADD SUGAR INTO BREAD, IT DOESN’T DO MUCH)

Besides my personal beef with ig bakers…

He doesn’t listen to music, lofi background stuff at best.

He’d listen to anything someone put on with no complaint but he doesn’t feel the need for music for mundane things

With his obsession with brushing teeth i feel like he loves mint

Like i mean spearmint gum constantly, mint chocolate chip ice cream, idk mint leaves in drinks?

Bro can not understand if someone else doesn’t like mint

I believe he is an Atheist living in a Christian household

Its probably brought up rarely but he just doesn’t really believe that saying grace before dinner does anything

I think he’s way too empathetic for his own good, i mean like excusing lots of harmful things due to how someone was raised

(Totally didn’t mean to refer to Riddle but whatevs)

Cater Diamond

Get this man into kpop NOW

I feel he is rivaling Idia with his, honestly abusive, amount of slang

I dont think anyone who isn’t chronically online could stand to hear his thoughts

Or who isn’t insanely mentally unstable

But he pulls shit like “she=onika ate=burgers” every single chance he gets

Which i wont blame him for that, i pull medieval slang every second i can too

He loves brittany broski with his whole heart and soul

Not only is she funny as hell but she can also be very serious in a blink of an eye

On the low he enjoys those insider videos

He likes watching them and pausing them to argue the point to no one

Going back to kpop briefly…

He loves Aespa

Do i know any of the members of Aespa to tell you my assumed bias? No.

Also loves Zerobaseone

Ricky bias

Although i may be biased (oh my a silly pun, you scoundrel)

I do believe that he is a funny person but he is very repressed

I dont mean to make this a whole angst post but he genuinely doesn’t understand how he can express it

He is very sensitive to rejection so i think that leads him to extreme lengths to be liked

And I’m not just talking about how he acts a certain way to please others

I mean a deep rooted guilt for not being what someone wanted

Leona Kingscholar

…all my headcanons for him are purely how I’d personally treat him

Someone get this man a mukbang video and a comfy bed

He barely listens to music but when he does its some rnb stuff

He doesnt care for stuff thats too loud but he does like soft music even if he isnt open about it

I need to make him see nekomimi switch, twitter.gov, and anything else that has catgirls/boys so i can see his reaction

I dont think he holds many physical attributes to lions besides the ears, tail, and teeth but he most definitely holds many reactions and other stuff

Like he is literally sleeping in a garden most the time

He has long(er) nails and hates cutting them

Erm… idk man

I think he had a big Religious breakdown in his childhood

I dont really know what Religion he’d be to start with(due to my lack of knowledge of Religion in Africa) but he’d have the whole moment of betrayal

And then he’s completely Atheist for the rest of his life

Vil Schoenheit

He has a side account where he responds to all his hate comments

For music taste… hear me out…

He likes, on the low, vkei

But no metal like kaneto juusei or gulu gulu I mean malice mizer

He enjoys the instrumental along with the twists they take on classical

Moi meme motie x Vil Schoenheit collab when???

He 100% doesn’t express it though, he tells the public he likes whatever’s popular

I feel like, this may or may not be me projecting, he’s a hellenist

Obviously worshipping Aphrodite and has an altar for her which he never publicly speaks of but is not hiding

heres a bit of TW for eds + that type of stuff

I feel like he has an extremely bad relationship with food

He doesnt see it as something to nourish your body but instead a sort of numbers game

Like with a limit of however much someone says and the whole game is to stay under that number in calories

Besides that i feel he’s very orthorexic to the point he’d refuse to eat something if it looked too “bad” to him

(End of tw)

I know he has a very argued gender identity but i dont think he’s too confused by it

He’s very firm that he is who he is and he never seemed to have much of an inside problem with it

Maybe he got poked fun at a few times but thats all his problems with it

Rook Hunt

Get this man away from me

He is in many fandoms and somehow knows everything going on all the time

Bro personally took down Nayeon’s stalker by himself

But seriously i dont think his intentions are bad, i think he is just trying to be on top of everything in the worst was possible

He doesn’t really think its creepy himself but most the time he is

He is also a Hellenist who worships Aphrodite but also Artemis

He is so very open about his Religion

He makes those hopecore videos on tiktok and has amassed 10k followers but no one knows its him

Yearns to be in the south/midwest for the scenery

Just yearns in general

Bro is single handedly bringing back male yearning and being chalant

Saw bridgerton as a normal tuesday for him

1000 hours on c.ai

I will not, and should not, elaborate.

Is that projecting? Yes. Do i care? No.

He has the longest and some how most effective body/skincare routine ever

I mean like he’d do some shit like “once in a blue moon bath in pure hyaluronic acid for 2.5 hours on the dot”

He loves absolutely everything on everyone and its to a detriment to me personally

Hooked nose? Loved. Chubby? Love. Literally anything unconventional? Consider yourself yearned for.

He listens to anything and everything

Although he cant stand songs about break ups or anything to do with hate

Put this man on “doughnut” by TWICE now.

Idia Shroud

Yes… give me this nerdy man…

He 100% (mostly canon) loves jpop idols

Prolly an akb48 stan

I cant even get started on everything he likes

But i can tell y’all 100% that he is not overly flirty or overly easy to fluster

Istg all i see is either big dom idia or uwu shy boy idia

And both are wrong (in my opinion ig)

He starts arguments about anything and everything in game chats

Because he’s grown up in this big company family he was forced to appear better that how he truly acts so i believe that would also entail with being a die hard hellenist

But without any spotlights he does care, he just likes his games and anime

Speaking of anime…

He loves shoujo, he’s in hiding though

He literally wants to be sawako from “from me to you” but will never say it

Somebody come get this man

If anyone asks he just loves Naruto and One Piece

But we know the truth…

Istg he plays an absurd amount of eroges for the plot

He’s depraved on twitter

Two accounts, one for public image and the other for the unspeakable

Do NOT let him find any dating advice on there cause he will take it and act like a fool

He loves breakcore music and anime intros and thats about it

Besides his jpop idols

I dont think he like kpop, for some reason he just has a grudge against some fans

A little self insert but he 100% has autism (as we all know…) but he also has arfid

For those who dont know… arfid is “avoidant restrictive food intake disorder” which is like you are a very picky eater

He aint struggling with it, he succeeding (LYING)

Malleus Draconia

Get this man a cat or some shit like that

Can someone please make him watch all of aphmau Minecraft diaries and then twilight back to back

This strange individual has that man from the notebook shaking in fear

Bros a hopeful romantic

Randomly says inspiration quotes that you cant find anywhere online

It just came from his heart

He only listens to classical songs he knows how to play

Though i’d doubt if you showed him something he’d dislike it

Bros the yearner

I showed up to the yearning contest and went into anaphylactic shock at the sight of him there

He has honestly researched every single religion for fun

Highlight god damn bible verses for no reason

He needs to make an iceberg of every single religion and why they are good/bad

I just know he has an insane knowledge of lore in any book he’s ever read

Please make him watch smiling friends

You’d have to pause every 5 seconds so he can process it

You could make him do anything tbh, just be like “you should come watch *whatever it is* with me” and bro is outside your door

For shame with the amazing attention towards practically anyone who shows anything besides fear or hatred comes the fact he is unaware of most modern things

He has a tamagotchi and thats it man, get him a 3ds at least

He cant use a phone, cant use a computer, and barely understands the concept of social media

But at least he has the spirit to learn

Lilia Vanrouge

Do i even put him as a senior?

Bro is pushing some mystical number that no one knows

He’s like one of those grandmas that never mention their age and whenever its brought up all they say is “never ask a woman her age”

… perchance a bit controversial but i think he’s bad at cooking on purpose

Ain’t no way someone fucks up cooking THAT bad

I think he really likes horror games

And i dont mean those shitty mascot horrors like poppys playtime

I mean fatal frame, faith, and visage type shit

He listens to breakcore too

I dont make the rules

Hes a gamer grandpa so he either has to have pretty good taste in games/music or the absolute worst

HE’D LOVE GULU GULU AND VKEI

Hes practically already mana sama

Hes got all the moi meme motie dresses

Get grandpa off taobao NOW

I want my nyanya madoka dress, and i will not be stopped by some twinkish old man.

[oddballwriter]

THE WRITINGS ON THE WALLS

Please read all of the rules in their entirety and respect my boundaries. These rules mostly accommodate my writing and requests and not my interactions with conversations with readers in my inbox. Thank you in advance!

I am okay with writing smut or small suggestive writing as long as they follow these requirements-

The character(s) are of age, meaning they are at least the age of 18 years old.

I WILL NOT write things involving scat, SA (cnc is okay), ageplay, ddlg, or anything intense of that nature.

PLEASE tell me the sexual anatomy that you want the reader to have AND the pronouns you would like them to have. I commonly write in the second person and refer to the reader as "you". However, the character(s) will have to say pronouns when referring to you, aka Y/N.

2. With the previous rule mentioning that I will not do extremely intense smut content, I would also like to add that I DO NOT participate in Dead Dove Do Not Open content. I also don't do yandere content for either the reader or the character(s), it makes me uncomfortable to write it either way.

3. I put up 18+ banners on my smut and suggestive content, along with using the community labels to help keep any minors from interacting with them. However, I'm no fool, and I know that people can easily jump that by lying about their age when making an account. So I take a sweep at any blogs that have interacted with those pieces. If you want to avoid being sniffed at you can simply put that you are above 18 in your bio if you don't want to put your full age.

If I find out that anyone who interacted with a smut or suggestive writing is under the age of 18, they WILL be instantly blocked with no hesitation. I restate this in my warnings in my writings too, but those are the only warnings that people get to stay away other than this. So pay attention to any banners on my writings.

4. I do not write fics of real people, only fictional characters. I say this mostly because I have one fandom that I write for who's characters have the same name as their actors but I will be extending it to any actors or IRL persons. So no youtubers or actors.

5. Pay attention to the warning labels on any writings to prevent being shocked or triggered by any content written, depicted, or described in the stories. If there is something that you think should be in the warnings but isn't please do not be afraid to notify me either by inbox or DMs, saying them in comments is fine but it is best if you use inbox or DM.

6. I am currently a student in college and have other things that may take up my time. Please understand and respect that I may not get to your request immediately or right away since writing is a hobby to me and I have other assets that I need to attend to first.

[ashers-transition]

2 Months T Update (February 13, 2023)

If you're wondering if I'm ever going to post one of these on time, the answer is no. Anyway, here's my two months update!

Just like before, I will be skipping over anything that hasn't changed and only discussing the changes that I have noticed.

My other transition logs can be found here:

Pre T 1 Month

Please check my pinned post for more info about me and why I started this blog!

CWs: eye contact (in video), discussion of menstruation, discussion of appetite and disordered eating.

(If I’ve missed any content warnings that I should include, please let me know and I will add them in).

Facial Hair

Prior to starting T, I already some darker hairs around my upper lip. It's hard to tell for sure, but I believe I not have slightly more in that area. It's still not very noticeable, especially at a distance. Here are some comparisons, with the first image in the set being pre T and the second being now (2 months on T).

Menstrual Cycle

In my pre T post, I mention that I struggle with chronic pain, and that I get a flare whenever I get my period, with the first day being the worst. I started a new pain medication around three months ago that has lessened those flares enough for me to be functional during them.

For my second period on T, things started to change. This time around, I did not have any extra pain while on my period (at least, not enough for me to be able to tell in addition to my usual pain). That being said, I did have a much longer period than usual, with a much much lighter flow. It was light enough that I could go through a whole day without bleeding through a liner, but my period itself did last for three weeks. I talked to my doctor about this and she did say that this is something that can happen, so there isn't any need for concern.

I know having a month long period sucks, but considering my usual pain when I'm on my period, I honestly would rather have longer, lighter periods with no pain than more "normal" ones with pain.

Acne

I have once again noticed a slight increase in acne. It still is within the realm of a normal breakout for me, but I might try switching up my skin care routine if it gets much worse*. If anyone has any tips let me know, lol.

(*note: I fully believe that acne is a neutral feature and is not inherently bad. It only becomes an issue if it starts negatively affecting you; for example, if it becomes painful. I personally struggle with BFRBs, and acne can be a trigger for me).

Energy Levels, Pain, and POTS

I already struggle with fatigue quite a bit, but honestly this past month was more rough than usual. I think it might be related to being on my period for a full three weeks, but I ended up taking multiple naps most days and sleeping odd hours in general. This isn't completely unusual for me, but I haven't had it to that extent in a while.

As for pain and POTS symptoms, I haven't noticed a difference. I did faint once, which is not common for me, but it was in a controlled environment (medical testing).

Appetite

I have noticed a bit more of an increase in my appetite. It isn't that big of a difference, but I am more consistently eating 3 meals a day, sometimes with snacking in between.

Voice

I'm starting to notice more of a difference in my voice. While still not too bad, my voice has been cracking more than usual lately. I'm unable to pretend-scream as easily as I was before (I get dramatic when playing video games), and I also am struggling more when singing in the car lol. That being said, no one has mentioned noticing a difference in my voice other than one of my partners, who I showed a direct comparison to my pre T voice.

[Video description: A waist high video of Asher talking to the camera. End video description.]

[Video transcript: "Hi, my name is Asher, and this is my voice 2 months on T."]

Other

In my last update I mentioned that I'm planning on switching to taking injections due to a reaction I had to the gel. I have not switched yet (gotta wait for insurance stuff), but I have started rotating the application area more than I had been previously and it has helped a bit. By my next update, I will be on injections.

[70eeznutz]

i’m gonna make a better intro/pinned post bc fuck it

i interact from @evervirescent, i also run a dragonvale blog @the-obsidian-equinox

about me

pronoun page

you can call me Virescent or Hades

neither are my legal name, Hades is a nickname someone gave me a long time ago bc it sounds similar to my legal name and i realized it works well online

genderfluid she/he/they

(i often get confused if someone switches between different pronouns really fast when referring to the same person if multiple people are being mentioned. also i’m afab so i’m most used to she/her but i really have no preference. i don’t mind if you only use one pronoun for me, especially if that makes it easier for you)

adult (born in 2004)

pacific time zone (california)

white & grew up upper middle class with good parents, so please educate me if there’s something i wouldn’t understand!

autistic

mentally ill, but no personality or psychotic disorders

i do have a few triggers but they’re very specific

as an attempt survivor, i have no tolerance for telling someone to take their own life. it doesn’t matter how universally hated that person might be. if i see someone do this, i will block and report them, unless i can clearly tell it’s a joke. i would also prefer if people don’t make those jokes around me unless i’ve given the okay.

blog content

in theory i can write and draw but i almost never make fan content for anxiety reasons IM DOING IT GUYS!! IM GODDAMN DOING IT!!

i usually just post memes or talk about xfohv and algebralians a normal amount

i might talk or reblog about other object shows too. occasionally.

i try to tag things that may be uncomfortable or triggering but i do not do a perfect job. if you need me to tag something please leave a reply to the post in question

sometimes I misspell words or use slang and abbreviations that likely won’t work in a translator, so if you would like me to write something in a way that’s easier to translate, just let me know!

i don’t kin or simp for any characters but i can project onto them really really hard

my favorite posts will be tagged with #pinned to the fridge

my favorite ships are sevensix, 4X, nineflop, and three x five

i also love queerplatonic eight x ten

if you want to know the exact details of everything i ship and in what ways you can go to #xfohv ship chart but be warned as i use homestuck concepts

you can repost my memes just don’t claim they’re yours (i actually get excited when i see smth i made somewhere else)

on the topic of discourse/etc (don’t worry!)

i try my best to keep an open mind and see from the perspective of all sides of various topics

i will not disclose my stance on any topics because i want to keep my blog discourse free, and i also want to interact with people of different opinions so i can privately learn and understand everyone better. this does still mean i have sides i agree and disagree with, but these aren’t set in stone and aren’t relevant right now.

i believe no one actually wants to be the bad guy and most people are only trying to help, so we should all work together to find out how to help as many people as we can. we should discuss instead of argue, and mutually work toward fully understanding these topics

i will still block people who go out of their way to harass or attack others ESPECIALLY if they encourage harm on anyone

needless to say, i have no DNI, but you still might not want to follow me if you’re not comfortable with the above information. i don’t want anyone to be uncomfortable here.

this post may be updated in the future if i think of something i want to add but for now that’s it

[pyr0vents]

TW Mentions of: SA, abuse, grooming, suicide, self harm, drugs/alcohol, sexual innuendoes, mental health

╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗

Introduction

Hello I’m Scott, this is my vent account separate from my main @pyr0man1c to keep my mental health away from my happier and jokey posts.

My account is 14+ due to my age and content (16+ is what most people find suitable but I myself am not 16 so it feels kinda hypocritical)

★・・・・・・★ ★・・・・・・★

From my bio:

‼️My vents may be triggering to others due to the severity of my mental health, I will add warnings as needed to prevent people from seeing content they don’t want to see or may be hurt seeing. Please be aware I cannot get help currently, I live in America and do not have health insurance or healthcare, I do not have access to therapy or medication due to this, telling me to get help is pointless as I am aware I need it but can’t get it. I am in a very sensitive state and may not take well to certain things, please be mindful of that and all I have said, thank you‼️

★・・・・・・★ ★・・・・・・★

Any art about me being Groomed/SA’d or abused by an older figure, is not something that has happened to me.

To explain, I have been SA’d 3 previous times by 3 different people at 3 different ages and 2 different places.

Because of this trauma, it has caused a response to have a desire to be brutally harmed and abused by someone, I am aware this is wrong and that’s why I try to express it through my art to get the bad thoughts out instead of acting on them by putting myself in situations where I would be harmed.

★・・・・・・★ ★・・・・・・★

The drugs is the same.

It was not actually caused by exposure to drugs or alcohol at a young age, it is connected to the desire to be abused, the desire to hurt myself and get put in bad places, including stuff like drugs or alcohol. The only drug I’ve ever actually considered doing is Nicotine and possibly weed but I think the second hand smoke from growing up around a smoker dad kinda caused that.

★・・・・・・★ ★・・・・・・★

Self harm and suicidal thoughts are something I’ve dealt with since I was 10, it’s nothing new. The newest thing from it is the weird sexual pleasure to self harming I’ve gained. (I have so many sexual problems lol) I honestly have no idea how this one came to be and it’s a mystery to me.

★・・・・・・★ ★・・・・・・★

Now into a me introduction now that the important stuff is done!

My name is Scott but you can call me Scotty

I am Queer FtM and Ace-spec

My pronouns are He/It

Im 14 turning 15 in December!

Im an artist and animator on my YT

Main YT:_kbil_nzrmx_

Vent YY:KbilVents

DNI

Bigots

Transphobes

Homophobes

Racists

Pretty much anyone who wouldn’t like a queer trans man who hates himself and hates everyone on this list.

Please be respectful of those around you, whether you agree with them or not, we are all entitled to our opinions and thoughts. Don’t be creepy with underage people on here if you are 18+ and mind what you say to me and others especially considering how I am very vulnerable on here and very obvious mentally unstable!!!

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

[ehldritchblast]

RULES:

CREDIT: The PSD I’m using for my edits is “ENHANCE ABILITY” by Jaynedits.

ONE. This blog will likely be a low-activity blog, but I will usually be available through IMs if anyone wants to chat (and you can feel free to ask for my discord if we're close enough). JUST A HEAD'S UP: i am INCREDIBLY new to the dnd scene. i'm still learning and doing my best to get things right, but if anyone has any advice/critiques, please feel free to let me know! i just ask that you be nice about it, thanks!

TWO. I have ADHD and as such, I will answer asks / respond to threads as I get the muse for them. It's nothing personal if I don't get to something of ours right away, it's just hard for me to focus at times!

THREE. Sometimes I will drop threads without warning and it's nothing personal, I just lose muse. I'm more than willing to start up a new thread. The best way to write with me is from sending memes or writing starters. I also like to plot and find that I'm more invested in threads this way.

FOUR. I will only follow 21+ blogs on here and will block any minors who may follow for my own comfort. I have the right to follow or unfollow you whenever I please. That being said, I will not follow back personal blogs, or a RP blog that I couldn’t see my muses interacting with. Please don’t take it personally.

FIVE. I only ship with chemistry and I'm open to discussing shipping with our muses so long as there's chemistry and the you're willing to discuss / plot ship dynamics with me. I'm also duplicate friendly and love that other people love these muses too!

SIX. THINGS THAT WILL MAKE ME NOT FOLLOW / UNFOLLOW / SOFT/HARD BLOCK YOU:

+ you are under 21, are racist, transphobic, homophobic, antisemitic, ableist, pedophilic, harass others, etc. + you write an original character with little to no information, as I need something to go off of to think of how to interact with your muse. + post an excessive amount of ooc (enough to constantly spam my dash; i don’t mind if you post more ooc than actual rp most days bc i do the same), have constant poor grammar / spelling mistakes (though i'll be more lenient if english isn't your first language), partake in petty, pointless drama, or write in a lot of purple prose / overly format your posts. + don't tag triggering content, write a lot of incest, child death, and any form of abuse (i.e. domestic, sexual, etc), or focus heavily on pregnancy plots. + you follow me first and make no attempt to interact with me, are absent from your blog for long amounts of time (without posting a hiatus warning), disrespect people's boundaries, vague blog, or post a lot of callouts. + if you are a personal blog, follow and unfollow me to try to get my attention, send me things (i.e. memes / rp stuff) when we aren't mutuals, harass my friends, just use me as a number for your follower count, ignore the things i write for you (especially if it's me answering a meme you sent in or writing you a starter), or don't put in the effort for a ship that i have grown invested in. + if you follow me to write / ship with my male muses and ignore my female & oc/tav muses.

SEVEN. I do not deal with ooc drama. If I see it happening on my dash I will not get involved in it, and if it reaches a certain point, I will probably block the person(s) in question.

To add to this: I do not view certain ‘callouts’ as ‘drama’. If someone is bringing attention to harmful behavior, that’s fine. I won’t hesitate to heed that person’s warning and acknowledge / reblog that post if I feel that it is necessary. The types of ‘callouts’ I find unnecessary are the ones where someone is just being petty and talking shit because they don’t like someone and/or are bullying them. That’s something you could handle privately and doesn’t need to be on the dash and/or just block the person and move on. I will not tell you who and who not to write with. I would much rather simply block anyone I wish not to see on my dash. That said, please do not hesitate to inform me if I'm interacting with someone who is a genuinely toxic individual.

[loyalpromise]

RULES:

CREDIT: The PSD I’m using for my edits is “ENHANCE ABILITY” by Jaynedits.

ONE. This blog will likely be a low-activity blog, but I will usually be available through IMs if anyone wants to chat (and you can feel free to ask for my discord if we're close enough).

TWO. I have ADHD and as such, I will answer asks / respond to threads as I get the muse for them. It's nothing personal if I don't get to something of ours right away, it's just hard for me to focus at times!

THREE. Sometimes I will drop threads without warning and it's nothing personal, I just lose muse. I'm more than willing to start up a new thread. The best way to write with me is from sending memes or writing starters. I also like to plot and find that I'm more invested in threads this way.

FOUR. I will only follow 21+ blogs on here and will block any minors who may follow for my own comfort. I have the right to follow or unfollow you whenever I please. That being said, I will not follow back personal blogs, or a RP blog that I couldn’t see my muses interacting with. Please don’t take it personally.

FIVE. I only ship with chemistry and I'm open to discussing shipping with our muses so long as there's chemistry and the you're willing to discuss / plot ship dynamics with me. I'm also duplicate friendly and love that other people love these muses too!

SIX. THINGS THAT WILL MAKE ME NOT FOLLOW / UNFOLLOW / SOFT/HARD BLOCK YOU:

+ you are under 21, are racist, transphobic, homophobic, antisemitic, ableist, pedophilic, harass others, etc. + you write an original character with little to no information, as I need something to go off of to think of how to interact with your muse. + write an animated character / use an animated fc without having a live-action fc available to use instead (realistic animation (i.e. animation that looks very close to real life people) is fine though, and i don’t mind if you are a multi that has animated fcs on your blog), use youtubers, models, singers, or any other non-actors as your fc. + post an excessive amount of ooc (enough to constantly spam my dash; i don’t mind if you post more ooc than actual rp most days bc i do the same), have constant poor grammar / spelling mistakes (though i'll be more lenient if english isn't your first language), partake in petty, pointless drama, or write in a lot of purple prose / overly format your posts. + don't tag triggering content, write a lot of incest, child death, and any form of abuse (i.e. domestic, sexual, etc), or focus heavily on pregnancy plots. + you follow me first and make no attempt to interact with me, are absent from your blog for long amounts of time (without posting a hiatus warning), disrespect people's boundaries, vague blog, or post a lot of callouts. + if you are a personal blog, follow and unfollow me to try to get my attention, send me things (i.e. memes / rp stuff) when we aren't mutuals, harass my friends, just use me as a number for your follower count, ignore the things i write for you (especially if it's me answering a meme you sent in or writing you a starter), or don't put in the effort for a ship that i have grown invested in. + if you follow me to write / ship with my male muses and ignore my female & oc muses.

SEVEN. I do not deal with ooc drama. If I see it happening on my dash I will not get involved in it, and if it reaches a certain point, I will probably block the person(s) in question.

To add to this: I do not view certain ‘callouts’ as ‘drama’. If someone is bringing attention to harmful behavior, that’s fine. I won’t hesitate to heed that person’s warning and acknowledge / reblog that post if I feel that it is necessary. The types of ‘callouts’ I find unnecessary are the ones where someone is just being petty and talking shit because they don’t like someone and/or are bullying them. That’s something you could handle privately and doesn’t need to be on the dash and/or just block the person and move on. I will not tell you who and who not to write with. I would much rather simply block anyone I wish not to see on my dash. That said, please do not hesitate to inform me if I'm interacting with someone who is a genuinely toxic individual.

[mxdarling]

[Yandere type]

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅• •❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

ೃ⁀➷: summary: Yan. neige because I want to see more RSA content PLS-

ೃ⁀➷: Word count: 526

ೃ⁀➷: Reference/Inspiration: {Link} | {Link}

[note:] If there is anything else triggering here that I didn’t list in the warnings section, please tell me. I don’t condone this type of behavior, this is merely just for entertaining purposes and some sort of coping mechanism for me. If you continue to read beyond this point, ignoring my warnings, I am not responsible for your actions from here on out.

[Warnings:] obsessive behavior, worshipping behavior, yandere behavior, guilt-tripping, clingy behavior, mentions of stalking, taking photos w/o consent, taking agency away.

[GN reader]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ :Neige LeBlanche;

✉ - [Worshipper, delusional, obsessive type.]

➮ NEIGE LEBLANCHE is a sweetheart. He's nice, friendly, naive, just in general a very pleasant person to be around. He's so sweet that it's almost hard to be mean to him, especially with all he's followers and popularity. While he can be insensitive he means no intentionally harm. He genuinely thinks your just a perfect human being and one that deserves all the love in the world. It's honestly almost cute and can be mistaken as puppy love if it weren't for those signs of obsession.

➮ He's a hardcore worshipper for his darling, very hardworking too. Always wanting their darling to be happy and pleased from him efforts. He's willing to give up the whole world for you, just say the word and it's yours. From the moment he met his darling he's already giving praises and compliments right towards their direction. He's so smitten for you, it's pretty much obvious to everyone even you but he's just so oblivious that you can't help but indulge him. He's clingy for sure, always by your side not wanting to leave you alone. Even if you ask for space away from him, can you really refuse him? He's just being there for you, after all he's been nothing but sweet to you hasn't he?

➮ Being in a school full of rich princes and goody-two-shoes like Royal Sword Academy he's probably heard some fairytales from his classmates about the moment they found their love, the moment they knew they were destined to be with each other and live happily ever after. Now he's has this idea of his knight in shining armor coming to save him and sweep him off his feet, swearing to each other that they will never part and staying together forever. Oh, how much he fantasized when that certain day will come. Stay with him forever, won't you?

➮ He's very much in love with you, so in love with you that he thinks you feel the same way too, even though you don't really do... Any nice thing you do for him, just adds to his delusion of you sharing the same love for him as he does for you!! He's already made up his mind that you guys are married, no matter what anyone says he's made up his mind. No one can change it otherwise, not even you. He's already planning your wedding despite still being in school, he's already told his friends, parents, and just everyone he knows in general. His fans can know later. He can finally make his fantasizes come true...

➮ Knowing Neige, he wants you to be happy. For that Neige needs to know everything about you. By everything I mean everything. From your favorites, likes, dislikes, hobbies, just everything about you. He mostly asks you about what you like and dislike thinking he's just trying to know you. Sometimes if he can't asks you any questions about yourself, he'll stalk you himself. He's taken dozens of photos just about you and only you, he even memorized the dates and time he took them. He basically has a whole album just dedicated to you. It's so sweet of him...

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅• •❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

[a/n; Sorry I haven't been posting stuff, been lacking motivation so I wanted to get this out to maybe make up for my lack of activity?]

[jamesbuchananxsteviegrant]

[AU, SMUT] What Are You? | Bucky x Steve x Reader

Category: AU, Smut (Mandatory) Age: 18+ Trigger Warnings: Mafia themes, derogatory language, intercourse Ship: Steve x Bucky x Reader Summary: Steve and Bucky Are Planning Some Work With a Client, But What Happens When That Client Doesn't Respect Their Girl? Request: N/A Contains Spoilers for: N/A Word Count: 2.6k

—

Almost everyone knew - there was no doubt about that. Everyone should’ve known, at least, but those who didn’t pay enough attention… sorry for them.

Everyone who heard the sound of the heels clacking against the marble flooring would straighten themselves up as if the sound was coming from the men themselves.

Which men? Oh, which men indeed.

That’s not to say that the woman couldn’t have any kind of friendships with any of the men in the building - she does need a little bit of platonic fun here and there.

“Slow down, Aphrodite, you might chip the flooring.” A mocking voice calls from behind her. Despite it being from a familiar face, the other men still stiffen as if they were the ones doing wrong.

“You might shatter the mirrors if you look in them for any longer.” The woman retorts as she attempts to hide the grin that forms at her own comeback.

The man, however, doesn’t even try to hide his smile as he turns his strides into a jog to catch up with her.

“How do you even know how often I stare in the mirror? You spying on me?�� Sam asks, the pair glancing at each other and both now smiling.

“So you admit that you stare at the mirror, and not just look at it?” The woman tactically avoids his question with her own retort.

Sam’s laugh echoes through the corridor they’re walking through. It’s quite spectacular really - some would mistake it for being a palace. A place where only the good-willed people reside. Almost a shame that it’s full of the likes of James ‘Bucky’ Barnes and Steve Rogers - the two men who own just about all the power there is in New York, let alone Manhattan.

“You know they’re not done yet, right?” The man quizzes, a content smile still on his lips as his hands rest in the front pockets of his black trousers.

The woman doesn’t respond, simply nods.

Sam catches it out the corner of his eye and simply shakes his head.

“You have a habit of interrupting their meetings.”

“And you have a habit of saying things that might get you killed one day.” (Y/N) answers, but her gentle smile admits that that’s not entirely true.

Her attire consists of a loose but very fitting crimson dress that sits mid-thigh, along with the matching red heels that are buckled around her ankles. A simple silver chain around her neck that has two small, but very expensive, black and red diamonds resting in the centre of her collarbone.

“Tell Steve that his car’s being valeted if he needs it anytime soon.” The man comments as he turns off down another corridor, different to (Y/N)’s route.

She simply nods again.

Why is it that she’s heading toward her husbands’ meeting? Because she’s interested in seeing how it will end. The man who has been persisting to speak with Steve and Bucky for the last sixteen months is desperate, to say the least. He wants investment in their three hotels that are situated across NYC, in Queens, Brooklyn and Manhattan.

She was the one who decided on where those hotels would be built, so she wants to see the man, John Walker, crumble as her partners’ pretend they care, only to tell him no.

It might seem like a waste of time but in reality, it’s to see how the man deals with hearing the word no, and whether Bucky and Steve need to deal with him.

“Ma’am.” Christopher greets as (Y/N) approaches the door of the conference room that her men are in.

“Chris.” She responds, nodding her head as he opens the door for her. “How’s it going, gentlemen?” The woman adds as she casually struts into the room, grabbing everyone's attention.

There’s a moment of silence as everyone turns to look at the woman who’s interrupted their meeting. Steve and Bucky simply smile as they take a moment to admire their wife.

“Excuse me?” John is the first to speak up and everyone’s attention turns to him, including (Y/N), who doesn’t seem phased by his evident frustration.

“You’re excused.” Her response is simple but ignites a spark inside of the man.

“Do you usually let whores just stroll around and cause inconvenience in their wake, gentlemen?” He asks, but his eyes remain on (Y/N).

The woman’s eyebrows raise, and a surprised but impressed smile etches its way onto her face. She says nothing. John stares at her with a quirked brow, waiting for a response from the two men his question was directed to, so obliviously aware of the fearful stares he’s now getting from everyone else in the room.

Bucky and Steve’s heads turned very slowly, in sync, back toward their guest, their smiles now distorted into that of pure fury.

“Would you like to say that again?” Steve speaks up first, John now turning his head toward the boss in curiosity of his sudden change of voice.

That’s when the man notices all the stares on him. His eyebrows furrow as he acknowledges everyone’s expression. His eyes flick from the other men in the room to Bucky and Steve, to (Y/N), and back to the two leaders.

He gulps.

“I said: Say. It. Again.” Steve enunciates.

“Come here, doll,” Bucky speaks up also, his eyes flicking from John to (Y/N) for a brief moment, his arm opening up and inviting the woman to situate herself on his knee.

The woman obliges, striding over to her husbands and letting the brunet’s arm wrap around her as she sits.

John’s eyes haven’t left Steve’s, too mortified to even blink, but he catches the action of Bucky and (Y/N).

Steve’s eyebrow quirks, reminding his guest that he’s waiting. And Steve hates waiting.

“I didn’t mean- I didn’t know she was- gentlemen, please, look, this is all a big misunderstanding, I just-”

“Called our woman a whore and an inconvenience.” Bucky finishes his sentence, his expression just as murderous as Steve’s, despite the soothing actions of his hand stroking his wife’s waist.

“I didn’t know she was your-”

“And you think that excuses it?” Steve interrogates. “You think calling any woman a whore is acceptable? An inconvenience?”

John gulps and the sound echoes in the room. His eyes flicker away from Steve’s for a moment to the woman herself, intentionally or not, but his eyes drop to the prominent cleavage on display.

Bucky smirks at the action that most definitely didn’t go unnoticed by himself.

“Sweetheart,” Steve begins, John’s attention darting straight back to the blond’s once more. (Y/N) hums in response. “Who do you belong to?”

(Y/N) bites her lip, core throbbing at the obvious dominance and possession of the two men.

“You and James.” She whispers, Bucky’s hand gripping her waist tightly at the use of his birth name.

The sweat glistening on John’s forehead is clear as day.

Knowing what’ll get everyone in the room riled up even moreso, (Y/N) turns herself around so she’s facing Bucky, sat on his lap, legs on either side of his body. Everyone else in the room keeps their eyes firmly locked on the glass table or the white ceiling.

A pleasant hum resonates from the brunet’s throat, his hands naturally adjusting to rest on her hips.

The moment John’s eyes flicker to (Y/N) once more and then drift down her back, a gun is cocked and metal is pressed firmly against the back of the man’s head.

The woman goes to turn her head around to see what’s happened but Bucky’s lips locking with hers prevents that from happening. She whimpers against his mouth and he absolutely adores it.

“Bend over this table for me, doll.” The man murmurs. “Let’s show Mister Walker what a proper whore looks like.”

The excitement that sparkles in his wife’s eyes makes his cock throb between his legs.

“Yes, sir.”

The pet name makes both men throb.

The woman stands up and turns herself around, making sure every sway of her hips is a show to be watched. Her eyes lock with none other than their security lead, Tony Stark, who’s holding the gun up to Walker’s head, as she bends herself over the table, dress drooping at the front to display her cleavage.

Tony’s eyes don’t even flicker away from her own. The staff in this building know better than to try and indulge in what is rightfully Bucky and Steve’s. John, however, sees this as a prime opportunity to stare at what he believes he’s being offered, his trousers getting tighter.

(Y/N) sees it. She finds is humorous.

Bucky’s hands slide their way up the backs of his wife’s bare thighs, pushing up the crimson material as he reaches it.

Her eyes flutter shut and lips part in satisfaction at the feeling.

“Tell us what you want, doll.” Bucky mumbles, sitting the bottom of her dress at the base of her back, grinning at her lack of underwear.

“Touch me.”

The explicit word that escapes John’s lips are heard clear as day and he knows it, face once again panicking as he looks back at Steve, whose expression still hasn’t changed.

“Where do you want me to touch you, princess?” James continues, not paying an ounce of attention to anyone else in the room right now besides his missus.

His fingers stroke the top of her inner thighs, seeing her soaking wet core already dripping down them.

“Want you to touch my pussy.” (Y/N) breathes, eyes flitting open barely a millimetre.

James presses soft kisses on his wife’s ass before sliding his middle and ring finger lightly over her slit. The action gets a mewl out of her.

Fifteen men in this room in total, only two of them can touch this woman yet all fifteen are dreaming about it.

“Move.” Steve states, prompting John to widen his eyes once more, but this time the words aren’t directed at him.

Bucky grins and obliges, removing his hands from his girl and stands up.

(Y/N)’s eyes open fully this time as she whines in complaint at the loss of contact, but a large smack on her ass distorts her whine into a large gasp.

“You’ll get what’s coming to you, sweetheart.” Steve states, manoeuvring himself so he’s stood directly behind his wife, Bucky casually pulling his own gun out of his inner blazer pocket and wiping it down with his hands.

John’s face stays facing Steve, but his eyes follow Bucky as the brunet moves behind him and out of his sight.

Tony takes the sign to back away and let his boss take over from here.

Steve has no shame as he unbuckles his belt, undoes his trousers and pulls out his rock-hard cock, stroking it with his hand a few times while his other hand returns to Bucky’s previous actions.

“You see that?” Bucky whispers in John’s ears, prompting the man to gasp and jump in his seat. He gulps again but remains silent. “I asked you a question.”

The man frantically nods, fearful for his life, and absolutely humiliated.

“You’re so wet, baby,” Steve murmurs, leaning down and moving her hair aside, kissing the back of her neck.

Before the woman can even respond, her husband thrusts himself inside of her in one go, (Y/N)’s back arching and moaning so loud that Christopher can probably hear outside the door, and Steve’s head being thrown back, his own moan equally loud.

Bucky almost loses his composure if it wasn’t for the fact that he knew not to falter when making sure a man like John Walker was wanting his woman.

“Fuck…” Walker whispers, lips parted as he stares at the woman in front of him being railed by none other than Steven Rogers.

“Keep watching because this is your death wish.” Bucky whispers, John’s eyes widening. “Does she look good?”

John nods his head almost desperately.

Her moans only get faster and louder as Steve fucks her.

“Remind him what you are, sweetheart?” The blond groans, grabbing the woman’s hair and pulling her head back so she’s more or less face-to-face with Walker alongside her other husband.

“A whore.” (Y/N) practically begs.

“Louder.” Steve demands.

“A whore!”

“I said: fucking louder!”

“A WHORE! I’m your whore, sir!” She screams, John losing it and standing up to lean forwards but a gunshot firing beside his head makes him stumble back down to his seat.

(Y/N) flinches are the known noise but settles quickly as Bucky strokes her face with the hand that’s not holding the freshly-fired weapon.

“Don’t you fucking dare move an inch toward our wife.” Bucky threatens to the man he’s leaning over.

John gulps but nods, not taking his eyes off (Y/N).

“Is she inconvenient now, Walker?” Steve asks, glaring daggers at the man. He only shakes his head, eyes only meeting Steve’s for a split second. “No?” He breathes. “Then what is she?”

The guest falls speechless, shaking his head as his eyes flicker between Steve and (Y/N).

“Hot as fuck.” He whispers, Bucky growling in his ear.

“Fuck!” (Y/N) cries out, desperate eyes staring at Bucky’s, who smirks at her state.

“Think our girl wants to cum, Steve.” He comments, John panting in his seat.

“Yeah? You wanna show this scum what a good girl you are for us, baby girl?” Steve grunts, not slowing down but rather speeding up as he too reaches his peak.

The woman’s head nods in desperation, face flushed as her eyes flicker across all men in the room, including Tony’s, who simply winks at her before removing his stare.

“Say it, doll.” Bucky demands.

“I wanna cum.” (Y/N) gasps, watching her brunet lover shake his head.

“Gonna have to do better than that, doll.”

“Please,” She begs. “Please, daddy. Sir. Please, let me cum!” Her voice screams, Steve grunting in response to the feeling of her squeezing his cock, milking him for all his worth.

“Cum, baby girl.” He permits. “Cum like the whore you are.”

And how she does.

Her scream could shatter glass, Christopher would be concerned if he hadn’t already established the differences between the woman’s fearful screams and her pleasure-filled ones.

Taking full advantage of Bucky’s distraction, John leaps forward to get a taste of the woman who’s almost passing out from the pleasure, but that’s the last move he makes as a bullet is shot through his back, knocking him down onto the table.

Tony doesn’t seem phased as he shakes the smoke from his gun, settling it back into his pocket.

Making sure the woman doesn’t collapse atop the, now dead, man on the table, Bucky holds her up while Steve sorts himself out before pulling her back across the table and into his lap.

“You okay, sweetheart?” The blond whispers, smoothing the hair out of her face.

(Y/N) nods but keeps her eyes shut as she rests against her husband’s chest.

“Words, baby.” He requests.

“M’okay.”

“That’s my girl.”

Two of the security men alongside Tony head over and remove the body from the room, Bucky asking for someone to clean up the mess whilst walking over to his two lovers.

“We okay?” The brunet murmurs, Steve smirking and nodding before both paying attention to their girl who’s still half unconscious.

“Does anyone else in the room have anything to say before we carry on?” Steve asks, everyone shaking their heads frantically. “Good, now leave.” And they do.

“You okay, baby doll?” Bucky whispers, cocooning her cheek with his hand.

The woman nods and manages to open her eyes.

“Yeah.”

“That’s our girl.”

Tag List

Everything Tag List: @nosoulnoproblems | @rileyloves5  | @girl-who-loves-mythology | @avngrsinitiative | @lookinsidemyhead |@xbabykookiix | @myspectacularfantasies | @fanfic-anyone | @rororo06 | @queenofbuskers | @vapingisntmything | @tony-stank3 | @hermione-grangers-wife | @lili-ann-love | @the-omni-princess | @tayahs-blog | @regulus-black | @saturnsteverogers| @fyfiexo | @amazingiam00 | @deviltownn | @buckybarneses | @fafulous | roryshitposts | trynnabemultifandom | @moodboreddd | @hopingforbarnes | @an-adventureland | justassaneasiam-ll | @profoundllamanickeleggs | @xbongox | @minetticatinwonderland | @thinkaboutmara | @xxaestheticboyxx | @sparklycollectionofoldmemes | @wandaneedstherapy | @georgiadixon | @nerdy-thespian-10 | @nsb-supertrio | @thinkaboutmara | @captainamerica-is-bae | @spookyparadisesheep | @supernaturallover2002 | @notsochillnerd | @peggycarter-steverogers | @reann-shitposting |

Stucky x Reader Only Tag List: @polarbearnamedpanda | @marvelous-glims

[lostandsearching]

Benny's Bar

Parings: Natasha Romanoff x fem!Reader

Word count: 8.4K+ Big one...my bad

Summary: Natasha's life was never the same after the battle with Thanos, she lost her best friend Clint on Vormir and this sent her spiraling into misery. So what happens when she meets the bartender Y/N? Will fate be kind to her just this once or take her unawares, wrenching her heart in the process?

Warning: Mentions of alcohol abuse, blackouts, blood, implications of death, implies sex, mentions sterilization (just in case) if there's anything you think I should add please let me know

A/N: So not sure what came over writing this and I honestly did try to make it a short one but I clearly failed. Please heed the warnings if any such content triggers you, please avoid reading. I don't want it upsetting anyone. Also try to squint with the time line and the hospital stuff, I'm obviously not versed in doc speak. Hope you enjoy it and I'll always welcome feedback and reblogs :)

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. This was not meant to be Natasha’s life. Tears streamed down her face as she gazed at your exhausted expression, laying on the hospital bed. How did she get here?

//

Years ago

Natasha had been frequenting this particular bar, having had enough of Wanda constantly hovering around her. Why isn’t she allowed a drink? She’s a fully grown woman and retired now. The Avengers have long since been disbanded. The loss of three original Avengers and Vision, plus two leaving was a hole that could not be filled, similar to the Widow’s heart.

So here she was again, eyes cast down to a glass of vodka and sitting on a ridiculously uncomfortable stool. Everyone in there knew who she was but they didn’t dare interrupt her nightly sessions, not since the first time somebody tried.

“You know, you won’t get the answers you need in a bar right? You tease lightly

Natasha drags her unfocused vision towards the sound of the voice until it somewhat lands on Y/E/C. “I wasn’t aware I asked for your opinion” Natasha retorts back with a huff. Had it been another night, had you said something else, Natasha would have thought you beautiful and taken you home, but not tonight. Tonight the only company she needed was the cold glass in her hands.

“I’d be surprised if you are aware of much at all” you quip back playfully, no hint of menace in your tone. Before Natasha can retort, you turn your back and serve another customer. Once again Natasha is left to the company of the burning clear liquid, pulling her closer and closer to oblivion’s embrace.

/

She wakes on tear stained pillows, huddled in a ball under her sheets. The ex-spy doesn’t know how she got home or when she got home but then again, she never does anymore. She turns her head to see the tall glass of water and Advil on her bedside table, Wanda’s doing as usual. She makes quick work of taking the pills and swallowing down the liquid, part of her wishing it was something else.

She begins her day much like every other. She tries to remove the remnants of the night before and goes through the intel that Bucky and Sam have sent her. She may no longer be an Avenger but that doesn’t mean she can’t help and those boys need all the help they can get. Sitting in her small office, nursing a hot cup of coffee, she hears the tell-tale footsteps of another argument approaching.

“Please not today Wanda. Bucky has sent me the flimsiest rumour of some vague drug cartel that I need to decipher because he still hasn’t figured out how to add an attachment” Natasha grumbles out, eyes never leaving the screen. She doesn’t need to see the disappointment on her friend’s face.

“Please come with me to the grief group. It’s helping me with Vision, I know it will help you too if you try” Wanda says gently. She knows if she pushes too hard, it will only trigger the older woman to start drinking earlier.

“I don’t need a group of strangers to help me through anything. I’m fine” the frustration growing in Natasha’s tone. With a loaded sigh, Wanda trudges away defeated. Natasha leans back in her chair and closes her eyes, heart already full of lead. Everyday Wanda tries and everyday Nat pushes her away but the Widow can’t let the woman in, she lost Clint and it’s destroying her. She doesn’t deserve Wanda’s care or love. It should have been her.

She opens a drawer on her desk and pulls the bottle and glass out. She has her first drink.

/

Natasha doesn’t know when she got there or how long she’s been there but the sound of your voice brings her back to momentary clarity.

“So are you going to give me the silent treatment tonight?” you question with mock annoyance.

“Wah?” Natasha slurs out full of confusion as her green eyes look up at you.

“I said...you should really go home now, you were drunk when you came in here so god only knows how bad it is now after all those drinks” you chuckle out.

Even in a drunken stupor, Natasha’s training is ever present and she can hear the concern hidden underneath the layer of joviality. “M fine” is all she can muster out.

“I really need to ban that word” you say plainly, causing the red head to furrow her eyes in confusion. You can’t help but think she looks adorable. “The word fine, you say it every night” you explain.

“S’cuz I am…Fine”

“Ok sweetheart, if you say so” you reply lightly before once again walking away to go about your work.

Natasha’s stomach flips at the endearing pet name. She’s not sure why, but for a moment she lets her eyes try to focus on your frame as you lean over the bar counter to hear a patron’s order. You are certainly beautiful and in that fleeting moment, she wonders what it would be like for you to be draped in her arms.

She turns her thoughts away from you, she doesn’t deserve anybody’s warmth. It should have been her. She takes another swig and lets the burning sensation tear her thoughts away. She falls into oblivion.

/

She wakes up in bed once more, clueless on the events of the night before. Once again, she sees that Wanda has left her a glass of water and some Advil. She silently thanks the witch for these small graces.

She begins her day like every other, but today, Wanda has had enough.

“When are you going to stop drinking yourself to death” her Sokovian accent is heavy in her words.

“You couldn’t wait for me to at least have a cup of coffee first?” Nat retorts angrily. She doesn’t like being cornered first thing in the morning.

“I can’t watch you keep doing this Nat, I lost them too” Wanda says with a shaky voice

“THEN DON’T! LEAVE! YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE HERE! I’M FINE ON MY OWN” Natasha screams out, she can’t hold back her anger and she watches the younger woman flinch at her outburst. That causes a painful knot in her heart. She takes calming breaths and pinches the bridge of her nose to stave of the growing headache.

“I’m fine Wanda. I get myself home safely every night so you don’t have to worry about me” she tries to say calmly. She looks at friend to see Wanda’s face knotted with confusion. “What?” Natasha asks

“What do you mean you get yourself home?” Wanda asks carefully, still trying to piece together what Natasha remembers.

This has Natasha rolling her eyes and huffing with impatience. “I wake up in bed every morning so clearly I get myself home just fine” Natasha grits out.

“Nat…Y/N brings you home every night and tucks you in. You’re too drunk to do anything”

“Who the hell is Y/N?”

Now it’s Nat’s turn to be lost in confusion. She doesn’t know a Y/N much less how this Y/N knows where she lives.

Wanda’s face softens at this with a hidden pang of pity in her heart for you. All this time, Natasha never knew how much you did for her and clearly you never told her. She was going to set it right.

Wanda told Natasha of all the early mornings that you would have Natasha draped against you as you tried to manoeuvre the assassin into bed. You would always take her home after your shift at Benny’s, Natasha being in no state to do so. You would keep a watchful eye on her as you worked the bar to make sure no-one took advantage of the red head’s vulnerable state. Occasionally, you would hold her in bed as sobs wracked her body, you would hold her until sleep took hold of her instead. You would always leave a glass of water and Advil on her bedside table before you departed.

Wanda held back the moments she shared with the Y/H/C woman. Those moments were for her. In all the months of caring for Natasha, you had also cared for the witch, fast becoming friends. Natasha may not have known to appreciate you then but Wanda made sure she did, always sending you away with a portion of her cooking and a new recipe to try.

When Wanda finishes her explanation, Natasha is nothing but still, face devoid of any emotion at the revelation. Even if Wanda wasn’t a mind reader, she knew Natasha well enough to know that she was in inner turmoil. Gently she reaches out to her friend, her sister, and places a calming hand on Natasha’s shoulder.

“Why don’t you start by saying thank you. Y/N works the evening shift” Wanda says warmly, a gentle smile on her face.

“Yeah…”

/

Natasha is nervous, she doesn’t know how to approach you much less thank you, maybe she should have had that drink first. She steps out of her car and looks up at the flashing neon light claiming the place to be Benny’s Bar. She takes a deep breath and pushes against the bar door to enter the confines of the place, sober for the first time.

Her senses are instantly assaulted with the smells of sticky sweat, variations of body sprays and perfumes, and stale alcohol that has seeped into the wood floors, spilled by its drunken patrons. Her ears vibrate uncomfortably with the obnoxious music booming from the jukebox in the corner, some inebriated man leaning against it trying to pick out a song. Natasha takes the bar in, it’s not a dive but it’s definitely not for the refined either. It’s small enough to not attract too many customers but large enough to be easily lost in the crowd.

She keeps scanning the room until her green eyes finally land on your form exiting the kitchen doors to make your way behind the bar, rag in hand. Natasha takes measured strides towards you, hiding her unease with the situation. You aren’t aware of Natasha’s silent approach as you wipe down the bar, cleaning it down only for it to be covered in alcohol again later.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Natasha asks you pointedly

Her steadfast voice garners your attention and you look away from your work towards the fiery redhead. For a moment, you say nothing, only taking in the beautiful woman before you. You note the steadiness in her forest green eyes as they regard you and the straightness of her spine as she stands there, waiting for a reply. She’s sober.

“I didn’t see the point, you never seemed to remember me the next night anyway” you say with a smile hoping to convey that you didn’t take it bitterly.

“If I didn’t remember, why did you keep doing it then?” Natasha can’t help but ask. She was just supposed to thank you but she couldn’t hold back the questioning thoughts.

“Do I need you to remember to do the right thing?” you quip back plainly.

“They are thankless actions. What’s the point in helping some drunk woman that can’t remember to appreciate it?” Natasha responds, eyes furrowed in confusion. Why would anyone go through that for nothing, much less for her?

“So was being an Avenger, but you did it anyway because it was the right thing to do” you say, hand on your hip challenging the assassin to come up with an argument.

“That’s different, I did a lot of terrible things in my past, I was just…wiping the red away” Natasha replies, her jaw clenching at the growing discomfort with the turn of the conversation.

“We’ve all done terrible things sweetheart but I don’t think that’s what’s bothering you.” You say gently. Natasha’s stomach flips at the endearing name, she’s felt this in the past but before she is too lost in thought, you continue talking.

“I think you believe you don’t deserve to be taken care of. I don’t think you would question what I did, if I did it for someone else but…for you…it’s inconceivable. But you’re wrong, no matter what bad things you’ve done or think you have done, you still deserve to be taken care of” giving Natasha a small smile when you finish speaking.

The assassin is trained to expose and extract every lie from a person just by looking at them. She searches your face, your stance, she keeps searching but finds nothing but truth in your words. She cannot explain why but your words touch a part of Natasha’s soul that has long been devoid and unreachable. She feels warm and her heart beats a little faster.

“Thank you, for everything” Natasha finally says, with some vulnerability in her voice.

“You’re very welcome. Seeing as you’ll remember this time, my name is Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N” you say smiling brightly at the red head, hand extended out in greeting.

“Natasha, Natasha Romanoff” she replies, taking your hand in her strong ones, squeezing gently. Your heart flutters at the contact and you can’t fight the rising blush on your cheeks. It only worsens when you note how her cheeks are tinted with the faintest hue of pink. Eventually you both pull away, already missing the feeling of her cold hands in your warm ones.

“So what can I get you Natasha?” you say playfully and you are rewarded with a small smile from her.

Natasha takes a moment and taps her slender finger against her chin in mock thought. She already knows what she wants to drink. She knew the moment she felt electricity coursing through her veins when your hand was wrapped in hers.

“You have any fruit smoothies?” she asks, eyebrow quirked and lip upturned in challenge. You can’t help biting your bottom lip at her cocky demeanour.

“For you…I’m sure I can make something work” you say teasingly before throwing her a wink and begin making her drink.

Natasha watches you with an odd fondness and familiarity. Her mind might have forgotten you but she’s sure her body and her heart never did, holding onto those moments as you gripped her tightly, never letting her truly fall into the abyss. Natasha doesn’t drink again.

//

Present

Natasha doesn’t understand what she could have done to deserve this. She can hear Wanda’s attempt at silently crying in the corner but she can’t tear her gaze away from your drooping eyes. She reaches out gently caressing your cheek and even in your drained state, you lean into her touch.

“It’s ok moya lyubov (my love), you can rest now” she chokes out. You smile gently at this and finally let your eyes close.

//

A few years ago

After the battle with Thanos, Natasha’s life had been turned upside down and she believed it would never be righted again. How wrong she was. All it took was a kind bartender and a shake of warm hands against cold ones.

Natasha never touched a drop of alcohol again after your first sober interaction. She went as far as having Wanda help her purge their little apartment together of any and all alcoholic beverages. Natasha took steps to heal the pain that she was going through. She joined Wanda in the grief group, much to the younger witch’s joy. Natasha didn’t speak much but she was always attentive, mulling over not only her friend’s words but the other group members shared experiences. It helped her understand her own feelings a little more.

Yes the grief group was helpful, just like Wanda said it would be, but nothing was more helpful to Natasha’s healing than you. She had taken to picking you up from Benny’s after your shift as a form of thanks for everything you had done for her, it was an excuse to spend time with you.

Short conversations in car rides home turned into longer conversations over morning coffee. You actively listened to Natasha, not only about her Avenger days but about her in general. She would note how your eyes would light up like the sun whenever she shared a piece of information about herself. She remembers a time where you practically leapt from your chair with excitement, begging Natasha to show you a dance when she shared that she loved to do ballet.

Whenever Natasha was having a bad day, you would notice with one look. The first time it had happened you gave her directions to a dance studio, one belonging to a friend’s mother, and told her to collect her gear from her apartment, the journey was spent wordlessly. You understood that Natasha needed to dance away her pain and worries. When exhaustion would finally force her to stop, she would fall apart and you would wrap your arms around the broken woman, accepting her pain and sharing in her burdens. When she was calmer, she’d pull away from the embrace whispering her thanks. Your heart would ache but you let go anyway.

It eventually became routine for Natasha to pick you up from work and take you for friendly coffee, sometimes to the studio where she would crumble and eventually pull away from your calming hold. The pattern never deviated until that one day. Natasha picked you up as usual but her hard demeanour and the darkness in her eyes told you she was struggling today.

“Studio?” you ask. She simply responded with a nod of her head before driving away. It went as it always did, you unlocked the studio, preparing the lights and the music as Natasha got changed and ready. You would sit patiently on the floor off to the side as she danced with all the emotion she was being ladened with.

You could see the strength and grace radiating from her with each pirouette and contortion of her athletic body. You also saw the pain and the loss she suffered etched on her face become more visible as her dance progressed. She would dance and dance until the flood gates holding back her sorrow would burst. You would rush to her side once again and hold her surely in your arms, letting her express her pain, accepting it all until she inevitably pulled away.

Once her heart-breaking sobs dwindle down to whimpers, you steel your heart in preparation for her disentanglement from you. You’re caught by surprise when she lifts her head from your tear soaked chest and places her cold hand on your cheek. You can’t stop yourself from melting into her touch. Y/E/C stare into her forest green ones, red and puffy from crying yet her eyes are still a vision of endless beauty to you, her pain just a part of her humanity. You are so lost in Natasha’s eyes that you don’t register her leaning in and tilting her head giving you time to pull away. When you make no move, she connects her soft red lips against yours in a chaste kiss.

Your mind explodes with realisation at what is happening before you place your hands on her hips to pull her closer into you. At that moment, the world falls away and there is only Natasha. The feel of her full lips moving against yours in perfect harmony was as if you had done this in every lifetime and your souls already knew how to dance to the tune of your love. The taste of lingering salty tears melded beautifully with sweetness that was purely her. Every nerve in your body vibrated with the love you felt for the red head and you wordlessly conveyed this through your connected lips. You were first to pull away, leaning your forehead against Natasha’s, trying to catch your breath. For a while, you both sit there silently, eyes shut, her hands on your cheeks, yours on her hips, basking in each other’s silent profession of love. Natasha never pulls away from your embrace.

/

A couple of years rolled by like the perfect imperfect romance, Natasha was still after all the Black Widow. You had to learn when to wade in and charge at her built up walls or when you merely needed to fall back, patiently waiting for her to bring them down herself. The first year was a tentative dance as you learnt the intricacies of each other but even when the fear of love would take hold of the Widow, causing her to pull away from you, the red string of fate refused to snap and she would be in your arms once more.

It wasn’t long before the ebb and flow of your relationship steadied itself into a comforting life of domesticity. Wanda eventually moved out of the apartment shared with Natasha, quoting the annoyingly thin walls as a reason, and you had moved in. Your life with Natasha was turbulent at times but she never drank a drop and you never left her side. The joy and love you had for each other would always outshine the darkness that threatened to creep into Natasha’s heart.

/

A few years would pass before the time arrived that things needed to change. The way life was in that moment, was no longer enough for Natasha. She needed more, she wanted more, she was unsatisfied. You noticed the strange behaviour almost immediately, Natasha might have been a world class spy but you were her girlfriend and you knew her like the back of your hand.

Fear started to niggle at you when Natasha would disappear early in the mornings, leaving you alone in bed with her side cold from her departure. Asking her where she went would only provide you one of two responses, a lie or outright annoyance at your inquisition. You wouldn’t ask again.

The sinking feeling in your heart only grew worse when Natasha would quickly disengage from your hold at the sound of her phone ringing, rushing away to answer it in another room. At times her face would look overjoyed after the call and other times, she looked like the Black Widow, ready to murder the next person that crossed her. You wanted to ask, but you thought otherwise, you trusted Natasha, right?

The final nail in the coffin was when Natasha would leave and not return. You would try to stay awake on the couch, waiting for her return, only to wake the next morning in the same spot, bed sheets still made. Your heart was being torn apart by the woman you love and you couldn’t take it anymore. You were going to confront her.

“What is going on with you?” you ask her as soon as Natasha enters the room, throwing her keys in the bowl.

“Nothing, I don’t know what you’re talking about” She replies nonchalantly. Her quick dismissal has your blood boiling.

“Do you think I’m stupid Romanoff?” you spit out.

This has Natasha’s attention now, you never call her by her name much less her last name. She loved that quirk about you. You would always opt to call her baby, or hun but her favourite would always be when you called her sweetheart.

“I…of course not moya lyubov. Why would you think that?” Natasha's eyes look into your pained ones and she instinctively reaches out to you but you move out of her reach. This twists her heart in two as she lets her hands fall back to her sides.

“First you disappear in the mornings and when I ask, you snap at me, then you suddenly become very secretive with your phone calls and now…NOW YOU DON’T EVEN COME HOME!” you shout out, letting out all the building pain and frustration out of its confines.

Natasha’s eyes grow wide with shock, in all the time you've spent together, even when you were frustrated with her, you had never once raised your voice to her. You were the picture of patience and temperance.

“Are you tired of being with me? Do I not make you happy anymore?” you meekly question, fighting back the tears building in your eyes at the thought that Natasha might confirm your worst fears.

The sight of you hugging yourself, so broken and vulnerable, forces Natasha out of her daze and rushing to sweep you into a crushing embrace. You don’t pull away this time, believing that you should etch the feeling of her arms wrapped around you in case this is the last time you felt them. She gently holds your chin in her hand and pulls it up so you lock gazes.

Natasha wants you to look straight into her eyes so you know the depth of her sincerity when she speaks.

“Y/N, I love you more than anything in this world, more than anyone in this world. You saw the broken pieces of me and glued me back together with your love. I would NEVER tire of being with you, because I could never be without you” She says vehemently, hoping you believe her.

You look into her forest green orbs and all you see is honesty and her all-encompassing love for you. You trust she means what she says.

“Then what is it sweetheart? I need you to talk to me” you whisper out to her, gripping onto her shirt, your entrenched fear still not abating.

“You’re right, there is more and it’s been frustrating me. I’m sorry I’ve been taking it out on the one person I shouldn’t have” Natasha apologizes before pressing a lingering kiss on your forehead. “I want more Y/N, I want more than this” She whispers out to you unsteadily.

You feel your heart break at her words but the look in Natasha’s eyes roots you in place, you don’t pull away from her grasp.

“I don’t want you to just be my girlfriend, I want you to be my wife. I don’t just want this apartment, I want a house. I’ve been trying to find the perfect ring and the perfect home so we can start our perfect life because Y/N…I already found the perfect woman to spend the rest of it with”. Her admission was steady and pouring with all the emotion she normally caged in.

Tears fall freely down your face and your heart explodes with overwhelming joy. You are so engrossed in your happiness, it doesn’t register that Natasha is pulling away from you only to get on one knee. You can’t comprehend when the small velvet box appeared in her hands and it isn’t until the glint from the simple diamond ring shines in your eyes that you come back to yourself.

“Y/N, will…” Natasha begins but before she can finish the question you launch yourself at the assassin.

“YES!” you shout through your tears.

This is not how Natasha wanted to propose but the pure exhilaration on your face has her heart melting. She couldn’t hold back the few tears that escaped her eyes as she gently slid the silver banded ring on your finger. You shared a passionate kiss, full of hopes and of promises for your future together.

/

You were married the following summer, a simple reception with close family only. The remaining Avengers made an appearance with Natasha’s mother, Melina, walking her down the aisle and Yelena by her side as maid of honour. Benny walked you down the aisle towards Natasha, you considered the bar owner as your own father, the one you wished you had. Wanda was overjoyed to be your maid of honour and to help you plan for this auspicious day.

The day was a blur of teary vows, full of love, expressed to one another and endless dancing and joy. You weren’t too impressed with Bruce’s linger stares at your wife but her green orbs never left you, not for a second. She held you close until the music died down and the guests trickled away. She held you closer when you were a mass of tangled limbs underneath cool sheets, spending your first night together as wives in your new home. She held you impossibly close, her breasts pressed against your back, arms wrapped around your waist as you welcomed slumber together.

//

Present

Natasha’s feet clack through the hospital halls as they make steady progress towards their destination. Wanda, ever the supportive friend, gripped Natasha’s hand tightly as they weaved the maze of halls, the silent tears now dry on her face.

Natasha isn’t sure she is ready to see, it’s all too much. The ex-spy knows that once her green gaze lands on the scene she so sorely yearns for, she won’t be able to let go. It’s too soon, she won’t be able to leave.

//

One Year Ago

All those couples that would complain that marriage was the first step towards misery were clearly never married to Natasha, lucky you. Your marriage was excruciatingly blissful. Natasha had opened up to you in ways she never did until she was called Natasha L/N-Romanoff. She became fully open with her affections and those long standing walls were non-existent to you. Your wife gifted you the key to her soul and you cherished it.

The years full of romantic anniversaries, countless spontaneous adventures and endless nights huddled together lovingly still could not fill the one hole left in your wife’s heart. You knew Natasha wanted a child and you wanted it too, you just wanted it to be hers.

After many long excited conversations in the day and fear induced tears in the night, you and Natasha finally decided to make an appointment with the best fertility clinic in New York. Natasha’s connections with Pepper Stark allowed you both to waive the year long waiting list and were seen the next day.

Natasha wracked with nerves could just about hold her false display of confidence, face masked with casual indifference, much less speak. You had taken to speaking for the both of you, telling the clinic doctor about Natasha’s sterilization and your own wishes to have her child. The doctor would go on to explain that there is a possibility that the sterilization did not destroy Natasha’s eggs therefore your wish could be possible, however, considering the unknown methods of sterilization it cannot be guaranteed.

“But there is a chance?” This was the first time Natasha spoke and to anyone but you, the tremble in her voice was expertly hidden.

“Yes” the doctor replied kindly. Natasha turns to you and you can see the fear in her eyes that the latter might be true but within the fear a hope shines brightly through.

“We have a chance” she whispers to you as if there was no-one but you in that moment.

“Yes sweetheart, we have a chance” your tone mirroring your wife’s. For a second you simply look into each other’s eyes, having a silent conversation on whether this was a door you wanted to open together. With a soft stroke of Natasha’s cheek and a quick kiss planted on her lips, Natasha hears your wordless confirmation.

“Do whatever tests you need to do” Natasha directs at the doctor and with that, he sets to work on booking in future appointments.

/

It doesn’t take long for the tests to be held and for you and Natasha to be once again sitting in the same office, waiting for the doctor to return. Natasha is still as a statue and to untrained eyes, she was the calmer of the two of you. What those untrained eyes would fail to see was the iron grip the assassin held your thigh with, you knew it would bruise but you didn’t stop her. They would also fail to notice the tightness in her jaw as her unfocused gaze looked out the window. You would give her vice-like grip on you a gentle squeeze to bring her back from whatever dark thoughts were ruminating in her mind.

The tense atmosphere only heightened when the doctor finally entered and sat at his desk, pouring over the file in his hands wordlessly. You can feel Natasha’s hackles begin to rise at the lack of an answer so you opt to intervene, afraid your wife might literally rip his head off.

“What news do you have for us doctor” you ask while gently squeezing Natasha’s thigh to soothe her growing annoyance. You feel her slowly relax under your touch.

Finally the doctor looks up from the file to address you, annoyingly slow even for you. “Good news, ladies. Natasha has plenty of perfectly healthy and viable eggs that can be implanted in you Mrs. L/N-Romanoff and from the tests you undertook, your womb is perfectly healthy as well. You need only pick a donor and we can begin” he explains. He goes on to provide you with the necessary access to their database of donors with their in-depth profiling. You know Natasha will dig further.

You thank the doctor calmly but you can already feel the storm of emotions brewing within your wife, so you make quick work in getting the red head home. It isn’t until you are within the safety of your home and she hears the front door shut followed by a clink of your keys being thrown in a bowl that she falls apart. You rush to her side much like you had all those years ago in the studio and wrap your steady arms around the beautiful woman.

Natasha believed that there was never any hope for her. The red-room made her believe she had no-one, no family, then she got the Avengers, she got her mama and Yelena back. The red-room taught her that love was for children, for the weak and then she met you, loved you and it made her stronger. The red-room convinced her that she was never going to have children of her own, she may not be able to carry, but they were wrong there too. She was going to have a child with the woman she loves. She was slowly becoming whole.

When the red head finally calmed down she gripped your face in her hands and crashed her full lips against yours in a breath-taking kiss but as fast as it began, it quickly ended, leaving your head spinning. Natasha is quickly on her feet pulling you up with her and leading you to the bedroom. You spent countless hours that night, at Natasha’s mercy as she poured all her pain, her joy and her love into you. You accepted everything the red head gave you with silent screams of her name slipping from your lips.

/

Natasha newly reinvigorated, with you a little sorer for it, poured her new found energy into finding the perfect donor. She would spend days with you as you would mull over the profiles together, choosing donors you both agreed on, and evenings, while you cooked, accessing the re-established S.H.I.E.L.D. database to find every single detail about the short listed donors. Was it legal, probably not but this was Natasha you were talking about. The Black Widow took no half measures in anything.

/

It wasn’t long before the perfect donor was found and it seemed time only propelled forward. It was a haze of appointments, doctors and cold hands wrapped around warm ones that lead you to this moment, sitting on your bed, eyes trained on the pregnancy test waiting for the second line as Natasha nervously paced up and down the room.

“Sweetheart, I love you but if you don’t stop walking a hole in my floor, I will kill you” you say with endearment. You take your eyes away from the test for a moment to look at your wife, her face stricken with worry. You can see all the endless questions of what if’s swimming around in her green eyes. Before you can say anything to reassure her, you watch as her eyes widen comically, staring at the test beside.

“The line…there’s two” she whispers out, never taking her attention off the test.

Finally you pull your gaze away and turn your attention to the test, picking it up and examining it clearly. There were indeed two clear lines. It worked, you were pregnant with Natasha’s baby. You weren’t sure when it started but it wasn’t until Natasha was crouched in front of you, wiping away at your cheeks, that you realised you were crying.

“We’re going to have a baby” you mutter out, tears still streaming down your face slowly.

“Yes moya lyubov, we’re going to have a baby” Natasha says softly. Her tone breaks the damn and your gentle stream of tears becomes wracked sobs. Natasha wraps her strong arms around you as cry into the crook of her neck. She rubs soothing shapes on any part of your exposed skin that her cold fingers made contact with.

She held you unquestioningly until your sobs withered away into whimpers, only then did she step away and run you a bath. Natasha knew you weren’t one for crying but when emotions became too much for you, the aching sobs would leave you emotionally and physically exhausted. She would help you out of your clothes and ease you into the warm bath, playing soothing music in the background before giving you space. She accepted that you needed time to collect yourself once more. That night Natasha worshipped you in every way possible. Each stroke of her fingers, kiss of lips or exploration of her tongue was slow and sensual. She took her time in loving every inch of you as she whispered your name, full of devotion

/

To say that your wife was a worrier was an understatement. Natasha had taken to spending endless days researching everything there is to know about new parenthood. You thought it was adorable if not somewhat frustrating. Frustrating because now you couldn’t get into the top snack cupboard, not quite having worked out the baby-proofing gadget Natasha has attached to everything. You also can’t get into the cupboard that contained the toilet rolls.

“Why is the toilet roll cupboard baby-proofed?” you asked with slight indignation, hormones already playing with your normally calm moods.

“What if our baby gets in there and suffocates in all those rolls?” she replies with a serious tone, concern evident on her face.

You can’t help but soften at her expression and the weight of worry on her shoulders. You move towards her and wrap your arms around her neck as her hands instinctively rests around your waist pulling you closer.

“How about we move the tissue rolls in the top cupboard way out of reach, without a baby lock? Would that be better hun?” you ask sweetly, no hint of criticism in your words.

Natasha relaxes with your words and into your arms as she snuggles her face into the crook of your neck before replying.

“Yeah…”

/

The first trimester was a breeze and you foolishly thought the next two would be just as easy. How wrong you were. Natasha was the picture perfect wife to your ever hormonal and temperamental moods. You would quickly go from extremely loving, bordering on needy, to snappy at the tiniest inconvenience and worst of all, you would cry at the drop of a hat.

Natasha knew you were having a hard day today, you’re very active bundle of joy hadn’t relented in kicking every single one of your organs and your bladder on far too many occasions. You were tired, in pain, and your feet were uncomfortably swollen. She thought your favourite Pixar movie, Wall-E, would cheer you up. It’s all very cute and nobody dies. Bad move.

She’s rubbing your feet absentmindedly, eyes trained on the screen showing the fat space residents hovering around from place to place before your quiet sobs draws the red head’s attention. Worry courses through her.

“Y/N, what’s wrong? Is something hurting love?” She rumbles out quickly

“The….they’re…so fat. It made me think…if I was that fat…you wouldn’t love me anymore…but look at me…I am FAT.” You choke out past your sobs. This was ridiculous and you knew it, damn these hormones.

“You aren’t fat detka, you’re beautiful and you’re carrying our baby. I couldn’t love you more now even if I tried” Natasha tries, squeezing your foot gently in reassurance. She can feel you relax beside her slowly. “Do you want to go to bed?”

“Yes please” you squeak out, already having had enough of the day, all you want to do is sleep in your wife’s arms.

Natasha doesn’t hesitate and simply begins turning off the TV and helping you onto your feet, hand resting supportively on your back as you make your way to the bedroom together. You go about your nightly routine before finally settling under thin sheets, sleeping in just your underwear. Natasha’s front is pressed against your back as her arm is draped against your every growing bump, drawing lazy circles on the exposed skin.

“Thank you for being so patient with me, I love you” you whisper in the dark

“Always moya lyubov. I love you too” she whispers back, nuzzling into the back of your neck as you both gently welcome slumber.

//

Present

Natasha finally reaches the room, her cold hands pull away from Wanda’s and press against the clear glass in front of her. She pushes hard against the smooth surface, her palms going white, in efforts to get as close as she can. Tears pour down her face unhindered.

‘She’s beautiful’ Natasha thinks to herself. Our daughter is beautiful.

//

Hours Ago

Things were progressing well with your pregnancy and everything was ready in your home for your new arrival, Natasha wanted to be fully prepared. You still didn’t know the sex of your child, both of you wanting to wait until the big day only two and half months away.

You were casually lounging on the sofa, heavily engrossed in reading Catching Fire while Natasha attempts to cook you pancakes when a fleeting stab of pain in your abdomen catches you off guard. You press your hand instinctively against your belly even as the pain disappears. Your heart quickens with worry but you try not to panic. This is normal right? You ignore the twittering voices in your head telling you it’s not.

It happened again, more painful and more prolonged this time while you and Natasha were laughing about something on the TV, causing you to audibly groan in discomfort, eyes shutting and hands resting protectively on your belly.

“Y/N what’s wrong baby?” Natasha was quick to rush to your side, one hand on your cheek and one on your bump. Fear courses through the assassin’s veins that something was wrong. The pained look on your face was different to all the other times.

You lean into her cold hand, letting it soothe the pain faintly lingering behind. When you open your eyes, they meet her fearful green orbs. You reach out to her and smooth the wrinkles creased in between her furrowed brows before pulling her face towards you gently to kiss away any last remnants left behind.

“I’m ok sweetheart, it was nothing. I’m sure it’s just Braxton Hicks. The doctor said it might happen at this stage” you whisper, trying to ease your wife’s worrying. In the back of your mind, the niggling thoughts buzz annoyingly, you ignore them again.

Natasha is an expert spy, she can spot a lie a mile away. A part of her sees the lie but she wants to so badly believe everything is fine that she believes your lie as truth. She doesn’t push and her body relaxes while the back of her mind screams. The one time you needed the no nonsense Black Widow, she was nowhere to be found, it was a mistake.

The next time it happened the pain exploded within you and refused to abate. The empty plate you were carrying towards the sink falls unceremoniously from your grasp, shattering loudly on the wooden floors with you crumbling beside it next.

Natasha was working in the nursery, creating the last touches when her ears perked at the smashing sound, you were a bit clumsy lately so she didn’t immediately react but her heart hammered loudly against her chest, something was wrong.

“NATASHA!” you screamed fearfully

The assassin flew into action and rushed towards your call, faster than her limbs have ever moved her. Her head was screaming and her heart more closely resembled a pounding drum against her rib cage. Nothing she felt compared to the white noise that greeted her at the sight of your crumpled form on the floor, sitting in a pool of blood.

“Something is very wrong Nat” you choke out with a sob. Your voice yanks Natasha out of her fearful stupor and she moves purposefully towards you. It has been long since Natasha has been in the field but her ingrained training forced her to continue her rigorous exercise diligently. She effortlessly sweeps you into her arms and carries you bridal style, grabbing the keys from the bowl, and making a quick exit towards your car. Not bothering to lock the door.

She gently places you onto the passenger side with a quick kiss on your sweat soaked forehead. Natasha’s fear is renewed by the taste of your salty perspiration on her lips. She runs to the driver seat, throwing the car into gear before flying towards the clinic at record breaking speeds. All the while she listens to your grunts and tears of pain as you cradle your bump, trying to protect your unborn child.

You aren’t sure when you got there, or how long you had been there for but Natasha’s fearful and angry shouts brings you back to momentary clarity. Your shaky hand reaches out and rests on your wife’s cheek in effort to garner her attention. Her green orbs quickly snap to you, her attention undivided.

“Anya” you hoarsely whisper through the pain. You watch as her face contorts in utter confusion.

“Her name is Anya, she’ll be strong like her mama, like you” you weakly clarify. Natasha doesn’t understand, neither of you know the sex but the look of surety on your pain ridden face has her not questioning it, simply nodding in confirmation.

“Her before me” your words are becoming more laboured and it takes a few seconds for the ex-spy to comprehend the meaning of your words.

“No…Don’t…” she mutters out through trembling lips, eyes blurring with pooling tears.

You run your thumb gently against her cheek trying to convey every ounce of love you feel with the small action.

“It’s ok. Let me go sweetheart. Her before me” you say with as much strength as you can muster. You are suddenly ripped away from Natasha’s arms and placed on a gurney to be rushed to the E.R.

The red head is left standing there, arms limp by her side, covered in your blood as she watches the nurses wheel you away from her. When you are out of sight, she finally lets the tears free fall before whispering to you, hoping her feelings will carry what her words cannot express.

“Yeah…”

//

Present

“Thank you for being here Wanda” Natasha says never taking her eyes off her daughter.

“You know I always will be” the other woman replies gently. At some point in the evening, Natasha had mindlessly called the younger woman as she relayed confused explanations of what the doctors had told her. All Wanda understood was chord, distress and haemorrhage as she gathered her belongings with extra sets of clothes for Natasha, heading straight to the hospital.

Natasha pulls her loving gaze away from her new-born daughter in the incubator. The doctors had reassured her that for a preterm birth, Anya was strong and would safely pull through. She turned her gaze to the woman by her side, two different shades of green meeting with silent understanding of where Natasha needs to go now, alone. With a reassuring squeeze of Natasha’s hand, Wanda turns her attention back to her niece.

Once again, the clacks of her feet echo in the quiet halls of the hospital. This was the good thing about such a private and expensive clinic, she didn’t need to deal with the hustle and bustle of general hospitals that were over capacity with dozens of doctors and nurses rushing about.

The walk to her destination seemed like a floating haze, as if she was in one moment with Wanda only to be in this moment, standing beside you. Her green eyes scan over your emotionless, grey features with your eyes shut, shielding Y/E/C from her view. She looks at the scratchy white sheet draped over you and she wonders if they couldn’t have got something better.

“She’s beautiful moya lyubov. Anya is beautiful. She already has red fuzz on the top of her head and she’s so little but the doctors said she’s strong, you were right” Natasha whispers as a few tears escape their confines. She gently caresses your cool cheek, ever so lovingly.

For once, since your first touch at Benny’s Bar, cold hands meet cool skin and this breaks the red head’s heart. But eventually you stir from your slumber, the pressure of her hand on your skin, drawing you from your dreamless sleep.

Finally her forest green eyes can land on Y/E/C as you try to blink the sleep away.

“I’m always right” you sigh out, having caught the last of your wife’s words.

“Not always” Natasha remarks plainly, happiness slowly returning to her face as she hears your melodic voice regaining its strength slowly. She thanked modern science and blood transfusion for these large graces.

“When was I ever wrong?” You squint at her with mild indignation

“You once said I wouldn’t get the answers I need in a bar. You were wrong. I got you and you were the answer to everything” Natasha replies softly as she grabs your slowly warming hand to cup them in her cold ones. You radiate with love at her admission having thought that she had no recollection of any of your conversations on those fateful nights.

No, this was not supposed to be Natasha’s life, it was supposed to be her not him...but this is her life and it was him. She silently thanks her friend, her brother for the beautiful life she gets to live, with you, with Anya.

Taglist: @vancityfire13 @mindofwesley

[hansensgirl]

please don’t take him (even though you can).

summary. | She can have anyone she wants, but you can never love again. Not without him.

warnings. | Major angst, cheating, nightmare mentions, anxiety, yearning, nail-biting, insecurities, mental heath issues, mentions of violence, abandonment, implied smut, talk of death, grief, some religion stuff (not major), loneliness, mentions of torture, PTSD, split personality disorder i think, this is really angsty and possibly triggering so please be aware of the warnings! 18+

word count. | 12k.

pairings. | Bucky Barnes x Reader, Winter Soldier x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Natasha Romanoff.

a/n. | THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 6K!!! i love each and everyone so much like serious i will kiss you all!! happy valentine’s day as well!! based off of jolene by dolly parton and love by daughter. thank you to my love @mypoisonedvine for beta-ing and listening to me talk about this fic every now and then! ilysm! this fic is very near and dear to me, so please reblog it 🥺

The Soldat’s sentences are broken, just like he is. The words fall apart as soon as they roll off of his tongue. So much to say, so few words, so little time. His hands are as cold as the bitter Russian winters, as cold as his stare. The Soldat doesn’t know what to feel. He’s as numb as when one’s entire body has been bitten by frostbite.

His voice is deeper than it was for the man he once was. From the screaming, from the crying, from the torture. He has no control, not even over his own voice. He keeps quiet and thinks. He thinks, and he thinks, and he thinks. Something has dawned on the Soldat. He does have control. But for how long? He only has it for a few minutes, maybe even hours. But it’s enough. He only has it until the soul of his mission’s body has left. He only has it until their eyes hold no life in them.

It’s 2014, and the first sentence he has completed is “I love you.”

You can remember it well. November 17th, the snow had fallen early and neither of you were prepared. Milk intended for hot chocolate boils on the stove and the crackle that the fire brings was the only sound in the room. He watches you from afar as you slowly stir the milk with a wooden spoon — the only one that he hadn’t accidentally snapped.

He doesn’t like the cold, he never has. Though he’s always warm, the cold haunts and taunts him. Memories and nightmares come with the snowfall and ice. “Are you okay, Winter?” you ask him, and he snaps out of a blank trance.

Winter. He likes being called Winter, although he loathes the season.

He nods his head after some careful thinking. Through the mess that is his mind, he manages to ask himself if he’s okay. Is he? No, he isn’t. He’s not sure why he nodded, but damn is he grateful for that smile you give in return. One in a million, you’re a burning star. The brightest there is, and the shiniest diamond ever. You’re rare, the person who poets write about and singers cry about. But you’re the only one for him. Only his.

“What flavours, Winter? Would you like to try something new?” you ask him, bringing the heat down and taking the milk off of the stove. Winter gets up from his spot near the fireplace and strides over to you. He likes the way you don’t choke in fear when he walks towards you.

You show him the numerous flavours of cookies you had baked that morning, and allow him to take as long as he’d like to choose. “M…” He struggles to say the word, scared that he’s being too demanding and that it’s a trick. HYDRA often did that. Fooling him just so that they could harm him, even though they never really needed a reason. “You can have anything you want, Winter. Anything.”

You reassure him, hesitatingly putting your warm hands on his warm face. He looks up at you, and you give him a soft smile that makes him want to cry with love. “Macadamia?” he requests politely. You hand him the macadamia cookies and smile, before grabbing one of the chocolate bombs you and he made the other day.

“Would you like to pour the milk, Winter?” you question him, grabbing his favourite mug. It was white and had a cheesy pun that always made him smile. “Yes.” He keeps his answers short, scared that he’ll say the wrong thing, or that he’ll abuse his privileges. The stories… The harsh stories they tell about him contradict him. He looks just like that feared soldier; the one you should run from.

But God, he’s just a broken man. Not too far past repairing, but just enough that it takes certain special tools to fix him. He towers over you like a brute, a powerful stare that would make anyone but you cry. He takes the carton of milk for you, cracking a slight smile when he remembers that you were so weak that your hands would shake when lifting it.

Your heart warms as his lips stretch. Before, you weren’t sure if you even had a favourite sight. But now… now you know. He’s your favourite sight. He pours the milk with shaky yet careful hands, and you envy his strength through your admiration. He stops just at the right time without having you tell him. Independence. He’s learning.

You break pieces of chocolate into the cup and let the hot milk melt the sweet treat, before adding a dash of cocoa powder. You both watch in wonder and awe as the milk turns into hot chocolate. Winter takes his cup from you, and thanks you. “You’re welcome, Winter,” you say, placing your cold hands on the mug.

He watches as you sigh at the warmth, knowing that your body doesn’t radiate as much heat as he does. “S- Share?” he offers you, taking note of how you’re slightly shivering. You nearly choke on your hot chocolate as he proposes the utmost tempting action ever. “My blanket…” He adds on, making you take note of the blanket your father gave you that rests on his shoulders.

It’s not necessary, but it gives him a type of comfort that only you can give as well. “Please?” you ask, shivers crawling up your spine and goosebumps rising on your skin. You walk closer to him, padded feet barely making any noise as they rest on top of creaky wooden floors.

He opens the blanket like wings and takes you under his arm like a bird. Ready to show you the world, even the nastiest bits and pieces of it. He wraps the majority of the blanket around you and he’s infatuated with the relaxation that you radiate. No threats, no impending dooms. You stand side by side, not so silently sipping on your hot chocolate because you love the little smile he gives at the slightly loud slurps.

Winter doesn’t know what comes over him. Courage? Cowardice? A spur of love? His mind is too messed up to think that clearly. He turns you around to face him, the blanket falling to the floor with a slight thud. Who knew wool could be so heavy?

Heavy like your heart. Heavy like the tension that lingers.

Perhaps it’s not courage or cowardice, and in fact, it’s Bucky who used to flirt like a maniac with every girl in the neighbourhood. He bends down and plants a kiss on your lips — at least that’s what he thinks it is. You’re easily goo beneath his coarse hands as they cup your cold face. He doesn’t move his lips and you don’t either. You’re both content with the simple yet unique kiss.

He pulls away and you have to admit — you’re breathless. From both the lack of air and from happiness. It’s rare to have such feelings be reciprocated. “I love you,” he bluntly admits, and never in your life have you been so shocked. “W- What?” you ask incredulously, taken aback yet you can already feel your body, soul and mind taking off to cloud nine.

“I love you.”

He repeats himself and God knows he’s willing to say those three words and eight letters over and over again just for you. “You do?” you ask him, feeling tears well in your eyes. “Yes. I love you. Love has immense, yet measurable effects and changes in the biochemistry of the brain. I mean- my brain? The three basic parts of love are driven by unique blends of brain chemicals…”

He pauses to take a deep breath.

“Every time I look at you, I have the term, ‘butterflies in the stomach.’ It’s caused by a reduction in blood flow to the stomach. I have the strongest urges to protect and love,” he explains with more words than ever.

Never in your life have you ever heard the words that are pouring out of his mouth. “Do you…?” he nervously questions, feeling his heart palpitations speed up at such a rate, it’s like he’s having a heart attack.

“I love you, even more, Winter.”

It’s 2016, and your Winter is almost a different person.

His name is Bucky– James, he tells you. You call him Jamie. Information discovered from trips to the museum and paragraphs of articles and textbooks fill out the blank spaces of his life. Apparently, students learn about him and the rest of the Howling Commandos in school. But you haven’t been, so you wouldn’t know.

The night terrors are tough, but they’ve been slowly improving with you by his side. You’re both broken in your own ways, but you have each other, and that’s enough. He doesn’t mind it when you call him Winter, but you know it makes more sense to call him by his true name. You’re fine with anything, as long as you have him.

“My, my… Did you wake up in a good mood?” you ask him, hugging him carefully from behind because you know that sometimes he doesn’t want to be touched. That’s fine. “Maybe… I was thinking of going out today. Alone. Will you be safe?” he asks you, handing you the best meal he can scrounge up. Biscuits and tea. “Always, because I have you,” you tell him, making him give you a sad smile.

You don’t have a table, so he lifts you up onto the counter that is next to the sink. Inside, there are stacks of dishes. Neither of you have the energy to wash them, but today you will, to keep yourself busy. He’s already dressed; tight red henley on top of two more sweaters that are stretched out over his broad chest.

Jeans that barely fit his thick legs, combat boots that he stole and a cap that conceals his identity from wandering eyes. He watches as you eat, just in case you accidentally bite your tongue, burn yourself or choke. He’ll always be there for you. “Did you eat?” you question him, breaking your last biscuit and handing the bigger piece to him.

At first, he refuses to take it. Doubts from HYDRA still linger, they never can go away even with the most reassurance and love from you. “Please? You can lie and you can choose to not answer, but at least take this,” you beg, placing the half in his gloved hand. He presses a chaste kiss to your lips; the taste of orange pekoe tea making him sigh.

He’s always been partial to green, even though he can’t recall ever drinking it. He reluctantly eats the piece and you stare him dead in the eyes as he does so. “You know I’ll always love you, right?” you speak up once he’s finished. You know all the proper manners like they’re written on the back of your hand. When you were younger, they were.

In loopy cursive. Black Sharpie ink settling into your skin and you can remember the way your father scolded you for doing so. The memory is fresh, fresh like the tears you notice in Bucky’s eyes. He nods, and you down the rest of your tea. You never had a preference between tea and coffee. You were grateful to have either.

They both had their flaws, and they both had their strengths. “And I’ll always love you, лунный свет,” he whispers, closing the space that divides you both. His lips — slightly chapped yet so soft — are pressed against your cold forehead. Your mouth falls open in a gasp, but it’s not one of surprise.

No.

It’s of satisfaction, and you find yourself doing it more often than once. “What does that mean?” you ask him as you trace the teacup with one of your fingers. There’s still a bit of tea inside of it, but it’s barely anything. Not enough to quench a thirst. But since it’s come from him and since his murder-scarred hands made it, it’s enough for you.

Your finger dips, and it’s only then when you notice there’s a small chip. You don’t resent the cup for it, no, not at all. In fact, you find yourself a bit more enamoured with the piece of cheap china in your hands. “Moonlight,” he bluntly tells you, before taking the cup from your hands. You don’t even realize it until he replaces it with his hands.

Oh… He doesn’t like it? Now– now you hold a little bit of resentment towards it because if James doesn’t like it then maybe you shouldn’t. “Why?” you ask as you wrap your hands around his. You lace your fingers together and you can feel the stark contrast. On one hand — your right hand — your skin is comforted by the cotton glove he wears.

On your left hand, your skin is comforted by his bare, rough hand. “Well, лунный свет, what do you think it means?” he asks you in return as you trace the stitches on his glove and the grooves of his hand. “I… I’m not sure. I’m sorry,” you apologize to him. Your head ducks down in disappointment, but not with him. It’s for yourself, as always. “Don’t be, sometimes we don’t know everything,” he tells you softly, “and that’s okay.” His words reassure you as always.

“You’re just like moonlight. You’re wise, the brightest of them all. No matter how small you make yourself, you always manage to make everyone marvel at your beauty. You’re mysterious, always a surprise, but only for some. Your aura– your brightness, it never ceases to amaze people. It helps me through the darkest times. The world needs you, I need you,” he monologues to you, and you find yourself at a loss of words. “James…” You whisper, looking up at him.

His eyes are still a bit bloodshot, but they’re glassy and you can see right into his soul. “I love you, лунный свет, until the end of love,” James whispers to you, and he places a chaste kiss on your lips. “I love you, even more, Jamie, until the end of love. Until the end of time,” you whisper back, shutting your eyes. Bucky squeezes your hands, and you do the same in return. His head slightly knocks yours as he places his forehead against yours.

“Until the end of time, лунный свет.”

It’s still 2016, and you’ve lost your Jamie.

And it’s not like he’s somewhere in a sea of people, or some nook of a large building. No, he’s gone and you don’t know how to get him back. He told you to wait in the park that nobody usually goes to. Well, if you count both yourself and James as nobodies. You watch from afar as destruction and terror rips your home apart, and you pray that James is okay. You need him.

Surprisingly, nobody notices you. You wear most of James’s clothing, as it all couldn’t fit in the two backpacks he packed. You don’t mind, because you’re trying to forget about the small gun that’s in your boot. You don’t even know how to use it, and he knows that. “It doesn’t matter, лунный свет, once they see you with a gun, you’ll automatically be the strongest person there.” His words echo in your mind and so do his actions.

He dressed you in a rushing manner. His eyes kept locking with yours. Through his soft, almost scared complex, you can see the soldier you met two years ago –– only murder in his eyes, ready for a mission.

You bite your nails and try to ignore the screams from passersby “Until the end of time, until the end of time, until the end of time, until the end of time…” You repeat the phrase over and over, hoping the Gods above can hear the plea in your voice. “Please don’t take him, even though you can, please don’t take my Jamie,” you beg out loud, looking up to the sky that greys the same way old memories do.

He’s not okay, he's probably dead… And you left him there to suffer. How selfish could you be?

“Shut up.”

I’m not wrong, I never am. I wasn’t wrong about Father, was I?

“I… That’s different.”

Is it though?

You bite your tongue, whatever snarky remark you just had has now lost itself in the mess that is your mind. You’re conflicted as always. Should you stay, and let Jamie get hurt? Or should you help him? You spend a good few minutes repeating those questions over and over. You feel like you have a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other. You let out a satirical laugh, and you know that you seem insane.

Two days ago, you had brought up a saying to Jamie.

“My father… He had this saying. When someone has lived their full life, but it still seems to go on and on, it means that God and the devil haven’t come to an agreement yet,” you tell him, pulling at a thread that hangs on his jacket. “An agreement about what, лунный свет?” he asks you, looking up from the pamphlet he stole from a museum in a town near Bucharest.

It’s crumpled, but everything is legible still. “Who has to take them,” you smile up at him, and he returns it. “Perhaps, that's what's happening. They’re still arguing, still negotiating. That’s why you’re still here. If one of them were ready to take you, they would’ve done so already. But they haven’t,” you explain to him in your usual soft voice. He once told you that your voice is one of the best things to listen to.

Better than music, better than laughter, better than the admissions of ‘I love you’ you tend to trade.

“Maybe you’re right, лунный свет. You know, you’re different from the rest of us– them,” he whispers to you, taking in the way your face creases in certain spots when curiosity takes over. “How so, Jamie?” you ask him, setting down the needle, roll of thread, and jacket. “You have hope, faith,” he starts, “it’s both dangerous yet helpful. It’s what separates you from the demons of the world.”

“лунный свет!” James calls out. You look up from the ground and the movie of your life with James pauses. “Jamie…” You whimper, taking in his form. He’s bruised and battered, cut up and injured. Just like when you found him on the porch of your home. “Oh, Jamie… What happened?” you ask him, feeling yourself begin to panic. Your heart quickens, and you rush to him like he’s about to die.

“We have to go, лунный свет. It’s a hideout, it’s for your own safety,” he briefly explains to you and he grabs your arm. His grip is perfect. Not too tight, but not too gentle. You can tell he’s scared, but you know he’ll never admit it. “I have to go fight, but I’ll be back for you. Do you know the Avengers? It’s– Argh– We don’t have enough time. But I’ll tell you all about it later, лунный свет.” James is all business and nothing else.

You’re worried, so worried. But you have hope, and you have faith, and you know everything will be okay in the end. “But you’ll stay safe, right, Jamie?” you question him. He doesn’t respond, the only thing coming from him are grunts of pain and puffs of determination. “Answer me, Jamie. Promise me you’ll stay safe,” you demand of him in a strong voice. Never in your life have you ever raised your voice like this, but when it comes to James’s safety, you no longer care.

“I promise, лунный свет, until the end of time.”

It’s still 2016, and your Jamie is going away.

He’s leaving this world, but it’s for himself. You hold back all the pleas, all the begging you have in your body because you know he wants this. He needs this. His train is going to depart soon, off to a faraway land. A cold one, to be exact. You feel tempted to remind him how much he hates the cold, but you choose to keep your mouth shut. You’ve learned a lot in the past few days, more than when you were in high school.

Steve, Jamie’s past, what HYDRA is, the Avengers, the types of evil in this world–– They’re all things you’ve learnt. Your Jamie isn’t a different person, he isn’t. He just has more to him now. You replay the horrific memories of the past days in your mind over and over, even though you hated them. You look through the glass doors, and ahead of you is James in all his beatific glory.

In front of him, though, is the Black Widow. You don’t know if she’s from Jamie’s past, but you know they have a connection. The way they speak to each other; low and soft, just like summer rain. It’s almost the same way you speak to Jamie, but it’s not quite like it. He smiles up at her, and you remember how much you love his side-profile. It’s envious, really. But then again, Jamie is perfect in your eyes, despite his horrors and his scars of his past.

Of Winter’s past.

Your Jamie and Winter have their similarities. You’d make a list, but it would go on forever. You keep your eyes trained on his face, one of your favourite things to look at. Dare you say, he looks at her like no other. You’ve never seen this look on his face. But then again, your Jamie is going away and maybe it’s that impending nervousness. She looks at you. Her green eyes –– ones that just encapture you in the best way possible –– lock with yours. You feel insecure, almost as though she’s judging you.

But one of Earth’s mightiest heroes would never do such a thing.

She’s judging you, you know. Probably thinks you’re some nobody, some pathetic little girl who can’t even defend herself.

“No, she isn’t,”

And how can you be so sure?

Right. How can you be so sure? You watch as she gives James –– your Jamie –– a pat on the shoulder. She walks out, through another door and you feel as though she did that just to avoid you. And honestly, you don’t blame her. You walk in, hesitatingly of course. Each step of yours is wary. Your old, beaten-up sneakers barely make a sound against the floor. Your Father always said you walked like a ballerina and spoke like a princess.

“H– Hi, Jamie,” you quietly greet him. He looks up, his eyebrows drawn together and his lips are puckered in thought. He gives you a small ‘hi,’ and you smile at him. “Are you hurt anywhere?” you ask him, taking his form in again. His cuts and wounds are all bandaged and healed up. You recall the marvel that is the explanation of how he heals so quickly. The super-soldier serum, curated by HYDRA just for Jamie.

“No, Shuri and Helen fixed me up. And now, they’re gonna fix my mind,” he tells you, all while letting out a light-hearted chuckle. You smile again, just to ease the tense a bit. But even you can’t fix it. “I may be back to my old self, but I’m a walking time bomb. I’m dangerous, and I need to heal. For the sake of myself, and others,” he tells you sadly. He looks up at you and he gives you a grin that isn’t his usual happy one.

Yours falls, and his follows. “It’ll only be a year, maybe even a few months. Everyone here is smarter than Tony Stark, they’ll probably figure it out,” he reassures you just like how he used to whenever you got worried. You nod, and it’s just a farce. You’re not sure if you hope he can see through your façade or not. He sighs and looks at the door. The same door that Natasha walked out of just a few mere moments ago.

You don’t look back. You don’t follow his gaze. Why waste your time on something that will hold no meaning in the future, when you have the love of your life in front of you? You tilt your beard and swallow, just the way your mother used to. At least that’s what your father told you. “I love you, Jamie. I’ll always love you, until the end of time,” you whisper to him.

“And— And I love you too, лунный свет.”

It’s 2017, and along with your Winter, they’ve taken James’s love for you.

You don’t blame them. You don’t hate them. They’ve helped James heal, help him be better (even though God has already curated such perfection). The past seven hundred and thirty and then some days have been painful. The past seventeen thousand, five hundred-twenty hours have been slower than ever. It’s not like you’ve been keeping count. No, but Friday has.

The team — the Avengers — don’t allow you to come with them on their trip to Wakanda. You expected it. Ever since Steve and Tony put their differences aside for the sake of the world, you knew you’d be shunned from the team. Wanda, Sam, and Rhodey have tried to be friends with you, but after a debriefing with Tony, they couldn’t even lock eyes with you.

Once again, you don’t blame them.

You stay locked in your room, and you don’t mind it. It’s nice. It is true that people really do look like ants from such a height. You know the glass is bulletproof, but it feels like it’s seconds away from breaking. You love seeing the rain patter against the glass, just like how you love to see the snow melt as soon as it touches the clear surface.

You wonder if they’ve cut his long hair. You love his locks. Strands of brown mixing, the occasional lighter brown strands standing out. You love the length of his hair, too. Reaching just at his shoulders, and even past them. You love the way it tickles your face, especially when he bends down to kiss you.

You love everything about him. You always have, and you always will.

Your room is small. You can’t handle big spaces — Friday tells Tony, and he scoffs. Truthfully, you’re content with anything. He could’ve given you a broom closet to live in, and you wouldn’t complain. But you like small spaces. Big spaces make you feel a bit overwhelmed. Stark Tower has many wonderments to it.

For example — the technology. If you don’t like the scenery of the concrete jungle, you can change it to the view from Tony’s vacation home in the Hamptons. You always did have the wish to travel the world. From the streets of France to the lovely waterfalls in the Philippines. But the thought of being high up in the sky, with the small chance of crashing. It may be one in five million, but you won’t take the risk.

Even air crafts have their faults and flaws. Like having only two or three backup plans, the bathrooms, the limited space, the fact that if you pay extra you get better treatment, and the food options. But everyone looks past these things and they’ve been reduced to small issues that just don’t really matter. As long as the big picture looks perfect, the small details don’t matter.

You wish you could see yourself that way. A beautiful person at first glance. Where your details –– your flaws –– don’t mean anything. Because as long as the big picture is perfect, the details don’t matter. But you’re a detail-oriented person and every single thing matters. Even the little things that nobody will see. If only you could see yourself the way both Jamie and Winter see you. They know you have flaws, like the way you don’t like listening to helpful advice sometimes.

“Ms… Mrs. Barnes?” Friday calls out. You look up to where the voice comes from. Up above you, and a little to the side is a speaker. It’s small, barely noticeable. “Y- Yes, Friday?” you ask her, setting down the old mirror that was once your grandmother’s. It has a few cracks, but they aren’t serious enough to mess with anyone’s reflection.

“The Quinjet with Ms. Maximoff, Mr. Stark, Mr. Wilson, Mr. Rogers, Ms. Romanoff, Mr. Vision, Mr. Rhodes and Mr. Barnes is arriving,” Friday tells you. You swallow thickly — nervously. You may have been preparing all week, but all that effort goes down the drain. Will he act differently? Will he be ecstatic to see you? You ask yourself all these questions, and the answers to them just seem to taunt you.

“Will you be waiting at the entrance for them?” She speaks up after a few beats of silence. You nod before you remember Friday doesn’t have eyes. She can see, but she can’t see. “I will, Friday. Thank you,” you tell her. You set down the mirror with its face on the top of your dresser. You look around and you can just feel as though there is something missing.

Truthfully, you aren’t used to your room. You miss the wooden walls that held scratches from the furniture. You miss the coziness the fireplace emanated. You miss the view of the hills covered in snow. You miss it all. This concrete jungle isn’t made for you — you aren’t made for it. You stand up and with short steps (intentionally short), and the feeling of marble underneath your feet instead of wood works up your nerves even more.

You can hear commotion –– more so people whisper shouting at each other. “God, Rogers, get a grip! You look and sound like an old lady worrying about her grandchildren,” Tony snaps at Steve, before calling out for Friday. “Friday?” he yells, shoving one of his hands into the pocket of his pants. “Yes, Mr. Stark?” she answers back.

“Is the room ready?” he asks her, and the rest of the Avengers take a seat in the living room. “Yes, Mr. Stark. Welcome to the Avengers Compound, Mr. Barnes. If you need any assistance, just call for me.” Friday’s voice is always lovely. She reminds you of an aunt who is always ready to take care of her relatives.

You don’t hear Jamie’s lovely voice and you’re worried. You can see some parts of the living room from your spot in the hallway. “Just try not to kill any innocent people, okay?” Tony sneers, earning a smack on the shoulder from Pepper. Pepper always seemed nice to you, but your encounters with her were usually a bit awkward and short-lived. Steve is ready to throw his shield at Tony and so do the rest of the Avengers who were on the Captain’s side.

“’S fine, Steve. I deserve it anyway,” Bucky whispers loud enough for you to hear. Your heart jumps for joy — your Jamie really is back. You take another step, carefully, of course. “You don’t deserve that… Are you okay, Buck? Do you need to lie down? Drink water? Fresh air?” Steve attacks your Jamie like a mother and you can see why they got along so well in the past.

“I’m fine, Steve. Really. I just want to take a tour of this… this place,” Bucky admits to Steve, and Tony just can’t pass up the chance to roll his eyes. Bucky turns his head around as he takes in the large room. The television was so huge, he feels as though he is at the cinema. He doesn’t turn all the way around, so you must deal with the sight of his back. His clothes are nothing like the clothes he used to wear back in Romania.

He looks like he just attended his own funeral.

“You sure, Buck?” Steve asks him for reassurance. Bucky nods and he thinks about how much he misses his goats. “Alright, but remember to call for Friday if you get lost.” Steve pats Bucky on the shoulder and Tony is the first to walk out of the room, as usual. Pepper follows him, knowing how Tony gets whenever he sees Bucky. “Can I see my room first?” Bucky quietly asks Steve, making sure nobody else hears.

“Of course, Buck. It’s upstairs, is that fine?” Somehow, Steve believes that Bucky has a fear of heights. Though Bucky fell from a great height back in 1940-something, he’s not scared of heights. He’s more terrified of the cold and of trains, especially ones that run between mountains.

“Everything is fine, Steve,” Bucky snaps, growing tired of his best friend’s constant worrying. Steve raises his hands in surrender and you can tell Bucky doesn’t like that. “Hi, Jamie,” you greet quietly. You immediately regret ever leaving your room as everyone whips their heads around to face you. Bucky’s lips fall open in a gasp.

“Doll,” Bucky whispers beneath his breath. You take in his face and he’s just as beautiful as ever, if not more. Wisps of his hair fall and frame his face. He has a slight five-day-old scruff, one that is clean but also slightly messy. You remember the way you would sit in his lap, razor in hand, as you clean up the edges of Bucky’s beard.

He pushes past Sam, past Wanda, past everyone — hell, even past Steve who doesn't take the shove lightly. He nearly trips over the white couch that stands in the way. He comes up close to you, and you look up at him. You watch his eyes — but you don’t look into them. For some reason, you can’t seem to lock eyes with him. “Oh, my doll… I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers softly as he cups your face with his murder-scarred hands.

“Jamie…” You easily mimic his look of shock with a mix of adoration. You’re not sure how you ever said goodbye to the man in front of you — no, the man he used to be.

Now, he’s different. He’s not your Winter, your Winter is gone. They’ve taken him from you, and if it weren’t for the circumstances, then you would’ve fought them until the last tooth and nail. “I’m back, Doll, and ‘m all yours,” he whispers, bringing your face forward to his. You close your eyes and you think he’s going in for a kiss, but he stops when his lips are inches from yours.

“But I need to get better first, Doll. I need to get used to everything, is that all right?” He asks even though he should already know the answer. Right? You don’t know what they did to your Jamie. The rushed explanation filled with words you don’t understand only left you a confused mess. “Of course, Jamie. ‘Until the end of time,’ remember?” You whisper back.

He keeps quiet.

It’s still 2018, and you’re at an impasse.

You loathe impasses. You may persevere every now and then, but impasses just seem to love you. The saying, “you attract what you fear,” is terrifyingly true. You’re scared of impasses. You know they love to knock you down and kick you until you’re sputtering with blood leaking from the corners of your mouth that rarely ever turn up anymore. But they still occur.

It’s been a year and five months since Bucky came home, and each passing day has its difficulties. Whether it be nightmares, panic attacks or intrusive thoughts. But you’ve been there with him for every step. When he didn’t want to go to therapy alone, you went with him. When he couldn’t sleep after a rather gruesome nightmare, you told him some childhood stories. It feels like nothing has changed, truly.

But Jamie isn’t Jamie — and you don’t know what to do. “Jamie, do you want anything to eat?” You ask him, holding a plate of pancakes you whipped up once you knew nobody would be in the kitchen area. “Is– are those pancakes?” He asks you, turning around from his desk. You nod and look down at the impressive stack. Dr. Cho told you to make sure Bucky continues to eat. Sitting on the small table next to you – the ottoman – is a cup of steaming hot tea.

It’s not orange pekoe, it’s earl grey, Your father loathed it, saying that it’s meant for the elderly even though he had a head full of greys and aching joints. You’d laugh him off, but then pour him a cup of green tea. “Yes, some of them have blueberries,” you tell him, stretching your full arms out at him. You see that look of contemplation in his eyes again. “Would you like to eat with me?” You ask, knowing how he can get when those thoughts pester him.

“Of course, I’m all but a gentleman,” he jokes, and you give him a smile. “That you are, especially when it comes to the ladies,” you add, and he blushes. Bucky looks down and tries to hide the shy smile from you, and you allow him to do so. It’s not like you haven’t memorized every bit of Jamie, even down to the small things. “Is there any syrup? I’ve been craving sweets all morning.” Bucky grabs the second plate and he almost hesitates in grabbing a few pancakes.

You turn back around to get the tea, knowing that Bucky wouldn’t feel as embarrassed with taking food. “Here’s some tea, you don’t have to drink it, though.” You set the filled China cup on the glass table and the clink it gives lasts for a split second. “Remember when we would buy about three boxes of orange pekoe tea? Even though it wasn’t the best — especially since it was for so cheap — we’d still drink it like it was water,” you reminisce to him out loud as you take a pancake off of the stack.

There’s silence, and you swallow thickly. “It’s okay if you don’t remember, Jamie, I myself forget a lot of memories too,” you quickly reassure him, fanning the flames before they could even start to burn. “No, it’s not okay… I’m sorry,” he apologizes, gripping the specially made fork tightly. He hates it. It makes him feel like some sort of danger. Someone that breaks people and things so easily.

“Don’t be sorry, Jamie, or else I’m going to have to start apologizing for things that aren’t my fault,” you threaten him, and he cracks a smile. “Alright, only because I know you’re going to become annoying.” He grabs the syrup and drowns his pancakes with sticky delightfulness. “Yeah…” Your voice is all but monotonous with a hint of sadness.

He probably thinks you’re already annoying, you follow him around all the time… Do you ever let him do other things? Without you? Like hanging out with friends, healing on his own, cooking his own food… You’re so clingy.

“Shut up.”

You only want me to shut up because you know I’m right.

“What are you doing today?” you suddenly ask him. You haven’t dug into your pancakes yet, so you stare at the food in front of you with a strong glare. “Uh, well I’m not sure,” Bucky admits, and you only then realize how much you’ve held him back. “You should hang out with Sam, or Steve, or maybe even accompany Banner in the lab,” you suggest to him, looking at his plate. It’s nearly clean, with some streaks of syrups and a few occasional crumbs.

“Sam’s busy training with Steve, and I know Banner works best without someone hovering over him like a hawk — well, more so a raven. I’ll probably just hang out with ‘Talia, she’s been of great help with my healing.” Bucky takes the tea from your side and slowly sips it. “‘Talia?” you ask him. The name doesn’t ring a bell, but you’re sure that it’s a nickname. “Natasha, she went through something similar as me, so I’m hoping she can give me some advice,” he clarifies quickly.

“Oh, that’ll be great for you,” you exclaim to him. “I know… You don’t mind, do you?” he asks with one of his eyebrows raised. He’s never done that before. “Never. Go enjoy yourself, Jamie,” you urge in a soft voice, looking at him from the brim of his teacup. The sight reminds you of when you first moved away from the city.

The sun was rising in the distance. A few clouds shrewd over the lovely sight, but the yellows and oranges were stronger than the greys. From over the horizon, the sun made its way up to the sky. You watched from the porch with a blanket wrapped around your body. You miss those simpler days.

The ones where the only problems you had were the cold weather and the homework your father had given you. Sheets of paper sat on the table in the living room, with your multiplication tables written on them. Your sevens and eights always messed you up, but your father knew you could do it.

“Do you have any plans for today?” He questions, staring into the half-full cup. “I might go to that huge library Tony has, one of the agents was saying they have these seats called ‘bean bags,’ isn’t that funny?” You let out a harmless giggle, one of those small ones a protagonist would have that would make their love interest swoon. “I’ve sat on one. Not very nice. Natasha and I are the only ones on the team who hates them,” Bucky says as his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek.

The other day, you caught him with a mouthful of blood. It wasn’t from a punch in the face or a knife in the guts.

“Oh, maybe I’ll join you two,” you playfully tell him, wiggling your eyebrows to the best of your abilities. Bucky just stares at you, a small glint of humour in his eyes but it slowly disappears and your smile goes away along with it. “Hm.” He downs the rest of his tea and you wonder how he isn’t wincing with pain from the heat. Oh, right, he’s a super-soldier.

Bucky begins to stand up and moves to take the dishes to the kitchen but you quickly stop him. “It’s alright, I can take it,” you reassure him. Without realizing it, your hand strokes the wrist of his bionic arm. You look up at him and smile, instinctively giving him that look you used to give Winter. Bucky hesitatingly shrinks away from you, and your smile drops. Nononono– Too much…

He smiles and walks out the door, not even sparing you one of those lovely second glances. Sighing, you settle the plates upon each other and the tension leaves the room behind him. You’re careful to avoid the syrup on one of the plates. The feeling of stickiness against your dry, cold hands will be unpleasant.

The thought of it has you shivering. A small electric shock climbs up your spine and you’re glad that nobody is there to watch you shake it off. You carefully pluck the fork from Bucky’s plate and place it next to yours. “Hey, Friday?” you call out into the empty room. “Yes, Mrs. Barnes?” she answers, ready to be at your service.

“What books are there in the library?”

It’s been around 92 days since Jamie told you about him and Natasha, and you can feel reality slip through your fingers.

Bubbles of giggle erupt from the common room. Never in your life would you ever have called a living room the common room, but words always seem to stick. Just like the syrup on these plates that just don’t seem to go away. You don’t mind cleaning up after the heroes. You’re glad.

You have something to occupy yourself with, or else there’d be holes in the floor for your incessant pacing. You run semi-lukewarm water over the plates, hoping the dried syrup would melt. You recall the way your father would terrify you into loathing sweets. He’d show you the way syrup would ‘harden underwater’, and he’d tell you that’s what occurs in your blood.

It’s too bad that a few days later, you learned that blood is thicker than water and the world is filled with nothing but lies. It’s scary, really; trusting someone with your whole life while they toy you around like seeing you be oblivious is a pass time.

Your hands warm up under the water and suddenly you wish you hadn’t left your bed this morning. “Bucky, stop, my face is all red,” Natasha demands through her laughs, and James snorts. “So? I like seeing you red, it’s my favourite colour,” he retorts and Natasha rolls her eyes.

You can’t see the playful, friendly banter, but you can hear it. It makes you smile. You love knowing Jamie is having fun, he deserves it. “Hey, you,” Sam greets, walking into the kitchen. “H- hi, do you need anything?” you ask him, halting your movements.

“No, just got done training those new recruits and I’m already fed up,” he complains and you giggle. You know Sam is being light-hearted, so you don’t take his words too heavily. “Well, a busy man like you needs a big breakfast. There are some pancakes over there, help yourself.”

You wait until he busies himself so that you can continue to wash this plate. You look at it — it’s covered in a mix of suds, syrup and water. You notice there’s a small chip on the edge of the plate and you can’t help but wonder where the piece went. If it were a piece of clothing, you would accuse the washing machine. But it isn’t, so you suppose it just went missing.

You place the plate back in the sink and sigh, before grabbing a sponge. The colours always confuse you. How can two contrasting colours go so well together? It’s beyond you, truly. Maybe your grandmother would’ve known, she always did know a little bit about everything.

Maybe she’d know what’s wrong with you.

You don’t say anything, knowing that you might weird Sam out. You roughly scrub the syrup off and it’s a bit too joyful to see it all gone. “Hey, Sammie,” Natasha chirps, patting her fellow teammate on the shoulder. You halt your movements. “Hey, Nat. Are you doing anything today?” Sam asks her, his eyes following her.

“Other than hanging out with Bucky, no, not really.” She tells him. She stands right next to you, a little too close for your personal liking. She opens up the cupboard and you continue to wash the dishes. You ask yourself if she’s watching you, or if she’s judging you.

Looking up, you accidentally make eye contact with her. You quickly look away and you’re not sure if she does the same. “‘Scuse me,” she whispers, stretching over to the cupboard on the other side. You stare straight at the sink, but your eyes fail to miss the locket that hangs from her neck. It’s slightly opened, and it’s absolutely gorgeous. The gold is slightly aged, perhaps a gift from when she was younger. Or maybe she got it recently, and a battle in the fields damaged it slightly.

On the outside of the locket is an engraving. You squint your eyes to read it, as the shaking from her movements messes up the text. “Until the end of time…” You read in your mind, and you drop the plate in the sink. Everyone in the room flinches and Natasha steps away. Sam stops eating and you’re utterly embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you quickly apologize, picking up the plate. It’s not broken at all, but you still feel so guilty.

Natasha looks at you for a brief moment and you look back at her. She darts her eyes to your still hands. If she focuses just a bit more, she could see the way they shake. You look at the locket one more time, trying to see the inside of it. You need to know who’s a photograph she cherishes. You need to know who she cherishes in her heart, until the end of time.

The black and white photo of Jamie moments before he was shipped out reveals itself, and your heart drops.

“Friday?” you call out, setting your book down onto the bed. You place your makeshift bookmark –– a polaroid of Bucky — into the page. “Yes, Mrs. Barnes?” she answers. “Isn’t it a good thing that Jamie is socializing with his teammates?” you ask her, sounding like a worried mother. “It is. It’s just what the doctor prescribed,” she jokes, adding a mechanical laugh to her words. “Well, more so his psychiatrist. Dr. Cho is the doctor he gets his medication from. And his psychiatrist suggested socializing,” she clarifies.

You wonder if she’s against the joke mechanism Tony added to her system.

You laugh, just to ease the tension but it doesn’t do anything since she’s an A.I and you’re the only person in the room. “Thank you for laughing, Mrs. Barnes,” she graciously says as much as she can. “If it’s a good thing, then why do I feel so…?” You trail off because you don’t know any words to describe the emotion you’re feeling. “Anxious?” she completes, and you sigh. “Yes, anxious,” you admit.

“The other day, I was washing the dishes. I could hear James and Natasha laughing. Jamie’s laugh was music to my ears. It was like that song you hear on the radio occasionally, you know? But he doesn’t laugh like that with me, he doesn’t laugh like that with anyone else,” you solemnly tell her. “He spends so much time with Natasha — and usually I wouldn’t mind, I wouldn’t even bat an eye — but it just makes me anxious, Friday.”

Your voice is filled with concern, and Friday herself has never heard you so worried. “She… She had a locket. It was gold and heart-shaped. It had a very special phrase engraved on it, and the picture inside is Jamie.” You swallow thickly as even you can’t fathom the words that are falling past your lips. “I held back from telling you this, but Ms. Romanoff and Mr. Barnes had a past together,” Friday admits.

“Pardon?” you ask incredulously. “Back in Hydra, Mr. Barnes trained Ms. Romanoff. They had secret romantic rendezvous and were in love. Then, when the Red Room and Hydra found out, they were separated,” Friday tells you. “It’s probably why they’re so close, Mrs. Barnes. She’s his most recent relationship before you,” Friday reasons to you. It makes sense, it makes so much sense. “Should I be worried, Friday?” you ask her, smoothing your hands over the sheets that you lay atop of.

“No, Mrs. Barnes. Would you like to know why?” she asks you. “Yes, please,” you whisper, looking down at your hands. They’re sweaty, yet so cold. “Because that was in the past, Mrs. Barnes. Mr. Barnes is in love with you, he’ll love you until the end of time,” Friday sweetly tells you. You smile and then dip your head. Bucky loves you just as much as you love him.

It’s been a month since the talk you and Friday had, and you’re starting to doubt her words.

You lie awake in your bed. Caffeine-provided adrenaline pumps through your veins. This isn’t the first time you’ve stared up at the ceilings since you’ve arrived. Ever since Sam made you a cup of coffee from the new machine Stark bought, the bags under your eyes have gotten worse. You warned Bucky about it and he laughed. Just not as hard as you wanted him to. At least he heeded your advice.

Bucky lays asleep next to you. He lays on his right side, even though laying on his left side would make more sense. Bucky always gets better sleep when he lays on his left. You crack your knuckles quietly, even though you can’t wake him up. He used to be such a light sleeper, only because of the vivid nightmares he would get. You hate when he would get his nightmares. The terrifying images that taunt him would always cause him to have a panic attack.

It’s been over a few months since his last nightmare.

You want to turn on your side so badly–– and you can. But your mind can’t help but make you wonder if he’ll wake up. You look to your side when you hear a snore escaping Bucky’s mouth. You let out a coo, even though you used to think snoring was annoying. Your father’s snores would always bother you. You used to joke and say that one night, he’ll wake the sun up.

You gently turn on your left side and a small part of you hopes he’ll do the same. Maybe then you’ll get some warm cuddles to make your sleep. You shut your eyes because the city lights are far too bright at night. The sheer curtains obviously can’t hide New York’s bustling and liveliness. You slow your breathing down and relax your body. Hopefully, sleep can come to you soon.

Next to you lies Bucky. He’s quite literally in dreamland and he doesn’t want to ever wake up. Everything is so realistic, almost as though he’s living another life when his eyes are closed. He has a smile on his face, one that can charm almost anyone. The last time he had a dream like this wasn’t back in the forties — no. It was last night, and now sleeping is a lot better for Bucky.

Natasha giggles, loudly. It’s a cacophony of different sounds. It’s not fake, like the ones you hear on television. It’s real. It’s so vividly real that it makes his heart swell loudly. He looks to her first, making sure she’s enjoying herself before facing the judging stares from Tony and Rhodey.

His hand is intertwined with hers. He rubs his thumb on her skin and he knows what’s running through her mind. She shoots him a look, one that he chooses to ignore. He gives her a smirk and then brings her hand up to his face. He closes his eyes and presses a kiss on the diamond ring she wears.

The scenery changes.

It’s some time in 1992, and he’s holding onto her tightly. She’s asleep, with her locks of auburn hair spread out against the floor. She lays on his chest, and he makes sure she’s comfortable enough with him. Sure, his spine may ache and his under-eye bags may have deepened but he doesn't care.

“Natalia?” he whispers, checking to see if she’s asleep.

She’s knocked out cold and he’s glad. After what he just put her through, he doesn’t blame her. Hours upon hours of what they both like to call ‘training’ has her sleeping like a baby. He chuckles, and he hopes the rumbles in his chest don’t wake her up.

“Hi, Winter,” she hums, rousing from her sleep.

He curses and she giggles. Natalia rubs the tiredness from her eyes and she stretches as much as her body allows her to. “How long until they come?” she asks him. He looks to the make-shift alarm he stole from a mission and sees an hour marked on it. “One hour, Natalia,” he says.

She hums in delight. “Do you think this one hour will take a while? Or will it go by as fast as light?” she questions. Her accent is heavy, but it’s so beautiful. “Fast. Time well-spent goes by fast,” he tells her. “And how do you know this will be time well-spent?” she looks up at him.

“Time spent with you, is always time well-spent, Natalia.”

You hold your breath. Bucky mumbles sweet nothings to Natalia — Natasha. You want to cry so badly but then again, you don’t want to wake Jamie up from his dark paradise. You try to tell yourself it’s just a dream, that everything will be okay and that there’s nothing to be worried about. But even your thoughts fail to reassure you about the man lying next to you. You don’t know whether you should wake him up, so you bite down on your bottom lip and hope that this whole thing is just a dream.

“Did you sleep well, Jamie?” you ask him, folding his laundry for him. He looks up from the book he’s buried in and nods. “Amazingly, I’m so glad I can finally get some shut-eye now,” he tells you. You hum and Bucky looks at you. “Is everything alright?” he asks. “Yeah. Just peachy,” you say. He mumbles a quick okay and goes back to reading his book.

Jamie has a wonderful attention span, so there’s no reason for him to be stuck on the same page for around ten minutes. You have an idea as to what’s on his mind. Well, more so who. Natasha. “Any weird dreams?” you ask him after a few seconds. This time, you’re pairing up Bucky’s socks. “N– No, I don’t think I dreamt of anything.” He lies through his teeth and you know this because he has a tell.

Whenever he lies, he stares out into the distance. It’s usually to your right, but that doesn’t matter.

“But that’s good, right? No more nightmares.” You hold a pendant in your hand and it’s not yours because you broke your necklace a few days ago.

“That’s true,” he dryly agrees. It has the letter ‘N’ written on it. It seems like it’s new, unlike Natasha’s locket. You place it on the dresser softly. “You know, everything has a meaning. Nightmares, dreams, even dreamless nights,” you start. “I know, some are worse than others, though,” he follows. “Sometimes, nightmares mean change,” you continue.

He nods, but you don’t see it. “When you dream, it might be that you have some wishes or conflicts that have been suppressed,” you sweetly tell him. Bucky looks at you, but your back faces him. “And even not dreaming means something. When you don’t dream, it might mean that your mind is free of all the bad things,” you roughly shut the filled up drawer and Bucky squeezes his eyes shut at the loud sound.

“Sorry…” you sheepishly apologize. “S’ alright,” he smiles. “Well, my burning question relates to that, I guess,” you admit. He raises an eyebrow and you turn around. Your fingers tap against the oak wood of the dresser. Sweat that has built up for the past morning or so leaving an imprint of your fingers on the wood. “Do… Do you remember when you used to call me ‘moonlight’?” you ask nervously.

Bucky pauses whenever small movements he was making and you make direct eye contact with him. You look away immediately, though. “A– As a nickname?” he asks. “Yeah… You’d say it in Russian. There was beautiful reasoning and meaning behind it…” you explain to him. Your voice carries more hope than anything. He stays silent and you shakily exhale.

You know exactly how to pronounce it. “лунный свет.” You look up at him. “I… What was the meaning?” he asks. “I– I have it written down. Just wait, don’t go.” You move towards the bed and reach underneath your mattress. Your father would always hide things like that. Sometimes, you’d catch him placing your works of finger-painting underneath the bed.

You lift it and retrieve your little notebooks. It’s not much, but it’s something. You flip to the page that you wrote on two years ago. You smile once you reach it and turn back around. Jamie hasn’t left. “This page. I wrote it down when you left to go to the market. I remembered each word and I still do,” you cheerfully tell him. He smiles up at you and you hand him the book.

You’re just like moonlight. You’re wise, the brightest of them all. No matter how small you make yourself, you always manage to make everyone marvel at your beauty. You’re mysterious, always a surprise, but only for some. Your aura– your brightness, it never ceases to amaze people. It helps me through the darkest times. The world needs you, I need you.

The words are beautifully written. They’re traced over in black pen and even have little stars scribbled around them. “I said this?” he asks, in an almost incredulous tone. “Yeah, word for word,” you assure him. “This is really sweet, and I probably said this, but I don’t remember calling you moonlight, Doll. I’m sorry…” He sadly admits to you. Your heart drops, but it’s alright. He may not remember it, but you do. Maybe one day he will.

“It’s okay, don’t apologize,” you tell him in a sad tone. You take the notebook back from him and place it underneath the mattress. Jamie watches you as you do so. “Are you sure?” he asks on more time, just to be sure. “I’m sure. Dr. Cho and the others said this is normal, Jamie,” you assure him. “Alright.”

Everything is alright. Everything was alright. Everything will be alright.

You carry the laundry basket against your waist and you can’t lie and say you didn’t just bury your hands between the clothes as soon as they came out of the dryer. The common room is mostly empty. Wanda and Clint are out on a mission. Tony, Rhodey and Pepper are on a trip. Steve and Sam are training recruits. Vision and Bruce are in Dr. Cho’s lab. You assume Natasha is in her room and James is in yours.

But even assumptions can be wrong.

You hear that laugh that’s as soft as summer’s rain — Natasha’s laugh. It’s beautiful, just like her. But you can’t compare her beauty to anything, it’s beyond that. You walk up to the room where you can hear her, and pear through the small crevice the door has. She looks at Bucky with those emerald green eyes of hers. In them is absolute love and adoration.

“лунный свет, you look so pretty when you laugh,” Bucky tells her. She smiles and blushes, before giggling again. “You’re too sweet, Buck,” she whispers. Bucky grabs a hold of her hand, and his thumb rubs against her ivory skin. “Can never be too sweet when it comes to you, лунный свет,” he counters.

Your heart cracks, especially at the seams.

It’s been a week since Jamie called Natasha “лунный свет,” and you’re determined to get him back.

She must know she can have anyone she wants, but you can never love again. Not without him. That’s why you’re wearing a dress you borrowed from Wanda. You bite your red-stained nails nervously. It’s an improvement since your last date night with Jamie. Last time, you both shared a box of macarons that he stole from the grocery store. Underneath the moonlight, he once again professed his love for you. But this time, he gave you his dog tags to wear.

You have them on. They clink with your each and every movement but you don’t mind the sound at all. You spread a blanket onto the wooden floor. It has some similarities to the two sleeping bags you used back then. They were similar colours and took up the same amount of space. You throw some pillows on top, arranging them in a circle. The record player in the corner plays “‘Till the End of Time” by Perry Como.

You hum along to the melody of the song. You remember when Jamie said it was one of his favourites. You jumped in joy because it’s also one of your favourites. You carefully light the candles that are scattered around the room. Friday is already on alert in case one of the flames gets a little too big. You open the box of macarons and place them inside the little circle you have going on.

You set down other food items — such as croissants and a charcuterie board. It was all for cheap, mostly due to the bargaining you did with the old lady at the store. As soon as you dropped the words “date night’, she immediately went with whatever you had to offer. You turn back around and try to search for the scrapbook you have been making for the past two years. You always saved it for something, but that something doesn’t seem to be in your future.

“Where are you, little book?” you ask out loud. Your voice is in a sing-song melody, just like how your father would have his. You search around the dresser. You check in the drawers and the jewelry box but you can’t seem to find it. You decide to check the desk, because if it’s not here then it has to be there. You scan the top of the desk but don't find anything.

Carefully, you grasp the golden handle of one of the drawers and pull it open. The drawer glides easily, and if your father were here, he would’ve marvelled. You don’t find it, so you lift some stray sheets of paper. “Please be here…” You beg out loud. But it doesn’t turn up, and you pout like a little child. You drop the sheets of paper, but something grazes against your finger.

If you weren’t so out of it, you’d probably squeal in fear. Twine that’s pulled at the ends tickles you and you giggle. Your eyes follow to where it comes from, and you find a sealed envelope. You frown out of pure, ingenue curiosity. You pick it up and spin it around in your hands. It’s a beige envelope, one of the many you gifted Bucky on Valentine’s Day.

The twine wraps around it with no useful purpose. Only for the aesthetics. On the back has your name, written in cursive scrawl that belongs to one James Buchanan Barnes. You turn it back around, and carefully open it. Your father taught you that there’s a specific trick for opening envelopes. It was one of the many secrets your family had. And by family, you mean Jamie, your father and your grandmother.

It may not be much, but it’s more than enough.

Inside is a letter. More of Jamie’s handwriting fills your view and you don’t mind it at all. You pull the letter out and unfold it. You start to read it, only taking in the way his handwriting looks. You sit down on his chair and your eyes take in each word.

Dear лунный свет,

I’m sorry. From the bottom of my heart, I’m sorry. You can hate me, you can be disgusted with me. You can do whatever you want. But promise me, you won’t let what I’m about to say hurt you. I’m in love with Natasha. I’ve fallen out of love with you and listen, it’s not your fault. How can it be your fault? You’re perfect. Absolutely perfect.

But I’m in love with Natasha. I have been for the past year or so. When I saw her again two years ago, something inside me happened. I got butterflies, as stupid as it sounds. She’s everything I want, everything I need. We go way back, and she knows me like the back of her hand. I’m sorry, лунный свет. I am so fucking sorry. I know writing this letter isn’t the best way to do this, but I feel the need to do so.

Love,

James Buchanan Barnes.

You can die right here, right now. You wonder if this is some kind of sick joke Bucky is playing on you, but after sitting there for a few more minutes, you realize it isn’t. Suddenly, the candles burning around you are pointless and so is your entire being of existence. You sit there, stupefied and filled with hurt. You let the letter fall into your lap and slip down to the floor, where it meets the wood with no sound.

The record scratches but you don’t even wince. Now, the voice of Perry Como is all warped and haunted. You hate it. You hate everything. You shut your eyes and sigh quite loudly. She took Jamie from you — your Jamie. Your throat tightens up and you feel like time slows down. You break down, the dam crashing down as the water flows at high pressure. It’s all so much at once. Tears leak from your eyes and drip down to the desk.

You hang your head, almost in shame.

Why are you crying? This was bound to happen.

“Can you just shut up for once?” you cry out.

“Mrs. Barnes, is everything alright?” Friday asks. “Yes, Friday. Do you mind leaving me alone, please?” you politely request. Your voice nearly cracks from the tears. “Of course, Mrs. Barnes,” she says, before dinging away. Mrs. Barnes… You’re not Mrs. Barnes, were you ever? She was always Mrs. Barnes, and she always will be. You let out a choked cough, one that uses all the strength in your body that isn’t destined for your crying.

You look down to the opened drawer and then to the letter on the floor. A groan escapes past your lips. It’s one of pure hurt and pain. You can feel your heart shattering into pieces. Each shard cuts your insides and you struggle to calmly breathe. You grab a sheet of paper from the drawer and pluck the pen that lies on the desk. You take a deep breath and begin to write your heart out.

Natasha,

Please, please don’t do this. I know you may be in love with him (which is the best feeling ever, I know), but please don’t take him just because you can. I also know that nobody can control their feelings. But even love disappears one day, right?

You could have your choice of man, Natasha. But I don’t think I can ever love again. Not without him. If only you could see the way Steve, Sam and Bruce look at you. You can have any of them, so why did you choose Bucky? Why are you taking my Jamie from me?

He dreams about you. He calls your name in his sleep. He calls you moonlight and I’m sure you don’t know the true meaning of it. But if you ask, he’ll probably tell you. This is coming off as rude — I know. It’s not what I want but I want you to ask you one thing only.

Please don’t take him, even though you can.

You scribble your name at the bottom of the page. A tear drops from your eyes and soaks into the paper. You re-read each sentence, and with every word, you hate yourself even more. You throw the pen at the wall, not caring that it breaks at the impact.

You want to send it to her so badly, but your father always told you to never fight fire with fire. Would she even listen to you? Probably not, so why try? Jamie isn’t coming back because Jamie doesn’t love you, he hasn’t for a while. You look away from the letter and to the candles that decorate the room.

You’re so foolish, thinking Jamie could ever love you. He did once, but this isn’t your Jamie. Your Jamie is gone and so is his love for you.

You fold the letter up until you’re satisfied. One end slightly overlaps the other but even the smallest things that would usually bother you doesn’t matter now. Nothing does. You bring the letter to the burning candle and let it light on fire. Along with the paper goes your instinct to fight for the love of your life.

You can never love again. Not without him.

[jakowskis]

Batjokes Meta

Hello, so I’ve been fixated on Joker / Batjokes again and I have a lot of thoughts. I did my best to sort my extremely messy ideas into some basic concepts and then went to town dissecting them. Everything here is my opinion! Just things I’ve concluded, based on content I’ve consumed. Responses are welcome and encouraged! Please (kindly) tell me if you disagree and why, too, ‘cause I love differing perspectives. Gives me so much more scope. And if you do agree, feel free to reblog with any additional thoughts! Or DM me, if that’s more comfortable for you. I’m very passionate about this, as evidenced by all the paragraphs I’ve typed up, and I’m eager to discuss it!

General trigger warning for some heavier topics, seeing as we’re discussing the Joker who’s, yanno, whole thing is murder and destruction and mayhem. Nothing a Batjokes fan wouldn’t be familiar with and possibly even fond of, of course. Only other thing I feel a need to warn for is very frankly discussing mental illness, especially in these first few paragraphs. I’m a big ball of mental illness myself (in fact it’s been pretty bad lately, which is probably why I’m back to fixating on the damn Joker, lmao. Coping and all), so I’m gonna use blunt terms, but please know I’m not intending to be ableist or ignorant. I’m fully aware of the weight behind words and the thin ice always being treaded on regarding Joker’s mental health.

This analysis contains three segments:

Batman and Joker as opposing forces

The nature of their canonical relationship

Could their relationship ever evolve into something semi-traditionally romantic?

Let’s begin...

1. Batman and Joker as opposing forces

So, as we all know, Batman and Joker are meant to contrast one another. Order versus chaos, repression versus freedom, even masculine “heterosexuality” (although, lol, Bruce,,,) versus feminine/androgynous queerness. They’ve always existed as perfect foils for one another. One place I think this trend of being opposing forces is especially cool is in the fact that Batman is one of the only times a hero has been characterized by darkness and blackness. Usually within fictional narratives, black is evil and white is good, but we have a unique take on that trope in that Joker’s the light one, he’s colorful and bright and, of course, very villainous, in stark opposition to our noble Dark Knight. 

Anyway, another place this mirroring is prevalent, which I don’t see talked about as often as it ought to, because it’s super interesting; I recently read an analysis that said something along the lines of, Batman and the Joker both lost their minds and snapped - but in opposite directions. Bruce had his One Bad Day that broke him, and he lost himself to it, but in his specific brand of madness, he clung desperately to order and justice, and committed himself to enforcing those ideals, to the point of sacrificing his ability to maintain a healthy private life, unreasonably dedicating himself to keeping the city’s villains alive despite all the harm they do, and convincing, nay, deluding himself into believing they can be rehabilitated despite frequent evidence to the contrary. There’s a good man behind it, certainly, but not a healthy one. Not one who’s in his right mind. There’s an illness behind his actions that isn’t as talked about, especially alongside the much more outwardly and visibly mentally ill Joker. 

I think this adds a beautiful contrast between them, when we realize they were both created in response to the world hurting them. They both saw how cruel the world could be, but Bruce dedicated himself to trying to fight it, and trying to fix it. He no longer cared about it hurting him, he just wanted to stop it from hurting others. He never wanted anyone to hurt like he did the night his parents died. Which… backfired, because in his refusal to let Joker (and the other villains) die, thousands of others have. (“All the people I’ve murdered by letting you live.”) But that’s another story.

On the flip side, Joker suffered at the universe’s cruel hands, and he decided to laugh at it. The reason why he finds the humor in misery is something everyone could pitch in about, but my thinking is that Joker, post-transformation, is primarily dedicated to a need to be free (among other things, of course, like his need for stimulation and entertainment). Free from society’s expectations, its rules, its entrapments. To be truly free, one can’t be controlled by anything - including the universe. And it can never hurt him again if he laughs instead of cries. It can’t get him when he finds pain so goddamn amusing.

Which led me to an interesting revelation. Following his dedication to seeing the joke of it all, he began devoting himself to trying to get everyone else to see the joke. Which, of course, manifested in him trying to break everyone, both specific people and Gothamites as a whole - give them all their one bad day, en masse. A lot of ‘em died before he could see if it worked, sure, but eh, collateral damage, as far as he’s concerned. Regardless, in this way he’s sort of repeating his own trauma? Not the specific circumstances, of course, just the concept. And if you think about it, he feels like that trauma freed him - which means he’s kind of trying to save people, in his own fucked up way. He’s trying to save them from ignorance and normalcy. Well, again, the ones he keeps alive, anyway. Because he does have a tendency to try to keep people alive, after he’s made them suffer. More interesting that way. Death’s only funny under certain circumstances, to him. But only if they’ve proved themselves as being vaguely interesting.

I think this is doubly interesting when we think about the fact that Joker considers himself an agent of chaos. He’s sort of… trying to convey a message, he’s trying to spread something to the masses. And it’s worked, he’s the face of Gotham’s anarchy movement for a reason. It’s spread to real life, too, though society’s appreciation of and identification with Joker deserves its own analysis. But even that contrasts with Batman. Batman targets individuals to try to keep everyone safe, and something is being communicated to society as a byproduct (namely the message of, “I’m here to protect you. I’ll do my best to keep you safe,” while Joker targets society, partially to communicate something to an individual, namely Batman. The masses get the message, too, which he appreciates, but at some point, his attention narrowed down to Batman and Batman alone. Probably when he realized he could find his eternal purpose in him. Constantly fighting him, constantly working to undo his do-gooding. 

Speaking of. Now we come to all of this in relation to Batman and Joker. Despite not knowing the circumstances behind Batman’s conception, Joker’s deduced something made him the way he is, and he finds it fascinating the universe could produce two perfectly opposing entities from theoretically similar circumstances. He can’t understand why Batman’s dedicated himself to order when, to him, it’s so clear that’s a foolish and futile conviction - but he appreciates it nonetheless. He loves the way they oppose each other so perfectly. He loves that he’s got someone to be his perfect enemy.  

Which leads us to our next point.

2. The nature of Batman and Joker’s canonical relationship

I’m just gonna bluntly begin this with a single declaration: they’re so deeply bonded, to such a remarkable extent, it’s hard to dismiss it as anything but ~love~. Certain fans and writers will try to pretend that’s not a reality, but it is. It’s not shippers goggles, either; Joker’s feelings have been explicitly put into writing enough that most people can pick up on it (though the amount of times I’ve seen it boiled down to “it’s just him being a creep / it’s him trying to unnerve Batman” … I could commit atrocities), while Batman’s feelings are much more subtextual, but both are prevalent enough within the content that it’s hard to make an argument that they’re not deeply emotionally entangled. 

Now, it’s not traditional romantic love, by any means, but there’s romantic fragments… undercurrents. Especially on Joker’s end. He perceives it as a romance. He expresses it to everyone as being something inherently romantic. That’s where I take issue with the “he just does it to unnerve Batman” argument, because while that’s true, I do think he likes to taunt Bruce with it because it gives him power over him and because it’s amusing to - he speaks about him using romantic-coded language when he’s not even there. When he’s alone, or when he’s talking to other people privately. It’s just a fundamental part of his character. He adores him, in a sick, horribly unhealthy way. Absolutely revolves around him. 

And it’s complex, because I consider it love, it’s been referred to as love, but it’s such a bizarre brand of love… because on both ends, it’s dark and obsessive and grim. On Joker’s side, it’s “I’ll kill everyone around you until there’s only me and you, locked in this eternal dance. You’re my world and I’ll make it so I’m yours too, because that’s what we’ve been building towards, and you know it. You’ve always known it.” Which… is the plot of DotF/Endgame, but I do think that’s like, the darkest end of Joker’s fixation on Batman. 

Which begs the question; is there a lighter end? That’s something I’m going to explore extensively, later on. Something I find of particular note is Joker’s particular tendency to talk about kissing. Like, his flirting often comes back to mentioning kissing - “Can I have a little kiss?”, and stuff like that. Hell, that’s even relevant in his flirtations with other characters, particularly men (the one panel of him asking Lex Luthor if he’s “going to kiss him or what?” springs to mind. Ooh, also ASHoSE’s “Kiss me, Charlie!”). A lot of times Joker comes across as rather... lovelorn, like there’s this legitimate hopeless romanticism to his otherwise pretty depraved Batman obsession, which is something worth exploring, because it says a lot about his human side. You know, speaking of, I find it interesting that his best known origin, The Killing Joke, involves him having a wife he loved deeply, because that doesn’t seem particularly relevant to his character, it doesn’t seem to really contribute anything to him - except, maybe, why love is such an important concept to him. Well, in regards to him and Batman, anyway. Also, I’ve thought a lot about him and Harley, and I don’t wanna get into that here, but the fact that he kept her around because he liked having someone who loved and cared about him… yeah. You wouldn’t expect it, but deep down, Joker does have a need for love and validation and affection that’s pretty damn human, although, in his twisted mind, it’s usually sated by Batman’s “attentions”. A kiss with a fist is better than none!

Speaking of… I recently read some excellent meta from the incredible Dracze (the author of Half Way Across, if you’re unfamiliar, which is the most popular fic in the Batjokes fandom - and deservedly so) and they talked about how Bruce and Joker channel their complex feelings for each other into their fights, which is why their confrontations are so much more passionate and heated and even sexually charged than their fights with anyone else. For Joker, it’s courting. Their fights are dances. In DotF, when he tries to poison Batman, he calls it “his kiss”. It’s all intrinsically romantic for J. 

And for Bruce, well, he doesn’t read it as romantic - he refuses to - but he feels it. He feels their connection, and it terrifies him. Where Joker revels in it, has dedicated himself to it, Bruce lives for it nearly just as much, and he knows it, and he can’t stand it. But he does understand it. He’s arguably not even in denial about it, just unwilling to verbalize it. To validate what Joker’s always claiming, even though he knows he’s right. 

What is their connection anyway? Why are they bonded in the first place? Well, aside from what I previously mentioned in regards to them reflecting each other, and aside from Joker sincerely believing he was created to be Batman’s arch enemy - they’re each other's greatest challenge. Not only by way of immediate stimulation, as in the utter adrenaline of always trying to keep up with one another, to consistently one-up each other... it’s all a battle of wits (and fists), all about mental and physical stimulation. They both crave it. Batman enables Joker, indulges him, because he needs it, too. And in all of this battling, they’ve learned each other, as no one else has. (“I hurt him. I know him.”)

But, the long term challenge lies in completely transforming the other. Fixing Joker would be Batman’s greatest victory (and in this way, he’d ‘defeat’ him), and breaking Batman would be Joker’s. J wants Bats to give into madness (which is everything he’s fighting against), and Bruce wants Joker to give into order (which is everything he’s fighting against).  They’re both relentlessly attacking each other’s cores, because if they won, if they succeeded, it’d be the ultimate victory. 

But something interesting that we don’t really talk about… is the fact that for Bruce, “fixing” Joker would involve, fundamentally, breaking him. Because he wants him to give into order, to give into his better nature, which goes against everything Joker is. Where Batman’s dedicated to his morals, and Joker’s constantly trying to get him to break his code, and we all acknowledge that, Joker’s entire being revolves around his conviction to meaninglessness and chaos. His refusal to let laws dictate him - even ones governed by the universe. His refusal to be tamed. If he did, if he was stifled, it’d probably break him. And that’s… what Bruce wants. And what a lot of shippers seem to want, but I’ll explore that more in the next section. But I find it interesting that everywhere else, Bruce’s dedication to rehabilitating villains is an endearing quality, and it seems that way with Joker, too (because the ending of TKJ, when Batman offers it, it’s undeniably a really touching moment) - but then you take into account that Joker canonically gets suicidal and listless when he can’t be the chaos to Batman’s order, because chaos is all he has. There’s good intentions, of course, behind both Bruce and the Batjokes shippers in question, but I just wonder about the consequences of trying to… get Joker to behave, really, lol. Because it would go against everything he is, and I can’t imagine him being okay with that. (Even if it meant he could win Batman’s love. Oops, spoilers for the next section.)

Either way, neither of them can ever seem to succeed in truly defeating the other, in their respective ways, so it’s just a perpetual war. Bruce feels responsible for the Joker, so he considers it his duty to always be there to fight him. And Joker has this fantasy of Batman giving in and killing him, he wants that victory over him, but he also just loves the fighting so much. So he savors it and aims to break him slow. With every little scheme, every occupied building he blows up, he’s seeing how far he can push the bat. He’s eternally devoted to always being the chaos to Batman’s order - to the death. ‘Til death do us part.

And in that… lies their particular peculiar brand of love. These two men… they’re star crossed, they’re some type of soulmates, but those concepts, here, aren’t exempt from darkness. They’re not romantic and idealistic. Batman and Joker are soulmates, their paths are deeply interlocked and interwoven, and still they beat each other until they’re bruised and bloody and delirious. And for Joker, that’s what love is, and for Bruce… he doesn’t know what the hell is going on, but he needs Joker, needs him as he is, sick and twisted and fucked. He has a darkness inside him that Joker provides an outlet for, that Joker welcomes, and it’s… G-d, I don’t even know. It’s fascinating.

But the question I wrote this analysis with the intention of going over is this: could they ever be healthy? Could they ever be in love in a more traditional kind of way - in a way that’s almost even normal?

Which brings us to our next segment. 

3. Could Batman and Joker’s relationship ever evolve into something semi-traditionally romantic?

Alright, this is what I’ve been waiting for. So from everything I’ve said, hopefully if you’re still reading, we can agree this is a love story. The thing is, in current canon, it’s an unacted-upon romance. Unconsummated. Because Bruce doesn’t want to acknowledge what they have, and Joker doesn’t want to potentially ruin what they have (which is why he’s never graduated passed simply flirting. Anything more might push Bruce into panic mode and he’d isolate himself, and Joker knows that and doesn’t want to chase him away. Well, that and, on the DC people’s end, fear of canonizing the homosezuality of it all, having to commit to it, and risking alienating the dudebros lol.)

Regardless - currently, Joker’s alright with that. He gets what he needs out of their relationship. Something I think a lot of Batjokes shippers would disagree with me on is that I don’t know if Joker really has an interest in having Batman/Bruce romantically, let alone sexually. I think what they have, to him, is as good as sex and emotional intimacy is to normal couples. 

The thing I find interesting is that I think Bruce would have an interest in pursuing a legitimate... normal-coded (new term lmao) relationship with Joker. He’d just require that he change fundamentally first. See, for reference, there’s a trend amongst several of my favorite ships (plenty of enemies-to-lovers ships, as you can imagine) in which you have a character who’s done bad things (note: the severity of the atrocities in question varies, but I think with Joker’s crimes in particular, shippers tend to deem certain stuff irredeemable and pick and choose, and usually decide to focus on versions of Joker who aren’t quite so bad - which is perfectly understandable and acceptable in a fandom revolving around comics, where characterizations are so inconsistent and what’s canon and what’s not is already pretty wonky)... yeah, you have a character who’s done bad things, and then you have another character who sees the potential and good in them anyway, who has a complex and romantically-coded relationship with them, but who also has the maturity and stoicism to refuse to get romantically involved until they’ve overseen their change into a better person. The idea of nudging an antagonistic character into undergoing a redemption arc, so they can be rewarded with love - it’s a charming concept. It’s kind of therapeutic, really, to those of us that are villain lovers, but not apologists. We acknowledge they’ve done bad, we have them put in the work to be better, and then we get to enjoy them not even being interested in villainy anymore because they’ve finally gotten a taste of being loved, and it’s enough for them. Finally, they have something else, something purer, to live for and to derive fulfilment from. And I think several Batjokes shippers enjoy this concept, too. Redeeming Joker, so Bruce can (sort of) non-guiltily love him back. Because he’s so sure there’s something redeemable in Joker. Everyone tells him there’s not, but he refuses to believe them, partially because that’d be giving up, but also because… I think he really wants to believe the man he feels so deeply connected to, this man who he’s invested so much into, isn’t pure evil. 

So, I think Bruce… has the propensity to be inherently interested in a “normal” relationship, because the nature of his infatuation with Joker lies in taking responsibility for him and keeping him under control. If that manifested in ‘fixing’ him, and then, eventually, just keeping him happy and healthy… I think he could be content with that. Fulfilled by that. It’d just take time and development. 

What I think is utterly fascinating about that is that Joker knows this. And it troubles him. 

The reason I started this analysis was because the one semi-recent comic, involving Bruce and Selina getting married and Joker sabotaging it - it’s been fucking haunting me. Selina and Joker’s conversation in it is absolutely phenomenal, and sooooo thought provoking. 

The line that prompted all of this, all… 4k+ words, apparently, was this one: “He wants peace, and I could give him that, and he’d love me …. [but] if I did that … he’d lose the frown and the costume and the big black bat. He can’t be happy, and also be Batman.”

This line fucking blew my mind, because it shows that Joker’s thought about it. He’s reflected and been like, “This is love, but it’s not normal love. Could I be happy with normal love? Could he?” He thought about it and he realized - if he wanted Batman’s love, in the pure sense of the world, he could win it. He knows exactly what he needs to do to win it. All it’d take would be giving in. Expressing a willingness to change. But he could make Batman love him - at the expense of everything he is. At the cost of their eternal battle. And the trouble is, that’s what Joker’s in love with. The hatred, the intensity, the fighting. So (the man behind) Batman could love him, and could probably even be content in it - but Joker’s worried it wouldn’t be enough for him. And in that way, he’s not really, truly in love with him. He’s in love with the idea of him. What he stands for. He wants Batman’s love, but if he got it, it’d probably bore him. Because he’s not interested in the man beneath the mask. He’s interested in what he perceives as the god of order that he was reborn to fight against. 

And it hurts him. In this comic especially, it saddens him, and it could extend to other versions of him… because I think that’s that human part of Joker, that exists deep down, impossibly deep down, where no one can access it - but it still comes up and tears at him, sometimes. Because he’s the personification of Differentness, to such an extreme extent that he doesn’t know if he could exist comfortably in a “normal” way. He’s scared to attempt to, because he’s sure it wouldn’t work. That human part of him wants love, wants Batman’s in particular because he adores him so, but he knows it wouldn’t be enough.

Which… fucking sucks, as a shipper. A lot of shippers like to think Joker could be happy in a domestic relationship with Bruce. That it’d be enough for him, and he’d be willing to give everything up if he got to love Bruce and be loved in return. Trouble is… I think he’d be soooooo indefinitely understimulated by that. I mentioned Half Way Across, and I think that fic is absolutely brilliant, though in my pondering, I’ve determined it works so well (and even at all) because it’s under very, very specific circumstances. Like, it was absolute genius on the writer’s part, and their relationship develops believably and beautifully into something wonderful, but I don’t know how possible it’d be for them to evolve into something traditionally romantic elsewhere. Mostly because of Joker’s need for stimulation. He had little else to do, so he was able to find the process of falling in love to be stimulating and appealing, and it certainly helped that Bruce was giving him and him alone such focused positive attention for once. But I don’t know if he’d be able to sit still and do that if he was still running the city.

So perhaps he could be content with love, but I don’t know if he could… slow down long enough to give it a try? Which is another question, really - what would need to be done to stop them fighting for a minute so they might have a chance to acknowledge their feelings? And could they even have a relationship without one trying to fundamentally change the other? Could they compromise? Would they be willing to? What’s the second biggest thing they could offer each other / take from each other, as a show of faith, without wanting to break each other? 

Hell, could Joker somehow keep (most of) his philosophies about chaos and violence, but align himself with good? They’ve worked together against common enemies before. Maybe that’d be a compromise. Joker no longer committing violent crimes, but still being along to go reasonably, heh, batshit against people Batman agrees deserve it? Could Bruce sort of… divert Joker’s energy into something more productive for Gotham, ie crime-fighting?

Again, though, would Joker want that? Would he want a relationship with Batman that didn’t involve them at each other’s throats? Some comics say yes. I know White Knight had something about, “I had to be close to you, even if it meant being your enemy.” But I don’t think Batman alone is Joker’s raison d’etre. Fighting Batman is. Having an equal, a worthy opponent, an outlet for his energy, someone who takes everything he gives him and hits back with more - that’s what he lives for.  

And it’s what they’re tied into. Their bond is founded on violence, and they both pour all their frustration and grief at the world into each other, because they’re personifications of everything the other is working against. Bruce is always thinking, “Why can’t the evil just stop? When does it end? Why can’t I fix it and end all the pain?”, and Joker is the personification of needless, endless evil - and Joker is always thinking, “Why can’t anyone see the humor in it all? Why can’t they laugh at it with me? Why can’t you, Bats?”, with Bruce representing the refusal to see futility, and foolish (and stubborn?) devotion to hope. Unstoppable object, immovable force. They’re stuck in it, and dependent on it, and a weird, incredible connection’s come out of it… where they need each other, they crave each other, they exist for each other. 

There’s romance bubbling under the surface of it all, for sure. It could go somewhere, if someone took a step towards change. If someone gave in. But neither of them are willing to. And, like I’ve spent this whole thing establishing, if either of them did, it’d fundamentally break them, at their cores. Now, it seems like Joker being the one to change, him being the one to give in and let Bats guide him towards a better path, would be positive all around, because maybe his core needs to be broken so he could be happy and healthy, but I just… mmm, there’s a fuckton of unexplored potential there. I find it really stimulating, thinking about what they could potentially become. Of all my ships, no other pairing is this complex, specifically in regards to, like, what their future could look like. Usually it’s pretty cut and dry, but here, it’s a mess. And I love it. 

So yeah, I’ll wrap up with that. Like I said at the beginning, please offer your thoughts! I sort of put out a controversial opinion by saying, “I don’t know if Joker could be happy if he actually got Batman’s love”, but while I believe that, it makes me sad as hell, so I’d really love it if somebody proved me wrong haha. What do you think it’d take for him to be interested in something traditional? Or maybe that’s the wrong angle, maybe wanting them to have something “normal” isn’t a feasible concept, so what do you think would be the best way for them to navigate their relationship into something less unspoken? What do you think they should graduate to, and how do you think they could get there? 

Thanks so much for reading, and have a lovely day :)

[the-bau-quinjet]

hiii! i don’t know if you have done this but can you do a hotch x reader where they get kidnapped by tobias instead of reid? xx

4 Months

Warning: Criminal Minds level violence, drugs, torture, rabid dogs

Word Count: 3562

a/n: I decided to switch up some of the specifics, just to make it a bit more fun to read. I hope you like it :) Also, we're pretending Rossi was there bc he is really the father of the group and it fit better than having Gideon 🤷‍♀️

Masterlist

"JJ, we have to split up." You barely looked back at her, missing the nervous expression on her face as you ran toward the cornfield. "I'll take the field, you take the barn."

You slowed to a brisk walk as you neared the cornfield, raising your gun in front of you. You couldn't help but think about how pissed Hotch would be if he knew what you were doing.

You shook off the thought, knowing he would do the same if the roles were reversed.

Spotting movement, you moved farther into the corn, trying to spot any signs indicating which way Tobias went. A bent corn husk was the last thing you saw before the world went black.

-

"He's not a witness. He's the unsub." Hotch's eyes went wide as he realized you and JJ were there without backup. "Call JJ, now." He instructed Morgan, taking out his own phone to call you.

Hotch's eyes met Morgan's as both calls went unanswered. No words were exchanged as everyone ran out to the SUVS, putting on bulletproof vests as they went.

Hotch was nervously tapping the steering wheel the entire drive to Hankel's house. He couldn't stop replaying your last conversation.

"Y/N, you and JJ go talk to Hankel. Find out if he saw anything." Despite his stern expression, you could tell his eyes were smiling at you.

"Sure thing." You nodded, mouthing 'I love you' before turning to JJ.

That's it. He didn't even have the chance to mouth it back. JJ would've seen, and even though the team has theories about your relationship, you haven't confirmed anything yet.

He pulled into the driveway, running up to the house, gun out before anyone could stop him.

Prentiss followed Hotch, Morgan and Reid took the left, Rossi and a local cop took the right.

They tore through the house, clearing it with fierce determination, but came up empty.

"It's clear." Rossi called, joining Hotch and Prentiss in the living room. "Where are Morgan and Reid?"

Hotch spared a glance out the window, discovering the barn likely being cleared by the missing agents.

Everyone ran out of the house, arriving outside the barn just as Morgan and Reid lead a distressed JJ outside.

"What happened?" Hotch questioned, glancing over JJ's shoulder into the barn. Clearly you weren't there, but he needed to hope.

"We split up. Y/N went into the cornfield... I had- I had to shoot them." Her voice was detached, eyes glazed over.

"The dogs." Morgan clarified, leading JJ to a paramedic.

"Dammit. The house is clear. No sign of Y/N or Hankel." Hotch ran a hand through his hair, trying to clear his mind. The worry was nearly overpowering, but it wouldn't help find you.

The sheriff approached, removing his hat. "A deputy two towns over gave directions to a man matching Hankel's description. He's headed for a hunting lodge."

Morgan nodded to Prentiss. "We'll check it out."

-

Your head was pounding. A vile scent reached your nose, causing your eyes to flicker open. You flinched at the closeness of the man in front of you.

"Tobias..." The name slipped out in a whisper.

"They're not here. It's just me now." He stated, calmer than you would've expected.

"Who are you?" You asked, trying to portray a fake sense of calm.

"I'm Rafael." He pulled out a revolver, adding a single bullet to the six chambers.

"No. You don't have to do this." Your heart ached, fear gripping your body as he aimed the gun at you.

"It is my duty to enact God's will." He said, right before pulling the trigger.

-

Hotch pulled back into the driveway, leading Garcia into the house.

"His computer setup is in there. If there's even a hint of where they might've gone, I need you to find it." Hotch gestured to the back room.

Penelope nodded. Carrying her own computer bags, she followed Derek into the depths of the house.

"What've we got?" Hotch questioned those remaining around the table.

"He knew he could throw us off, pretend to be looking for a hunting lodge." Emily spoke quickly.

"We've got piles of information, journals, notebooks. We're still sifting through it all." JJ added, shirt still bloody from yesterday.

Just then, Reid rushed in from another room. "The walls in the bedroom, they are covered in the latin phrase 'honora patrem tuum', honor thy father."

"Garcia, look for anything you can find about his father." Hotch gave out orders, but his focus was elsewhere. What was happening to you?

"Over here!" Morgan called from outside.

The team ran around the house to see Morgan opening a cellar door. Nodding slightly, Hotch and Morgan made there way inside.

"Tobias Hankel, FBI." Morgan shouted, receiving no answer.

They quickly found the dead body of none other than Hankel's father. Even the new information did little to calm the worry brewing inside of Hotch.

-

"Confess your sins." He ordered.

"My sins? I don't have any sins." You did your best to hold back the tears, trying to figure out who you were talking to.

"Everyone has sins. Confess, and you will be forgiven." He stared you down, waiting for a response.

You simply shook your head, mouth slightly agape. The smell was getting to you. You couldn't think straight with the pain in your head.

"I- I don't know what-"

"YES YOU DO. CONFESS." He hit you, whipping your head to the left.

-

"Hotch, he took drugs to escape. Dilaudid cut with a psychedelic." Emily relayed the information her and JJ got from Tobias's sponsor.

"We've got something too. The dates in his journals don't add up. He was talking about his father as if he was alive months after he killed him."

"His father beat him, preached about sin." Emily replied, putting the pieces together alongside Hotch.

"Split personality. Profile the father. He could be the key to finding Y/N." Even just saying your name he felt his heart clench.

-

"Who are you?" You questioned him as soon as he walked through the door, trying to figure out who you were dealing with this time.

"Tobias." He moved about the cabin almost nervously.

"Who was here before?" You knew Rafael, but the other personality was a mystery.

"My father." Definitely the most violent. He was who you had to look out for. "I'm sorry if he hurt you."

Tobias looked over you newly forming bruises before pulling off his belt.

"No. No what are you doing?" You felt your heart rate increase as he wrapped the belt around your arm. You could barely register the words he was saying, something about escaping from the pain.

"Please. I don't want it. I'm fine." You begged, tears brimming your eyes. He ignored your pleas, injecting the drug into your bloodstream.

Despite how much you hated it, you felt the relief he was talking about. The pain was gone, even if just briefly. You thought about your time spent with Hotch. It didn't feel like long enough. You wanted more. You had so much you wanted to do with him.

"Aaron..." You mumbled his name between kisses. "They could see us." You did little to stop him, despite your words.

"We should tell them." He whispered against your mouth, holding you close. "They would be happy for us."

You sighed blissfully, forehead pressed against his. "Really? You know they've got a pool going to see when we'd finally get together. Who do you think had money on 4 months ago?" You laughed into his neck, pulling him closer.

"My bet's on Rossi. He knows us both too well." Aaron smiled, a full genuine smile.

"You're probably right, but just to make it interesting, I'm betting Reid. He's too observant not to have noticed." You squinted at the window, knowing Reid was staring at the closed blinds on the other side.

That earned a laugh, one you could feel in his chest pressed tightly to your own.

"I love you." He kissed your head, content to hold you for a little while longer.

"I love you too." You leaned ever farther into him. "We can tell them when we get back from this next case."

"Deal."

-

"Get in here!" Reid called from the computer room, pointing to a screen where you were being broadcast. You were handcuffed and tied to a chair, clearly beaten.

"Pick one to die." The voice of Tobias could be heard, despite him not being visible on the screen.

You shook your head, staring into the camera. You wanted to plead for Hotch to save you, but you knew it wouldn't be fair. He didn't need that on his conscience.

"Choose one, and I will free another."

You shook your head again, trying to think of a clue you could give the team. "I won't let you hunt them like a poacher."

"Now. Or I will kill them all." He threatened, lifting you from the ground.

"I'll pick who lives." You stuttered, breaths coming fast and short. "The right screen."

You were forced to watch as he turned off the camera, leaving the screens to show the heinous murders he was about to commit.

Suddenly, Rossi was talking to you through the screen. The sight of him nearly brought you to tears.

"Y/N. This isn't your fault. None of it. You can't blame yourself. We will find you, but I need you to be there when we do."

You knew exactly what he meant. You were already blaming yourself, despite Rossi's father like relationship with you, it was hard to believe him.

It did give you the strength to remember the team though. You needed to see them, all of them, again.

-

"He's back!" Morgan called everyone in to view the screens again.

"Confess your sins." They watched as he beat you.

You cried. You begged him to stop. You begged Tobias for help, but nothing worked.

Hotch felt his heart break even more with every word.

Suddenly, you were on the ground, still tied to the chair. You were seizing, Charles Hankel watching as it happened.

The screen went dark, causing Hotch to punch the desk.

"Dammit." He shouted. He didn't care if his worry was beginning to poke through the surface. He needed to find you and he needed to do it now.

"The timestamp." Emily's voice drew him out of his head. "There's only a few minutes between the time of death and when it was posted. He's got to be close to the crime scene."

Finally. Something that felt like progress.

-

They watched the screen as you appeared again.

"Choose one to die." It was Rafael this time.

"I can't. I can't do it." Your face betrayed every emotion you were feeling inside.

"Pick one." He stated again.

"Me. Kill me." You nearly begged.

"You said you weren't one of them. Your team has 7 other members. Choose one of them to die."

You shook your head, fear gripping you once again as he pulled out the revolver.

"Choose." He connected the gone to your forehead, resting it there.

"No." He pulled the trigger, watching as you flinched.

"Choose." You shook your head, tensing as he pulled the trigger again.

Hotch felt his heart in his stomach, internally begging you to just say a name. He couldn't watch you die, not like this.

"Choose." He pulled the trigger yet again at your silence.

"I won't do it." You held firm, knowing you had limited chances.

"Choose one to die."

You opened your mouth, panting as an idea came to you.

"I choose... Aaron Hotchner." Your heart ached even saying it, but you needed to give him a clue. "He's a classic narcissist. Thinks he's better than everyone. He'd go to his grave knowing he was wrong." You winced internally, trying not to give away your plan.

Hotch left the room, trying to understand your words. The two of you had just argued about the definition of classic narcissism.

"I think you're wrong." You laughed at his amused expression.

"Yeah? Or do you just like making me exasperated?" He questioned your motives, pulling you closer as you laid in bed together.

"Maybe a little bit of both." You shrugged, leaning up to kiss him. "Promise me something?" You asked, a nervous expression on your face.

"What?" He looked at you with so much concern, you felt your heart beat a little faster.

"If... If I die, you can't blame yourself." He opened his mouth to protest, but you kept going. "I know you Aaron. You'd take it to grave thinking it was your fault. I can't let you do that. Not when I know you blame yourself for Haley's death." You felt your heart break for him and the pain he had been through. "Promise me." You were nearly begging.

"I promise." He whispered, his throat tight at the idea of losing you.

He was brought back to the present by the sound of Rossi's voice.

"Hotch, you know Y/N didn't mean any of that." Rossi tried gently, unsure of how Hotch was coping with your situation.

"I'm not a narcissist. What's my worst quality?" He looked at the apprehensive looks everyone was giving him. "I'll start, I have no sense of humor."

He nodded along as his team listed his faults.

"None of you said I ever put myself above the team, because I don't. Y/N and I just argued about the definition of classic narcissism." He paced, trying to put it together. "I'd take it to my grave... Grave was a hint."

"What? How do you know?" Reid shook his head, trying to understand the logic.

"I made a promise. It's a long story." He shook his head, trying to clear the memory so he could focus. "Y/N knew I would remember it."

"A cemetary. It's got to be a cemetary." Morgan added.

"No cemeteries on the map." Garcia was typing away on the computer.

"Like a poacher." Reid whispered, staring at the screen.

"Reid?" Hotch looked at him, eyes pleading for an answer.

"That's what Y/N said in the first video. 'I won't let you hunt them like a poacher.'" He said it louder, more excited than before.

"Garcia, any reports of poaching in the area?" Hotch asked, the idea of finding you causing hope to erupt in his chest.

"Yes, at Marshall Parrish... and there's a cemetery on the grounds." She gave them the address, watching as they ran out to the SUVs.

-

"I'm sorry." Tobias said it so softly, you were almost certain you didn't hear it at all.

"Wh- why?" Your eyebrows pulled together in confusion, trying to make sense of it.

"He'll win. In the end, he always does." He rose from the crouched position, slowly injecting you with more drugs.

"Hotch!" You screamed, feeling arms restraining you from behind.

You watched as he went into the hostage situation, unarmed and without a vest.

"Derek. Let me go!" You struggled in his grasp, straining to get free.

"There's nothing you can do, he's already inside." He stated the truth, although it did little to calm your nerves.

You settled down, throat tight with worry. You bit your lip, eyes flitting between the door and windows. You just needed a sign, anything to say he was alright.

The sound of a gun firing stunned you. You were frozen in place, fear consuming you. You had just told him you loved him for the first time this morning. What if you never get to say it again? What if that's all the time you got.

You stared in horror as everyone ran toward the house, only to freeze when a voice shouted everything was fine.

"It's fine." He huffed, carrying the small child out of the house toward a waiting EMT. "Baxter is dead."

"Aaron..." You whispered the name, realizing how powerless you felt when he was in danger. The two of you made eye contact across the yard, a reassuring look in his eye.

"Aaron..." You whispered, blinking rapidly as you slowly came to.

"What about Aaron." Charles. Tobias's dad was back.

"I couldn't stop him. I couldn't keep him safe." You muttered to yourself, not fully understanding the situation.

"Is that a confession?" He asked, voice hard.

"Yes." It was more of a breath of air than a word, but it was all he needed to condemn you.

He unlocked your handcuffs, forcing a shovel into your newly freed arms before dragging you outside.

"Dig." he instructed plainly, watching over you as stray tears wet the ground beneath you.

-

"Clear." Morgan called from one side of the shed.

"Clear" Hotch replied from the other. With the whole team in the small space, it wasn't exactly necessary but it was habit.

Hotch could feel his nerves picking up again as he realized this meant you were still with Tobias. He paced back and forth, feeling powerless.

"Spread out. They have to be on foot." He left without waiting for a response, turning left with JJ to look for you.

-

You did your best to stall, but Charles wasn't the most patient.

"Dig faster."

"I'm trying. I'm trying." You whimpered, movements speeding up ever so slightly. The massive knife in his hands causing your own to shake.

"You're weak. Move." He huffed, throwing his jacket to the ground before ripping the shovel from your hands.

A flash of light in the trees caught your eye. Flashlights. Your team. Aaron.

Your eyes flickered between the man in front of you and the trees, causing him to turn.

You took the split second he wasn't looking to grab the gun from his jacket, swiftly aiming it as he turned back to you knife raised.

"Only one bullet in that gun." He lunged for you, falling backwards after you pulled the trigger.

You dropped the gun, quickly tossing the knife away.

"Tobias?" You cried, moving back toward him.

"You killed me." He seemed surprised, but grateful at the same time.

You felt the tears pouring down your face as you apologized.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so so sorry." You grabbed his hand, watching the light fade from his eyes as he asked one final question.

"You think I'll get to see my mom again?"

You barely registered the arms around you, pulling you to your feet. You couldn't take your eyes off of Tobias. He wasn't the one who hurt you. He helped you, or at least tried.

"I killed him." Your breathing picked up, vision blurring.

"Y/N, look at me." You turned to the voice, blinking rapidly to stop the tears.

"Aaron?" You took a stuttering breath, trying to make sure this was real.

"I'm here. It's okay. You're okay. You're safe now." His words were just as reassuring to himself as they were to you. You caught JJ's eye over Hotch's shoulder, quickly moving to hug her.

"Y/N, I'm so sorry. I never should've-" You cut her off.

"None of this was your fault. It was my idea to split up. I'm so sorry." You cried into her shoulder, knowing how guilty she must've felt.

She hugged you back, tears brimming her own eyes at seeing you alive again.

She lead you to the EMT, not commenting on the look you threw over your shoulder at Aaron. He quickly followed you to the ambulance. JJ left you to talk to Hotch, who stayed beside you the entire time the medics looked you over.

"I didn't mean it." You said when you were finally alone, sitting between the open doors of the ambulance.

"What?" Aaron questioned, his mind not following your own train of thought.

"When... When I had to choose. I didn't mean any of it." You could feel the tears coming, but this time you did nothing to hold them back.

"I know. I knew the whole time." You brushed your tears away, looking you in the eye. "I love you so much." He whispered, his own eyes feeling watery.

"I love you too." You leaned into him, relishing in the feeling of his arm around you. You couldn't help but look over at the team, all of whom quickly pretended not to be watching. You huffed a laugh.

"Yeah, I think they're going to have some questions." Hotch smiled, glad to see you happy even if just for a second.

"After this case, right?" You looked back at him, confirming you still wanted to share your relationship with the team.

"Deal." He smiled, arm tightening around your shoulders to pull you closer.

-

You couldn't help but bring it up on the jet ride home.

"So, who had money on four months ago?" You questioned, tucked into Aaron's side on the couch.

"What?" Emily raised a brow at your sudden statement.

"That's when we started dating." You grinned at her shocked expression.

"Dammit Reid." Morgan huffed, handing over the money.

"Don't forget Rossi!" Reid high fived the older man, the two grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

"Looks like we were both right." Hotch smiled into your hair, trying to hide his laugh.

"Yeah. We make a pretty good team." You smiled, leaning into his touch.

"I love you." He murmured, face still in your hair. You turned your face into his chest before responding.

"I love you too."

Permanent taglist:

@averyhotchner @jesuswasnotawhiteman @madewithsebstan

[ashers-transition]

1 Month T Update (January 13, 2023)

Here's my one month update for being on testosterone! (Sorry it's a bit late, life got ahead of me).

So far I have noticed no physical changes, so I will be skipping over those portions instead of just saying "no changes" over and over, and instead I'll just include the changes I have noticed.

Please check my pinned post for more info about me and why I started this blog! CWs: eye contact (in video), discussion of menstruation, discussion of appetite and disordered eating. (If I've missed any content warnings that I should include, please let me know and I will add them in).

Menstrual Cycle

So far I have only gotten my period once since starting testosterone, since this is only my one month update. In my pre T post, I mention that I struggle with chronic pain, and that I get a flare whenever I get my period, with the first day being the worst. I started a new pain medication around three months ago that has lessened those flares enough for me to be functional during them.

This month, the first day of my period was absolutely awful. Previously, if I could tell that I was about to get my period I would take some as-needed pain meds the night before to help lessen the flare, but with my new daily pain meds helping so much I stopped doing that for my more recent periods and had been fine so far.

This time, the flare was so bad that I once again was not able to function. My cramps and overall pain were so bad I could barely move, and I honestly felt like crying. I also almost passed out at one point while sitting down (my POTS is decently mild, so this is not normal for me).

I am unable to say whether this is due to the testosterone, or if it's just that my fibromyaligia and POTS decided to flare around the same time I got my period by coincidence. I'm hoping this won't be a trend, cause holy shit that sucked.

Acne

I have noticed a slight increase in acne. It hasn't gotten too bad* yet though, it's basically just like the minor breakouts I get whenever my period starts but all the time.

(*note: I fully believe that acne is a neutral feature and is not inherently bad. It only becomes an issue if it starts negatively affecting you; for example, if it becomes painful. I personally struggle with BFRBs, and acne can be a trigger for me).

Appetite

I have noticed a slight increase in my appetite. I still eat around 2-3 meals a day, but I have begun snacking more in between.

Voice

I personally haven't noticed a difference in my voice, though there does seem to be a difference between my pre T video and this one. I think it's more to do with the fact that I just naturally have a fluctuation pitch depending on how much energy I have to put into trying to lower my voice. I also have not had anyone else notice a change in my voice, including both those that I have told I'm going on T and those I haven't.

[Video description: A waist high video of Asher talking to the camera. End video description.]

[Video transcript: "Hi, my name is Asher, and this is my voice one month on T."]

Other

I mentioned previously that I was going to start taking testosterone gel, due to my BPD and ADHD making me worried about mood swings and forgetting a weekly shot. I still think this would be my ideal method of taking T, however I did end up having a mild reaction to the gel. The pictures are difficult to see, but the gel was very very drying. I knew this could be an issue because the gel is alcohol based, but it was so drying for me that the skin in the area became super rough and even started flaking. (Image one)

The are also gets red and itchy after application, and sometimes it even feels like it's burning a little. (Image two)

Due to this, I will be switching over to taking testosterone through injections, starting at the three month mark. (I paid good money for the gel so I'm going to use it all before switching lol. In the meantime I will be rotating the application area more than I have been).

[spookydrreid]

Chapter Nine: Restitution

Pairing: Unsub!Spencer x fem!reader

Content warnings: murder, implications of CSA, in depth talk of CSA (reader), victim blaming, letting an assailant walk free, thoughts of past suicide, warped sense of reality

PLEASE READ THESE WARNINGS CAREFULLY. TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF WHILE READING THIS CHAPTER. I UNDERSTAND IF YOU CANT READ IT. THERE WILL BE A NON-TRIGGERING RECAP AT THAT START OF CHAPTER TEN. AGAIN… READ THOSE WARNINGS CAREFULLY, THEY ARE THERE FOR A REASON!

Word Count: 1.2k

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…

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…

Bang

Bang

Bang

The echos of the gun rings in my ears and makes me smile. I watch his body hit the ground with a loud thud. If I could spit on him I would’ve. Fucker ruined my life in more ways than I would care to admit. This time, as I pulled the trigger, my hands didn’t shake and the sound of the gun didn’t make me close my eyes.

There was no fear, no hesitation, no reservations. He got what he deserved.

“How did that feel?” Spencer asks me once we’re sure he’s dead. He being the man who took away my innocence. The man who walked free after I provided ample amount of evidence to the courts of what he did to me.

I stared at him for a moment longer before answering, admiring my work and knowing he’d never harm anyone else again. I could see why Spencer enjoyed killing. The high was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. And I didn’t want to end.

“So fucking good.” He takes the gun from me and his fingers on mine feel like electricity. I feel like I’m on cloud nine.

He smiles at me as he puts it in the holster. It’s then that I realize that I’m panting and unbelievably turned on. If I was honest, I would say I was a little afraid of just how much I enjoyed these feelings. I can tell by the way he’s looking at me that he knows.

“I can tell.” He looks down at the body spilling blood beside us “fucking asshole.” I follow his gaze, the bullet hole in the center of his forehead making me smile.

“I see why you like this … feels good.” He starts wrapping up the body, collecting any and all incriminating evidence possible.

He nods “of course it feels good. Now he isn’t on the street hurting other people. He’s gone. He cant hurt you any more.” He pulls me in and kisses me softly.

…

Three days earlier

The shaking wasn’t stopping, no matter how many deep breaths I took. I was doing everything I could to not wake the man sleeping beside me. But it was to no avail.

“Pup? What’s the matter sweetheart?” My heavy breathing making it hard for me to answer him. But I try.

“I-I had a b-bad dream.” I didn’t want to talk about it, but I knew he was going to make me. He always did. He claimed that it made things easier and less scary.

Spencer sits behind me, pulling me into his chest and holding me tight. “Shhh, I’m here. You’re okay. No one can hurt you, my pet.” His hands soothingly play with my hair and I can feel my heart rate slow the longer I breath him in.

“H-he can. He told me he can always get to me.” I pull him tighter, needing him to ground me before I fall back into a panic attack.

“What? Who, baby? No one can get to you with me around. I promise.” I shake my head. He wasn’t invincible and no one cared then.

“Forget it. L-lets go back to sleep…” But he doesn’t take that for an answer.

“Not till you tell me what that dream was about.” Again, him always making me talk about what was happening so I could possibly over come it.

I grip him and hold him close, my ear at pressed to his chest so I can hear his beating heart. Grounding myself. “I was fifteen and he was my fathers best friend.” I take a shaky breath and try hard to keep my voice steady. “I always thought that he was creepy. He just gave me a bad feeling. But he and my dad was so close that I didn’t think anything of it.”

Spencer rubs my back and kisses my head.

“Sometimes I think my mother had a feeling. She used to ask me to cover up when he was around. I couldn’t wear shorts when he was there, or shirts that showed too much cleavage.” I swallow hard but keep going. “So I did. I wasn’t allowed to swim in our pool when he was around, which was a lot. And then, three fucking days before my sixteenth birthday, he acted on his urges.”

Spencer grips my tighter, “did you tell anyone?”

I nod furiously, “I told my mother the next morning. We were close, you know. She was my best friend.” I cant stop the smile that spreads at the memory of my mother. But it doesn’t stay long.

“We went to the police the same day. I felt like I was violated all over again. I told that story so many times that day.”

He plays with my hair slowly, “I know. That’s really hard and I’m very proud of you for saying something.” Obviously I loved when Spencer was proud of me. I spent most of our time together making sure I made him proud. But this was different. He could be proud of me all he wanted, but it didn’t make my heart flutter like it usually does.

“They had so much evidence. Photographs were taken, DNA from … everywhere. They had him. And then when it came to court? No one believed me. Know why?”

I’m sure he had an idea but he just shakes his head. I can feel his anger radiating off of him.

“Because my best friend took a photo of me on my 16th birthday with a fucking smile on my face. My parents bought me a car, one I really wanted. It was a moment in time. A fucking moment where I didn’t feel like I wanted to rip off my skin. And it was used against me.”

He sighs, “that’s not fair.”

I scoff, not angry with him, “no fucking shit, Spence. They let him walk… all because of that fucking picture. They said if I was really a victim, I wouldn’t be smiling ever. It was like I couldn’t be excited about my birthday. Truth be told? I wasn’t excited for it. I felt disgusting and i just wanted to die. And after that?” I shutter.

He holds me tighter, his heart pounding in his chest as he listens to me. If there was one thing that I loved the most about Spencer, was his ability to listen to me. Like really listen to me.

“After the verdict, I sincerely never wanted to be more dead than that day. He told everyone I ruined his life, that I was a liar. I wasn’t a liar, Spencer. But… money talks. He had more money than we did. And I lost. And I’ve lived with that for so long. I dream about that night so often. I hate it.”

“You deserve to be believed. And I believe you, sweetheart.” It takes him a moment before he murmurs, “we can make him pay.”

I look up at him and I can tell he’s serious, “you would do that for me?”

He laughs but I can tell its slightly humorless, “yes of course. You deserve justice. Do you know where he is now?”

I nod, “is it bad that I do? When I moved so did he. He followed me and told everyone I ended up meeting about what I did. He’s divorced living in DC.”

“Good… were going to find him then.”

…

And find him we did

…

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