#if it's not clear: the “Bad Thoughts” was her thinking “maybe I should kill my parents before they kill my brother��
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Jazz's little. Her parents are super cool. They're ghost hunters! It sounds like something from a movie about future and scientists and supernatural beings and cool-looking tech. They have cool-looking tech at home. It's even cooler than tech in the movies.
Jazz also has a little brother. He's stupid but he's hers, and she will protect him from anything. Her brother is very small, he needs someone to protect him and teach him about the world.
She knows about the world. She understands their parents much better than him, and she can tell her brother when they shouldn't be distracted. She knows when they're upset and irritable, and she knows when they're too excited and being near them is dangerous because of all the inventions.
Jazz does a very good job keeping her little brother safe.
---
Jazz goes to school. Her teachers say that she's very smart, the best student in class, and very mature. Her parents are proud of her - when she manages to distract them from ghosts. Her brother is still kinda stupid and doesn't know how to properly fight food, but she's always there to protect him, because that's what older sisters do.
Her classmates seem to think that she's weird though. Some of them say mean things and call her a teacher's pet and a show-off. Jazz isn't sure why they think so because she's always trying to be friendly but maybe she's doing something wrong. She goes to the school library and finds a book about people and their communication.
It's a very interesting book.
---
Jazz is almost a teen. She's gotten better at communicating with people. The school library ran out of psychology books, and Jazz now has to go to the city library but that's fine. Human brain fascinates her.
She's been feeling like something is wrong about her though. She even thought that she was going crazy for a little bit. That probably wasn't true because she didn't match any symptoms but she was still worried.
Someone told her that being so good at lying and faking face expressions is not okay. That's probably not true, Jazz is pretty sure almost everyone can do that. Or maybe she's just being a prodigy again. It's a very good thing to be able to do after all. She can hide her emotions from her family when she's feeling sad. She wouldn't want to worry them, would she?
She'll have to research it.
---
Jazz is a teen. She now knows that her parents aren't actually that good. It's something that was really hard to accept but it did explain everything. Her parents are kinda bad at being parents, and they also don't really listen when she tries to explain it to them.
It's okay. She's almost an adult and Danny has her. She can take care of herself and her brother.
She learns everything she can about being a parent and a therapist and tries to use her knowledge. It's hard, but she's a Fenton, which means that she's very smart and determined. She pushes through, and trains on her classmates and herself.
In the evening she writes about her feelings in a journal. It's very important to be aware of her feelings because that's the first step to dealing with them.
She's experiencing sadness. And anger, actually, even though she doesn't like to admit that.
She writes "this family is a fucking mess" in her journal and then covers the paper with ink until the sentence is absolutely unreadable.
---
Jazz is sixteen, and her stupid parents opened the stupid portal, which means that they're even worse than usual. It's pretty much okay when they're just stuck in their stupid lab, making some stupid weapons. It's not that okay when they're out of the stupid lab, because they get their stupid inventions all over the stupid house, and stupid food comes to life, and she has to protect Danny from both their stupid weapons and stupid hotdogs, and oh god everything is so stupid.
She's experiencing anger.
She's also acting perfectly calm and almost cheerfully.
Jazz hates how perfect her fake smile is in the mirror.
---
Jazz is seventeen. She wants to put her headphones on and listen to some loud music. Jazz can't do that, because she gets anxious if she can't hear what's happening around her. She needs to be fully aware of her surroundings because she needs to be able to protect herself and her brother if weapons against ghosts become weapons against children again.
She thinks that it's not okay.
The house smells of ectoplasm, so she'll be extra careful when opening the fridge.
She thinks that she shouldn't know how ectoplasm smells.
Jazz should probably also warn Danny: her little brother's gotten better at fighting food but doesn't notice the smell of ectoplasm. Funny, considering his ghost sense.
Funny, considering that her brother is a half-ghost.
That her brother died.
That she failed at protecting him after all.
Jazz stops breathing to prevent herself from crying, and doesn't need oxygen for a few minutes too long.
Maybe she failed at protecting herself too.
---
Jazz is turning eighteen next month. Her parents are all of a sudden more attentive and caring, as if that can change their almost-absence during her whole life. She doesn't like their attention because she doesn't know how to deal with it. She doesn't even really think of them as parents anymore.
She thinks of them as a threat.
Once she's eighteen, she's gonna try to move out, and she's going to take Danny with her because it's not safe to leave him here. Maybe after she gets a good job and saves some money, she'll even get into therapy.
Jazz thinks that she needs therapy.
She's been having Bad Thoughts lately, and she doesn't write them down in her journal. Jazz stopped writing anything in there ever since she found out that Danny is a ghost. She just couldn't risk anyone finding that journal.
Jazz isn't sure if she should call those Bad Thoughts intrusive. They scare her, and they're Bad, but it could be just her normal thought process.
It's still definitely not normal.
---
Jazz is eighteen. Her parents are very excited, whispering to each other about how they found a perfect present for her, some surprise that she's gonna love.
She doesn't care.
Her little brother is late from school, and it's weird, because he was also super excited about giving her his present.
She's worried.
Her parents brush off her concern, say that Danny probably just got distracted talking with his friends. They don't listen when she says that Danny wouldn't get distracted like that on her birthday because he's not them, he actually cares about her, he doesn't forget her birthdays, and something has to be wrong for him to be that late.
They don't listen to her at all.
She's angry.
Her parents are excited and talk loudly about how they wanted to find a perfect gift for their favourite daughter, and how they managed to do it because they love her so much. She hates when they're excited. It only leads to problems.
They bring her to the lab because of course they do, why would they make a gift that is normal and isn't kept in the lab, right? They usher her in, so obviously proud of themselves.
She hates them.
And she hates them much, much more the next second, because the gift is her little brother in his ghost form, strapped to a table, unconscious and injured, and the smell of ectoplasm is strong in the lab because of his green blood dripping on the floor.
There's a cold part of her that analyses her feelings and tells her what emotions she's experiencing, and that part is very aware of thick black smoke of wrath twirling and twisting under her skin. It's suffocating, and she stops breathing as it invisibly fills her lungs, scared of letting it out.
There's a perfectly fake part of her that keeps the smile on her face as her parents gush about how hard it was to catch the ecto-scum, and what they can do to it - together with Jazz because they wanted to share this with their amazing daughter.
Jazz is black smoke of rage under perfect glass of calmness when she grabs Fenton anti-creep stick. The smile she learned to fake under any circumstances doesn't falter when Jazz brings the baseball bat down on her father's head. It grows a little bit wider when she hits her mother, because Jazz learned to smile brighter when she's hurt or sad or scared or angry - experiencing any "bad" emotion actually.
Jazz is angry when she grabs her weapon.
Jazz is furious when she kills her parents.
Jazz is worried when she checks her brother's wounds.
Jazz feels nothing when she rigs the portal to blow, walks out of the house and presses the button.
She is her parents' genius daughter after all, and she did listen when they were telling her about their inventions. Maybe it would have taken longer to do, but she had Bad Thoughts, and they probably weren't just intrusive after all, because she did what they told her and made it very easy to make a bomb out of a portal. Just in case. Her parents were a threat, and Jazz was smart enough to prepare to dealing with threats, and she was smart enough to make it look like the threats dealt with themselves.
She really hoped she wouldn't have to use that button though.
---
Jazz is nineteen. Her sort-of-friends at uni offer to go to a restaurant, and she tells them that she doesn't celebrate her birthdays. There's a noise of all of them saying that maybe she should try, noise that she really should have expected, because humans are always so excited about any holidays, it's hard for them to understand that someone might not like them. It's not hard to stop that noise though. They shut up very quickly when Jazz says that she had "a very traumatic event" on her birthday.
Good. She doesn't like loud people.
Jazz goes home to her little brother. He's sad because his parents died in an awful explosion a year ago. He's still trying to smile because it's also her birthday, and Jazz is very happy that he's bad at faking a smile.
It means that he won't end up like her.
Jazz hugs her little brother, and he gives her a little present that she adores, and then they sit in silence and eat some takeout. It's very nice.
She never tells Danny that their parents died before the explosion, and that the explosion wasn't an accident, and that their ghosts did form after that because of all the ecto-contamination they had, but she made sure this wouldn't become a problem. She never tells him what she's done, because that would hurt her little brother, and she would never let anything hurt him.
Jazz will protect her little brother from anything.
#I was feeling kinda upset yesterday#and decided to make it everyone's problem#this just clawed its way out and why not put it on tumblr#it's not like many people will see it#I love when a mix of “bad parents” AU with “protective Jazz” AU turns into “Jazz kills her parents” AU#I've seen a few stories with this twist and apparently it wasn't enough for my brain#Jazz deserves to go a little crazy#also yes Jazz is liminal here because of the ecto-contamination#and she found where the ghosts of Fentons were starting to form and destroyed them#killed them twice#double double kill#protective murderous Jazz my love#make her brother upset and she will make sure you're gone *forever*#if it's not clear: the “Bad Thoughts” was her thinking “maybe I should kill my parents before they kill my brother”#and then she went and did something with the portal so that it would be one added detail and a press of a button away from exploding#in case she needs to run away from home with Danny and kill their parents#she didn't know if she would be able to kill them with her hands and not from away because it's hard both physically and psychologically#but she couldn't risk them doing something to Danny#and it was easier than she thought it would be#I've been thinking a lot about how Jazz could get interested in psychology because of her own problems#and how she definitely hides her emotions#if you see any mistakes please tell me because this is also kinda my way of learning English better#danny phantom#tw: murder#tw: death#tw: neglect#this is my first time doing this so please tell me what warnings I forgot and I will add them
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Dancing with our hands tied | S.H.
Chapter four ⭐︎ Every single thing I touch becomes sick with sadness
Warnings: angst, mentions of death, mentions of loss, allusions to depression, fear of loss, hurt/comfort. reader calls her sister 'twinkie', mentions of abuse, mentions of sex
Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader
Summary: As Steve shows up on your doorsteps with an apology, you let him see more of just the you he already knows
Word count: 7.6k+
Author's note: shoutout to my co-writer (shut up, you wrote the dialogues and ideas with me, don't say anything) @hellfire--cult
Series Masterlist ⭐︎ Previous Chapter ⭐︎ Next Chapter
♡
Breathe in. Breathe out.
His heart was pounding, his body was shaking, his eyes wide, blinking rapidly as he stared at the same exact spot. The dried blood on his hands was starting to make him feel sick. It was Eddie’s blood. He hadn’t cleaned it off yet, he was still in shock, still in pain after what they had all gone through.
Eddie made it, he was going to be okay, his injuries were bad and he was losing blood, a lot of blood, but he would be okay. And yet, Steve had felt anything but it.
He almost lost a friend, he almost lost Max, he almost lost… you.
He was sitting down beside you, though he couldn’t bring himself to look up and face you. You looked so… dead. Your skin lost its color, and the bandage around your head was new, yet there was a blood stain already. The machines were beeping beside you, it was the only sound in the room.
And then the door opened, only then did he lift his head to look up, expecting it to be your parents or maybe your sister but it was only Nancy. A cup of coffee from the machine outside in her hand, a sad look still resting on her features.
“Hey,” she whispered as she walked towards him, handing him the cup, “here, I didn’t know what you liked so I just got you a regular coffee.”
They’d been together for over a year and she couldn’t even remember what he liked. Should he even be surprised? No. A small thing like this still managed to hurt him.
“Thanks, Nance,” he mumbled as he tried to give her a smile. He reached for the cup, ignoring the way it felt when his fingers brushed hers, how his heart had fluttered despite her rejection only a few hours back.
She cleared her throat and looked away, sitting down at the end of the bed, she looked at you.
He took a sip of the hot coffee as he leaned back in the chair, he avoided looking at you still, instead he kept his focus on her, the way he always did. There was disbelief, anger and sadness flashing in her eyes as she stared at you.
“I can’t believe that Jason did that to her,” she whispered, “I knew I saw something in his eyes, I just didn’t think that he was this violent.”
Steve nodded.
He too was still in disbelief.
You survived the night in the upside down, you fought off bats, didn’t even bat an eye when one of them got you good, but Jason, you almost didn’t survive him. And Steve felt so much rage as he sat there and thought of the guy that almost murdered you.
“Yeah, me neither.”
There are monsters in different dimensions, in dark worlds, ones that do not know of a different way of living, they exist to kill because it is in their nature. But sometimes there are worse monsters, ones that hide behind kind eyes, ones that are raised into a world that should be more humane but because of them, it never will be. This world will always be just as dark as all the other ones that exist in secret. Jason was one of the monsters that got to you.
This world is a hell just like the ones he and his friends had been dragged into but there’s still kindness left, peace and order. Though, Steve couldn’t help but wonder what this world would have turned into if Vecna had won.
He would have brought endless war and chaos on this planet and people would have followed, they would have turned against each other so quickly. Everything would have crumbled into pieces.
Shivers ran down his spine as he thought of what could’ve happened had they not stopped him. You were a part of it all, you helped in stopping him, had you not been at the Creel house, things could’ve gone sideways so easily.
“Hey,” Steve whispered, clearing his throat. “Thank you… You know, for jumping into the water and saving my ass back there.”
Nancy furrowed her brows, a soft laugh fell from her lips, she looked away from you and turned to face him, shaking her head a little.
“Everyone did.. And, she did first. She jumped first on the boat and she jumped first into the water, then I followed, then Robin and then Eddie.”
His eyes widened, flashed with confusion as he tilted his head at her.
“Huh? Who jumped first?”
Nancy’s blue eyes were filled with confusion, her bangs fell in front of her eyes as she turned back to you, saying your name.
You were the first to jump.
You were the one to go after him first.
You wanted to save him.
How could he throw such horrible words at you after what you had done for him? After risking your life to save him?
He wouldn’t even be able to begin to describe the guilt that kept him up all night. He wanted nothing more than to drive over to your place and apologize, even if he would have to drop to his knees, he would.
But Max had told him that it was better to wait, to give you the time that you need, so that’s what he did. But he was going crazy, the guilt and the regret were eating at him, making him feel worse and worse with each passing second.
Going to work that day had been torture as well, he was nervous and restless, he kept bouncing his knee and tapping his pen against the unmarked crossword in front of him. His mind was forcing him to think of you, of the look in your eyes, of the tears and the hurt. He felt so awful, he felt like King Steve again and he is someone he despises, just the way he despises himself, right this second.
Robin told him to leave before he could even finish his shift, knowing that all he wanted was to set things straight, to make things right with you.
And here he is now, standing on your porch with a racing heart and sweaty palms.
He doesn’t know how you will react to seeing him here, but knowing you, he is certain that you will slam the door in his face – he’d deserve it.
He rang the doorbell once before, but you didn’t open it. He wonders if you saw his car in your driveway already. He rings it again, hoping for you to open, hoping for you to give him a chance so he can… try, try to make it up to you.
He tugs at his hair, feeling more and more stressed the longer it takes you to open. As he stands there, staring at the wooden door, he realizes that it’s only the second time that he stands here, on your porch, on the doorsteps of a big house, just as big as the one he lives in, if not bigger. The inside of your home is just as much of a mystery to him as you are.
Steve knows nothing about you, absolutely nothing and he still opened his mouth and threw words at you that you didn’t deserve – even when you pushed him, even when you were being mean to him, you had never sunk so low just to hurt him, not once.
After he got all this anger off his chest, you were no longer the girl he saw before, you were someone else, someone vulnerable, someone heartbroken and that hurt even more to think about.
He gets pulled out of his thoughts when you finally open the door. He snaps his head up and his eyes meet yours for the first time that day.
He had seen you in a bad state before, after your fight with Jason Carver, after the surgery that saved your life, you looked bad. Your skin was marked with bruises and scars, you had that traumatized look in your eyes that no one dared to even mention. You barely ate or talked for the first few days, whether it was because of the surgery or the trauma that Carver had left you with, you were in a bad, bad state.
But he had never seen you like this before.
Not even the sadness from last night was this strong as the one in your eyes now. They are glassy, a mix of anger and hurt swirling in them. Your lips are puffy just like your eyes, from all the crying. Your hair is messy, a big hoodie that doesn’t even seem to belong to you hanging loosely on your form.
Another pang of guilt hits him at the sight of you.
You stare at each other for a long moment before you try to slam the door shut again, but he jumps forward, pressing his palm against it, “Blondie, please! I just want to talk!”
He hears your sniffle, like you’re trying not to cry again. You stop pushing against the door but you don’t pull away either, you don’t let him see you.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” he hears you say.
“I-I just want to apologize, I was an asshole to you and you didn’t deserve it. I messed up.. fuck..” He squeezes his eyes shut, feeling desperate to fix this between you two, “I’m sorry, I’m really fucking sorry, Blondie.”
“Y-You’re forgiven, now please leave..”
The weakness in your voice makes him feel like the worst person alive, knowing that he is the cause of your suffering, right now.
How did you feel last night?
“No,” he begs, shaking his head as though you could see him, “please just let me in, I-I want to talk to you, I want to fix it, please let me fix it.”
You are silent on the other side of the door, you don’t move, you don’t speak. You hesitate. And it feels like forever that he stands here with a pounding heart, willing you to open the door and let him see you, talk to you.
Without a word, you open the door and you step aside, crossing your arms over your chest.
He swallows the lump in his throat, blinking as he takes in the sight of you, once again.
You stare at him with both impatience and annoyance now, wanting to get this over with quickly, while he wants time – time with you.
He had never felt such desperation before, especially now that he sees you.
“There’s nothing to fix, it’s okay, you told me what you–”
He says your name, and he says it so desperately that it shuts you up.
“I won’t leave until I can properly apologize to you.”
You blink, your upper lip twitches and you take a moment, staring at him for what feels like forever until you nod.
“Fine..”
“Can I come in?”
“Yeah,” you whisper.
He takes a deep breath before he steps inside the house he has never been in before, he closes the door behind him and he can’t help but look around, taking in the sight of the big hallway, the wide stairs are on the right side, pictures hang on the wall all the way up to the second floor, there is one that is slightly bigger than the others, and even from afar, he recognizes you – you are no older than twelve in that picture, you wore a wide smile on your face, pigtails that were tied with pink bows at the end, you were wearing a dress and you looked happy in a way he had never seen before. Your big sister was next to you, holding your hand as your parents stood behind you both, the smiles were genuine, even on their faces.
Only as he stares at the picture, does he realize that he has never actually seen your parents before.
“Are your parents home?” He asks without looking at you, still questioning
You hesitate.
“No… I uh, do you want something to drink?” You ask awkwardly, not knowing what else to say or do.
Steve is too busy staring at the picture, trying to remember your parents, wondering why they didn’t come to visit you at the hospital, only your sister came to see you.
When he looks down at you, away from the picture of the girl that once looked so happy, he now sees a broken one, for the first time, he sees past those glares and cold looks.
He runs his fingers through his hair.
“I-I’m sorry… I’m really sorry about all the awful shit I said to you last night, I was angry a-and I let it out on you and you did not deserve this, you really didn’t deserve any of the words I threw at you.”
You blink, and you press your lips together just like you did before, just like you did last night.
“It’s okay–”
“No, I said things that I had no clue about and I never wanna do that again. I just, I want to understand you.. I want to get to know you because.. fuck, I’m realizing how much I’m hurting you.”
Your eyes soften and you genuinely look surprised at his words, eyeing him as you stay silent.
You don’t blame him, he’s not at fault, not entirely. He knows nothing about you or your life, so how could he know that those words would cause so much damage?
You carry guilt, just like he does.
You both kept throwing knives at each other, hitting one target after the other but you were both blindfolded to the pain you were causing to each other.
You shift, pulling at the sleeves of the sweater you are wearing, you close your eyes for one second, taking a deep breath, before you open them again and look up at Steve.
“What do you want to know?” You ask, surprising him with your words.
He expected you to be more stubborn than this, but you seem willing to let him get to know you, the real you.
“Anything you want to give me really.. so… I just want to stop hurting you without me realizing it… I don’t… I need to stop hurting you, Blondie.”
You look at him, really look at him, and you notice that he looks just as bad as you do. His hair is messy – a very unusual sight for him. He has dark circles under his eyes, like he hasn’t slept all night and his eyes are filled with guilt.
With a sigh, you tilt your head into the direction of the living room, motioning him to follow. You turn on the lamp on the dresser, making the room appear lighter, it’s gloomy outside and the rain has been falling all morning, it only just stopped.
“Sit,” you mumble, pointing to the couch, “wait here.”
He nods at you and sits down, he watches you leave the room again and listens to your footsteps as you make your way upstairs. He looks around, there are fewer pictures around here, though still enough for him to get curious about your parents again. There’s a bouquet of fresh flowers on the small table in front of him – Daisies. A throw blanket lays on the other end of the couch, an open book next to it, were you reading when he got here?
It doesn’t take you long to come back into the room.
Steve’s brows furrow a little when he sees the shoebox in your hand, you place it in front of him and take a deep breath as you look into his eyes, pointing to the box.
“Here’s everything you need to know about me.”
His lips part at your words.
“You can look, I’ll tell you anything you want to know and then we can… move past all of this and go back to the way things were before yesterday.”
He blinks, noticing how your shoulders slumped a little, you don’t want to go back to the way things were, and neither does he. He enjoys the bickering but not when it means that he is hurting you.
You break eye contact, and turn around, “I’m gonna get us something to drink, feel free to look..”
And with that, you leave again and Steve, he stares at the box for a while, feeling like he is about to intrude, despite you telling him to open it, to look inside, he still feels like he is intruding. But his curiosity gets the best of him, he removes the lid carefully and puts it down on the table.
Polaroid Pictures.
So many of them. The box is filled, all the way up to the top with pictures of friends and family. The first one that catches his eye is the one of you and Max. He reaches for it, bringing it closer. You are both smiling into the camera, Max is wearing her red sunglasses and you are wearing your heart shaped ones, an ice cream cone in her hand and a can of diet pepsi in yours – he can’t help but smile as he stares at it, you looked so happy.
The date was written under the picture, with a pink sharpie: May 7th 1985.
He places the picture down, reaching for the next one.
This one doesn’t have you on it, only your sister, with a black cat on her lap – Luna, the cat’s name was Luna, he overheard you talking about her to Max. And your sister, he doesn’t remember her actual name, only the nickname you called her when she came to see you at the hospital; Twinkie. He almost laughed at that, the first time he heard it.
The next one is one of you and your dad at the beach, he recognizes him from the picture in the hallway. Both of you were holding surfboards. Your eyes shone with happiness, a bright grin on your face, your dad’s arm was wrapped around your shoulder. In this picture, you looked even happier than in the one from last year. – This one was taken in the summer of 1981, you were only fourteen.
He flinches a little when you place a soda can in front of him, “here, I found some coke in the fridge, figured you’d prefer that.”
He raises his brows and then looks at the pepsi you’re holding in your hand.
“Oh, thanks,” he mumbles, trying to smile.
You nod at him as you sit down beside him, looking at the picture that he’s holding.
“We spent the summer in California, my parents had a summer house in Monterey.”
“Had?”
You nod.
“Yeah,” you whisper as sadness takes over your features, a sadness he hadn’t seen before. It’s not the kind that he had seen last night. It’s one that reminds him of grief, like the one on Max’s face when she mentions Billy.
Oh no.
“My sister sold it last year, I asked her not to but.. for some reason that house gave her more painful memories than this one,” you say as you gesture to the room you sit in, you lean forward, placing your drink on the table as you reach for a picture in the box, “that was.. that was two weeks before they uh.. got into an accident.”
You hand him a picture but he can’t look at it yet, too busy staring at you and at the way you try to hide the tears in your eyes.
Steve’s heart aches in his chest, the guilt eating at him like never before.
“I-I’m so sorry, Blondie,” he whispers as he slowly looks down at the picture, at your parents who both smiled into the camera. That one was also taken in the summer of 1981.
Steve started to feel a little sick as the seconds went by, at each picture that he looked at.
“Twinkie and I took the flight back with our grandparents, we wanted to spend one more week with them in Indianapolis before going back to Hawkins, we didn’t know that this would be the last time we’d ever see them.”
His heart no longer aches at your words, it breaks for you. He didn’t know this, he never knew anything about you. You lost your parents when you were so young, right before your first year in high school.
Now he understands why you had always looked so.. lost.
Why you had been so rude and unapproachable. You pushed people away while you were grieving, you didn’t want anyone to see.
He doesn’t know what to say, no words will give you the comfort that you still clearly need.
“I-I never knew.”
You chuckle as you look at him, still blinking away those tears, “I didn’t want anyone to know, especially not when it just happened.”
“Why not?”
“I’d forever be the girl that lost her parents, and honestly, I’d rather have the whole school hate me than give me pitiful looks.”
“Of course,” he mumbles, shaking his head at you.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he shrugs, running his fingers through his messy hair after he puts the picture down, “you’re just so… I don’t know, it’s just.. classic you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, not with anger in your voice but with curiosity.
“Well, you’d rather have the whole world hate you than let them see you vulnerable.”
You shake your head at him and his eyes meet yours as he turns back. There is that look in your eyes, the one that reminds him that he doesn’t know anything about you.
“I let some see.”
Right. Some.
He nods and looks away.
He’s surely not one of those that you let see.
When he reaches for the next picture, he freezes, staring at the two little girls with wide eyes. It’s not hard to figure out who the one next to you is. Strawberry blonde hair, the two front teeth way too big for the small face, she was wearing a cheerleader costume – not knowing that she would’ve become cheer captain years later. Chrissy Cunningham.
The girl next to you was Chrissy, you were hugging each other from the side, giggling.
He looks at you, you were wearing a fairy costume, green and pink colors on the dress, and your smile was big. You looked happy.
He shakes his head a little, not understanding what he sees in front of him.
He had never seen you and Chrissy around each other, not even once. In fact, he rarely ever saw you around anyone for that matter. Sometimes he saw you talking to Jonathan, something that gave him more of a reason to dislike you back then, he’d throw the word ‘freaks’ at the two of you whenever he passed by you. The memories of that fill him with guilt and regret, he always wishes that he could turn back time and change things, change the way he acted.
But he never ever saw you even talking to Chrissy.
He slowly turns to face you, holding up the polaroid, “y-you and Chrissy knew each other?”
You only glance at the picture before you look down, “yeah, we were childhood best friends, we grew apart but… we still kept in touch. She’d stay over sometimes.” you explain, not meeting his eyes.
You lost your parents. You lost a friend.
His words from last night echo in his mind and the guilt crashes over him, harder than before.
No words appear before him, what can he say that will make you feel better in the slightest? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
But the monsters have gotten to her without her knowing about them.
That’s what Max had told him. Now he understands. Even more so, when a different picture catches his eye, one that shocks him even more than the previous one.
Only this time, he doesn’t just freeze, he feels a shiver running down his spine and his chest feels weird, all of a sudden. Because the guy in the picture isn’t someone he ever expected you around with.
He takes it, between his thumb and his forefinger, bringing it closer with a shaky hand. He blinks, like he can’t believe what he is seeing, but it’s real, it’s so very real. No amount of blinking will transform the guy into someone else. It’s unmistakably Billy Hargrove in your collection of polaroids, a collection that reminds you of the people you loved. The box of memories that is frozen in time.
Billy is sitting on the hood of his car, a cigarette held between his fingers as he snickered at the camera. It was taken back in 1984.
You were friends with Billy Hargrove?
He can’t even utter a single word, just reaching for the next picture which is just another one of him.
Billy was lying on the grass, probably in your backyard, his eyes were barely open but he was smiling into the camera, with a thumbs up in the air. It’s clear that he was drunk when you took that picture.
He feels your eyes on him, he notices you shifting on the couch as you lean back, still looking at him. He doesn’t turn to face you, not yet. Too curious to find more pictures of Billy, he doesn’t expect the next ones to be more intimate than the ones before.
He stares at the one of you first, it looks as though you have cried, but you are smiling, and the only thing that covered your body was a blanket, while pushing the camera out of your face.
And for a moment, Steve can’t help but think how beautiful you look in this picture with your hair all messy, your exposed skin looking so soft and glowy beneath dim lights, and a smile so content.
But the picture of Billy makes him frown. He was sitting on your bed, shirtless and with a cigarette between his lips, his eyes were red but he was smiling just like you were.
It’s obvious what happened before these pictures were taken and he can’t shake the weird feeling in his gut, the longer he looks at them.
Were you and Billy dating?
Is that why you have been so miserable since last summer? Because he was just another name on the list of people you have lost?
As though you can read his mind, you lean closer to him, reaching for the first picture you ever took of him, the one where he sits on the hood of his car.
“I ran into Billy at Big Buy’s, well, behind the building. He was smoking a cigarette and he was crying. I hadn’t seen him before, it was the weekend before school started again. I approached him and he obviously tried to scare me off, but… fucker didn’t know who he was talking to,” you chuckle. “He was being rude, like really rude, calling me names and trying to get me to leave, I stepped on his foot and he yelped, literally yelped. I left after that but uh, after that, we just started pestering each other at school and then one day, he showed up here, with a bleeding nose and a busted lip, he didn’t know where else to go.”
Steve watches you, the way your eyes are filled with sadness as you look at the pictures in front of you.
“It took him a while but eventually, he opened up to me, about his dad and everything.”
He knows about Billy’s dad, about the abuse, the emotional and physical abuse. Max told him all about it.
“So uh, then that happened,” you murmur, awkwardly, not meeting his eyes as you point to the pictures of the two of you only covered by the sheets.
“Were you two dating?” He asks, and somehow he feels a knot in his stomach at that question.
You scrunch your face up at his words, almost in a way that makes him laugh. You shake your head at him.
“Fuck no. We weren’t even attracted to each other. I just, at that point we were close and I trusted him so uh.. I just wanted to do it with someone that I felt comfortable with and uh, the beer helped too, I guess,” you say with a small smile on your lips.
Steve turns away from you, biting the insides of his cheeks, the knot slowly undoing itself in his belly.
“We never mentioned it again after this, it wasn’t awkward or anything, we were just.. best friends.”
There is no bitterness in your voice, he notices. You had no feelings for Billy, and that for some reason makes his shoulders relax.
He looks back at you when he feels your eyes on him, your smile has fallen.
“He came to my house… you know.. after he beat you up and he was drugged by Max.”
He raises his eyebrows, pursing his lips.
“What?”
“I told him that it was wrong, what he did, that you did the right thing, that I told him time and time to lay off Max. Damn, I even slapped him across his head when he broke her skateboard.”
His eyes soften, and his lip twitches.
“I-I was doing the right thing?”
“You protected Lucas. When I found out how he was treating him I got so mad at him, we got into a fight and I didn’t talk to him for days. I just hated what he did to him and to Max,” you mumble, breaking eye contact when the look in his eyes gets a little too intense for you. You also didn’t like what Billy did to Steve, but he doesn’t need to know that. “Billy he was.. driven by his father’s words and actions. The abuse turned him into that. He was vulnerable with me, but– the anger was still inside of him… bright red.”
As Steve looks back at the pictures, he realizes that he had never seen Billy like this, happy, smiling. He almost looks like a different person. Regret floods through him, he can’t help but wish that he would’ve gotten to know this side of Billy, the one that you knew, maybe things would’ve gone differently if he did, maybe Max wouldn’t have lost her brother.
“I never saw Hargrove like this.”
“No one did,” you shrug, “only me, sometimes Max. I-I tried to change him and his dumb views but Billy was just.. stubborn and angry.” You shake your head, blinking away the tears that welled up in your eyes, you close them and tilt your head down. “A-And then he pushed me away when he.. when he was possessed.”
Steve notices the way your voice got so much more shaky than before, how you seem to be on the verge of tears.
“Max,” he whispers, now understanding why or who the reason was for your friendship.
“Yeah… Max. We received letters, well, notes from Billy,” you mumble.
He watches how you bring your hand up to your face, wiping away the tears with the sleeves before you reach for something in the box, a folded piece of paper that you hand to him.
“He told me to stay away in mine, all messy, but he said that he didn’t hate me, that he could never..”
Steve doesn’t open the note, your words are enough, he doesn’t want to intrude more than he already did, he understands this enough. Billy pushed you away to keep you safe, and he did it with cruel words to keep you away, because he knew that that would work with you.
Steve is at a loss for words.
“And Max, he called her his sister in hers. She didn’t read the note until a few weeks later though.”
Steve’s eyes widen, and it all clicks in his head.
Why Max had been suffering as much as she did in those months after Billy’s death, why she seemed more depressed than ever when the summer was over.
“Is that why you are so close with her? … For Billy?”
“Yeah,” you whisper, nodding. “She’s like a sister to me, I’d do anything for her.”
And you did. You did and you almost gave your life protecting her.
“And I almost lost her too.”
Just like everyone else you loved and cared about.
Steve’s words did more damage than he thought they did, and they echo in his mind, over and over again.
Don’t you ever ask yourself why you don’t have anyone? Why no one bothers to stick around because I’d be really surprised if someone did.
The nausea that fills him almost overwhelms him, it almost knocks the breath out of him. He swallows harshly, and he starts to put the polaroids back into the box, blinking as he looks at each and every one of them again.
His eyes linger on the one of you smiling, the one from the year before. When you found your happiness again when a new friend had stepped into your life.
Steve couldn’t stand Billy Hargrove, he really couldn’t stand him, but his death was cruel and even he didn’t deserve what happened to him and you didn’t deserve to lose another person you cared about.
You lost. You lost people, you lost family, you lost friends and you lost your spark, your happiness. And now he understands why you are the way that you are. Why you keep pushing everyone away, you’re scared to lose again, scared to get too close to someone only to watch them being taken away from you.
As he stares at your smile, he can’t help but frown at the picture in his hand because he will never get to see this. He will never see you like this with him and in this moment, he can’t help but envy those who will.
“You are right.” His voice sounds small, filled with regret, filled with sadness and hurt.
“Huh?”
“I don’t know what loss is. I– shit. I don’t know if I could have handled it like you did.”
You feel your eyes burning at his words and before you can even try to blink your tears away, one falls from your eye.
Steve’s eyes soften when he hears your sniffle, he watches the tear roll down your cheek. He moves without thinking, raising his hand up to your face, he catches the tear with his thumb.
You freeze and your lips part in surprise, his touch giving you butterflies despite what happened yesterday.
His touch feels so foreign on your skin, yet comforting and warm, like something that you have been craving and longing for since always. You slowly turn to face him and only then, does he realize what he did.
His cheeks flush red and his eyes fill with embarrassment, he clears his throat and pulls his hand away from your face, not knowing that this makes you feel empty again.
“I’m sorry too,” you whisper, apologizing to him, for the first time. “Knowing that they’re alive yet still deciding to leave you behind.. that’s not easy either.”
He appreciates your words and his lip twitches, he shrugs, trying to play it off – The pain he always endured by himself and never voiced out, and he won’t start doing it now. It’s done with.
“I have the kids and Robin.”
“Right,” you whisper as you push yourself up, unable to sit here with him any longer, you reach for the box, ignoring the confused look that he gives you, “they take care of you.”
He noticed the sarcastic tone at that last phrase, but he nodded either way.
“Okay uh, time to go, Lego head. I need a shower.”
This time, he can’t help but smile at the nickname.
“Okay, Blondie.”
You lead him back out into the hallway, avoiding the hazel eyes that fill your heart with nothing but sadness and longing.
You feel your heart pounding, your eyes still burning as you feel yourself nearing the edge of yet another breakdown this day.
“Hey,” Steve whispers, taking a hold of your arm he pulls you back so he can see your face again.
“Yeah?”
Your eyes show him so much and now he can’t help but wonder if these emotions have always been there and he was just too blind to see them or if you only showed them now.
“I’m really sorry about everything,” he whispers.
Your lips twitch, though not into a smile.
“Me too, Steve.”
He keeps holding your arm, ignoring the wish to hold you instead.
“Are we.. good?”
His question makes you laugh and you squint your eyes.
“When have we ever been good?”
He rolls his eyes, though he can’t help but smile. He brings his left hand up, running his fingers through his messy hair.
There is that look in his eyes, the one that shows you that he is thinking about something, deeply.
“Do I still call you Blondie…?” He asks as he realizes that he had always called you by a name that must have taken you back to a time where you had felt the saddest, the loneliest. You were fifteen when you had bleached your hair and tried out new styles, all the time. He never knew that it was something that you needed to do, to distract yourself from the grief. You had no friends, no one to talk to, no one to be with. You only had that – box dye, makeup and new clothes every week.
Oh.
You swallow the lump in your throat, digging your nails into your palm. He knows.
“I would be mad if you didn’t. It’s weird when you say my name, Harrington.”
He chuckles, shaking his head a little.
“Yeah yeah, Blondie, keep acting like you don’t like it.”
You smile, though it doesn’t reach your eyes and he can see it.”
“I guess we’re still Lego head and Blondie then, huh?” He asks, snorting.
“Always.”
He licks his lips, nodding.
“Always,” he chuckles as he lets go of you and walks towards the door, he opens it, but he doesn’t step out, right away. He looks back at you, one more time, “you know, I didn’t mean a single thing that I said to you, last night. And I’ll do anything for you to believe me. B-But, I think that you’re amazing and the people that had the chance to get to know you… the real you were really fucking lucky.”
He leaves you with those words, closes the door and walks away from you.
And you stare at the front door for what feels like forever before you finally break into tears. You were pushing away your pain and your sadness but the fight from last night, his presence and his words have made it all so much worse again.
You bury your face in your hands as you sit down on the stairs, letting tears fall that you haven’t felt in ages but instead of relief, you feel frustration running through you. You didn’t miss this, you didn’t miss this for a single second.
There is a knock on the front door and it fills you with annoyance when you expect it to be Steve again.
Wiping your tears with anger, you rip open the door, expecting to see him again but instead it’s Max on your doorstep. Max and Eddie.
You blink, looking between them, back and forth.
Max’s blue eyes fill with worry as she looks into your glassy eyes.
Eddie smiles at you, despite matching the look in her eyes.
“Hey, you didn’t let me come in yesterday so I assumed that if I brought Red here you would let us in,” he says, still smiling cheekily. “We brought movies and got your favorite snacks,” he points to Max’s backpack.
You don’t know what comes over you, but the kind smile on his face, of the guy that has been trying desperately to be your friend, makes you want to continue crying. You don’t know how, but you keep your tears at bay.
You know that they can see that you were crying, but it brings you comfort to know that neither of them will push you to talk about anything.
“Hey guys,” you try to put on your best smile as you greet them, you step aside without another word.
Eddie’s smile widens, he bumps his shoulder into Max.
“Hey,” she smiles, still eying you worriedly, “are you okay?”
“Yeah,” you nod, placing your hand on her shoulder, “I’m okay.”
She doesn’t look convinced but she doesn’t push you to talk, she doesn’t ask any more questions either. She just walks straight into the living room.
“She feels at home, huh?” Eddie chuckles.
“It’s basically her second home so yeah,” you laugh.
His brown eyes take you in, his lips twitch but his smile doesn’t fall. He looks like he wants to say something but he doesn’t speak up.
You both follow Max into the living room, expecting her to be unpacking the snacks but instead she stands there frozen in place as she stares at the box of polaroids.
Your eyes widen and in panic, you rush over to the coffee table, wanting to close the box.
“S-Shit, I’m sorry–”
“No!” She grabs your hand before you reach for the lid. “I-It’s okay, I’m okay. A-Are you though?” She asks as she looks away from the pictures of Billy.
Eddie looks between you two, furrowing his brows as he takes a step closer. He looks into the box and his eyes widen instantly.
“Holy shit, is that–”
“Eddie don’t,” Max warns him.
You shake your head, “no.. no, it’s okay, Max.”
Eddie doesn’t even look at Max or you, he is staring at the picture of her brother, in shock.
“I-I promise, it’s okay,” you mumble, pinching the bridge of your nose as you feel your heart starting to pound again, “I just.. I need some fresh air, I’ll be right back.”
You leave the room, rushing out of the house. You sit down on the porch steps, taking a deep breath. The earthy smell that lingers after the rain comforts you a little.
You knew you wouldn’t get more than a minute to yourself, because only moments later, the door opens. You know that it’s Eddie, you hear the flick of his lighter, and seconds later, the smell of smoke fills the air, mixing with the smell of the after rain.
You hear his footsteps and then he sits down next to you. Without a word, he offers you the cigarette. You take it, placing it between your lips, you take a drag and blow out the smoke.
Eddie doesn’t talk, he just wants you to know that he is here because he wants to be, he wants to be your friend but you don’t want to lose him too.
“I lost a lot of people I cared about, Eddie.. Every single one of them, my parents, Chrissy, Billy.. I almost lost Max and you too,” You trail off, taking another drag before you hand him back the cigarette. “And I can’t lose any more people, Eds.”
He stares at you with his big sad eyes that you can’t bring yourself to look into for longer than two seconds.
“I feel like I’m fucking cursed or something. Everything that I touch immediately rots. That’s why I just.. I keep pushing you away because I already lost a best friend.. so just please.”
He sees the way you’re blinking, the way your hands are shaking just like your voice is. He knows what you’re asking of him and he only shakes his head in response, moving closer to you as he feels his own eyes burning.
You’re his friend, a friend that he doesn’t want to lose either.
“Nah.. It will take a whole swarm of demobats to rip me away from you. And even then, hey, I will still survive, already did once,” he tries to crack a joke but only makes you tear up even more.
You finally turn to face him, looking into the kind eyes of your friend before your eyes move down to his neck, to the bandaid that covers his scar.
“But–”
“No buts. You are not cursed. You are not responsible for anything that happened to those people. It’s okay to feel sad, it’s okay to hurt, it’s okay to love, Darling. Let yourself do it,” he says, smiling as he throws his cigarette on the pavement before he wraps his arms around you, bringing you closer, “and stop pushing me away, please.”
Your bottom lip trembles and the tears flow like a waterfall, you stop fighting it, you stop fighting him and you let him pull you into his arms, closing your eyes as you lay your head on his chest, letting yourself fall into the hug that you so desperately need.
“Let it out, sweets.”
The soothing tone in his voice makes you cry even harder, your tears seep through his shirt but he doesn’t mind, he rubs your back and holds you. Your heart is crying, your brain is banging, your breaths are cut short thanks to your sobs, but it’s something you needed. And even through all of that, you are feeling so relieved, so light at each sob that rips out of your throat.
And when you feel Max’s hand in yours, her head on your shoulder as Eddie still holds you, you know that everything will be okay, that you will be okay. You might not need anything else for now… these two people right here are making you feel fuller than you ever felt in the past year.
You won’t lose them.
You won’t have to live without them.
They will be more than just a short time.
♡
tagging friends and mutuals:
@prettyboyeddiemunson @taintedcigs @mysticmunson @wroteclassicaly @sherrylyn628 @livosssblog
#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington angst#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fluff#stranger things angst
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Enemies to Lovers (Wolverine)
Description: Enemies to Lovers with Wolverine and Y/N
Author’s note: I had a request for hate sex (which I can still do) but decided to do this for now.
Wade smirked as Y/N walked out in her new outfit that the TVA gave her. She looked really sexy. “Hey beautiful. Don’t you look like you’re ready to get fucked.”
Y/N gave him a weird look but shrugged it off as Paradox began to tell them that their universe was about to die off. Oh Hell No!
Wade and her did not like that but when Y/N found out that Logan of all people was the reason why…she was livid.
The second they find him she punches him in the face. He chuckled and stood up getting ready to face the person that did that. Only to be faced with Y/N.
He looked down at her, amused by her, “No wonder that punch didn’t hurt so bad.” She went to punch him again but harder. Wade had stopped her before she could.
“We need him Y/N/N. I sense in the near future you may be under him and not in a fighting way.” He teases. This Logan was a drunk and let down his universe. Y/N wasn’t taking that.
“Look asshole, you’re coming with us to fix this. Because you’re the reason that it’s happening.” She yelled at him before Wade held the gun to his head.
He was not taking them seriously at all. He laughed and drank himself to sleep. Y/N gasped as his body hit the ground. “Well this one will do.” Wade said.
Y/N secretly did a double take at him in the “comic accurate” suit as Wade put it. He did look good but she still hated him.
She rolled her eyes as Paradox made both of them disappear. “Let’s go.” She said and before she fought Paradox he made her disappear too.
She ran up to the boys as they were fighting. “Hey.” She kept yelling but they kept fighting.
She watched and almost came as Logan ran on all fours towards Wade. She stared at him for a good 5 seconds after.
She snapped out of it and attacked him to the ground. “No time for games, Wolvy.” She said and held her knife up to his throat.
He would never admit it but he found that super hot. She was super hot but yet she was an asshole.
When Johnny showed up and started flirting with Y/N. Logan felt a little jealous but he shouldn’t. She laughed at every joke he said while they were tied up together.
Wade watched as Logan rolled his eyes at the two and instantly knew that he was jealous. “Awww is Wolvy jealous?” He asked, teasing him.
“Of what?” He asked, annoyed. “Of fire dick flirting with your girl.” Y/N was not his girl. But before he could deny what Wade said, Johnny started talking to all of them about Nova.
Y/N had never met anyone in the X-men so she never knew Charles or that he had a sister. Wade and Logan didn’t know either.
“Oh your thoughts were naughty naughty earlier Y/N.” She said to her with a wink. Wade was hella curious but Logan couldn’t give two fucks, thinking it was about Johnny.
When Nova killed Johnny, Y/N glared at Wade. “Are you fucking kidding me?” She asked him. “You just got him killed!.” Wade was shocked that they were on the same page.
“Wade, you’re a dick! I can’t believe you did that!” She yelled at Wade after he got Johnny killed. “Boo hoo he got your little boyfriend killed.” Y/N glared at him but Wade had to stop them before they fought.
Nicepool also made an enemy out of Logan after he saw him briefly check her out and drop the biggest bomb ever: “You look just like my wife who just had a baby.”
Y/N was his wife…well a different Y/N. Wade was shocked by the news as was Logan. “So Y/N you’re married to me in a different universe?” Wade was kind of excited.
Y/N shrugged and walked past them. Logan wasn’t thrilled by the news but why did he care so much? Y/N wasn’t even thrilled by the news.
The Honda Odyssey where fights and almost fucking happened.
After Logan’s speech to Wade Y/N did one too but for Logan, “I know you’re not talking Mr. I fucked up in all my universes. Maybe we should have let you drank yourself to death because it’s clear that you aren’t any help anywhere.”
Ouch that was harsh
“He lied to me. Oh I’m sorry you guys lied to me.” He yelled back, kinda hurt by her words.
“You’re the reason that our universe is going dickhead! It seems like you’re useless in every universe.”
“Yeah well in my universe you were a whore on the street.”
Y/N chuckled at that and thus began the fighting. Y/N wanted this no good loser dead but unfortunately that couldn’t happen.
Waking up to Logan drinking and Wade cuddling her was not what she had in mind. “Thor.” Wade yelled as he woke up. “What the fuck?” Y/N said as she sat up.
Gambit was another problem for Logan as he also was flirting with Y/N. “Just like in my universe.” Logan groaned as he watched as Y/N flirted with the card guy.
“That girl in there. Do you actually hate her?” Laura asked him. He shrugged, “No but she hates me and it seems like she does in every universe.”
Y/N and him never got along in his universe and she was still the same here. But they would have to work together to put an end to this.
A team they made and it was pretty good. Both of them along with the others took down most of the people and Nova…almost
“What do you mean don’t kill her?” Y/N yelled at him but unlike her Logan knew Charles and this wasn’t what he would want.
When Nova let him go back to their universe Y/N fell right on Logan. They both groaned and looked at each other. It was almost like the world had stopped before Wade interrupted, “Listen guys you can fuck later. We have a universe to save.”
Seeing Nicepool again was not a good thing especially when the other deadpools arrived. “Ewww Wade they’re so many of you.” Y/N said and that made Logan laugh. At least they could agree on something.
The Mask? Oh Y/N felt the hate leave her body while he wore it. It was very sexy and he smirked at her before they fought the pools.
Once it was over they sighed but unfortunately it wasn’t over and they all got back up. “So only Nicepool could die?” She asked in shock as the others were alive again.
Peter Pool saved the day and they escaped to Paradox. Y/N felt herself get sick at the thought of losing herself or Wade for this universe. She almost wanted to push for it to be Logan.
But she cared about him too and also hated that idea. “It has to be toots.” Wade looked at her and held her hands. “Wade, No you can’t.” She said with tears in her eyes.
“It needs to be me.” Logan said not expecting her to disagree. “It can’t be either of you.” She said which surprised him. “Well it certainly won’t be you.” Wade told her.
“Why can’t it?” But before he could respond Logan did, “Look I know you hate me and want me dead but I regret us hating each other in my universe. I want you to be happy in this one.” Right there in that moment she fell in love.
Sobbing at the fact that she would lose one of them until they came out alive and oh boy did she let her jaw drop at Logan’s abs.
“Like what ya see sweetheart?” He asked with a smirk and she didn’t deny it. “Put on a shirt you slut.” Y/N took the shirt from Wade and shook her head.
Logan chuckled at that and took the shirt from her hands, “You’ll see more of it later sweetheart.” He told her and Wade looked surprised.
“Oh so now we have enemies to lovers in these films.” Wade said and they looked confused.
“What?”
#deadpool and wolverine#deadpool 3#wolverine#wolverine xmen#wolverine smut#wolverine x reader#logan howlett#logan howlett smut#logan howlett imagine#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett x you#hugh jackman#ryan reynolds#deadpool#marvel#marvel imagine#marvel x reader#mcu
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How’s Your Head? | Bucky Barnes x Reader
This has been in my WIP forever and I finally finished it. Once again, I am looking for a soft, kind, Bucky Barnes to take care of me and flirt with me. Is that so much to ask?🥲
This is slightly longer than my usual stuff, just FYI. The WC is 7280. And yes the title is a Drag Race reference. 😂
Warnings: reader injury (not severe), creepy men (jail), blood, vomit, flirting, fluff🫶
Bucky didn’t like the staring. The eyes that seemed to follow him everywhere he went. The old woman just a few seats down from him leered at him almost aggressively, like she hoped looks could kill. And though this was a common occurrence, it still rubbed him the wrong way.
“Another adoring fan…” Bucky thought.
He shifted side to side along with the rocking of the subway car and did his best to ignore her gaze- but couldn’t stand it any longer. He gave her a nod and a small, forced smile before heading for the adjoining subway car. Hopefully, he’d find an empty seat free from gawkers and onlookers.
But when he opened the door to the next car, he didn’t find the peace and quiet he’d hoped for.
“I’m not interested…” you said to the creepy guy sitting next to you.
“Oh, come on,” the man insisted. “Don’t be so uptight, sugar.” He rested a hand on your thigh and gave your leg a squeeze, his fingers digging into your flesh.
“Fuck off, dude. Seriously?” You banished his hand and stood from your seat, “eat glass, asshole.”
But as you tried to make your getaway, the man grabbed you by the wrist. He pulled you close as you struggled in his grip, his face only inches from yours. “Maybe you should learn some fuckin’ manners,” he threw you to the ground, your head striking the floor.
Bucky flew into a blind rage. He made quick work of your assailant, nearly removing the man’s head from his body. And with the entitled dickhead desperately escaping to another subway car, Bucky made his way to your side.
“Hey, are you alright?”
You sat on the floor, slightly dazed. A thick fog settled into every corner of your mind and your ears stung with a sharp ringing. “Yeah, I’m good. Didn’t hurt that bad,” you lied. Yet another interaction with an unknown man. Yes, he’d shooed away your creeper, but you wanted to be left alone. No more strange men, no more men pretending to be “one of the good guys” before showing their true self.
If you could convince this random guy that you were okay, maybe he wouldn’t bother you. Maybe you’d be able to make it home without being touched by another strange hand. “Thanks for asking, but I’m-”
“Oh- you’re bleeding”. Only then did you notice the rush of warmth running down the back of your neck. Bucky yanked the jacket from his body and reached for your bloodied skull before quickly recoiling. “Erm, can I?”
You nodded- the motion made you wince.
With cautious hands, he used his jacket to hold pressure to your wound. He stared down at you with genuine concern, his brow furrowed with worry.
After a few moments, most of the fog cleared and brought you screeching back to reality. The reality in which a man you’d never met held his jacket to your bleeding scalp as you sat on the floor of a subway car. Pain pulsed beneath his touch and shot through your head. Warm blood dripped down your neck. But you didn’t care- all you wanted was to move.
Bucky watched as you struggled to get up and instantly tried to stop you. “Hey, careful. I don’t think-”
“I don’t wanna be on this floor any longer than I have to,” you did your best to stand, but the dizziness sabotaged your efforts. “People do weird shit on the train. I’d probably sitting in someone’s pee.”
Bucky gave it a thought and instantly reconsidered his cautioning. “Ew. Yeah. You’re right,” the disgusted look on his face nearly made you laugh out loud. He thought back on all the questionable and downright nasty things he’d seen on the subway- he didn’t want you on that floor. “May I?” He offered you his free hand and got you safely into a seat.
“Which stop is yours?” He asked, settling into the chair next to you. And though he seemed like a perfect gentleman, you gave him a suspicious glance.
“Oh- I didn’t mean that in a ‘where do you live, I’m gonna follow you home’ type of way. More like, ‘how many stops do you have left before you can go get some rest?’ type of way”
You let out a laugh that sent pain pulsing behind your eyes. Maybe this stranger wasn’t so bad. “Um, I still have like five to go. I think. I’m coming all the way from Coney Island.”
“Coney Island, huh?” A rush of memories hit Bucky like a train. Riding the cyclone with Steve and watching him puke. Spending all his money to win a stuffed animal for some redhead he had a crush on.
“Yeah, I got to hang out with a girl I know from college. Haven’t seen her in a while and she’s never been out there. It was actually a pretty great day until that asshole cracked my head open…”
Bucky grimaced. He pulled his jacket from your scalp to give the wound another look, only to be greeted by a continuous flow of blood. “I think you should probably go to the ER. You might need stitches. And there’s a good chance you have a concussion.”
You shot him only a nonchalant shrug, “I’m not worried about it. Plus, I don’t feel like going into debt so they can give me two Tylenol and an ice pack”.
Bucky liked your sense of humor, your wit. How you could be cheeky and sarcastic after being accosted surprised him. But he clocked the tension in your shoulders, the worry in your eyes. You were uneasy. Your glance darted from one end of the subway car to the other every few seconds; he knew you had to be searching for your assailant. Or the next man who wanted to touch you without permission.
“Hey, would you rather take a cab home?” Bucky said, pulling you from your anxious spiral. “I don’t blame you if you don’t want to ride the train after what happened.”
“Oh, um…”
“I’m not inviting myself home with you-” Bucky shook his head. He was cute when he got flustered. “I just mean, I’ll pay for you to take a cab if you’re uncomfortable.”
How you seemed to meet both the bottom of the barrel and the crème de le crème of men back-to-back nearly gave you whiplash. But this handsome stranger had done enough; you couldn’t let him pay for your ride home. “That’s- wow, that’s really sweet. But you don’t have to. It’s okay.”
“What if I want to? You seem uneasy… like you’re waiting for him to come back.”
You nodded.
“Then let’s get you a cab, alright? Next stop, we’re outta here.” He shot you a wink before once again reassuring you that he was not going to follow you home. “Is there someone who can keep an eye on you, though? Like I said, you probably have a concussion. And if your roommate or, um, significant other can sit with you for the rest of the night, that would be a good idea. Head injuries are no joke.”
“Well, I don’t have a significant other,” you almost laughed. “And my roommate’s out of town. She was supposed to get back around sevenish, but her flight got crazy delayed because of weather- now she’s not getting home for a few hours.”
Bucky’s brow furrowed. He checked his watch and saw that it was only 8:04pm. He needed someone to sit with you for the rest of the night. Just in case something happened, you’d need a friend or loved one by your side. And if you didn’t have someone there with you, Bucky knew he’d spend the remainder of his evening worrying about the cute stranger he met on the train.
Just then, the subway stopped. Bucky offered you his arm and guided you onto the platform and up the stairs- all while keeping his jacket in place against your wound. Getting away from the train eliminated your unease. No longer were you trapped in the tiny space, your blood staining the floor. You had an escort in the form of a good samaritan, and a ride that would get you home without any further abuse.
But when Bucky hailed you a cab, your anxiety resurfaced.
“Hey, um…” you eyed the car as it approached, “Would you- do you mind riding with me?”
Bucky cocked his head to the side.
“I don’t know- I’m just a little nervous and I don’t really wanna be in a cab alone with another random man,” you said. “I know it’s probably inconvenient for you- I’ll pay for your ride home from my place.” The taxi neared the curb and stopped in front of you, sending your unease into overdrive. “Do you mind?”
Bucky clocked your wide eyes and shaking hands. Sure, you made jokes and sarcastic quips about what happened. But deep down, you were shaken. And he wanted to help in any way he could. “Not at all- I get it,” he gave you a reassuring look, “and you don’t have to pay for my ride. Let’s just get you home, alright?”
He held the door open for you and helped you into the cab before sliding in behind you- his hand still attached to your bloody skull. The ride was quiet, save for the honking of horns and cursing drivers. But having Bucky with you for the duration eased your discomfort.
“So, is there anyone you can call to come look after you?” Bucky asked after a while, “A friend, a neighbor, a family member?”
“I don’t really have any friends,” you said. “But not in a ‘I’m a loser and can’t make friends’ kind of way, I promise.” Bucky laughed. You liked his laugh. “I’m just still kinda new here. And all my family lives in across the country. Plus, I only know two of my neighbors. One of them is an old man who always tell me my skin looks ‘so soft’-”
Bucky’s nose wrinkled, “Ew…"
“Yeah. And the other is this girl who told me to shut the fuck up because she thinks my footsteps are too loud? So yeah, I don’t have many connections here yet.”
He sensed a little embarrassment staining your words and aimed to make you feel better, “Well I’ve lived here for quite some time, and I don’t have any friends, either.”
That didn’t seem possible to you. He was so likable. Quiet, yet endearing. And certainly, a gentleman. He made you feel safe. You wondered how his girlfriend would react when she found out he took another woman home.
Bucky found himself wondering how you didn’t have swaths of friends. Even after your harrowing experience on the train, you were so charming. Funny. Sweet. It was even harder for him to believe you didn’t have a love interest to go home to. But after what he’d witnessed tonight, he didn’t blame you for keeping to yourself.
“What part of town do you live in?” You did your best to conceal the optimism in your voice, the hoped that he lived close by. It was embarrassing how smitten you were with this man.
“Brooklyn,” Bucky said. “I’ve lived there for a while- save for some years I spent, um, away.”
Brooklyn. Nothing a quick train ride couldn’t solve. Though you weren’t too keen on the subway after the night’s events. “Well, tell your girlfriend that I apologize for keeping you so long.”
“I don’t have one,” Bucky said. Things inside the cab fell quiet.
“Oh. Well, do you-” you second guessed yourself, but decided to push through. “Do you want to stay with me until my roommate gets home? You know, since you’re so worried about me and my possible concussion and my lack of friends.”
Bucky stopped breathing. “Oh, um. Sure. Yeah. If that’s- if that’s alright. You sure you’re okay inviting a stranger into your house?”
“Well, you’re not really a stranger, Sergeant Barnes”. You shot him a wink.
An immediate ringing filled Bucky’s ears. He didn’t know what to say, how to react.
The rest of the ride was quiet. Bucky’s mind echoed with the sound of your voice referring to him by name. He liked the way it sounded coming from you. But he hated that you knew who- and what- he was. And when the cab turned onto your street and stopped in front of your apartment, he nearly panicked. He reconsidered his agreement to stay with you. But you didn’t seem to mind having the ex-Winter Soldier so close. And he didn’t want you to be alone with a head injury.
Against his better judgement, he followed you to the front door of your building.
“My great aunt actually lived here back in the fifties,” you told Bucky as you fumbled for your keys. Bucky wondered how you could tell casual stories while dealing with a head injury and an ex-assassin. But as you continued to speak, he realized that he didn’t quite hear what you’d said. He was still reeling from your mention of his name.
And then he noticed you struggling. You were dizzy after cracking your head open, and a slight shaking rendered your hands almost useless. No matter how many times you tried, you couldn’t seem to finagle the key into the lock.
“Um, do you want some help?” He gestured to your keys and allowed you to drop them into his free hand. He pushed the old door open with a loud creak and escorted you inside the lobby- his hand still resting on the back of your head. It was quiet while the two of you waited for the ancient elevator to roar to life. And when the doors finally opened, he guided you inside and watched you press the ‘5’ button.
“So… how’d you know it was me?” He asked as the elevator slowly climbed to your floor.
“Well, when I first saw you, I thought you looked kinda familiar. But I couldn’t place you”. You laughed a quiet, bashful laugh, “Then you knelt down next to me, and I thought I was gonna pass out- but not from the head trauma. You just you have like, the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.” The head injury had you a bit loopy, a little too honest. Too confident. “I knew I’d seen those eyes before… and then it clicked. You were so chivalrous, you know? So old fashioned. I mean, who uses their own jacket to stop a stranger’s head wound from bleeding?”
Bucky shrugged. His cheeks flushed pink.
“I read a book a few years ago about Captain America and his efforts during World War II. And there was a huge portion about Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes… And that’s where I’d seen those eyes.” You flashed him a dramatic wink, “Truth be told, it was my favorite part of the book.”
A shy laugh made its way out of Bucky’s mouth, “Is that so?”
The elevator lurched to a stop and nearly sent you tumbling to the floor. You’d gotten used to the clunky machine since moving into the building, but your sabotaged equilibrium didn’t stand a chance against it. Bucky caught you in a careful, protective grasp before you could tip over. He gently righted you and searched your face for any indicators of discomfort.
“You alright?”
“All good, Sergeant Barnes.” You gave him a salute.
He rolled his eyes and escorted you into the hall, “you can just call me Bucky, if you like.”
“Okay, Bucky-” you said with a smile, “follow me.” You lead him in the direction of your apartment- with his jacket still plastered to your scalp. The man was determined to help you. You’d give him that.
You once again needed his assistance when it came to unlocking your front door. But when Bucky got the door open, he just stood there. He didn’t go inside. He held the door for you and insisted you go ahead, finally peeling the jacket from your wound. He knew he didn’t belong here.
You noticed how tentative he was about entering your home and beckoned him inside. “You can come in…” you said. “Are super soldiers like vampires? Do y’all need an invitation?”
Bucky laughed, “No. I just… I don’t do this kind of thing very often.”
“Oh, you don’t accompany injured women home from the subway on a weekly basis? I’m shocked.”
You flipped on the light and let the warm glow reveal your apartment. Bucky admired the art covering your walls, the books lining your shelves, the smell of some kind of baked goods lingering in the air. This place was cozy, welcoming. Nothing like his apartment.
While he was distracted drinking in the details of your home, you gave his jacket a once over. Blood coated the leather and smeared the lining. It was enough to make you nauseous. “Sorry about this mess… here, let me clean it up for-”
“It’s leather- I’m not worried about it,” Bucky shrugged. “I’ll just wipe it off later.”
“Ew, I think that’s considered a biohazard, Sarge.”
Bucky’s laugh echoed through your home- you liked the sound of his voice bouncing around your space. “Well, lucky for me, I’m not susceptible to biohazards. So, really, it’s not a big deal.” He shot you a wink and hung his bloody jacket on the back of a chair. “Let me take a look at your head.”
He gently moved your hair out of the way enough to expose your wound. He was as careful as he possible not to hurt you or make things worse. And using the dish towel you offered him, he wiped away enough blood to get a good look.
“It’s big, but not deep enough to warrant stitches. And it looks like the bleeding has finally come to a stop.”
“Perfect. I’m gonna go take a shower” you said. “Make yourself at home. You’re welcome to anything in the fridge, except the kombucha. My roommate will murder you if you drink her kombucha.”
Bucky didn’t even know what kombucha was. “Are- are you sure you wanna go shower?”
“Um, yeah. Gotta get the subway-floor germs off me,” you gave a dramatic shudder. “Some of us are, indeed, susceptible to biohazards.”
“That’s fair,” he laughed, “I’m just a little worried about your balance… I think it’s probably seen better days.”
He wasn’t wrong. The floor did indeed seem to dip and shift under you unsuspecting feet. The room spun on occasion. The walls wiggled. But you needed to get cleaned up. “I’ll be extra careful. Promise.” You offered him your pinky and made him link his with yours. “But I have more blood in my hair than anyone should- I need a shower.” You left Bucky alone in your living room with a promise to be back soon.
It was strange for him, being in a stranger’s home like this. He didn’t get invited places or have friends to hang out with. He had Sam- and that was it. And while Sam was great, he never felt quite like this at Sam’s apartment. Something about your place warmed him, made him feel a little lighter. Or maybe it was you. Who was he kidding? Of course, it was you.
But Bucky knew this feeling couldn’t last. In a few hours, your roommate would return and send him home. And that would be the end of it. Of course, he’d be thrilled to see you again under better circumstances. But assuming he’d get that chance would only lead to disappointment. And so, as he waited for you to finish your shower, he did his best to remember this feeling just in case it was the last time.
“I said make yourself at home and you didn’t even sit down!” you said when you emerged from the bathroom. You found Bucky in the living room with his hands in his pockets, admiring your things as though he were in a museum. Looking, never touching. “Relax a little, sarge. The couch is really comfy, I promise.”
Bucky liked the way you looked with your skin still slightly damp form the shower, your hair wet and a little messy. “Oh, yeah- I just got distracted looking at all your…” he gestured to your bookcase, “your books and your tchotchkes. You have good taste- I like that you have two copies of Fellowship of the Ring.”
“Well, my sister dropped one of them in the lake at summer camp when we were kids…” you pointed to the faded cover and worn spine of the book in question. “She took a hairdryer to it and it’s mostly fine, but my mom made her get me a replacement. I just can’t seem to part with this one, though.” You plucked your water-damaged copy of Fellowship of the Ring from the shelf and flipped through the pages, “too much sentimental value. You know?
Bucky felt a small smile creeping upward- you didn’t mind damaged goods. Maybe you’d want to see him again after all.
“Can I get you a drink or something? I have water, tea, La Croix, wine…” you looked at him expectantly.
“Oh, no I’m okay-”
“Well, I’m going to the fridge for some water anyway, so you’re not saving me a trip…” you shot him a wink and began your trek to the kitchen. He followed in your footsteps, too much of a gentleman to let you fetch him a drink. And though he didn’t know what La Croix was, he took the one you offered him with a smile.
He followed you yet again, but to the couch this time. He sat a respectful distance away- as respectful as your small couch would allow- and taste tested the blackberry drink in his hand. It didn’t taste like blackberries. But he thanked you, anyway.
He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten to check in on you after your shower- he was too entranced by the sight of you in your pajamas. “Hey, how’s your head?”
“Haven’t had any complaints.”
Maybe it was too forward of a joke. Maybe someone from his time wouldn’t appreciate crass humor. Bucky’s cheeks flushed red- and he burst into laughter. You joined him, ignoring the throbbing pain in your skull.
“It feels fine. I mean, it hurts, but it’s nothing I haven’t experienced before” you said. “Are you just gonna make sure I stay up all night?”
Bucky cocked his head to the side, “uh, I wasn’t planning on it.”
“Oh…” you grew a little embarrassed. “I thought you couldn’t go to sleep if you have a concussion.”
“You can go to sleep- it’s just good to have someone check in on you now and then,” he said. “And, hey, you don’t have to stay in here with me- don’t feel like you have to entertain me, or anything. If you wanna go to bed, I’ll be fine out here.”
“Well, I don’t know about entertaining, cause I think the concussion kinda fucked up my ability to tap dance,” you laughed. “But I wanna hang out here with you- if you don’t mind the company.”
He gave you a shy smile, “I don’t mind at all.”
Bucky wasn’t anything like the tabloids said. He wasn’t cold or scary or threatening. He sat on your couch, sipping a La Croix and admiring your throw blanket. He was the farthest thing from intimidating. He had a quiet calm about him that brought you peace. Never did you think you’d invite a man you met on the subway to accompany you home. But Bucky made you feel safe. He was sweet, he clearly cared for your well-being. He was, by all definitions, perfect.
“So, what do superheroes do in their downtime?” you asked. “Like when you’re not saving the world, what do you do for fun?”
Bucky shrugged. He didn’t do anything for fun. “Um, I have court mandated therapy appointments,” he gave an awkward laugh. “I read. I hang out with Sam when he’s not in Louisiana visiting his sister. And I have lunch with a neighbor of mine every Wednesday- this old man named Yori.”
“I’m sure he could say the same about you- that he has lunch with some old man named Bucky.”
Bucky’s head fell back in a laugh, “yeah, you’re right. He’s- he’s about twenty years younger than me.” Bucky didn’t bring up the fact that Yori didn’t know his real age or anything about his past. About how the Winter Soldier killed his son. “Um, what about you?” He quickly changed the subject, “what do you do for fun?”
You thought it over for a moment. You hadn’t expected him to ask; most guys never asked what you liked to do for fun. They didn’t ask you anything at all, really. “Well, I also go to therapy,” you said. “My therapist’s name is Angela and I love her. And when I’m not ‘hanging out’ with Angela, I like to read. I like to go on walks. Oh, and I do a lot of baking- there’s a Tupperware of chocolate chip cookies on the island if you want some.”
Bucky’s eyes grew wide. He was off the couch quicker than you could comprehend and returned with the entire Tupperware in hand. But before he could dive in, he offered one to you. He was a gentleman, after all.
“Oh, shit, these are so good”. Bucky wiped a stray crumb from his lip, “seriously, maybe the best I’ve ever had.”
His praise made your cheeks hot. Bucky Barnes called you ‘the best he ever had’- it was enough to make you sweat. “Oh, I’m flattered. The recipe’s been in my family for generations, though, so I can’t take full credit, but I-”
“I’m giving you full credit”, he said as he finished his second cookie. “These things are incredible.”
You smiled so hard it hurt. “Well, I make at least one batch a week, so…” This was it, your excuse to see Bucky again. You could simply say that you wanted to bake him some cookies as a way of saying thank you, and then you’d ask him out. It was a perfect plan, really. A flawless, surefire way to guarantee that you’d see him at least once more. But as you tried to suggest baking him a ‘thank you’ batch, your mouth flooded with saliva.
Bucky clocked the way you grew suddenly quiet. He dropped his third cookie and inched closer, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Hey, you okay? Do you need something?”
You did your best to push past the wave of nausea. Breathing in your nose and out through your mouth, you willed your body to cooperate. You made a valiant effort, but it was no match for the clear and present threat of vomit. This was happening- now. You scrambled to your feet and made a beeline for the bathroom, swearing to yourself you wouldn’t puke in front of the James Buchanan Barnes.
Bucky rushed after you and found you kneeling in front of the toilet, emptying the contents of your stomach. “Oh, shit- here, let me,” he carefully moved your hair out of your face, holding it behind you in an imitation ponytail. His touch was gentle, cautious. He didn’t want to pull too hard and hurt you- you didn’t need any extra pain.
He watched your body lurch as you wretched over and over, voiding your system completely. It was harsh, almost violent. And when you finally sat back on your heels, black and white spots danced through your field of vision. You were empty. Spent. Exhausted.
“Hey, do me a favor and sit against this wall, okay?” Bucky guided you backward until you rested comfortably like he asked. “I’m gonna go get you some water, and I don’t want you tipping over while I’m gone.” Even in your despondent, miserable state, he still made you smile. And when he was certain that you wouldn’t injure yourself in his absence, he rushed to the kitchen for a glass of water.
He returned moments later with ice cold water in hand. “Thanks,” you croaked, your throat raw. Small sips of the cool water eased the burning. And a few more swigs rid your mouth of the unpleasant aftertaste. “I’m sure you weren’t planning on watching a stranger puke tonight,” you laughed. It made your head pound. “But I appreciate the water. And you holding my hair.”
Bucky plopped down next to you with a “sure thing” and a “don’t worry about it.” But you’d heard those phrases before. You’d heard them from people who were never a sure thing, people who made you worry about everything they did for you. They’d throw their rare acts of kindness in your face and use them as ammo in an attempt to disprove the pain they caused. It was condescending. Manipulative. Hurtful. But Bucky meant what he said. All he wanted to do was help. You could tell.
He watched you catch your breath. Watched you drink your water in small sips. But he kept an eye out for another wave of nausea. He wanted to be ready in case he needed to hold your hair again. And he found himself thanking the universe that you’d invited him in; imagining you going through this by yourself broke his heart.
“How do you feel?” he asked after a while.
“Not the best... but I’ll probably survive.”
Bucky’s laugh filled the room, “well, that’s very good news.”
The two of you sat in a comfortable silence. Bucky’s hand rested near yours. Your thigh bumped against his a few times. You swore electric currents passed between the two of you each time you touched.
“Hey, if you don’t mind, could you grab me some Tylenol?”
Bucky was up in an instant, ready to fetch you what you needed. But he found himself lost with no idea where he was going. He was so intent on helping, on making you feel better, that he was ready to run off without a map.
“In the cabinet to the left of the fridge,” you laughed.
He shot you a wink and sped off. And while he rummaged through your cabinet, you made an embarrassing effort to stand. You rose on wobbly legs, determined to brush your teeth. There was no way you were going to have vomit breath around Bucky- absolutely not. He was the handsome stranger of your dreams. And you couldn’t screw this up; not that you thought he’d kiss a random concussed woman he met on the subway. But you wanted to leave the very best impression possible.
Bucky came screeching own the hall, bottle of Tylenol in hand. “I didn’t know how many you wanted, so I brought the whole thing”, he shrugged. You shot him a smile in the mirror and gave him a muffled “thanks”.
He stood patiently in the doorway, waiting for you finish brushing your teeth. And when you banished the rank taste of bile, you accepted the Tylenol. You tossed back four pills, and before you could reach for your water, Bucky retrieved it for you. He was one step ahead of what you needed.
With the pills washed down your throat, you gave Bucky an expectant look. “Back to the couch?”
“Yeah, I mean, only if you’re feeling up to it,” he checked his watch. Noticed the yawn you tried to keep concealed. “If you wanna get some rest, please, don’t mind me. You can go to bed- I’ll be fine on my own.”
“No, I’m good. I’m fine,” you took him by the hand and led him back to the living room. “I’m having a good time.” Bucky didn’t say a word; he just let you guide him. He hadn’t held hands with someone in- he didn’t know how long. And holding hands with you- a stranger he’d grown rather smitten with- was enough to stop his heart.
The two of you sunk back into the couch- closer this time- and kept the conversation going. Your thigh rested against Bucky’s; his arm curved around the back of the couch. You could’ve sworn he was playing with a piece of your hair as he talked. But you didn’t want to ask and ruin the moment.
As the night continued, Bucky was shocked. He couldn’t believe you’d only heard of a few of his favorite movies. And he’d never heard of any of yours. “Make me a list,” you said, handing him a pen and a scrap of paper. “And I’ll make one for you. A person’s favorite movies say a lot about them.”
“Yeah?” he cocked an eyebrow at you. “And what do mine say about me? The ones you know of, that is.”
A sly smile pulled at your lips, “they say that you’re a hopeless romantic.” It almost sounded like an accusation, and Bucky couldn’t help but laugh.
“Is that so?”
“That is so!” you told him. “But I’m gonna tell you a secret…” You lowered your voice, beckoned him closer, scanned the room as though in search of any eavesdroppers. “I’m the same way.”
Just as you finished your list of movies for Bucky, you considered writing down your number. It would be so smooth, so perfectly timed- but what if he thought it was too forward? What if he didn’t want your phone number at all? You scratched out your area code and handed him the list with a smile.
The two of you continued teasing and joking and learning about each other. You found out that Bucky loved peach cobbler. He learned about your passion for animals. And eventually you asked the question you’d been curious about all night.
“So, where were you headed?”
“What?”
“Well, you were on the subway. I’m assuming you were going somewhere.” You thought he was probably going to some fellow hero’s house for Super Movie Night. Or maybe a meeting with Captain America and Company. He had something much cooler to do than anything you planned for the night, that was for sure.
“Oh, right…” he cringed. “Um, I wasn’t actually heading anywhere. I was just riding the train to, well, ride the train.” It was embarrassing. More embarrassing than anything he’d ever done or said in his hundred years of life.
You cocked your head to the side, “Hmm. Interesting. So, is that like a hobby of yours?”
He wished he could take his answer back. He wished he would’ve said he was going to dinner. Or Target. Or literally anywhere. But no, he just had to be honest. “No, it isn’t a hobby. It’s more like… exposure therapy.”
“Shit. Sorry,” you threw him an apologetic look. “You don’t have to talk about it.”
“It’s okay, no big deal. I just- I don’t really like confined spaces. Or spaces with a lot of people. It’s a- it’s a long story.”
You nodded.
“So, my therapist told me two combine the two and force myself to take the train- which isn’t great for my fear of trains,” he let out an awkward laugh. “Anyway, I was just trying it out. Seeing how it made me feel.”
Your heart broke for him. He had so many problems, so much trauma to deal with. And while you weren’t a psychiatrist, you didn’t think combining three of his fears into one nightmare was very sound medical advice. “And how did it make you feel?”
“It wasn’t great- this lady was staring daggers at me for ten solid minutes. But I did get to teach that creepy guy a lesson, so at least there’s a silver lining.”
You laughed. He loved the sound- wanted to hear it all the time.
“Thank you again, by the way, Sarge. You really rocked that guy’s shit.”
“I don’t like hurting people-” he shrugged, “It’s just something I’m good at. I try not to engage in violence unless absolutely necessary, you know? But that guy deserved it. Probably deserved a little more, but…” He gestured to you, “priorities.”
A warm rush flooded your cheeks. James Buchanan Barnes referred to you as a priority.
The evening continued as the two of you swapped stories. You couldn’t believe how funny he was, how many ridiculous things he did back when he was young. In the comfortable safety of your living room, he came alive. You asked for more tales of young James Barnes and his antics with Steve Rogers.
But as time passed, Bucky clocked the way you sank deeper into the couch. You nodded along with his stories and made comments here and there, but there was no mistaking your exhaustion. You leaned against his body more and more until your head rested on his shoulder.
And then, you were asleep. Completely out.
But Bucky didn’t mind. He sat still and quiet. He silenced his phone and yours. After the night you had, you needed the rest. And he was more than happy to help you get some sleep. He held in his laughter as you muttered nonsense under your breath- something about crepes and trench coats. It was perfect. Not the night Bucky expected, but the night he needed. And he’d stay in that exact position for hours if he had to.
But after only forty minutes, a loud crash scared you awake.
Two large pieces of luggage fell to the floor inside your front door. “Fuck Delta airlines and FUCK LAX!” your roommate, Emma, yelled. “I swear to god, there’s a curse on that fucking airport and Delta is the devil’s airline.”
She eyed the room for a moment, taking in the unexpected scene. “Ew, why is there a bloody jacket in the kitchen? And who the fuck are you?”
You stood, begrudgingly leaving your spot next to Bucky. “This is Bucky, that’s his jacket. Some asshole attacked me on the train. I split my head open. He brought me home and kept an eye on me till you got back.”
Maybe she was just in a shit mood because of the travel nightmare. Or maybe she recognized Bucky. But either way, Emma wasn’t having it. “Okay, well, thanks for bringing her home. But I’m back, so you can go. Now. And don’t forget your nasty jacket.”
Bucky gave an awkward laugh. He mumbled a “nice to meet you” and stood from the couch. The two of you locked eyes for a moment, and you wished telepathy came with the serum. If he could only read your mind, he’d know how sorry you were. How horrified you were by Emma’s behavior. You couldn’t believe how rude she was being, how utterly unkind.
But your mind and body weren’t quite working together. You were still groggy, lost in the haze of sleep. And your head injury only made things more difficult. You did your best to formulate a response to Emma and an apology to Bucky. But before you could say anything, Emma was at it again.
“Seriously, dude. It’s time for you to go, get out of my house.”
Bucky was so flustered, so uncomfortable that he left without saying goodbye. Without getting your number. He shut down. He simply snagged his jacket from the kitchen and bailed. He heard you arguing with Emma as he walked down the hall. Heard you near-tears.
He wanted to turn around and say goodnight. To protect you from Emma’s wrath. Comfort you. More than anything, he wanted to get your number. Maybe ask you out. But he was too thrown off by the whole thing. He didn’t expect such a response- he didn’t even get to tell Emma that you needed looking after. He just ran. And it made him feel like a coward.
He pressed the button for the ancient elevator once. Twice. Five times. And when it finally arrived, he got in and slammed the button for the first floor. Ruining his chances of ever seeing you again. Sure, he knew where you lived. But he couldn’t just show up. You’d already dealt with enough creepy shit from weird men- he wasn’t going to stalk you.
Bucky spent the entire elevator ride heartbroken. He knew he’d have to go home to his empty apartment; knew he’d think about you for way too long. You’d probably forget about him after a day- maybe two at the most. And he’d spend months trying to get over the stranger from the subway.
But when he stepped out of the elevator, he found you waiting for him.
“Hi, um… what?” He was more than a little confused. “How did you- how’d you get down here so fast?”
“Stairs,” you breathed. “Faster.”
Bucky couldn’t believe you. It was romantic; it was something out of one of his favorite movies. But it was stupid. “That was… that was a terrible idea- you could’ve gotten hurt. You almost fell over earlier when you were just standing still. Why’d you run down the stairs?”
“Cause I didn’t get to say goodbye…” your voice was soft, heartbroken. “And I didn’t get to give you my number.”
Wordlessly, Bucky handed you his phone. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t want to chance ruining such a perfect opportunity. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him, of all people. That you actually wanted to see him again.
When you finished, you extended Bucky’s phone in his direction- but recoiled as he tried to reach for it. “Promise me you’ll call?”
“On my life,” he said. The answer brought a warm smile to your face- a smile he wanted to see again. As soon as possible. And when you gave his phone back, he took a moment to stare down at your number. This had to be a dream.
“Do me a favor and go get some rest, okay?” He extended his pinky and linked it with yours, “Drink a lot of water. And even though she seems like she’s in a bad mood, ask your roommate to check in on you every now and then.”
“Yeah, like she’s gonna go for that-”
“Tell her that if she doesn’t, I’m coming back to look after you myself. And I’ll drink her, her um…”
“Kombucha,” you whispered.
“Right, I’ll drink her Kombucha!” He laughed and shot you a wink, “That’ll do the trick.”
You pressed a kiss to his cheek, wiggled your pinky with his, and stepped into the still-open elevator doors. “Thank you for everything. I’m really happy I met you.”
Bucky blushed. “So am I. Not under the best circumstances, but-”
“Worth it,” you shot him a wink. Just as the doors began to close, the two of you exchanged waves. And just before Bucky vanished from view, you threw a quick “call me” his way. And then he was gone.
You made it back to your apartment, nearly tripping over Emma’s luggage. She apologized as you grabbed a glass of water and nearly cried when you told her the story of your evening. And though you wanted to hear about her airport nightmare, you needed to sleep.
You got settled in bed and realized- you missed Bucky already.
And just as you decided to go to sleep for the night, your phone buzzed:
“Wanted to call but figured it might be too soon- seeing as it’s only been about four minutes. I’ll call you in the morning. And just so you know: even without the tap dancing, I found you very entertaining. I’m really glad I met you.
If you need anything at all, let me know. Feel better.
-JBB”
—————————————
Taglist: @beefybuckrrito @shadytalementality @everything-burns-down @rainbow-unicorn-pony @mandersshow @breakablebarnes @psychoticmason @glxwingrxse @lonewolf471 @dreamerglassesgirl l @the-gods-gloted-but-they-burned @purpleshallot @seitmai @itvy5601 @dailyreverie @navs-bhat @eviesaurusrex @themorningsunshine @evangeliamerryll l @buckys-metal-arm @broadwaybabe18 @the-kestrels-feather @avocadotoastwithegg @goldylions @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @vrittivsanghavi i @idkitsem @avengetheunnatural @rassvetsky @hereforbuckyandsteve @barnesselo
#james buchanan bucky barnes#bucky fluff#bucky fic#bucky barnes x female reader#Bucky#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes#james bucky barnes#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes fluff#bucky barnes one shot#bucky barnes oneshot#bucky barnes reader insert#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x reader fluff#bucky fanfic#bucky fanfiction#bucky x female reader#Bucky x reader#bucky x reader fluff#bucky x you#fatws bucky#fatws!bucky
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I think a lot of people forget that Darkstalker was legitimately considering killing Clearsight after he figured out she stole his scroll. He thought to himself that maybe he won't have a queen by his side and then we cut to Clearsight's pov when she is making the bracelet with Fathom and she actually sees futures where Darkstalker kills her if her plan doesn't work. What makes it even worse when Darkstalker is twisting her wrist and asking where his scroll is, when Clearsight is able to slip the bracket on him and he is able to read Clearsight's mind for the first time in a long time she still loves him while he is seriously considering murdering her. Like hello why don't more people talk about this.
I also think people forget how much of a bastard Darkstalker was even in the beginning of the book. Like shortly after he met Fathom and Indigo he thought that Indigo was a threat and that he could kill the insta kill tail band thing he was wearing. The only reason why he didn't do it was because he thought a sad animus dragon with nothing to lose wouldn't exactly be the best thing for him or anyone else. Like I guess you could argue that's because Indigo threatened to kill him first but my gripe is that he's so sadistic when thinking about it he enjoys the idea of killing her way too much while Indigo is just traumatized from the entire Albatross situation and Darkstalker should have known because he can read minds and see the future but I guess not.
Also the fact that he doesn't really like it when Clearsight is with Listener, he never hangs out with them because and only joins with Clear after Listener leaves. Pretty sure this is because he doesn't like Listener for being suspicious of him. He also tries to read Clearsight's mind after she says she doesn't want him to do that by diverting her attention, even though she didn't fall for the disrespect for her boundaries and her feelings are still present even in the beginning.
Like I am not saying it would have been impossible for Darkstalker to actually realize that he is in the wrong and change his ways early on (and I only early on in the book my cut off point was when he enchanted Clearsight because that shit was just disgusting and actually unforgivable), but it would be difficult. And after he enchants Clearsight to not see the bad futures it would just be impossible because he starts seeing dragons as objects and becomes more dismissive of everyone else, also because that's the point where I think his actions become unforgivable.
So yeah Darkstalker is a dick and if for whatever reason I ever met him I am throwing hands, animus magic be damned.
.
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I was so hurt after (https://www.tumblr.com/sillygoosealert/757389587337412608/stuipid-fucking-slut-i-hate-you) 🥹🥹, can you do a part two where reader goes missing after he left her but found unconscious/dead because of a reason (you could come up with one! :D)
AND ALSO, UR WRITING IS SOO GOOD, +1 FOLLOWER >.<
-🍞 anon (I will try giving you good requests >:)
I promise I won't kill myself, death is not my last resort
haiiii :3 so I'm making this part two but honestly, I might end up deleting both of the stories because I was in a bad place when I wrote that 😓 also..besides the other anon's rotting in my inbox until I respond..ur my first anon !! yippy !!
Implied Rape. You die, talks of being unsafe and how it feels to be assaulted
Love is a gentle thing, as is the innocence you once had.
It wasn't a gradual fruition to see that being a woman would change the reality of everything for you. They warned you to steer clear of dark spots and secluded areas and always be aware. The things events that were organized and reenacted are nothing short of gender-based violence.
You understood why you and many others were constantly warned, but experiencing it was so different and vile, something you should never have gone through.
Today almost didn't end with you dead, but you didn't listen to the one thing that was looking out for you- you. That day, your gut instinct felt something was awry.
The morning was fine. You got a quick kiss on Sukuna's cheek before running off to your garden work.
The garden is split into sections. Working in them isn't an issue- except the one furthest from the estate. It's where you are most likely to get harassed by other servants as it is where most people turn a blind eye to.
Your body physically would not go near it today, you just couldn't.
Maybe it's the black crow you saw out of the corner of your eye or the sinking feeling you got whenever you looked over in its direction, but you couldn't shake the uncanny feeling it was giving you.
But as a mouse gets caught in a mouse trap, you are lured into the back part of the garden when something that resembles a doe is staring right at you. Not wanting to pass up the chance to see something so pure so up close, you walk to it.
But as you walk towards the feeble deer, and it walks further and further into the now forest, you question if you really saw anything at all.
When the doe is no longer in sight, you think about how you got here. Is it too late to turn back? I don't want this anymore.
You don't get the chance to turn back, as a pair of hands are roughly groping you from behind.
What happened in the woods wasn't your fault. You were lured to the spot in the first place. Then, when you wanted out, the exit was no longer there.
It wasn't your fault.
When you don't show up to clean the garden, that one thing.
But your body was found before dinner, where the forest meets the garden, disrespected in horrendous ways.
When you mentioned the concern that you were being targeted by other peers, he recognized the validity of your perspective.
He knew you were being harassed, but to accept it was something he couldn't do.
It would mean several things to take action - the most significant being that you had a major influence on how he chose to address the situation.
The other is over half of the people working for him would be slaughtered if he honestly wanted you safe. That type of fear egged him on usually, with him being your savior at the end of the day.
Knowing the nature of these situations, something would have to be addressed sooner or later.
He was scared indigo at the thought of making that type of commitment to someone, but he wanted to for you.
The thought of death didn't scare him. He would tell death himself he wasn't afraid to die. However, the idea of you being beaten nearly to death, only to bleed out and perish, shook him to his core. This was something no amount of strength or intimidation could undo.
He doesn't find out about...your passing until he requests to see you after dinner.
The feeling that washes over him is indifferent, he doesn't know what he wants anymore, but he knows that he wants you back.
He will never know how the world could keep spinning after you were ripped away from his grasp, it should have been the end of the world.
You didn't want to die, you shouldn't have died.
That shouldn't have happened to you, you didn't deserve it.
Death is a pathic escape, I will not kill myself- not for my loved ones, but for me.
Songs referenced: Velvet Ring, The End of The World, N64, My Body's Made of Crushed Little Stars, Crack Baby, Anything.
#sillygoosedaisy#ryomen sukuna x reader#sukuna ryomen#sukuna#sukuna x reader#ryomen sukuna#sukuna angst#ryomen sukuna x you#sukuna x female reader#jjk#jjk angst#jjk x reader#jjk ryomen#jjk sukuna#jujustu kaisen angst#jujutsu kaisen ryomen#jujustu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen#ryomen x reader#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#ryomen sukuna angst#ryomen angst
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Like Betta Fish Do Part 27
Wc:3213 Masterpost CW: Hospitalization, discussions of temporary character deaths
The hospital was pure chaos. Reporters were at the door, police were at the reporters to stay back, and the Waynes were pacing.
None of them had wanted to be left behind, not with this, so as soon as those who had been playing hero changed, they all headed for the hospital. Bruce had met them in a waiting room that had been cleared out for their use. There were benefits to having a wing named after one’s father.
“Clear,” Babs said as she and Tim finished typing on the tablets that they had brought from WE. “CTV cameras will just loop past this room.”
“There are no bugs. I’ve activated scramblers for parabolic mics or anything, not that they should be able to get to us in here anyways,” Tim said.
“What happened?” Steph asked, looking to Bruce.
Bruce looked to Dick. The rest of the eyes followed.
Dick sighed.
“It’s not my secret to tell.”
“I believe we are past that, Richard,” Damian snapped.
“Why don’t you start with a debrief of tonight,” Bruce coached.
“I was almost in suit when Babs came over the comms, telling us they took Danny. I started to look for suspicious vehicles given the time frame. I wasn’t successful at spotting anything before the…” Dick was really glad that Jason was back with Danny and not here listening to this. “…before the trap went off. I saw one of the buildings go dark.
"Cass joined me. We took out the henchmen at the van and leading into the building. Based on intel, I headed straight for the basement. The place was flooded an inch or two deep. They broke the sprinkler valve, I believe. Danny was tied to a metal chair bolted in the middle of the room. A wire had been tapped into the circuit breaker and was at Danny’s feet. His shoes were off.”
Dick swallowed hard and let his arms drop to his side. That urge to punch something was still there. He flexed his hands and then purposefully relaxed them.
“I was sure he was dead, but when I called out his name he moved. I made sure the circuit breaker was off, disconnected the wire, and went to him. He was…” Dick snorted, shaking his head. “He was making jokes. He was conscious but not fully lucid. Confusion, slurred words, panic. He didn’t want to be taken to the hospital. He thought they would cut him open if ‘they knew’. I was able to convince him to come by saying we’d get Leslie and that we’d protect him.”
Damian scoffed. “Of course we will.”
“Case?” Cass signed, face scrunched up in question.
“And asked Alfred to bring a case, one that Jason put in the Cave that Danny gave him,” Dick confirmed.
“What’s in it?” Tim asked.
Dick just shook his head.
“He’s a Meta, isn’t he?” Duke asked. The question was quiet, but it felt loud in the tense air of the waiting room. He wasn’t staring at the ground rather than any of them. “Something new. Maybe something dangerous or, worse, something useful. It’s why he’s afraid they’ll cut him open.”
Steph cussed and turned to punch the wall only to be stopped by Tim.
“Is he?” Tim asked.
It seemed like there was no getting out of this question. “’Close enough’ was the way it was put when I stumbled in on… the secret.”
“Are his powers electricity based?” Babs asked. “Is that how he survived?”
Dick laughed. The bitter sound made a few of the others flinch or grimace.
“No, opposite, really. He’s weak to it. I think they only got him because they used tasers and it really knocks him out.” I’m so sorry, Danny, Dick thought. “Danny… Danny’s been electrocuted before when he was a kid. It killed him, however briefly. Really… I’m not sure if it didn’t actually kill him again tonight.”
This time Tim didn’t stop Stephanie from punching the wall.
“See, that wasn’t so bad,” Dr. Thompkins said as she peeled off her gloves.
Danny just glared at the IV in his hand that had been carefully tapped down and put under a mesh glove.
“It’s like she doesn’t trust me,” Danny whispered loudly to Jason.
“She’s right not to,” Jason said.
Danny pouted at him.
“Fish,” Jason said with a wet chuckle. He ran his hand through Danny’s hair again, which seemed to soothe him. “You said loudly and repeatedly that you were going to go out the window as soon as she stopped watching you or if she took your blood or if she put the IV in.”
“She did take it,” Danny whined.
“I did,” Leslie said, “and I also promised you no one else would get a hold of your blood and I meant it. I need a baseline for you though. It’s my job now to make sure that you’re well.”
“And no clones,” Danny said.
“And no clones,” Leslie said.
She shot Jason a look who just shrugged helplessly. He didn’t know enough about what went down with that to answer her questions.
Leslie gave up with a sigh. “You really went and found someone who fit right in with the family craziness I see.”
“Nah, Doc, he goes above and beyond.”
“Well… that should make for an interesting file.”
Danny flinched at that, hard enough for Leslie to notice and stop what she was doing.
“Danny, listen to me,” Leslie said. She waited until Danny met her eyes to continue. “No one else will see the file. It’s encrypted by Oracle, Batman’s tech person, and that’s understating them. I need to keep a file so that I can treat you and keep you healthy, that’s all.”
“No experiments,” Danny croaked.
Jason wanted to punch someone again.
“No experiments,” Leslie promised.
Danny gave a little nod, turned away from her, and all but climbed into Jason’s lap.
“Make sure he doesn’t pull that IV out,” Leslie ordered and went back to making her notes.
Not long after Jason had gotten him and Danny settled into the hospital bed, there was a knock at the door. Jason’s hand went immediately to the scalpel that Leslie had generously pretended not to notice Jason palming earlier. It didn’t matter that it was a knock Jason recognized, he wasn’t taking any chances with Danny right then.
Jason only relaxed when Dick had stepped fully through the door alone.
“Hey Danny, how are you doing?”
“Leslie took my blood.”
“Yeah, she does that,” Dick said. He was smiling, words cheerful, but Jason could see the cracks in his brother’s facade. “Alfred is going to be here in just a moment with the case. Can I send him in when he arrives? Or I can bring it myself? Or any of us. We’re all out there.”
Danny turned his head enough to be able to peer at Dick with one eye. “You’re worried.”
“Yeah, little fish, we’re all pretty worried. We care about you,” Dick said gently.
Jason resisted the urge to kiss Danny’s pout away as he shifted his gaze from Dick to Leslie.
“Can they come in?” Danny asked.
Leslie pursed her lips. “Only for a half hour. After that, it’s only Jason and one other allowed at a time and that’s only because I want Jason to try to get some rest too. Whoever else is in here is on a minimum two hour shift so not to wake you up every five minutes.”
“Yes ma’am,” Dick chirped.
“And tell them to keep it calm,” Leslie called after Dick as he slipped back out the door. She sighed and shook her head before focusing back on Danny. “Now, there will be nurses who come in.”
“Noooo,” Danny whined.
“Yes,” Leslie said. “They’ll just be taking your blood pressure, which they’ll know to expect to be low, and changing out your saline and pain medication. I’ll be back in the morning myself to check on your burns. Everyone who steps foot in this room will be approved by Bruce and I. Someone from the family will be with you the whole time, you’ll be safe in every way.”
Danny’s pout deepened before he sighed heavily and seemed to deflate. “Fine.”
“Thank you, Danny. Now please try to rest after the group leaves, both of you.”
“Sure, Doc,” Jason answered and sent her a smile. He’d have to do something to help her clinic out soon, she really went above and beyond for them tonight. He managed to get Danny turned around so that his boyfriend wasn’t buried face first into his pecs before his family invaded.
It seemed like everyone was really trying to listen to Leslie and they all filed in orderly and tucked themselves onto the couch and chairs and each other. Bruce and Alfred stayed standing.
“Hi guys,” Danny said with a wobbly smile.
Some of the family flinched at how ruined Danny’s voice sounded. The flinches weren’t obvious to be noticed by anyone by a Bat, except maybe for Duke’s, but they still happened and Jason noticed. They all looked wrecked, really, in various ways. One would almost think they had been the ones kidnapped and murdered tonight.
It was Jason’s turn to flinch at his own thoughts. Greedily, he soothed himself by pressing a kiss to Danny’s temple.
“Hi Danny,” Duke said back. “How are you?”
“You know, feeling a little extra crispy,” he joked.
The room seemed to lose all the air for a moment before Tim groaned. “God, there are two of them now. No wonder you’re dating Jason, you have the same morbid sense of humor.”
The tension in the room broke and Barbie even laughed. (They all ignored how the laugh was a little too tinged with hysteria to be truly happy.)
Alfred cleared his throat and stepped forward. “The case, Master Jason.”
“Ooh, is that…” Danny asked, zeroing in on the case.
“Yep,” Jason confirmed, popping the ‘p’.
Danny held out his arms, making grabby hands at the case. Alfred raised a brow, looking to Jason for permission, before he moved forward and handed over the case. Jason rested his hand on the lid before Danny could open it.
“So,” Jason started. He cleared his throat awkwardly, “no one freak out, okay? What’s in the case isn’t what it looks like. And… and we’ll explain?”
He wasn’t sure if they would.
He wasn’t sure if they could afford not to.
“We’ll explain,” Danny confirmed.
“Okay, Jay-lad,” Bruce agreed, though Jason could tell he didn’t know what he was agreeing to, other than trusting his son.
Jason took a breath and removed his hand. Danny flipped the lid open. It was innocuous at first, a simple black padded case. Then Danny plucked out one of the glowing, Lazarus green ectoshots and the stances of several Bats shifted.
“That is—” Damian started.
“Nope,” Jason interrupted.
“Jay—” Bruce rumbled.
“I’m sure,” Jason said. He glanced at Cass. “Really.”
“What are you going to do with it?” Tim asked, sounding a little strangled.
“Drink it,” Danny answered.
“Drink it?!”
Danny’s nose wrinkled. “Does everyone in this room have issues with that— what did you call it— Pit water?”
“Pit water or Lazarus water,” Jason said. He calmly ran his fingers through Danny’s hair as he made sure to not have a reaction to the ectoshots. Danny needed to drink them, he couldn’t have any of it spilled from misplaced panic. “And a lot of us, yeah. It’s… been a thing. My situation didn’t help any.”
Tim frowned at the vial, clearly itching to get his hands on it. “If that’s not Lazarus water, what is it?”
“Ectoplasm,” Danny sing songed and then just downed the vial to the wince of the room. A shudder ran through his body before he slumped bonelessly against Jason.
Jason plucked the empty vial from Danny’s limp fingers, pressed a kiss to his temple, and put it back in the case. “From best we can think without getting our hands on Lazarus water, they’re a bit related, but ectoplasm is a pure source where as whatever Lazarus water is, it’s fucked up. Beyond that, I think…”
Jason sighed and buried his face in the top of Danny’s head. He didn’t know how to explain the next part to his family. He didn’t know how to tell them he was still, at least a little, dead. He didn’t want to hurt them like that.
“Ectoplasm isn’t a miracle cure, not like it sounds they use Lazarus water for,” Danny said around a jaw cracking yawn. “Doesn’t work for normal people.”
“Does it work for you because you’re a meta?” Duke asked. The sympathy in his voice was hard to hear.
Danny’s laugh wasn’t any easier to hear. “Nope! I mean, like, sure how you count Superman as a meta I’m a meta, I guess. More a different species.”
Steph made an incredulous noise. “You’re an alien?”
“I wish,” Danny snickered. “I’m dead.”
“That is not funny, Nightingale,” Damian snapped.
Jason peered up at his bristling little brother. Demon brat really was already attached to Danny. “He’s not trying to be funny, Dami. Danny is half dead or, rather, half ghost.”
“Okay, which of your parents fucked a ghost?”
“Miss Stephanie,” Alfred chastised.
“Sorry Alfie,” Stephanie mumbled under Danny’s snickering.
At least having almost died (again) tonight saved Danny from being admonished too.
“Ancient, no, my parents hate ghosts,” Danny said.
“But you’re half ghost,” Babs pointed out, gently.
“Yeah. And there’s a reason that I changed my last name and don’t talk to them anymore, not that they know,” Danny said. He stretched out his arms, arching like a cat. Clearly the ectoshot was starting to have an effect. “No, I’m half dead ‘cause I died and then didn’t.”
“You’ve died before, Danny?” Bruce asked, voice carefully gentle in that way he used only when talking to his kids or those who were basically family through his kids.
“Yeah,” Danny sighed. “It was, um, don’t like talking about it. It’s a ghost thing. But my parents built a portal to the ghost’s realm to try and study them. It didn’t work, not at first. I stepped in it, tripped, hit the on button and bam… ten thousand volts of electricity later and I’m dead.”
Tim and Cass both reached out to stop Steph from moving.
“Thing is, the portal turned on,” Danny continued. “So I also got pure ectoplasm shot right through me. It brought me back, kinda. I’m a halfa; half ghost and half human. Half dead and half alive.”
“You’ve died by electricity before,” Bruce said into the silence of the room.
“Probably died again to it tonight,” Danny said with a casualness that had Jason tightening his arms around Danny. Danny just giggled. “But like I told Dick, I’m immune now.”
“You know,” Barbie said. She narrowed her eyes as Danny shrugged before she glanced to Dick. “And you knew.”
Dick sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Little wing?”
“Go ahead, Dick. I’m pretty sure you’ve connected all the dots now,” Jason said. Maybe it would be easier, no, smoother if Dick explained it. He was better at hiding his anger.
Though by the way Dick had to shift on his feet, maybe not. “I… I think I have. Then you’re…?”
Jason nodded.
“Fuck!” Dick twisted and paced to the door and back again.
“Master Richard!”
“Don’t be so harsh, Alfie,” Jason said. He couldn’t make Dick be the one to tell them; that had been a selfish hope. “Dick just put two and two together that if the ectoshots only help Danny because he’s dead—”
“Part dead,” Danny chimed in brightly.
“—then that means I’m still part dead too.”
“Jay-lad?” Bruce prompted after a tense moment, voice rough.
Jason just smiled sadly. “The Pits healed me. It sorta… filled in the cracks, but it couldn’t fix that whatever brought me back didn’t bring all of me back… or couldn’t bring all of me back. I think that’s part of why the Pits had such a hold on me. Not that it’s an excuse, but just… whatever. Point is, I’m a halfa too, even if I’m still healing enough to be a proper one.”
The family practically curled around each other in grief. Dick tucked Damian against his side. Tim slumped into Steph and Cass. Steph reached out to squeeze Bab’s hand. Bruce took an aborted step towards them. Even Alfred raised a hand to his mouth.
“I’m alright,” Jason assured them.
“You’re still dead!” Dick snapped.
“I’m half alive, that’s more than I was before,” Jason pointed out.
Dick hunched into himself at that, prompting Damian to give Dick an awkward looking hug.
“What all does that mean, being a halfa?” Bruce asked. He held up a hand as he paused and took a measured breath. “I don’t mean that as an interrogation. Right now, what’s important for us to know to make sure you’re both healthy? Or is there anything that we should avoid doing?”
Jason snorted. He appreciated the clarification, the attempt at being gentle, he did, but, “I know you want to know more than that.”
Bruce smiled, though the expression was more mocking himself than anything. “Of course I do. You know me, chum, I don’t do good with only pieces of information, but right now I’m not the important one. I can deal with some… unease so that we can focus on you and Danny.”
“Danny should drink at least another ectoshot in a bit. They help us heal as halfas. Dick knows because there was an incident where I got stabbed. Danny sensed my distress and showed up to give me an ectoshot. I had called Dick already. Which means Danny also knows about everything.”
“Danny sensed your distress?” Tim asked.
“It’s a ghost thing,” Jason said with a shrug, unsure how to really explain it. “It comes from ghosts having cores which are sort of their central organ.”
“You core?” Cass asked, clearly struggling to verbalize right then with how her nose wrinkled.
“I do. Or, I’m getting more of one. Because the Pits put me back together badly I was really messed up.”
“It’s coming in well,” Danny said sleepily. He yawned wildly (a little too widely) and turned to bury his face into Jason’s chest. “Pretty lava core too. It’s good to have close for healing. It’s warm and lovely.”
Jason snorted and kissed the top of Danny’s head. “Go to sleep if you can. You’ll need lots of rest.”
Danny huffed a mumbled protest, but Jason could tell that Danny was fading fast.
“We’ll talk more later, Jay-lad,” Bruce said as he finally let himself come close to help Danny and Jason better settle into the hospital bed to sleep.
“Yeah,” Jason said as he fought his own yawn as the head of the bed lowered. “Have to have Danny show you his ghost form, it’s really something.”
Tim echoed ‘ghost form’ quietly in the background as Alfred murmured something to the group.
“Do you want myself or Dick here for the first shift?” Bruce asked.
“Stay?” Jason asked. His eyes dropped closed as his dad ran a hand through his hair.
“Always.”
---
AN: a very tired taaaaaada. They got the bulk of the explanation! Though still things to learn and talk about. I was going to put in more bits, but this felt full the way it was! Next chapter more answers, more questions, and someone shows up.
I no longer tag people but you can subscribe on the masterpost.
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I’ve recently discovered the part of the internet deeply devoted to defending Mystra in BG3 and I get she’s a long standing lore character but it feels like we played a wildly different game.
And I just know in my heart of hearts that if Mystra were male and Gale were female I wouldn’t have to keep reading some variation of “well it’s fine she did nothing to stabilize a ticking time bomb in the chest that would have wiped out an entire city because it needs to feed on the weave despite no real evidence this actually hurts her at all” or “actually it’s Gale’s fault he tried to return what he thought was part of her to her because he was an grown adult who should have known better despite the fact she did not tell him and he did not know it would have hurt her and is horrified to learn this in act 3.” Like, this isn’t me woobifying him. I love Gale and know he can be self-absorbed, his ego is big, and if left unchecked his personality leads him to become the literal God of Ambition. But he’s not like a power hungry schemer. His ambition and desire for knowledge (things Mystra likes!) got the better of him and since he is also insecure he decided to try to do an ambitious thing and prove himself to a goddess. He knows and admits that’s on him! But he (and players) are still allowed to be mad at the fact he’s kicked to the curb to maybe blow up a city to learn a lesson Mystra does not bother explaining until she’s literally forced to because he did not kill himself on her command. And people are allowed to find their relationship wildly inappropriate and toxic and abusive because based on the game you play, it is.
I don’t think it’s bonkers to say that in this situation, Mystra—a literal goddess who met Gale when he was probably somewhere between 17-22 years old—was wrong to have a relationship with him, that it was a toxic and abusive one and that is on her as the entity with more power in every way, that she was petty for letting him languish for a year and being willing to potentially let him kill a whole city while he was trying not to die by eating magic shoes, and that telling him to kill himself is a dick move. And people are like “well according to DnD lore she’s just protecting herself and she was only resurrected after he was a teen” are doubly annoying because bg3 doesn’t give a shit about the canon timeline considering Durge would be like…10 if they cared.
And I know it sucks if you like love Mystra in DnD lore and this doesn’t align with her or whatever but bg3’s themes of “hurt people hurt people” and “power over others is something easily abused if you’re careless” also applies to Mystra. With the sort of exception of Selûne, the game also feels pretty clear on the idea that gods Do Not and Cannot Care About You. The game you play is showing a toxic relationship (and I will say she is not as bad as some people say she is, like she is a goddess operating with some blue-orange morality) and if the genders were flipped we would not be having this discourse.
#baldurs gate 3#gale#been so long since fandom discourse annoyed me so much#like do some people hate her for misogynistic reasons#sure#but i think it’s valid to be like hey I think she treated a human like a plaything and this is bad#mystra discourse#im not even anti mystra but she’s a neutral goddess at best like she still doesn’t value humans#bg3 discussion#gale of waterdeep#gale dekarios
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Rage; Jungkook
Pairing: serialkiller!fem!reader x cleaner!jungkook
Warnings: smut :), mentions of blood, mentions of murder
Summary: Y/N holds a lot of rage for men who betray her. She's killed ex-boyfriends over and over without a second thought. Her friend, Eileen, grows worried for her and resorts to bringing back her first love to get Y/N back to her senses.
Word count: 4.1k
Y/N
I press my fingers into his cold skin. His unmoving eyes look into mine and I smile.
“Maybe you’ll think twice in hell before you stay out all night,” I tell him, dragging a nail down his stubble, “But at least you won’t be here to torture me anymore.”
I finally stand and take out my phone, dialing Eillen’s number. My finger drags across his desk in the corner of his living room where a photo of him and I sit. I recall the memory of us going to his grandmother’s birthday and he introduced me to all his dear friends and family. Little did they know he was a sneak and a liar!
A buzzing in my mind rackets through my head then the sound of glass shattering pulls me out of my anger and the picture frame hits the ground.
“Y/N?” Eilleen calls through the phone.
“Eileen!” I put on a smile hearing my best friend’s voice.
“It’s midnight. What-“
”It happened again,” I say, crouching back to my ex’s dead body. There's silence on the other side. “You know what he told me yesterday? ‘Oh, I don’t wanna go out with my friends! I’ll be so worried about you!’,” I scoff. “Well, that was a lie,” I give a small kick to the corpse, “Not a call. Or text. Or-“
”How long are you going to do this?” She asks, her voice a whisper. I think on the question, contemplating the answer and whether I should tell her the truth or what she wants.
“Eileen, they deserve it! Every single one. Don’t forget I used this power for you too,” I argue, recalling Peter Fent. A disaster they called a man who tortured my best friend relentlessly. Even thinking about his face wants to make me vomit.
“And you know I regret that! We shouldn’t have-“
“Eileen. We’ve been on the receiving end of this hurt so many times, and what happens to them? Nothing!” Tears well up in my eyes when I think of all of my past experiences in the dating world. “So, I’ll do it.”
”Aren’t you tired?” She asks. “Instead of purposely looking for those sour ones, why not find someone who can treat you well? Someone you can settle down with? You don’t have to go around playing vigilante!”
The truth is I am tired. If he had just told me who he was going with! Or even letting me know he was okay! But he didn’t care about me and that’s clear in the fact he was ignoring me.
“I’m going to send you an address,” I tell her matter of factly, not letting her respond or say no. “Send your guy and I’ll have his money by tomorrow.” Before she can say anything else, I press the red button, cutting her off of any noise.
“Rest easy, my love,” I kiss my man on the forehead and wave to him as I leave.
I wait until I’m outside and walking down the long driveway. The crickets call to me, cheering on as I swipe through the dating app. Left, left, left, right, left, right. The moon shines it’s spotlight on me, the crickets continue to cheer, and I search for my next catch.
***
Jungkook
“I’m glad we get to talk in proper conversation for once,” Eileen slides in the booth across from me. She looks neither happy nor upset to see me.
“I have to say, seeing you brings both good and bad memories,” I admit. Eileen was Y/N’s best friend. Or is? I don’t keep up too much with too many people from my past. Especially not best friends of my exes.
“I admit that I feel the same way,” she’s about to say more when a waitress walks over asking for our drinks. I take that moment to think of all the questions I have - the first being why I was invited here.
The waitress walks away, her eyes lingering on me as she walks.
“I need your help,” Eileen whispers, her face closer to mine from across the table.
“Why me?”
“I think you’re the only one who can help her. She’s-” we’re interrupted again by the same waitress setting down our cokes.
“Ready to order?” she asks.
“Just the drinks, thanks,” I say. She looks slightly disappointed and Eileen doesn’t try hiding her rolling eyes. I give her a sheepish smile and she finally walks away.
“Nothing much has changed with you, huh?” she keeps her eyes on the back of the girl walking away. Memories of girls flirting with me while Y/N was around comes to the forefront of my mind.
“We won’t focus on that. You said you needed help, so what is it?” I take a long sip of the carbonated drink.
“You’ve probably already guessed this is about Y/N.” I don’t tell her that I have. “She’s been having,” she pauses, “issues,” her face winces at the word. It intrigues me enough to lean in more. “Her love life is complicated,” she laughs, “And you’re the only person I can think of where she holds no resentment towards.”
The mention of Y/N’s love life gives me chills. The thought of her with someone else, despite it being so many years, is a punch to the gut. I imagine her eyes near- shut while she’s laughing to some other guy’s joke. I imagine her holding him tight when they’re watching a movie. I imagine the headboard hitting the wall over and over again when he-
“I know it’s weird to ask this of you,” Eileen’s voice brings me out of the infuriating images, “but if you have any interest in seeing her again, or. . . anything,” there’s a desperation to her voice and before she can say anything else -
“Yes.”
She’s silent for a moment.
“You’re willing to meet her?” her jaw hangs over her drink.
“I wanna see her again. I really do,” I add the most sincerity that I can to my voice, because if Eileen is asking for her then she must not have a partner right now. “She doesn’t have a boyfriend, right?” I double-check.
“No. No not at all. She just went through a really, really,” she gulps, “bad break-up.” That makes me worry a bit. “But she’ll be happy to see you,” her head moves up and down quickly. I start wondering what exactly it is I’m getting myself into.
***
Y/N
It seems that Eileen has come around. I was going through many boring messages of “You showered without me?”’s and “What’s your favorite season?”’s, when my best friend’s name appeared at the top saying “I think I have the perfect man for you. One I’m certain you won’t boot into oblivion ;)”
It made my day to know Eileen isn’t as upset with me. Not only that, but she’s making my life a lot easier with setups.
The smell of bread and garlic wafts my face when I open the door to the pizzaria.
My phone vibrates. A message appearing from an unknown number:
This is Y/N, right?
I’m your date tonight. <3
I went ahead and got a table for us. Let me know when you’re here.
Hm. Nice punctuation and he’s early? Eileen should set me up more often.
I’m here 🙂 In the blue dress.
I look around, waving off the host in the process. I don’t spot anyone making eye contact with me, that is until I look to my right where a man in a black button up and black dress pants is walking towards me. His steps slow when we make eye contact and I almost collapse to the ground.
This is a joke. Eileen has lost her fucking mind and decided this would be funny.
“Don’t,” I whisper. I cover my mouth when it comes out too raspy and hold a hand out to stop him. I feel the sting in my eyes and my embarrassment heightens. The smell of Italian food is gone and the fresh air and city noise drowns me.
“Y/N,” the voice comes behind me.
“No!” I move through people on the sidewalk looking at us.
“Y/N, stop!”
But I don’t.
A grip on my arm pulls me back and my back meets the hard, brick wall. People are no longer looking, most likely thinking Jungkook is not one to be messed with by the ink adorning his arms and his neck. But I already know he isn’t dangerous.
“What was that?” his breath fans my face.
“What did Eileen say to you, hm? That you need to fix me?” I push on his chest, but it has little to no effect on him other than making him annoyed.
“She approached me,” he says, and I scoff, “Let me finish,” his voice is calm. “I am the one who wanted to see you. Me! I wasn’t forced. I wasn’t paid. I wanted to do this.”
“You’re lying!”
”I’m not.”
“Why would you want to see me? I’m the one who broke up with you. I left you. Don’t you hold any resentment?” my face starts stinging again and the tears well in my eyes at the thought of him calling me for months after I told him I didn’t want him anymore. After I lied to him.
His mouth opens and I anticipate the words “I do hate you” ready to leave him.
“Let’s go somewhere more private,” his voice is low. I chuckle.
”Why? Are you embarrassed?”
“Y/N. You know I’ve never felt embarrassed about you. Not back then and not now.” I believe him. But I don’t want to. “Please, can we go somewhere?” His hand rests on my cheek so naturally. I imagine myself falling into him and going back to how we were before.
***
”This is it,” I say waving him inside my apartment.
His head moves up, down, left, and right examining every bit and it gives me time to examine him in return. How his shoulders are broader, his hair a bit messier, and those tattoos that weren’t there before. Even the way he walks is different. He was always handsome, but now he’s ethereal.
“Your place looks better than mine,” he laughs. Just another thing to add to the list of things that Jungkook does that makes me melt. “We already knew you’d be the better decorator,” it aches to think about the times when we talked about buying our own place or the past at all.
The two years I had been with Jungkook were my best years. He was so attentive and I never had to worry if he was around. I only had to say something once and he was very considerate of my needs. Not a single complaint came out of his mouth and that was what one day led to my biggest worry. I started to doubt everything that he did for me because I could not uncover the why.
He was the best boyfriend I’d ever had and yet made me so insecure because I couldn’t understand why he was being so nice.
“You can have a seat anywhere,” I tell him. He follows me to the kitchen where a small dining table sits by the wall. ”What all has Eileen told you about me?” I ask while pouring the two cups of water. I place one in front of him and sit across the table.
“She told me you just needed a bit of help. The rest I don’t remember ‘cause I was focused on the fact I would get to see you again,” a smirk appears on his lips. “I am not disappointed. You’re more beautiful than before,” his eyes meet mine causing my chest to constrict. I’ve been searching for this feeling of being wanted, and while my other boyfriends have given me that feeling (may they rest in peace), it only lasted for the first date. With Jungkook, it was constant.
“You’re more handsome than ever,” his smile reaches his eyes at the compliment. A laugh escapes me.
”What?”
“I’m just wondering what the catch is,” his head tilts, “Are you married? You’re looking for a place to stay? You have a gambling addiction and you need money? Why would you want to come back to me?” He laughs at my questions, but the image of him being married to someone else pushes me to take a sip of water at the heat boiling inside.
“Well, the answer is none of the above. I do have a catch, though. I’m not sure how honest you want me to be.”
“You know I want you to always be honest with me. The most you can,” I think of the liars in the past whose bodies are lying graves now.
“I’m obsessed with you,” his tone is serious and he isn’t smiling like he was before. “I can’t touch another girl without thinking ‘What if this had been Y/N?’” My heart doesn’t seem to know what to do with this information. “You can probably already guess I’ve been searching for you for a very long time. After a while of trying to call you, I guess you changed your number and I couldn’t contact you anymore.”
I recall changing my number, not wanting to be upset every time I looked at my phone and his number would always pop up. It caused regret for weeks and I couldn’t deal with it anymore.
“I won’t lie and say I haven’t researched much about you. When Eileen contacted me I had already been in the city,” he moves to get up from his chair and rounds the table to me. A warmth seeps from his hand to my cheek. I relax into the familiarity of his touch. “I’ve been in the city for a long time,” he leans in and I mirror him, wondering if he’s going to kiss me, but he moves to my ear instead. “Who do you think cleans up all of your messes?”
I jerk backwards in my seat.
“What did you just say?” I whisper.
“You never believed me when I said I would do anything for you. I was telling the truth, Y/N. I think I’ve proven myself whenever I cleaned your spilled blood,” his words leave me speechless. My throat is dry and my tongue is heavier sitting in my mouth. The new information leaves me spinning. It’s all too quick for me to process in one day.
“I need a minute,” I push him aside and make my way past the living room and down the hall into my bedroom. Drowsiness takes me and I lie down on the bed, resting my eyes.
***
Light bleeds through my eyelids, eyes staring down at me.
“Y/N? Was I boring you too much?” That deep, familiar voice says. Jungkook has a smirk painted on his face and I’m in disbelief that I took a nap!
I pick myself up making sure I’m still in my apartment. Jungkook is unpredictable in my eyes now that he’s fessed up to everything.
“I brought some water in case you were still feeling faint,” he picks up a bottle from the night stand with a few crackers sitting next to it. He still does the same thing that he always has when I feel sick.
“Jungkook . . .”
“You can’t say this is crazy,” he chuckles. “You’ve killed people before. We’re practically a team already.”
“Yes, but I didn’t think I would personally know who else is involved in these shenanigans,” I feel faint again imagining him drag bodies down stairs and mopping spilled blood.
“You mean the shenanigans you created?”
“I mean me not letting any man lie, cheat, steal, or cause any form of harm to me again. Not without paying consequences. That includes you,” I say, not sure if it is a threat when I do, but knowing I’ve set my boundary with him. Whether I truly want that boundary is up in the air.
“And have I ever done any of that to you?” He asks the question with worry on his face rather than trying to find ways to defend himself. I can’t look him in the eye when he asks the question because I don’t have an answer that would prove him wrong.
“You made me nervous,” I say, my voice quiet. The embarrassment is palpable. “You were always handsome and everyone around us knew it,” I finally look up at him. “I’m not saying I didn’t think I was beautiful enough for you, I mean look at me,” I gesture to myself and he laughs but nods in agreement. “But there was that one night you were talking to your friends. You made all these plans before with them, and then I heard you say ‘I’m gonna have to change everything now that I have Y/N.’ Do you remember that?”
His eyes narrow as he thinks but it seems to click when he’s about to respond. \
“I didn’t realize how much I was holding you back until then. We were on different paths and you should have-”
“Stop, stop, stop,” his hands wave in the air. “You never told me this,” he gets up- his arms crossing over his chest. “Why didn’t you mention this? We could have talked about it!” I notice his voice raising so I get up from the bed as well ready to defend myself.
“You would have said it was a stupid reason! You would have told everyone how ridiculous I was being. It was better that you didn’t know,” I explain.
“You’re right. It is ridiculous. It kills me that you didn’t think I would want a change, especially if it’s with you,” I try to come up with a response but nothing comes. “You’re killing these guys because of miscommunications and yet here you are doing it with me.” The mention of him knowing about my slaughters makes me faint again.
“It was years ago, Jungkook. Who knows if I would have done the same thing now?” I wave him off and turn to walk out of the bedroom that feels suffocating now. Before I can step out, the door swings close and my front is pressed to the door, his is pressed to my back.
“Communicate, Y/N,” his lips lower to my ear, kissing a spot behind it. A shiver races down my spine.
“I don’t know what else to say,” my voice wavers and I curse myself for showing him my weakness. I feel a heat on my waist when his hand meets my waist. My head leans back when his lips move to my neck.
“What do you want with me now?” his other hand moves to my ass. “More?” he turns me to face him and I can feel the wetness in between my legs when I’m forced to move. I’ve had sex before since Jungkook, but I haven’t felt like I was going to collapse in anticipation until now. “Or are you going to tell me to stop?” his finger slides down the middle of my chest, tracing the line of my cleavage.
“S-” I almost tell him to stop, but I can’t. I want him. I need him. Forever.
“Communicate,” his leg slides between mine, finally giving me some kind of friction. I rest my head back on the door and wrap my hands around his neck when he moves his leg on me.
“I want you, Jungkook,” I’m breathless now. “Right now and for the rest - ah!” I gasp when his fingers slide the straps of my dress down and his mouth is already on my nipple. “For the rest of my life,” I manage to push out. He moans on my nipple when I pull his hair, the vibrations being another sensation muddying my brain.
“I’ll show you what you’re getting for the rest of your life,” his knees meet the ground and I make eye contact with him as he lifts my dress. Our eyes break when his head hides under the fabric, and I can’t see anything, but feel when he kisses my thighs. He lifts one of my legs onto his shoulder, kissing the inside of my thighs now. I grow impatient and push his head. His chuckle slides against my thighs and I’m about to scold him when I feel a tongue sliding through my lips.
“Oh God,” I whisper. My head hits the door as I moan. His tongue swirls and sucks on me and I thank every shooting star for Jungkook and how amazing he is at making me feel good. I have missed the feeling of non-rushed sex with love and care mixed in.
He stays under me for another minute as I indulge in the wet muscle until he peaks out of the dress and pulling it down.
When he stands, I rush to take the button off of his jeans and pull them down his legs followed by his boxers. His hand rests on my cheek as I come back up.
The kiss he plants on me is searing. Our lips mesh perfectly into a rhythm. Both of his hands slide down to my waist then onto my ass. I jump, wrapping my legs around his waist. I hold back on grinding myself into his erection as he sits on the edge of the bed. He pulls away and pushes a hair behind my ear.
“I want you to do something that we never did,” he whispers into my mouth. A million possibilities run through my head, my pussy aching at all of them.
“What’s that?” I nudge my nose into his before he pulls away again by lying down.
“Ride me,” he says. It’s a simple request but it’s one that makes my stomach drop. I’ve never been one to be on top. I always wanted my boyfriends to show me they wanted me by putting the work on. It was selfish on every level, but it helped my own self esteem. But this is Jungkook. I would do anything for him at this point.
I don’t say anything else, only place myself onto his hard dick. I drag my wetness on him putting my hands on his still clothed chest. I drag my fingers onto the buttons and pluck every single one undone. Once I’m able to take his shirt off I drag my tongue up his chest and onto his neck. He holds my ass and grinds up into me, earning a moan into his ear.
“Fuck, Y/N,” he sighs. I’ve missed the way he sounded.
I bring myself back up, breathless.
“My dress,” I point out the garment still on me, getting up to take it off.
“Don’t,” he demands, grabbing my hand. “Keep it on. You look sexy as hell in it.” The compliment makes my heart soar.
I hover over him, grabbing his dick. It slides so easily inside of me.
“Fuck,” he moans, “You feel perfect,” he whispers. I relish the way he still holds my ass and moan out loud when I start to move. He helps by meeting me in the middle as I bounce on him. I can’t help my ego growing when he licks his lips as I move.
I realize I’m fucked when I look at him. Literally and figuratively. He could do anything and I would never kill him. Is it the bare minimum not to kill your partner? To other people, yes.
The pace moves faster and his hand slides down, sliding a finger through me, then rubbing at my clit and that moves my body to the edge.
“I- I think I-”
“Let’s do it together, baby,” his pet name pushes me and I cry out when I climax. He sits up and groans into my mouth when he fills me up. We ride the high for a few more seconds before I come off of him and we lie down, wrapping ourselves into the blanket.
I wrap an arm around his waist and kiss his cheek.
“Does this mean I won’t have to clean blood anymore?” he asks. I punch him in the chest at the tease as he laughs.
“Very funny. But as long as you don’t break my heart then I suppose not,” I respond seriously.
“You won’t have to worry then,” there’s a smug smirk painted on his face as I roll my eyes.
“Oh!” I quickly rush out of bed.
“What is it?”
“I have to pee!” I rush to the bathroom as he laughs. I peek out the bathroom door and tell him, “I’ve missed you.”
He smiles gently at me, his hands resting behind his head. “I’ve missed you more.”
#bts smut#bts imagines#jungkook imagines#jungkook x reader#jungkook#jeon jungkook#bts#bts fanfic#jungkook smut
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thank you for all the posts you've made, your takes are always so refreshing to hear.
I want to know your thoughts (if it's okay with you, you can also totally ignore this) about all the "men hate" I see online. like I (poc transmasc non-passing) get it, there are genuine societal gender problems. transmisogyny does exist-women face more challenges than men do. but it genuinely hurts when women, especially trans women, think it's funny/quirky to call men trash or say they want all men dead or whatever. idk I just am hoping someone else understands, you know?
There's a lot of nuances to this question. First, I just want to caution against focusing too much on trans girls as the perpetrators of this. A lot of the asks I get from trans men seem to really fixate on trans women as the perpetrators of hard line gender essentialism. I really think trans girls are not the main people we should be focusing on here. If a trans woman is saying this stuff, take the time to analyze her ideology outside of that pithy comment and consider how much trauma and how little power she has in the world. That said, trans women are affected by this kind of ideology just like us, and they rarely have the power to wield it against others in the way cis people can. I know it hurts to feel isolated by your own community, but that kinda gets into my second point.
Part of dealing with this is learning an impulse progressive cishet dude have had to get used to over the decade. Sometimes, "men are trash" or even "kill all men" are not literal phrases. They are things women say when they're in the throes of trauma to vent their frustration. "Men are trash" in particular is generally pretty lighthearted and used to complain when you have a bad date or something. You have to get used to analyzing what someone actually means and airing on the side of empathy. You, as a man, are the one with some amount of systemic power over that woman, so you are the one who needs to prove you are dedicated to not being a misogynist. The same thing happens when my friends say they hate white people. I have to assume they don't hate me given that I'm their friend, but that I still have some of the negative traits of whiteness. I need to care enough to be a good friend by being anti-racist and checking myself on my behavior. I need to be willing to prioritize their comfort over mine. That includes not becoming this meme:
Now that that's established, there ARE times when "all men are evil and should die" is an actual ideology. It's an ideology that hurts tons of minority groups before it hurts the most powerful, but it's also not really great if we assume it only hurts cishet white guys. Following it to its logical conclusion, it just proposes a reversal of oppression dynamics. This gender essentialism is a key part of radical feminism, trans exclusionary or not, but it leaks out of that community to general feminism all the time.
As a young person on Tumblr and Twitter, this deeply affected me. I internalized the idea that you can "just be a girl." It was repeated by some trans girls, but also a LOT of TME people. It was framed as trans inclusive, but it's trans inclusive in the way "political lesbianism" is lesbian positive. It posits gender as a moral choice that is completely up to the individual and unrelated to biology. It's the lazy version of "gender is a social construct." I felt sick and disgusting for wanting to be a boy because tons of well-meaning friends of mine had made it clear that "being a boy" was a choice, and it was the wrong one. "Boy" was a social category that could and should eventually be eradicated. Trans women were conditionally supported because they, in theory, made this future possible. This didn't amount to actual support, of course. It was an ideology mostly spread by afab queer people that mostly benefited afab queer people. There were a few trans girls who spread it, maybe some due to genuinely believing in the ideology and some due to social pressure, but there were also a lot of people straight-up grifting as trans girls who used this thinking to feel powerful in a niche community of teens. Remember fucking Yandere Bitch Club???
At a certain point, I genuinely thought of being a man as an unambiguous moral failing, and I lashed out at out trans men because of it. I wanted to feel powerful, and here was a type of man in my community I could shame and exclude. I still feel bad for making a bunch of ~girls only~ stuff in HS that excluded the one out trans dude at our school, my friend, because he was just a ~binary man~ and leaving him with no friends and no community. I treated transphobia like it wasn't a real oppression on its own and, in doing so, perpetuated transphobia. It happens a lot.
I wasn't really able to accept that there was nuance to the concept of manhood until I read this article while struggling to accept my own gender:
This is a pretty seminal piece of writing. It has its flaws, of course, but the empathy and intersectionality it highlights was life-changing. It also shows that this kind of thinking is largely perpetuated by TME people and hurts trans women greatly.
Gender essentialism is a bad ideology, it's a transphobic, transmisogynist, racist, etc etc ideology. It's literally essential to patriarchy. But it's also very easy to repackage into leftism and easy to dogwhistle. As a result, it's natural to be hesitant when you see someone saying they hate all men, but you have to tread extremely lightly and actually care what they're attempting to express. Because, yeah, men as a social class still hold power over women. They still have reason to fear and hate men.
I'm writing a comic about this stuff, actually, so look out for it in the future..........
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Nest Swap 9
masterpost
Having a mission changed everything.
Tim took full advantage of his new knowledge of the holy manuals. The first rule that he took to heart was that he was meant to be armed. Of course! It made sense.
Unfortunately, he was also not meant to take any weapon onto the field that he hadn’t trained with. Tim thought hard for a while whether or not a suburban house counted as ‘in the field’, but it seemed like he should pay lip service to Batman’s rule. So he got some sharp things that seemed interesting and spent some time throwing them at a target. They kind of looked like Batarangs, but… different.
“I don’t think bats change shape in the next ten years or so,” Tim muttered. He gave another half hearted throw. The thing dinged off the wall below his target. “So this isn’t meant to be a bat shape. Did Batman rebrand to the Birdman and no one fixed his wiki page yet? Is this a parallel universe and not my actual future?”
It occurred to him that it might be a bird because of Robin. But come on, Robins didn’t use sharp things. Robin was a child. It was irresponsible for children to use blades.
Tim sent another thingy into the wall. It hit with the pointy end first this time and sank an inch into the wall to the right of the target. He held his breath as it wiggled for a moment. Then it went still without falling.
“Yes!” He punched the air. Thank gosh! He was getting bored with that. It was good to be done with training. It was kind of dull.
Steps one and two were finished. He had a weapon and he had trained with it. Tim went back to his list. The next technical skill set was lock picking. That was super easy and fun! Tim enjoyed the clear diagrams and explanations. There wasn’t anything to practice with, but he thought that he had the concept down handily. He grabbed a set of lockpicks for his khaki pockets.
He needed to do a little more to understand the patterns of the target, as well as their background. Tim considered asking Jason for any information, but he probably didn’t have any. Maybe he wasn’t very good at googling. So he just did it. The Sausage Guy was more commonly known as Benedict Orange, a name that Tim really liked and mentally stored away to use as an alias when he was a superhero.
Anyway. Tim figured out how old the guy was, where he’d gone to school, and a bunch of other stuff like the record of his marriage ten years ago.
“Huh,” Tim said, brows furrowed. “I didn’t find a divorce record. But he’s single now?” Mr. Orange had accounts on a lot of dating sites. He was using his engagement photo for the profile photo, with his wife cut out.
That was weird. He tried to find the wife, but there wasn’t anything more recent than 8 years ago, when she’d announced that she was quitting her job on social media.
…Tim had kind of a bad feeling about that.
He put a pin in it for now, but he had a small theory at the back of his mind that started with ‘I think this guy killed his wife.’
Maybe that was how the human sausage thing started. Maybe he’d killed her on impulse and then needed a way to get rid of the body. And then maybe he’d gotten a taste for it.
Tim shuddered. Okay, okay, he was for real done thinking about this! Big yucky.
Benny Orange was an office worker with a title that Tim didn’t really understand. It seemed vague to the point of uselessness, but then again, that was office work. The relevant thing was that he got home around 6 pm, and he left at 8 am.
It was 10 in the morning. Tim could get over there and toss Benny’s home before the end of the workweek if he hurried. The manual said that you should never spend more than an hour investigating an unsecured location. It also said that you should file a report or directly inform someone of where you’d be.
That part made Tim pause for a moment before he remembered that he’d told Jason. Jason would probably check on him when he woke up, or whatever.
Tim found an equipment belt that he could wrap around his waist twice to buckle on. He put his sharp things in it. Then he untucked his shirt, because he had tucked it in out of habit and that would make it harder to access his weapons. He frowned as he did it. It just felt wrong.
He put on his shoes and got out the door. He didn’t have a lot of time to waste if he wanted to be able to take his time, so Tim hailed a taxi to cross most of the distance this time. He was grateful that Mrs. Henderson was gone and there was no chance of seeing her. Last time had been a little bit of a disaster. Needing civilian help to get into the building was not a winning move.
He had bat-approved lockpicks this time. He went to the front door and did his best.
It turned out that maybe he should have practiced? Tim started to sweat out in the open. It felt like someone was staring at his back. He looked at the houses around. No one was at their windows or walking outside. He started jumping whenever the tall herbs in Mr. Orange's garden swayed in the breeze. He had a lot of plants.
His hands were shaking. The sweat made his shirt stick to his back. He was going to get caught and in so much trouble.
When the door finally opened, Tim offered up a thanks to Bast, because he assumed the cat goddess was more likely to be pro-breaking and entering than other gods. That logic was just based off of what he knew about Catwoman, honestly.
The first glimpse into Benedict Orange's home was disappointingly normal. He had vinyl flooring (easy to clean!), leather furniture, and a big flat TV high up on the wall. He didn’t have enough knickknacks and there was no art. There was a wood and glass case that was full of identical, unlabeled bottles with something red in it. Hot sauce? Was he a hot sauce guy?
Tim mentally reclassified Mr. Orange further down the list of ‘people I could talk to at a cocktail party.’
The place had the same layout as Mrs. Henderson’s place, just in reverse. Tim beelined to the kitchen because.. Well.
He just did.
The counter space where Mrs. Henderson had a hot water kettle, a big stand mixer, and a toaster was mostly clear here. Mr. Orange only had one piece of cooking machinery. Tim didn’t know it. He squinted at it. It was a big shiny stainless steel thing. It had a metal tray, a wheel, and like… a nozzle. When he climbed on a chair to look down, he could see there was a little tunnel tube thing where you could put stuff inside the body of the machine.
Weird. Moving on!
He checked inside the fridge. He stared for a moment of aghast silence. There was a stack of takeout containers, a bunch of seasonings in the door, and a stack of tupperware with something red in them.
Cautiously, Tim dug one out and opened it.
“That’s raw meat,” he said, voice high. He put the box back in and then hesitated. Maybe he should be like, taking it? Or taking a sample? To see what animal it came from?
“I’ll think about it.” Tim shut the fridge a little harder than he needed to and beat feet out of the kitchen. He started checking the other rooms. He found the master bedroom. His nose wrinkled. “I don’t think he’s restyled this since Brenda died,” Tim complained. He looked at the curtains with extreme judgment. They were so outdated it wasn’t even funny, but they also weren’t retro yet!
Oh. Wait. Belatedly, Tim remembered that it was ten years into his future. So, maybe they were retro now. Anyways, Brenda had liked the trend for chickens and roosters. There were chickens and roosters everywhere in the decor, including a cute print of what was obviously intended to be a husband and wife pair snuggling on a sofa.
His heart hurt a little. He looked at it a little too long.
Tim took a deep breath. Then he went back to looking for evidence. There wasn’t much in the bedroom, so clearly Mr. Orange had a personal office elsewhere. There were two more rooms in the apartment.
Tim opened the next door. The room was mostly a guest bedroom, with the notable exception of a huge chest freezer and a weird long wooden bar across the room.
Tim shut the door.
The last room was the office. There was a desk, a file cabinet, and a lockbox full of women’s drivers licenses.
“Yeah, okay,” Tim said under his breath. “He’s a serial killer.” He took photos and sent them to Jason immediately with the subject line “Yeah he’s a killer!!!”
Then he got down to sorting through the papers to see if there was anything else. Jason was a Robin, Tim supposed, so he’d need the evidence to show the police. It would be helpful if he just went and sorted it out now. He found warranties for the TV, the new freezer, and he presumed that ‘Meat Grinder’ meant the thing in the kitchen.
“I appreciate that he’s so organized, actually,” Tim muttered. He was hunched over digging through the bottom drawer now.
A key went into a door.
Tim froze stock still. He slowly, silently shut the drawer. He stared at the closed door to the living room. On the other side of it, Mr. Orange unlocked and opened the front door. Tim slowly looked up, saw 12:14 on the clock, and vaguely registered that sometimes people come home on their lunch breaks.
The front door shut. There was a quiet metal sound that Tim thought was probably the chain lock. The chain lock that was too high for him to move without a chair to stand on.
Okay. Uh. He looked around for a place to hide. The best option was under the desk. Tim crawled through the legs of the chair, heart beating furiously.
He weighed his options. Wait it out and hope Mr. Orange didn’t come in?
…Seemed risky. But there was no way he was going to run out past the guy to the front door. At least, the odds that he’d get grabbed were just not good, not when he didn’t know where Mr. Orange was.
Alright. Tim knew reality. He might not be able to get out of this on his own. At the very least, he should let Jason know what was going on so that they could add his murder to the list of charges. And maybe Jason was close by to help? Wayne Manor was awfully far away, so probably not. But it didn’t hurt to try.
He got his phone back out and was silently very glad that he had it. Jason had responded to his message. Tim didn’t take the time to read it, instead typing up a blank email with the subject line “um might need help asap :( he here”. He sent it. Then he huddled down to wait.
Noises came from the kitchen- the suction as the fridge opened. The beep of the microwave. A man’s voice saying, “What the fuck? Did I leave this here?”
His blood turned ice cold.
‘What did I do?’ Tim desperately tried to remember what he’d touched in the kitchen. Had he really moved something around? He didn’t remember anything! His heart rate went up like crazy.
The door opened. Tim flinched. His whole body started shaking uncontrollably.
Oh. No. It wasn’t this door yet. It was the door to the next room, the spare bedroom. He heard the weird squelch of the chest freezer opening. Then the closet door squeaked open. Something heavy moved around.
“Well, it wasn’t you,” said Mr. Orange. There was a mean satisfaction in his tone. The heavy thing moved again.
Tim’s brain went a bit blank.
Who was he talking to? Was there someone in the apartment? Hidden behind something heavy?
He opened up another email. Jason hadn’t responded, so there was no way to know if he’d seen. Tim hastily typed up, “I think there’s a living hostage in the house” and sent it as the door to the office opened.
He hugged his arms around his knees and squeezed his eyes shut. Oh gosh. Oh heck. Oh no, oh no. He bit his lower lip and broke skin.
‘No. I can’t be a baby about this.’
It was really hard with how stiff his fingers felt. But Tim put the phone in his pocket and wrestled the sharp bird weapon out. He held it clumsily. And he watched Mr. Orange’s feet move around the room. They walked around the room. He saw the curtains move as Mr. Orange pulled them to check no one was hiding there. Then he knew that Mr. Orange was coming to his hiding spot.
Tim swallowed. He waited until Mr. Orange’s feet were in sight. He stabbed his sharp thing down through the top of Mr. Orange’s sock.
Mr. Orange bellowed and fell back against his filing cabinet.
Tim scrambled out and ran.
He went towards the front door on automatic and nearly got there before he looked up and saw that yes, the chain lock was on. He couldn’t reach it.
“You little shit!” Mr. Orange bellowed. He lunged at Tim. Tim barely dodged. He jabbed at him again without looking and barreled towards the door to Mrs. Henderson’s apartment. It only had a doorknob lock. He unlatched it, praying that she had not changed her ideas about the open door policy. The door handle turned.
He threw himself into the room and slammed the door shut. He clicked the little button lock.
Mr. Orange hit the door, hard. It shook. He wasn’t saying anything anymore. There was something about that which struck Tim as absolutely terrifying. Didn’t people bellow and yell when they were mad?
He looked towards Mrs. Henderson’s door. The door shook again as Mr. Orange hit it.
Wood splintered.
If he went out Mrs. Henderson’s front door he could sprint for it. What were the odds he could outrun a grown man? If he did, wouldn’t Mr. Orange just get in his car? Potential witnesses had made Mr. Orange back off before, but he was more invested now in silencing Tim. And there was no one around. Tim had checked.
The door splintered again. He could see Mr. Orange’s shoulder. Then a socked foot.
‘I don’t think I stabbed his foot well enough,’ some distant part of Tim’s brain catalogued. ‘He’s still moving on it. If I live past this, I’m going to commit to the next stabbing with more enthusiasm.’
He bolted for the stand where Mrs. Henderson kept her mace. He was just out of sight from Mr. Orange’s hole in the door. His heart thudded so loud. His shaking had stopped. The mace didn’t feel heavy.
‘If I was taller, i’d aim for the face. I can’t pull that off. I’ll aim for center mass. He may block with an arm, but theoretically his arm will be hurt enough that I’ll be able to pull back and make another swing.’
There was a catastrophic smash from inside Mr. Orange’s apartment.
Then a “What the fuck-” that got cut off a little early. Mr. Orange sounded mad and confused.
A thud. Two smaller thuds. A clicking. Tim wanted so badly to know what was going on.
A hand reached through the hole in the door and unlatched the lock.
Tim swallowed. He readied a swing.
The door opened.
Tim took a step forward and swung Mrs. Henderson’s antique mace with maximum strength directly into the armored center mass of a guy who was NOT Mr. Orange.
“Oh my gosh,” Tim said, horrified, at the instant he connected. The guy was looking forward. He looked down too late, just as the mace hit.
There was sort of a bounce. The mace bounced back off the tummy armor without digging in or drawing blood. Half of Tim was relieved, and half was terrified that his plan had failed.
The guy doubled over and made a sound that was a lot like GURK. He clutched at his torso with one arm and pointed a gun at Tim with the other.
Tim put his hands up.
The guy looked at Tim. Presumably. It was hard to tell through his ugly red motorcycle helmet.
“I really should have known.”
His mechanical voice was scary.
Bad guy!
Tim took his chances and another swing before the guy could shoot him. He expected to hear a shot as he smashed his mace again. The guy yelped and jerked backwards to avoid getting hit. Then there was a thud.
Tim peered through the door cautiously. The guy had tripped over Mr. Orange. Mr. Orange was laying on the floor facedown, arms zip tied behind his back.
“Oh, sorry,” Tim apologized. He took a couple steps over to put the mace back away. He gave Mr. Orange a wide berth.
“I never would have guessed that the Red Hood used kids like this,” Mr. Orange said meanly. He narrowed his eyes at Tim. “Small, even for bait.”
The Red Hood guy pointed his gun at Mr. Orange’s head. Tim shrieked.
The Red guy stopped. He seemed to look at Tim again. He had some really bad words. “Alright.” He got back up to his feet and put the gun away.
Right. He’d probably just been joking or something. Tim belatedly registered the control it must have taken to not accidentally shoot while being attacked and falling over.
Oh. Wait. It was a huge coincidence that a hero came right now, unless-
‘Is this Jason?’ Tim felt his eyebrows go all the way up. He wanted to ask a million questions. His mouth was firmly glued shut, though. Partly it was infosec. But it was also embarrassment.
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Agatha and Rio as star-crossed lovers: Why a happy ending for them is unlikely (for now) but it'll be okay (probably?)
Look, I’m obsessed with these two—both their complex characters, their crazy unique dynamic—it’s a ship I actually can’t play favourites with!
BUT I also fully expect these two will fight it out in the finale and they aren’t headed for a happy ending, at least not a happy ending where they walk off happily into the sunset together at the end of this series and we shippers should maybe try to not freak out about it.
Let’s look at what the show is—in my opinion—telling us about these two. Under the cut for spoilers and my heap of meta thoughts–
Agatha’s arc is about her finding her coven, her community
I’ve written a bit more about the show’s and our protagonist's arc here: Basically underneath all that lust for power, Agatha’s deepest desire is to find a coven, a family of witches she can share her trials and blessings with. Agatha loves powerful witchcraft and she wants someone to share it with.
And she did find Rio. These two incredibly lonely women found each other, fell in love, and probably murdered their way through so many people together.
But then Agatha had a child and realised she could be a little bit less selfish for another human being. And then Rio took him away and they separated but i think they ultimately never dealt with what I think is at the heart of their rift now, of Agatha still having that bit of humanity and vulnerability for human connection in her.
Now of course at this point I don’t know what Rio’s deal is exactly. Is she human? Was she human? What happened in her past? What we do know is that Rio has a certain detachment from people, and that she enjoys watching Agatha kill witches.
Right now Agatha's getting a taste of what having a coven can be like. Something she's not had in centuries. Them working together, making magic together. That moment during the campfire where she realised they were laughing with her. The shared experience of riding those broomsticks.
Yes, covens—like any kind of family or community—can be good or bad. They can lift you up or tear you down. Agatha's first coven and mother failed her, we'll see how this one fares (especially after what we saw in episode 5). Will they be enough to bring out more of Agatha's humanity?
The thing is, Agatha is going on a bit of a character development journey and Rio—whose her world hasn't been rocked the same way Agatha's has—isn't.
Now I don't expect Agatha to turn over a new leaf by the end of the series but I expect her to be in a somewhat different place from where she started, and Rio I expect will not be in that same place. At least not by this series' end.
There is a certain tension at the end of episode 4 after Rio brings up the topic of "the boy". And again when Rio watches Agatha leave the cabin in episode 5. I think Rio is recognising that this isn't the Agatha she knew and first fell in love with many years ago, and she's not happy about it.
Agatha's moving in a direction Rio might not be able to follow, and I expect that's where we'll get our conflict down the road.
In a world without logistical limits, it's not impossible for these two to be together given enough time and character development (and hey that's what fic is for) but with 4 episodes remaining I expect we'll at best get more of a bittersweet resolution for them, after both of them finally let loose the anger they have at each other.
A closing of a chapter, I suppose, but not necessarily The End.
Agatha and Rio love each other, but they also bring out the worst in each other
It’s clear that these two have loved and do still have love for each other. That they found a special connection with each other that has maybe even saved one or the both of them before.
But they can also be standing in each other's way.
I'm reminded of these lines from Killing Eve:
I think my monster encourages your monster, right? I think I wanted it too.
Look, Agatha can't have a community if she keeps killing members of that community in the pursuit of power. Yes, with Rio around, it's terribly romantic: the two of them against the world. But what if Agatha actually wants to be a part of that world, even a little?
And as for Rio, now this is just my theory but it's possible Rio is perhaps too focused on the darker aspects of her role, of her power.
As The Green Witch, isn’t she meant to be more than Death?
I've been marvelling at all the details in Rio's nature-themed warrior witch outfit. It's beautiful, a celebration of life. She clearly has a strong connection with plants; there's a cute spider on her jacket; she's shown some ability to heal. Even her Death outfit has vines and roots forming her chest piece — what happened with Rio to make her hone in on spreading violence and death?
It just feels like there's a story there, to have her be The Green Witch as opposed to a more traditional or mainstream manifestation of a Death entity.
It's clear that these two came together and did monstrous things. There's usually reasons for that. Human or not, I suspect Rio has her own pain, one that's warping the balance of nature. Maybe they both need to heal in their own way, apart from each other.
This relationship is important to the show
Whatever happens, it's clear that this relationship is key to Agatha's story and the show. Their relationship, with its soft moments and sharp edges, filled much of the first episode on purpose and I expect it to play a major part in the finale as well – an appropriate bookend – including the fight between them.
You could even say that it's actually a good thing that these two are getting the focus at the show's start and end. It's always been Agatha and Rio: understanding each other, at each other's throats, pushing each other, tearing at each other, wanting but not meeting each other.
The thing about this being a "small stakes" show is that the cause of the fight happening between them can be very personal. A lovers' quarrel. Rio may simply want to kill Agatha for something she did, or in rage or fear of losing her.
On that note though, these two have such a long and complicated – and as Hahn once put it "toxic maybe but loving" – relationship that one big violent messy fight in itself doesn't worry me. I mean, we've all seen episode one.
Maybe sometimes you have to bleed to let the poison out.
This is still a love story.
#agatha all along#agathario#agatha x rio#agatha harkness#rio vidal#tv: agatha all along#ship: vidarkness#aaa meta#ooooookay i'm getting this out now before any future ep steamrolls my theories lol#i know the heart wants what the heart wants#and we won't be normal about this#but look at the story that we're getting#star-crossed lovers is this romantic term but do you know what it means#it's tragic#Plaza actually gave this interesting quote in the show's production brief#about how Agatha and Rio know each other so well#but they also know that fate is bigger than them#and that destiny must happen#no matter what they want#that's it#they're star-crossed lovers
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I wanted to focus on Anya speech before she died. After expierencing the scene again with all the informantion. This is the one and only scene Anya stand up to Jimmy and is the most lucid. When I say stand up to, I simply mean, she nolonger the punching bag Jimmy has been using throughout the game.
Now that i'm looking at it again, it feels like Jimmy may have at some point told her to kill herself. Just from the way it worded it, but I also think in the mind of jimmy it only connects to Curly. This could be read like "yes Jimmy you were right im going to give Curly all his medication." A very Jimmy forward way of taking it. When in reailty, she is taking shot at Jimmy character. She is calling him beyond repair.
Poor diasuke has no idea what the fuck is going on. This whole scene is just Anya talking directly to Jimmy. When you first play it you are just as lost as Diasuke. Coming back to it, its so painfully clear.
"You think I wanted this either?" She talking about the pregancy. She talking about being trapped together and both being constantly reminded of the whole fucked up situation. Its 10 times worse for Anya cause she got to spend 4 months with her rapist. Breathing down her fucking neck.
"Make no mistake. This isn't my worst moment."
Its fair to say we taken Anya situation and say it is the worst situation ever. That everything bad that could havr happened, happened. But in that line she takes back the power and her agency from Jimmy. Everything that happened, is just a foot note of the revolving door of shit. It be little jimmy, makes him nothing. He does not own her life, he does not get to have this connection that matters. An to a certain point I don't think shes talking to Jimmy anymore.
I think her back is turned away from the door she is talking to Curly. This entire speech has nothing to do with Jimmy, we just believe it does because we play as Jimmy. An Jimmy would view it as if she talking to him.
The only person who would want her to live, outside of Sawnsea and Daisuke is Curly. (I legit just thought of this as I was typing.) While yes i think anlayze at the start is correct i also think this works toward Curly as well. It works as this two way conversation, one that demonizes Jimmy further and one that is enlighting for Curly maybe a dash of spiteful. A little resentful which I mean, if anyome should be resentful towards someone it would be Anya and it would be fair.
This is Anya taking responsibility. Which I can understand why Jimmy would only care about Curly. Because all her words bounce off of him. He could give less of a shit about Anya. But she is taking Curly role, shes going to save/protect herself. Something no one else can do, Sawnsea has Diasuke to worry about and Curly is down and never getting back up. I think this is the one real time we get more of her true personailty, not the one we see after being violated and put down for months.
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Hi Inês hope you’re doing good. Just thought about Lando being absolutely the sweetest with his pregnant girl. Maybe she’d be insecure but he’d do everything in his power to make her feel good and comfortable in her changing body and he’d be so proud he’s going to be a dad and always mention it in interview, to his friends and everywhere really
Cw: reader's insecurity about her pregnant body
It started as something small and barely noticeable. You started showing when the weather got colder, so it was natural to have more layers on, making your outfits lose the tight fitted shape, and Lando wanted you to be warm and comfy, so he didn't think of it at first. When you started getting ready and dressed in the bathroom, however, that tipped the scales in your husband's head that there was something going on.
"I want to have some cuddles with my two favourite people", Lando said as he laid in bed, ready to unwind from the day, "sure, I'll just put my pyjamas on, I'll be right back", you mumbled, the uneasiness clear in your voice as you made your way to the ensuite.
"Actually, baby, I wanted to talk to you about that", he began, catching your attention as you sat down on the bed where he patted his hand, "you've been very kept to yourself, and you never undress here in the room if I'm here. Is there something wrong?", he asked.
You knew better than to lie through your teeth, so you let it out, "my body has changed a lot recently, and I didn't even think I'd be this bothered by it. I never fit into the patterns that society defined so I thought I would be fine. It's just stretch marks and me getting bigger, it's not like it hasn't happened before", you scoffed as tears gathered in your waterline, "bu- but, It's a lot to take in. Every day there's something new I notice", you bit your bottom lip.
"Every single day there's something new and gorgeous about you, you're right, baby", Lando smiled, wiping the stray tear that fell on your cheek, "May I?", he asked as he lifted your shirt once you gave him consent, "your body is growing our babygirl, Y/N, and you look so gorgeous while doing it", he complimented.
"There's that old wives tale that says that if you're having a baby girl, it means the mother doesn't have that glow or beauty because the daughter is stealing them from her, but that's not true. Everyday you get more beautiful to me. Your tummy is making sure she's safe inside and nothing bad happens to her, your boobs will make sure she's fed and growing as she should", he smiled, tracing patterns in the skin before he unbuttoned the skirt you were wearing, glad the fabric was kept together by the buttons on the side of your thigh so you wouldn't have to move to be left in your underwear.
"All of you is beautiful, and I'm going to show you just that", he moved to hold your ankle, "these are making sure you're moving throughout the pregnancy, and they're so soft an-", he was interrupted, "Lando, they're swollen, Mila even compared them to one of her balloons the oth-".
"Shhhh, I'm not finished...! And your strong, thick thighs, I've always loved them, making sure you'll be ready for when the time comes to bring her earthside. These hips, I always get lost in them, and they're so gorgeous and perfect for me to hold you against my body, your tummy protecting our daughter, all of you", he kissed as he went along, bringing a smile to your face at his sillyness despite the serious tone, "I meant every word, Y/N, I love you, I'm in awe of you everyday, I'm proud of you for telling me how you feel and I'll remind you everyday of that", he kissed your lips, "you're the most beautiful woman in the world, baby".
.
"Does this look nice?", you looked at your husband through the mirror, not knowing if the dress was flaterring. Ever the funny one, Lando mimicked something going through his heart, falling dramatically on the bed, "woman, you're going to kill me with all of your beauty!", he exaggerated.
Giggling at his antics, you pulled him up to his feet, "you look gorgeous, baby, absolutely gorgeous", he complimented, making you twirl before he kissed your lips.
Already in the paddock, Natalie wa she first to talk about you, "I saw you arrive to the track today with a very special guest. How is everything going?", she questioned.
"Fantastic! It's great having my wife here this weekend, it's my home race so it wasn't hard for her to travel here, which is getting a little trickier now that she's pregnant, but yes, very good", Lando beamed at the mention of you.
"It's always good to have support around and you've been together for a while, too!", she noted.
"Yes! And we're having a baby, so it's been extra special making these memories together. She's sitting in the front here actually, I'm not sure you can see her", Lando pointed to the side of the stage he was facing, "you can't see how gorgeous she looks today, and she's very pregnant so I won't make her get up, but that just means you'll have to go online and see my very own beautiful superwoman", he gushed, the praise directed towards always coming to him so effortlessly.
"She does indeed look amazing! Hi, Y/N!", Natalie waved, "what a great Silverstone Grand Prix we're going to have, I'm sure!".
"Did you know that he told everyone in the driver's debrief that you were joining us today?", Oscar pointed out while you had lunch, his son Lucas drawing with you on his colouring book, "Lando!", you scolded softly, blushing at the thought of your husband pestering the rest of the grid, "what? They all know we're having a little Norris and they always ask about you, so I told them you were here this weekend!".
(Thank you for your submission ✨️)
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iwtv fanfic Friday: devils minion era (or close enough)
on display by thisisthefamilybuisness aka @officialclaricestarling; E, 3k.
Armand leans back in her chair and smirks. “There’s nobody here to notice if you absolutely must rut yourself against the seam of your slacks, Daniel; this is a private dining room. Given the sorry state of your thoughts, though, perhaps you’d prefer if I took a seat at the bar and sat you in my lap instead. It would only be fair, of course, every patron deserves a chance to see why I spend millions of dollars and so much of my time indulging you.”
i know a place we can go luminoussbeings aka @gaysie; M, 3k.
“—come out with me,” Daniel’s saying, and Armand blinks. “I know a place—better than this one, I’m telling you. Okay, fine, the drinks are terrible, but if you want to go out dancing—you’ll see. You’ll love it. Guarantee ya.” He smiles winningly, holds out his hand. No, Armand thinks. or: Daniel sees Armand with blood on his face from a kill, thinks he's just some poor abused twink, and decides he needs to show him a good time
cranefucker island circa ‘82 by katplanet; E, 22k
“You doing all right?” Daniel asks him. Armand blinks. “No,” he says. “Most honest you've been with me since I got here,” Daniel says. And then, because it seems like the thing to do, “I can clear out, if you need the place to yourself.” “Whatever you prefer.” Armand's lips look chapped. Dehydration? He ate the kid with the sunglasses, but the smear he left took a lot of bleach to scrub away. Maybe Daniel should - “You won't be harmed,” Armand says, “regardless of your decision.” “You got served divorce papers so hard it left a crater,” Daniel says, “and you're still poking around in people's heads.”
little kidnaps in the dark | End OTW Racism by gaypiratedivorce; M, 150k
The first memory is only the first memory, the first crack —after the dam finally breaks, Daniel tries to make sense of the past unraveling itself in his mind. While continuing to thread the story of Louis's life, he attempts to untangle the questions of his own. But Armand offers no answers, and Louis gives him no straightforward ones. As their histories weave together and the line between journalism and personal chronicle disappears from sight, Daniel struggles to figure out who they were then, what they've become, and why exactly he's been summoned to Dubai.
it's a rollercoaster kinda rush by exastris_scientia aka @keepoffthetardis; E, 5k
He writes more over the next three months than he has in the last year, and he even gets paid for some of it. Not as much as before, but, y’know. He can keep his apartment, so it’s not like he’s complaining. He goes to bed early, gets up late, and actually learns how to cook something edible for once in his life. He’s not even using. It’s normal. It sucks so bad and he’s so fucking lonely. Daniel gets fired from the San Francisco Chronicle and discovers all roads lead not to Rome, but to Armand.
couldn't trust myself to proceed with caution by extrasis_scientia aka @keepoffthetardis; E, 6k.
When he opens the door, Daniel looks up from his drink. Almost every feature on his face has been changed by the twenty years between them and their last goodbye. Every one, that is, except for his eyes. They’re shielded by handsome-looking wire-frame glasses now, but they’re still as blue and sharp as they were the night they met. Their eyes lock, and Armand is astonished to discover all at once that he’s still angry. “You must be Mr. Molloy,” he manages through lips nearly numb. As if he feels nothing at all, Daniel holds out a hand. “Mr. Molloy’s my father. Call me Daniel.” Armand seeks Daniel out in 2003 and gets quite a bit more than he bargained for.
#iwtv#iwtv fanfic friday#fic recs#interview with the vampire#amc interview with the vampire#devils minion
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Notes and Journal Entries by Kip Kinkel
A compilation of writings by Kip Kinkel. This is for informational and educational purposes only. Post is below the cut.
Disclaimer: the majority of his writing pieces (that have been released to the public) are only available in a typed transcript format, provided by PBS. Because of this, I am only able to include a few images of the original writing. This post will be updated if any new images come out!
Journal Entry by Kip:
"I sit here all alone. I am always alone. I don't know who I am. I want to be something I can never be. I try so hard every day. But in the end, I hate myself for what I've become.
Every single person I know means nothing to me. I hate every person on this earth. I wish they could all go away. You all make me sick. I wish I was dead.
The only reason I stay alive is because of hope. Even though I am repulsive and few people know who I am, I still feel that things might, maybe, just a little bit, get better.
I don't understand any fucking person on this earth. Some of you are so weak, mainly, that a four year old could push you down. I am strong, but my head just doesn't work right. I know I should be happy with what I have, but I hate living.
Every time I talk to her, I have a small amount of hope. But then she will tear it right down. It feels like my heart is breaking. But is that possible. I am so consumed with hate all of the time. Could I ever love anyone? I have feelings, but do I have a heart that's not black and full of animosity?
I know everyone thinks this way sometimes, but I am so full of rage that I feel I could snap at any moment. I think about it everyday. Blowing the school up or just taking the easy way out, and walk into a pep assembly with guns. In either case, people that are breathing will stop breathing. That is how I will repay all you mother fuckers for all you put me through.
I feel like everyone is against me, but no one ever makes fun of me, mainly because they think I am a psycho. There is one kid above all others that I want to kill. I want nothing more than to put a hole in his head. The one reason I don't: Hope. That tomorrow will be better. As soon as my hope is gone, people die.
I ask myself why I hate more than anyone else. I don't know. But my head and heart want him dead. He only knows who I am through reputation, and I know he is scared of me. He should be. One bad day, and there will be a sawed off shotgun in his face or five pounds of Semtex under his bed.
Oh fuck. I sound so pitiful. People would laugh at this if they read it. I hate being laughed at. But they won't laugh after they're scraping parts of their parents, sisters, brothers, and friends from the wall of my hate.
Please. Someone, help me. All I want is something small. Nothing big. I just want to be happy.
End. New day. Today of all days, I ask her to help me. I was shot down. I feel like my heart has been ripped open and ripped apart. Right now, I'm drunk, so I don't know what the hell is happening to me.
It is clear that no one will help me. Oh God, I am so close to killing people. So close.
I gave her all I have, and she just threw it away. Why? Why did God just want me to be in complete misery? I need to find more weapons. My parents are trying to take away some of my guns! My guns are the only things that haven't stabbed me in the back.
My eyes hurt. They hurt so bad. They feel like they are trying to crawl out of my head. Why aren't I normal? Help me. No one will. I will kill every last mother fucking one of you. The thought of you is still racing in my head. I am too drunk to make sense.
Every time I see your face, my heart is shot with an arrow. I think she will say yes, but she doesn't, does she? She says, "I don't know". The three most fucked up words in the English language.
I want you to feel this, be this, taste this, kill this. Kill me. Oh God, I don't want to live. Will I see it to the end? What kind of dad would I make? All humans are evil. I just want to end the world of evil.
I don't want to see, hear, speak or feel evil, but I can't help it. I am evil. I want to kill and give pain without a cost. And there is no such thing. We kill him - we killed him a long time ago. Anyone that believes in God is a fucking sheep.
If there was a God, he wouldn't let me feel the way I do. ....Love isn't real, only hate remains. Only hate."
Essay about love, written by Kip
"Love Sucks
No, I don't believe in love at first sight because love is an evil plot to make people buy alcohol and firearms. When you love someone something it is always taken away from you. I also would like to add that I hate each and every one of you. Because everything I touch turns to shit. I think if you think you fall in love with someone at first sight it might just be lust. Love at first sight is only in movies. Where the people in the movies are better than you. That is why you go to a pone [pawn] shop and buy an AK-15 because you are going to execute every last mother fucking one of you. If I had a heart it would be gray.
It is easier to hate than love. Because there is much more hate and misery in the world than there is love and peace. Some people say that you should love everyone. But that is impossible. Look at our history it is full of death, depression, rape, wars and diseases. I also do not believe in love at first sight. But I do believe in hate at first sight. Therefore love is a much harder feeling to experience."
Monologue written by Kip for a homework assignment. This monologue was written for the character Tybalt of Romeo and Juliet.
"But you know me, I loathe all of them. I am no longer blind in my hatred, I can see with my hate. Blood will flow until they are all dead. This was the first moment in my life where I had taken the life of another. I loved it. It dispelled all the anger and animosity I was feeling."
Note written by Kip, confessing to the murder of his parents. This was found on a coffee table in the living room of the Kinkel's home.
"I have just killed my parents! I don't know what is happening. I love my mom and dad so much. I just got two felonies on my record. My parents can't take that! It would destroy them. The embarrassment would be too much for them. They couldn't live with themselves. I'm so sorry. I am a horrible son. I wish I had been aborted. I destroy everything I touch. I can't eat. I can't sleep. I didn't deserve them. They were wonderful people. It's not their fault or the fault of any person, organization, or television show. My head just doesn't work right. God damn these VOICES inside my head. I want to die. I want to be gone. But I have to kill people. I don't know why. I am so sorry! Why did God do this to me. I have never been happy. I wish I was happy. I wish I made my mother proud. I am nothing! I tried so hard to find happiness. But you know me I hate everything. I have no other choice. What have I become? I am so sorry"
A concerning note written by Kip on a Spanish worksheet
Another concerning note by Kip
"Respect Sheet" filled out by Kip
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