#it just doesn’t make sense. logically speaking

[steddieas-shegoes]

brothers first, always

for @corrodedcoffinfest prompt 'band of brothers'

rated t | 780 words | no cw | tags: steve and gareth friendship, friendship, arguing, happy ending

also on ao3

🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁

Gareth’s packing his shit, tears falling down his face. He doesn’t know how they got here, doesn’t know how he’s supposed to just get behind the drumset and act like he’s not questioning his entire friendship with his bandmates.

How quickly they took an opportunity that he couldn’t be a part of. How they apologized, but still went ahead with it even after he asked them not to. How they defended their choice even when he told them he couldn’t ever picture himself playing without any of them sharing the stage.

Steve’s standing by the door, watching him and probably keeping everyone else out. Things got heated and they had to be separated and everything’s gone to shit.

He wipes at his face and throws his bag over his shoulder. He’ll get his drums from the studio tomorrow when everyone else is gone.

If they can do this festival without him, they can be Corroded Coffin without him.

“Gare…” Steve finally says, in that way like he’s trying not to cry. “C’mon man. You’re important to them, they just didn’t know it would upset you so much.”

“We do everything together!” Gareth turns on him, yells so loud his voice breaks. “They knew I had to be in my sister’s wedding this weekend. They could’ve passed. They could’ve asked about another festival. They said yes without even running it by me first and then told me the day before like it wouldn’t upset me!”

Steve breathes in. “I know. No, listen,” he holds his hands up when Gareth is about to argue. “I know. I told them to talk to you before agreeing. I swear I tried. They’re fuckin’ idiots, dude. You know how stupid they are. You’re the brains of their operation. They got left unattended and did something dumb.”

“Yeah, they did,” Gareth’s shoulders fall. Steve’s good at this, calming him down. Calming them all down. If they could afford to pay him, they would. He’s as good as any professional manager, that’s for sure. “I don’t understand how they could do this.”

“You heard me when I called them fuckin’ idiots, right?” Steve laughs, and it almost makes Gareth laugh. Almost. “They were thinking with their brains on vacation. They weren’t even in the building.”

“But I wouldn’t ever do that. I’d never agree to a show without them,” Gareth sets his bag down as he speaks. He hears the others talking on the other side of the door, probably trying to be quiet but failing.

Fuckin’ idiots.

But they’re idiots he cares about. And he knows they care about him.

He’s pretty sure that’s why they waited so long to tell him.

“I guess it’s cool to get our name out there or whatever,” Gareth finally says when Steve doesn’t say anything else. He lets him get there on his own, because he knows that’s what Gareth needs to do. He’s got a short fuse and it can be lit multiple times within seconds. His mom calls him firecracker for a reason. “Wish I could go.”

“They wish you could too.”

“Yeah!” Eddie yells through the door.

Gareth and Steve roll their eyes at the same time.

“Shut up!” Gareth yells, but he’s shaking his head fondly as Steve smirks at him.

He’s already forgiving the fuckin’ idiots. He should’ve known he would.

“You guys are brothers. No way this shit would’ve kept you from being their drummer. This might help get you guys on the map for more,” Steve says, using the logic that Gareth couldn’t find behind the emotions. “You won’t miss the next one. Promise.”

Gareth groans. “Fine, but I’m gonna go be mad at home tonight. They can practice without me.”

Steve nods. “Yeah, makes sense. Just go out the side door.”

“Tell them they piss me off.”

“Present tense?” Eddie asks through the door.

“And future!” Gareth yells right against the door. He hears them all curse and a loud bang like someone fell against the wall. He picks up his bag, but decides to leave his sticks, just one sign he didn’t completely walk away. “See you Tuesday, man.”

“Yeah. Have fun at the wedding. Try not to ruin your tux,” Steve nudges him as he walks by.

Gareth stops and does something he doesn’t do often enough, something none of them do enough except Eddie.

He hugs Steve.

“Thanks for talkin’ me out of it,” he says quietly so none of the eavesdroppers hear him. “Would’ve been mad about it next week.”

“Anytime man. You’re my brother, too.”

It settles something in Gareth’s chest, knowing that he’s got someone on his side. Multiple someones even when they’re fuckin’ idiots.

[mangoisms]

WAIT A SECOND. just saw something. remember when i was wondering if people knew what batarangs were. because i constantly wonder about the level of knowledge ppl have in-universe in gotham. WELL

i didn’t even realize it when i read this issue but. PRESUMABLY. it IS because they’re at a party and she thinks he’s just ‘dressed’ as robin. so people do know that batarangs are. well. called batarangs. right?????

sorry i just saw this posted again on instagram and it BARELY hit me. ok. wow. it was for a thing in ck that i ultimately solved by having him call it that. but. that’s not necessary. apparently. well.

(also this page and the few after are so funny to me. this entire thing. bc bart and kon step in and then he gets mad 😭)

[animangalover-writes]

Time for another dream i had, this time about zutara.

This one is a lot shorter, but essentially I had a dream where kataras whole family(which seemed to have more members then in the show) all live in the fire nation, hiding the fact that they're water tribe(rather, they were water tribe).

Katara is in some sort of relationship with zuko. It's unclear if she's his wife, his girlfriend, or his mistress, but its not hidden. People know about her and her relationship with him.

(Putting the rest under a cut so I don't clog up the feed lol)

If she was his mistress it's kinda held in that way that kings had other women they'd sleep with along with their queen and it was just an accepted, albeit kinda shitty, thing to do.

Anyway, katara is also pregnant, which was kind of an underlying "plot point" and would return home to her family every day to check on them.

It's revealed here that katara is basically the only reason her family is doing pretty well for themselves. Her relationship with zuko means that they have enough to get by. It's also noted that her whole family(katara, sokka, their dad, their grandma, and some made up new family members) all live in one house. So its clear they're still kind of struggling.

It's also revealed, through a conversation with her grandma, that the only otehr reason katara is with zuko, is because it was part of a bigger plan. She and her family are part of a resistance against the fire nation, and when they realized zuko liked katara, wanted her to infiltrate and pretend to be in love with him.

The plan had clearly gone on longer then anticipated, for whatever reason, and katara is conflicted because she actually does have feelings for him now, not fo mention she's pregnant with his child.

There's a "scene" either at the beginning or after this reveal that shows zuko in a meeting with other fire nation officials, including his father and sister, and that either he was against one of their plans but is ignored or his plan gets shut down(I don't remember which). Katara always sits in on these meetings with him, and afterwards, as everyone is getting up to leave, she leans her forehead against his and whispers that everything will be alright. This is why we can tell she truly does care about him, to some degree. But it's also a moment showing potential manipulation, like shes pretending to care. It's supposed to be a little of both, she needs him to trust her but she does still love him.

After all of this, we cut to a scene in a forest/swamp. This part is kind of blurry in my head, but basically, it's a secret meeting. Katara is dressed similarly to the painted lady, her and a few other resistance members, including Sokka, Suki, and Hakoda, are planning an ambush on Zuko and his family, who are supposed to travel down a path nearby. Katara is a key part of this plan, as she's the only waterbender, and she knows this. She nods along to everything regarding the plan and she goes over important points herself as well. But as everyone else continues talking, katara is having doubts. She loves Zuko. She's about to have his child. She cares for him. But she needs to free the world from the fire nations clutches as well. She doesn't want to kill Zuko, but she has to in order to help others. She's hesitating.

They continue with the plan anyway, and through the foliage that katara and the others are hiding in, we see a carriage making its way down the path. Zuko and his family(or at least his father) are in there.

Everyone is getting ready to fight, to jump out and attack. We see a close up shot of Katara, conflicted. She's still not sure if she can go through with this, if she can kill Zuko.

And then I woke up.

[sttoru]

𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐎𝐋𝐃-𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐎𝐘 !

⟣ sypnosis. you were curious if your boyfriend would pass a ‘loyalty test’ that you’ve seen on social media and you decide to see for yourself, only to discover something much more . . . heartwarming.

⟣ tags. gojo satoru x female reader. mostly tooth rotting fluff. talks about cheating / a sprinkle of trust issues from reader. the rest is satoru just being lovesick.

⟣ note. uhhhh… idk just a random idea i got at three am on a saturday night after being woken up from a nightmare >_< enjoy .

you don’t think satoru would actually ever cheat on you. your curiosity just got the best of you when you saw that one girl do a ‘loyalty test’ on her boyfriend. it was quite simple—testing if your partner would hand you their phone without being suspiciously defensive.

therefore you walked into satoru’s room and spotted him laying on his side, his back facing the door. he didn’t have any earphones in so you could hear the sounds of a movie playing on the phone he held in his hands.

he seemed so peaceful and content that you were already feeling bad for disturbing him with your silly test. you moved to sit on the edge of the bed and cleared your throat, making your presence known as if the sorcerer hadn’t sensed it moments ago.

“are you cheating on me?”

blunt and straight to the point.

satoru pauses the show on his phone and looks at you like you had said the most outrageous thing there is (to him, you really did). he drops the device on the bed and turns his body to face yours; “well—hello to you too, baby.”

he runs a hand through his hair before sitting up against the headboard with a raised brow, one hand cautiously reaching out for you. satoru was thinking about all the things he has said or done previously that could’ve possibly make you think he was screwing around behind your back. his mind worked fast, though he couldn’t come up with any logical explanation.

“answer my question please, ‘toru.” you mumble, feeling slightly guilty for doing this to your lover. you could see the confusion plastered on his face.

“no, i am not.” satoru shakes his head whilst holding your hand in his, thumb brushing against the back of it, “what makes you think that?”

you weren’t about to say ‘oh nevermind then! just a dumb thing that i saw on tiktok’—no, there was still one thing left to do. even if you’re so super sure that your boyfriend was hiding nothing from you. maybe there was an one in a million chance that your intuition was wrong. or maybe it’s just your underlying trust issues speaking.

“uhh, just wanted.. to check.. i guess?” you clear your throat and take a deep inhale before putting your hand out to satoru, palm up.

the white-haired sorcerer looks from your hand to you, and back. he doesn’t know what that indicated, so he takes a simple guess; satoru places his chin on your palm, giving you an amused kind of grin. you raise an eyebrow as he rests his head on your hand—which wasn’t what you wanted to gain from your gesture.

but you couldn’t blame him. it was cute that that was the first thing he thought of doing.

“you’re always welcome to check. got nothin’ to hide anyway.” he shrugs, not offended by your accusation in the slightest. you see the way his blue eyes look up at you—in a way that shows his pure, unadulterated adoration for you.

you nod and scratch satoru under his chin, to which he smiles and closes his eyes, enjoying the tingling touch, “then can i .. look through your phone?”

without an ounce of hesitation, he had placed his phone unlocked in your hand. satoru doesn’t care much about privacy anyway—you’re his girlfriend, you’re the only one allowed to know every single thing about him, “of course, baby.”

your eyes land on the screen and your jaw drops as you see his home screen; a picture of you up close, sleeping with your cheek squished against his arm, own hands resting near your head and . . . is that drool trickling down your chin?

“oops, sorry, you were too cute not to take a picture of.” satoru chuckles as he sees your reaction. he lays back on his side, elbow propped on the pillow with his head resting against his hand—watching you go through his phone with a relaxed look.

you roll your eyes playfully before starting your search. your finger swiped across the screen and landed on the messenger app satoru uses. you click on it and scroll through his chats, but don’t find anything out of the ordinary. he recently talked to you, his first year students, nanami and shoko.

you curiously tap on his chat with shoko and don’t read anything interesting at first glance. you scroll up and take note of how satoru was the one who kept most of the conversation going. shoko’s replies were much shorter and curt—straight to the point.

but then your eyes land on a conversation from two weeks ago. satoru had showed shoko a bunch of selfies you had sent him that same day. he was telling her how ‘cute’ and ‘pretty’ you were, practically bragging about you being his girl.

you scroll up some more and see that he’s done the same many times before; sending shoko pictures of you and kind of rambling to her about how beautiful you are.

shoko—being the good friend she is—indulged into his little lovesick ramblings and agreed with every thing satoru said—even complimenting your looks herself. you begun to get embarrassed at this unexpected revelation.

when going through more of his chats with other people, you realise how much satoru loves to talk about you. you couldn’t possibly count the many times satoru had refused invitations from his students or other friends simply because he wanted to hang out with you instead.

you discovered that he even skipped two or three important meetings at the school to go spend the day with you—nanami scolding him via text each time he did so.

“damn..” you murmur and glance up at your lover after closing his messaging app. satoru was staring right back at you with the biggest grin you’ve ever seen on him.

he wasn’t embarrassed about you reading some of those cheesy and sappy texts at all. in fact, he was happy. he wants you to know how much he loves you (as if he doesn’t show you exactly that every day of the week).

“go on, sweets.” satoru nods towards his phone, encouraging you to continue your inspection. your eyes dart back towards the screen and you shyly swipe and scroll some more, eventually ending up in his gallery.

the first things you noticed: two albums dedicated to you. all were filled with hundreds of pictures of you (and him). one was named ‘my love,’ the other ‘me&my love’ — both with a heart at the end. scrolling through them, you noticed many images you hadn’t even realised were ever taken.

many of those pictures were also favourited in his gallery.

you nibble on your bottom lip and leave the gallery app even more flustered than before. you aimlessly click around some more on his phone. what really surprised you most was that you were named in his reminder app.

there were tons—all added in one long list. some were so pure that you couldn’t contain the slight tears in your eyes;

‘bring gf gifts’, ‘remind gf that she’s amazing’, ‘bring gf lunch’, ‘send gf daily selfie’, ‘daily cuddles w gf (if she wants)’, ‘give gf big smooch (important!)’, ‘check up on gf when away on business’, — satoru doesn’t actually need to have those reminders on his phone. his mind is so full of you that he’ll automatically remember to do everything, almost on autopilot. he just has those there for… well, just in case he somehow ends up forgetting.

you lock his phone after seeing enough and give it back to your lover. you wordlessly crawl over to him on the bed and snuggle up to his body, head resting on his chest.

“sorry.” you quietly apologise. you knew he wasn’t hiding anything, but the fact that you still went ahead and tried out that ‘loyalty test’ on someone as loyal and loving as satoru makes your heart ache a bit. especially after discovering just how smitten he’s with you.

“dunno why you’re apologising—but please don’t.” satoru whispers and rubs your back in a soothing manner, kissing the top of your head and smiling against your scalp afterwards, “it’s fiiine.”

he’s entertained by the reactions to your discoveries, even if those are but mere indications to the actual unending and undying love he holds for you in his heart.

you lift your head up and look at satoru. your bottom lip stuck out, corners of your mouth twitching slightly whilst your eyes started to get a bit glassy. you really felt bad—yet you also felt appreciated on the other hand. if you didn’t go through with your curious idea, you wouldn’t have gotten to know about any of this.

“aww, my sweet, sweet girl.” satoru coos and places two kisses right below each eye, tapping your nose with a grin. he adores the way you look and if it wasn’t for his self control, he’d have nibbled on those cheeks of yours out of playful aggression.

it’s then that satoru remembers one of his daily tasks; one he hadn’t properly done today.

you were caught off guard once more as satoru’s lips crashed down onto yours—no warning given whatsoever. his big hands held onto your cheeks, thumb rubbing the skin there whilst his glossy lips moved against yours in a gentle yet much sloppy way.

“there,” the white-haired man hums in content as he pulls away, giggling once he sees a bit of his saliva coat your mouth. he wipes it away with his thumb, “your smooch of the day.”

you couldn’t help but laugh at the exaggerated cringy way satoru said the latter—your boyfriend laughing right alongside you afterwards.

satoru wasn’t done with you, however. he had many other daily tasks that were yet to be fulfilled.

[astrolook]

🧠Mercury in Synastry - Are You in Sync or Lost in Translation📡

Note: These are all my personal observations and patterns over the years. Take what resonates and leave the rest!

Mercury in 1st - One person’s thoughts live rent-free in the other’s identity. Mercury person doesn’t have to try hard to be understood. Their words just land. Mercury's random rambles or half-finished thoughts seem to make sense to the house person. The house person just gets them, often without Mercury needing to overexplain. The house person feels like Mercury is speaking through them. Mercury person might even verbalize things the house person felt for years but couldn’t put into words. It’s like Mercury's thoughts help the house person hear their own identity more clearly. On the flip side, the Mercury person may talk too much about themselves, mistaking self-expression for connection. The house person can feel like they’re just a mirror, not a participant. It’s less dialogue, more ego with a microphone.

Keywords: expressive, talkative, mentally stimulating, open book, fast connection, ego-driven, self-centered talk, over-sharing, opinion overload, verbal identity, immediate understanding, me-first mindset.

Mercury in 2nd - The conversation doesn’t always feel natural. It’s like Mercury's thoughts are walking through molasses like slowed down, cautious, and maybe a little off-key. Mercury might second-guess how they express themself with the house person, wondering if they’re making sense or if their words are landing the wrong way. There’s just a mismatch in how communication flows. It can be frustrating, like trying to build a bridge when you don’t even agree on what material to use. The house person might even zone out. Mercury's ideas can feel out of sync. Conversations can feel like bargaining chips. Values clash subtly, yet persistently. What’s said sounds practical, but underneath, both may feel like they’re not quite on the same frequency.

Keywords: steady logic, practical talk, value alignment, consistent thinker, trustworthy tone, rigid mindset, slow to open, communication hoarder, hard to sway, cautious speech, verbal conservatism, safe but stuck.

Mercury in 3rd - Mercury would suddenly find themself talking more than usual and enjoying it. There’s something about the house person that just opens the floodgates. Words come easily, thoughts flow freely, and even their weirdest takes feel safe to share. Mercury might go from small talk to niche conspiracy theories in 30 minutes and somehow the house person is still keeping up. Mercury would feel mentally alive around them, like their presence wakes up their brain and gives it caffeine. The house person can feel like Mercury turned their brain’s lights on. Unless the house person is particularly quiet or introverted, chances are the Mercury person makes them feel more socially engaged. Even if they’re not much of a talker, Mercury's energy can draw them out and make conversation feel more natural and fun. On the flip side, it can be all talk, no emotional substance. The connection risks becoming purely mental, with banter replacing vulnerability. It’s fun until you realize no one’s saying anything that actually matters.

Keywords: lively banter, witty, curious, mentally playful, idea-rich, scattered thoughts, surface-level talk, too many tabs open, restless mind, info overload, chatter fatigue, brilliant but distracted.

Mercury in 4th - Mercury's thoughts match the house person's aesthetic. Mercury is not trying to impress, they’re just existing, and that’s more than enough. It’s the kind of comfort that sneaks up on them. Mercury's mind slips into the house person's personal space like it was made to be there. The house person doesn’t have to rearrange anything, Mercury just works in your life. Mercury's thoughts blend in with house person routines, their moods, and their weird little rituals. The house person doesn’t mind making space for them. Honestly, the house person barely notices as it already feels like Mercury lives here. On the flip side, Mercury might unintentionally trigger emotional memories or poke at the house person’s private world. It’s not always welcome. Home feels invaded, even if it’s just by words.

Keywords: emotionally intuitive, cozy talk, nostalgic, safe communication, vulnerable mind, emotionally reactive, passive-aggressive, oversensitive, trigger-prone, inner child talk, deep-rooted opinions, mind meets memory.

Mercury in 5th - The Mercury person brings the sparkle. They speak, and it feels like a compliment wrapped in sunshine. Jokes land. Ideas bounce. Their words have timing, rhythm, and charm. They love being the reason the house person laughs without warning. The house person soaks it up. They feel seen, hyped up, brighter just from hearing that voice. Talking becomes play. Flirting happens by accident. The vibe is high, even on boring Tuesdays. Neither wants the conversation to end, and it rarely does. There’s always “one more thing” to say. Even silence has a wink in it. On the flip side, everything turns into a joke or a flirt. Depth gets avoided with a smile. It’s charming, but when real feelings need expressing, no one knows how to break the fun facade. Can be one-sided.

Keywords: fun communication, flirty tone, creativity boost, uplifting ideas, magnetic voice, attention-seeking, dramatic speech, performative logic, ego in every sentence, jokes as shields, charming but shallow, playful spin.

Mercury in 6th - The Mercury person feels focused around the house person. Their thoughts get tidier. Conversations stick to the point. Tasks get done. Lists get made. It’s less flirting, more “Did you eat today?” The house person finds this quietly reassuring. They see the Mercury person as dependable, thoughtful, and steady. The vibe isn’t wild or dramatic. It’s calm, capable, and weirdly comforting. It's not movie-romance, but it’s the kind of connection that remembers your birthday and brings snacks. For two people who value showing up over showing off, this works. It’s routine, but in the best way. Stability speaks louder than sweet talk here. Nobody’s ghosting anyone. The side effect is that this overlay can become dry and hyper-functional. The relationship feels more like project management than romance. Communication is useful, but emotionally sterile.

Keywords: practical thinker, helpful, detail-focused, reliable speech, structured conversation, too rigid, dry talk, over-critical, boring routine, nitpicky logic, mental exhaustion, emotional avoidance.

Mercury in 7th - The Mercury person feels seen but not judged. Their words come out smoother, clearer, calmer. There's trust in the exchange. No need to perform, no pressure to impress. Just a real connection. The house person leans in easily. They’re drawn to the Mercury person's mind that's curious, open, and receptive. Conversations feel mutual, balanced, and even therapeutic. Over time, this turns into an intellectual bond that holds steady. Talk deepens, even when life gets loud. Arguments don’t end the connection, they refine it. Together, both of you speak the language of “us.” On the flip side, there’s a tendency to keep things “nice.” Surface-level harmony can block authentic, messy honesty. When conflict arises, it’s often deflected with polished words instead of the real truth.

Keywords: balanced communication, thoughtful, clear agreements, mutual respect, mentally aligned, people-pleasing, conflict avoidant, too diplomatic, rehearsed responses, fairness obsession, love-as-debate, relationship-speak.

Mercury in 8th - The Mercury person speaks with impact, sometimes too much. Their words hit nerves, stir thoughts, trigger quiet shifts. They don’t mean to go that deep...but they always do. Control sneaks in. The urge to direct the flow, to keep the upper hand, is real. The house person doesn’t brush things off. They hear everything and store it. They respond carefully, often calculating their words like emotional chess moves. Together, the communication is clear but heavy. It rarely stays surface-level. Even casual talk feels laced with subtext. Nothing stays light for long. Great for strategy. Risky for romance. One word can open a door or slam it shut. Talk turns intense quickly, and not always in a safe way. Power plays can creep into the dynamic. There’s a fine line between deep connection and subtle manipulation. Common in toxic relationships and can have stalker-ish energy on one side.

Keywords: intense dialogue, probing questions, deep mind merge, raw honesty, transformative talk, manipulative speech, over-analyzing, paranoia, controlling tone, verbal power games, secrets spilled, psychic tension, social media stalker.

Mercury in 9th - The Mercury person feels inspired here. Ideas stretch. Conversations drift into meaning, morals, myths, and miles away. They love sharing what they know, and they really do know a lot. The house person listens wide-eyed. They feel expanded just by being nearby. The Mercury person makes the world seem bigger, more colorful, and more worth exploring. It’s the kind of dynamic where learning feels like flirting, and dreaming out loud is a love language. The talk never stays small. Every chat is a mini road trip. Even silence feels like it's thinking.

Keywords: expansive mind, inspiring talk, future-focused, wise words, optimistic tone, preachy, unrealistic, opinionated, overly abstract, lost in philosophy, too much theory, life-as-lecture.

Mercury in 10th - The Mercury person finds themselves slipping into “serious mode” with the house person. They talk goals, growth, and LinkedIn energy. Casual chat feels weirdly off-topic. The house person doesn’t mind, they admire the focus, even feel motivated by it. But both may start to notice the vibe is all ambition, no fluff. Conversations feel structured, sometimes a bit formal. You respect each other’s minds, but someone needs to bring up something fun, or at least mildly chaotic. It’s giving career fair. Not really romantic. But hella productive. In romance, both prefer to take things seriously and long-term goals can be discussed among them.

Keywords: goal-driven talk, intelligent presence, clear plans, career conversations, serious tone, cold logic, status-focused, emotionally distant, calculated speech, networking mode, impressive but impersonal.

Mercury in 11th - The Mercury person feels at ease here. Words come freely. The vibe is relaxed, even playful. There’s no pressure to impress, just a natural rhythm of thought and acceptance. The house person genuinely enjoys the way Mercury speaks. It feels like hearing from a friend you actually want to text back. There’s patience, kindness, and space to be weird. Conversations feel like inside jokes waiting to happen. It’s a connection built on mutual respect and shared mental space. No drama, just understanding. You grow together, not apart. It’s less about sparks, more about staying power. In some cases, friendly but emotionally distant. Communication flows easily but often avoid anything uncomfortable. The connection risks staying stuck in the “friend zone,” even in a romantic bond.

Keywords: open-minded, friendly tone, tolerant, mentally flexible, idealistic, emotionally detached, too casual, stuck in friend zone, dodging intimacy, overthinking connection, dreamer logic, connection with conditions.

Mercury in 12th - The Mercury person picks up on things, too many things, maybe. Unspoken thoughts, strange dreams, buried emotions...it’s all loud in their head. They don’t always mean to psychoanalyze, but it happens. The house person feels exposed. Sometimes understood, other times a little too seen. It can feel like someone is reading your diary before you even write it. If trust isn’t solid, this gets slippery fast. Still, the intuitive bond here is rare. You both speak volumes in silence. The connection runs deep but so does the fog. Thoughts are felt more than said, leading to misread intentions. The psychic link is strong, but so is the confusion, projection, and unspoken anxiety. Can be one-sided in some cases.

Keywords: psychic link, intuitive talk, emotional telepathy, dream-thoughts, unspoken understanding, miscommunication, blurred boundaries, hidden meaning, projection, paranoia, mental fog, internalized speech, one-sided mental obsession, losing sleep.

🌙💬 For readings, check out my pinned post for pricing and more info 💫💸

[astrologydray]

Mercury Through the degrees🧠🗣️

Mercury rules the mind, communication, thoughts, speech, learning, and processing. It governs how you think, speak, write, observe, and make sense of the world. It’s the inner narrator, the mental vibe, and your style of expression — from texting to teaching to talking sh*t😭. Key themes: Intelligence, humor, curiosity, analysis, communication style, how you learn and connect ideas🤌🏾.

Mercury Through the Degrees:

0° – Raw intellect. Learning through instinct. Speaks first, processes later.

1° – Curious to the point of obsession. Constantly asking “why?”

2° – Grounded thinker. Speaks with purpose, rarely wastes words.

3° – Fast-talking, fast-thinking. Scans a room like a radar.

4° – Emotionally intelligent. Communicates with care and subtlety.

5° – Witty and theatrical. Natural performer with words.

6° – Sharp, precise, detail-obsessed. Grammar police energy.

7° – Charming AF. Talks their way into (and out of) anything.

8° – Deep thinker. Obsessed with the truth beneath the surface.

9° – Bold speaker. Unfiltered, philosophical, and blunt.

10° – Strategic communicator. Knows what to say and when to say it.

11° – Quirky, original voice. Thinks ahead of the curve.

12° – Gentle tone but potent messages. Low-key psychic communicator.

13° – Unapologetic thoughts. Mischievous, clever, and cutting.

14° – Smooth talker. Can sell an idea like it’s gospel.

15° – Balanced thinker. Knows both logic and vibe.

16° – Obsessed with patterns. Memorizes what most overlook.

17° – Highly persuasive. Voice carries weight and conviction.

18° – Thinks like a poet. Expresses the soul, not just the facts.

19° – Speaks in codes. Hidden meanings, inside jokes, layers.

20° – Calm and collected. Rarely speaks without purpose.

21° – Inventive mind. Constantly creating new ways to say old things.

22° – Mastermind energy. Dangerous if underestimated.

23° – A little chaotic, very iconic. Communicates with flair.

24° – Soft-spoken rebel. Says radical things in a chill tone.

25° – Talks in timelines and long-term strategy.

26° – Wise beyond their years. Spiritual insight mixed with logic.

27° – Manifestor with words. What they say often becomes real.

28° – Stubborn mind. Doesn’t adapt easily, but once set — unshakeable.

29° – The communicator who’s lived lifetimes. Final boss of the mind. Speaks with power and presence.

[yappaccinocookie]

the strongest version of you.

yn cookie who awakens theirs fullest potential (like golden cheese and dark cacao)... ancients and beasts react to? (maybe gingerbrave and co too if u want!!)

of course you can! i did the same layout as the last request i made, since doing full oneshots for each cookie might actually kill me. I LEFT FOR A WHOLE 1 MONTH, IM SO SORRY. listen, this did not specify anything romantic, thus it's not romantic. the beasts are cruel, and it's obvious in their lore no this is not yandere is plain truth. sorry if some are short, I haven't gotten back into crk, and yk that's not rlly good!

LOWERCASE INTENDED!

ANCIENTS —

— White Lily

"Amazing... You found the strongest version of yourself!"

white lily cookie is overjoyed, she's always sensed that you're not to your fullest the first time she's seen you. she's very supportive and tries her best to help you get used to all of your new powers! don't expect any fights though, she's quite cautious. she trusts you that you can fight, but white lily doesn't trust herself.

her friends had an awakening like yours before, it all still feels unreal to her. you will definitely have those buddy–buddy sleep over conversations where there is no sleep, just psychology questions that make you wonder if she really is sane or if dark enchantress took all the sanity with her too.

— Golden Cheese

"Really? Does this mean we can battle!"

the shine in her eyes when you said that was absolutely priceless, tell her everything about it! power always amazes no matter no matter who its form, foe or ally! golden cheese has also awakened her fullest potential like you, and she's proud you were able to do it! saying how you guys are the coolest duo ever.

and of course, she's battle hungry! since she's unlocked her fullest potential and you've unlocked yours, it's only logical you guys battle right? it's to see the difference your strength. imagine how longer battles would last (and how many natural disasters it could cause in earth bread) don't worry you can entertain her shenanigans, but you shouldn't let her go overboard.

— Dark Cacao

"Well done."

dark cacao cookie doesn’t openly gush about your newfound power, but his respect for you deepens tenfold. he acknowledges your growth with a firm nod and a simple, “well done.” behind the scenes, he ensures you have everything you need to master your abilities, from intense training regimens to personal advice on staying disciplined.

he might test you in combat, not to belittle you, but to see how far you’ve come. don't worry, he won't mock you if you won't land a hit! he's got the patience of a snail. dark cacao will keep training and training with you until you're able to do more than your simple basic attacks.

he sees you as a vital pillar for the future of earthbread, he's seen you grow into this strong cookie with their own life ahead of them! more heroic duties to come, he's more than proud of you.

— Hollyberry

"Never hold back now! Cookies need more of us!"

hollyberry cookie is your biggest cheerleader. the moment your powers manifested, she was already planning a celebration in your honor. dialing everybody to come to your party, dialing fine arts to paint you 500 paintings to post as relics for guild museums. hollyberry throws a massive feast, complete with stories, music, and enough food to feed an army.

she insists on sparring with you, but it’s less about testing your strength and more about having fun. she laughs heartily every time you manage to surprise her.

she brags about you to anyone who will listen. “did you see them? that’s MY friend! stronger than ten hundred cookies combined!" she makes sure everyone knows how proud she is of you.

— Pure Vanilla

"My dear friend... I am so proud of you."

if you thought the others were so sweet, then you haven't seen the purest cookie of them all speak. they aren't even close to what our kings got! pure vanilla is absolutely overjoyed and emotional about your transformation. he probably tears up when he sees the extent of your growth.

he becomes even more protective of you, not because he doubts your strength, but because he knows the burden that comes with such power. he spends a lot of time talking to you about balance, reminding you to care for yourself as much as you care for others. pure vanilla is your go-to for advice on controlling your powers. he offers patient guidance and reassures you during moments of self-doubt.

he's not one to give you an extravagant celebration, because it's not his right to do such things. he'll buy you celebratory gifts on his own though, but considering this cookie is absolutely rich idk how many small gifts becomes one too many. purevanilla won't even talk about the awakening to anyone if you tell him not to!

BEASTS —

— Shadow Milk

"Oh, so you've decided to stop pretending you're ordinary?"

sure you've gotten your strongest potential, but for beasts it isn't really a problem considering they are much stronger than normal cookies. hes not impressed at all. he thrives on making others doubt themselves, and your newfound strength is no exception. (do not bring up golden cheese vs burning spice he could've won she got plot armor and although I'm happy she's alive him winning made more sense)

despite his dismissive attitude, he’s intrigued. he watches you closely, studying your every move, though he’d never admit it. “you’re an interesting little puzzle,” he mutters, half to himself. being all supernatural and ultra powerful doesn't protect you from this beasts horrifying teases, he'll ask you if you're a princess now or if you can talk to animals, that's like 2 from the several nonsense he's asked you daily.

he's actually quite hittable, hit him he won't hit back honestly, but if you ever call him unfunny? he's weeping and rolling on the floor (as a joke) saying "YOU MAY HAVE GOTTEN A LITTLE BIT STRONGER, BUT UR SENSE OF HUMOR WILL ALWAYS BE WEAK"

— Burning Spice

"That's it? I expected more!"

he actually gets intrigued fast, just like his counterpart he is also interested in strength. considering how he got wrecked by his counterpart because of her awakening, he might actually use his time to train with you.

burning spice is all about fighting everything until there is nothing left to fight, he'll push his limits. even yours! just say when u need a break, he'll say something corny like "I expected more!" and then run off and wait until ur done doing weak cookie stuff. hes not inhumane, hes just like you. it may feel unreal be he was once just a bunch of dough until the soul jam was created.

— Mystic Flour

"the world remains unchanged."

wins the idgaf war, she lost from that guy, but does not wish to prove herself again. mystic flour does not want to pressure herself with more nonsense, and probably doesn't want to for you either.

she recognizes your strength with a simple "impressive" or "fascinating" without putting much emotion into her words, then never look into it ever again.

Silent Salt and Eternal Sugar do not seem to be here, try again later?

[godmadeaterribleerror]

A Long, Long Time

Main Masterlist - Bucky Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, smut (p in v, fingering), light angst, fluff, humor, action, no use of y/n, friends to lovers, post-TFATWS, past Steve Rodgers/Reader, truth serums.

Summary: The truth doesn't hurt. It's not freeing, either. It just sits in your chest, until it's pried out, and you're looking it the eyes with nowhere to run, and Bucky knows you love him.

But he's not running either.

Author's Note: I love making scenarios. I love making Bucky feel loved. Kevin Feige I'm in your walls.

Word Count: 9.2k

You’ve never been good at fighting for things. 

It’s not because you’re weak, or don’t care, or don’t have anything to fight for, it’s just not what you do.

Fighting for things means that you’ve already lost them. That you had something, and you weren’t smart or good enough to keep it, and you’d lost it. Failed. Had a chance to do it right and destroyed it, held something in the palm of your hand and crushed it to pieces.

It’s not logical, or reasonable, but it’s what you do. You’d tried to explain it to Steve once, and he’d frowned at you like you were insane.

“If you had it, doesn’t that mean it was worth fighting to have?”

You’d shaken your head, turning your fork between your hands with a long sigh. “No, it means I had it, then… I guess dropped it. If it was worth having, I wouldn’t have dropped it.”

“What if you didn’t drop it?” Steve had raised his brows, and you’d stabbed your fork into your food, almost chewing right through your cheek. 

“But I did.”

“How about if it’s indestructible?”

You’d given him a flat look. “Anything can be destructible if you’re destructive enough.”

“Then what if someone knocked it out of your hands-”

“I feel like you’re getting too caught up on the metaphor,” You’d mumbled, and Steve had shrugged.

“It’s just not making sense. You’re saying you had it. If you love something, you fight for it. To keep it.”

You’d hummed. “I thought if you loved something, you let it go?”

“That’s a loose rule. You can’t be letting everything you love go, or else you’ll end up alone.”

Maybe you’d just never loved something. Maybe whatever you’d been told to read as love was wrong, or you’re just defective and not capable of the raw, tear-the-world apart love that Steve had been talking about. And everything falls through your fingers because it can sense that, and fighting for it would be holding it hostage.

“You’re not going to fix me in one conversation, Steven.” You’d muttered, kicking his shin under the table. “Eat your pancakes.”

Steve had sighed, but listened. 

Then, years later, he’d gone back in time to Peggy, and you hadn’t bothered to stop him. 

You hadn’t loved him, but it had been the closest thing you’d ever had to something. More than just a body for warmth, more than just flat word for the sake of speaking, more than just company for the prayer of not being stranded. For a very long, long time you’d been certain that Steve had been your shot. That you’d missed it because you had horrible aim and sand for bullets, and now you were alone just like he’d warned you’d be.

And you’d been wrong. You’d been so horribly, impossibly wrong, because you’d been right. All the wires and nerves had gotten tangled and crossed in your body, and you’d been right about the wrong thing, and you’d ended up so lost that the sky had gone black until one star blinked at you, and guided you home.

You’d never loved Steve. He’d never been your shot. 

And when love had hit you—really, truly fucking hit you—it hadn’t been like the train or comet or blow to the gut people had always told you it would be.

It had been clear. The world had gotten sharper, and colors had been more vibrant, and you’d known. 

You’d never been in love before. 

You were in love now.

In half a second, you’d fallen into it, and you’d never be able to crawl back out. You didn’t know how to fight for it, but you could wait for it. You could lie here like you were in a grave and wait for flowers to bloom above you, and then maybe he’d pick them and know you’d grown them for him.

Because Bucky doesn’t know that you love him. You don’t know how to tell him, either, because every other time you’ve said it suddenly seems like at lie, and no words are big enough anymore. 

And Sam had fucked it. One day you’re going to shove him into the ocean or something, because he’d found you after the Blip and told Bucky you were the girl. The one that Steve had found in a crowd and kept, who was smarter and kinder than someone named Sharon, who they’d been supposed to find and take care of, but gotten sidetracked.

That would’ve been like a noose on your heart, in you’d really heard that part of Sam’s sentence. That Steve had told him to find you and look after you, but then left anyway, only for Sam to completely forget.

But you hadn’t heard him.

You’d been staring at Bucky, and the world had been clear, and you hadn’t been sure if it was a ringing in your ears or some sort of fucked up, heavenly choir. 

Maybe it had been adrenaline, in that first moment. You’d told yourself, over and over, that maybe it had just been the rush of meeting him, because Steve had told you so much already.

But then you’d followed them back to New York, and it had been love. It had been long, heavy love that was stronger than anything you’d ever felt, and made you do stupid, pathetic things to just keep yourself in Bucky’s orbit. It started with being whatever he and Sam asked you to be, because you didn’t feel expendable, but you wanted to be irreplaceable. You’d made yourself so useful in every way possible. With research and computers and undercover work where you got to hang off Bucky’s arm and smile at him, and he’d smile back like he loved you, and it was just the job but fuck, it was like a drug.

Being in love had made you smarter, as the months passed. You could do stitches and relocate joints, fly a plane and read in two new languages, and an average hacking job but an outstanding acting one. Your cooking has gotten better, mostly making different kinds of eggs, because it’s something you do with Bucky once a week, and you can play the piano, because he’d mentioned he liked it once. 

You were going to rot away here. Loving Bucky in silence and never saying anything, and it would be a soft and gentle death because Bucky does like you. You’re friends, and he’s called you important to him and yelled at you for being reckless, but not wanting you to die isn’t the same pure, wrathful love you feel for him. 

But you’re the girl. Steve’s girl. That was left behind and fell into Bucky’s care. That he keeps around for you—some unknown shift had occurred, and you know you’re not being allowed to remain in Bucky’s orbit because Steve asked him to keep you there—but as a friend. 

You can be a friend. You can be whatever the fuck Bucky needs you to be, just as long as you’re allowed to stay here.

And being his friend is easy. Doing things for him is easier. Loving him, even in numbing silence, is the simplest thing in the world.

“This is so fucking stupid.” Bucky had grumbled last week, glowering at his paper, and Sam had shrugged. 

“I think it’s fun.”

Bucky had shot him a glare. “We’re using glitter gel pens, Sam, you know this is stupid.”

“I happen to like glitter gel pens.” Sam had shot you a grin across the table as he said your name, and you’d narrowed your eyes in a silent warning he’d completely ignored. “Do you think it’s stupid?”

“The pens or the lists?”

Sam’s grin had grown. “Lists?”

You’d shrugged, dropping your gaze to your own blank sheet of paper. “They’re kinda dumb, but I’m still going to do it.”

“See, Buck?” Sam had raised his brows at Bucky’s scowl, then turned back to you. “How about the pens?”

“I like them.” You’d spun yours between your fingers, trying not the feel Bucky’s gaze over your skin. “But I like glitter, and Bucky doesn’t-“

“I like glitter.” He’d grunted, scowling at his own pen. “But it doesn’t belong in pens. It’s impractical.”

Sam had rolled his eyes. “They can write, man, that’s all they gotta do.”

“Yeah, Buck. You have no whimsy.”

You’d smiled at him, and he’d returned it, but it had been the only smile he’d offered for the rest of the day. 

But the point hadn’t been to get him to smile. It had been to make him do the lists, because his therapist said it was important, and if he didn’t, he’d be in violation of his pardon conditions again. It had taken a very long, tense afternoon to get it done, but he’d handed his list to his therapist the next day, and you’d kept your crumbled in your jacket pocket since.

And you still weren’t fighting for things. 

You think it’s how you ended up here. In this warehouse, your head spinning and everything a little too bright.

You can’t really remember, and this might just be an incredibly odd dream. Your tongue feels loose in your mouth, your skin has an odd buzzing feel over it, and this couch is made of what’s probably velvet, and you’re pretty sure Spiderman is standing right next to you, holding your list.

Your list. He’s reading your list. No one’s supposed to read that list, and you almost broken Sam’s hand for trying, and you know Sam-

“What the- fuck-“

Spiderman looks up at you right as you topple off the couch, his eyes widening his suit.

“Oh, shoot, sorry, ma’am-“

He pulls you back up to your feet, this list still in his hands, and you’d try to grab it but your whole body feels like jelly and mist. Nothing in you but your thoughts, floating around and narrowing in on the list, why does Spiderman have your list-

“What-“ You groan as he sets you back on the couch, closing your eyes to try and ward off the bile rising up your throat. “Why- What is- What happened?”

“Um,” Spiderman’s voice cracks slightly, sounding almost uncertain. “You were poking around where civilians shouldn’t be, miss- And I was looking in the same lab-“

You frown, keeping your eyes squeezed shut. “Lab?”

“Yeah, uh, one of the secret evil government ones-“

“Fuck.”

It’s coming back in small, hazy pieces.

Bucky told you that you didn’t need to do this, but you’d done it anyway. You weren’t recognizable, and you were careful and smart, so you’d be in and out before Sam and Bucky realized you’d gone and the building’s security realized you weren’t there for a meeting.

Something had happened. You’d gotten the evidence you needed, and there had been vial or canister, and you’d knocked it over because your phone had started ringing, and it had been Bucky. You’d think you’d declined the call, or just let it ring to voicemail, but he’d sent you a very angry text seconds later.

He’d noticed you were gone faster than you thought he would. He’d worked out what you were doing, and he was coming to grab you because you were being stupid, and when he’d called you a second time, you’d- 

You’d thrown your phone in panic. It had broken the canister. And everything had gone black.

“Do you, uh,” Spiderman clears his throat from somewhere in front of you. “You look like you remember what happened?”

You give a half-nod, letting out a long breath. “Where am I?”

“You’re in my warehouse.” 

You open your eyes at that, and Spiderman shakes his head. 

“It’s a safe warehouse. Really safe. The safest. You collapsed, ma’am. I couldn’t just, uh- leave you on the floor? Alone? But-“ He looks down to your list, then back to you with an expression that’s somehow nervous through the mask. “May I please ask you a question?”

You can’t really go anywhere. And he’s already read your list, so there’s not much to lose.

“Sure.”

“Does the Bucky from your list have a metal arm? Because it’s not a- uh- I’ve only met one guy named Bucky, and he tried to punch me because we were doing this big fight at an airport, and he had a metal arm, and he’s not- uh- he seemed alright, but it was super complicated, and if this,” he points to your list, his voice growing higher and higher by the second. “Is the Bucky I know, then- uh- Is it?”

“Yeah,“ you let out a long, breath, and something is cloudy over your skull. Your Bucky does have a metal arm. “It is.”

“Oh, okay.” Spiderman blinks at you, then the list. “You, uh- You guys seem close, then. That’s cool.”

For a second, you want to lie. Just say you’re not that close, just co-workers, and Spiderman doesn’t need to be thinking about Bucky because it’s really, totally nothing.

But you can’t lie. The words just die at the top of your chest, and you can’t even bite your tongue and swallow the truth, or you’ll choke on your own spit.

“It’s- I- I love him.”

You’ve never said that aloud before. Not even to the mirror. But Spiderman just shrugs like it’s nothing, and then gestures to your list.

“Yeah, I uh- I worked that out, ma’am. He’s on here like ten times.” Spiderman’s eyes narrow on the paper. “Upstate, where you can see the stars. Bucky’s ass and arms. Candles. My blue vase. The color blue in general. The color brown, too. Bucky’s hair when he actually uses his fucking conditioner. Bucky’s eyes. Bucky when he’s sleepy and his Brooklyn accent slips. Cotton Candy ice cream.” Spiderman looks up at you with a nod. “Oh, that stuff is really good, there’s a place in Queens that makes it, and it tastes like- well, cotton candy-“ 

“That’s nice.” You mumble. “Can you please- just- I already know what the list says-“

“Right, of course, sorry.” Spiderman pauses, bouncing slightly on his feet. “It’s a nice list though.”

You sigh. “I know. That was the point.”

“To make a nice list?”

“Yep.”

Spiderman sounds like he’s frowning. “That’s- uh- Why? I mean, you don’t have to tell-“

“It was for Bucky’s therapy. He had to make a list of all the good things in his life, so Sam and I did it with him.” 

You didn’t want to tell Spiderman that. He’d even been about to say you didn’t have to, but you did. He asked, and if you don’t say the truth, it feels as if all the oxygen will burn up in your lungs. 

That can’t be good.

“Hey, kid?” He sounds like a kid. And if he’s not, he doesn’t correct you. He only nods and takes a step closer, waiting for you to continue. “Do you know what I gassed myself with.”

“Um.” Spiderman swallows. “No? But I have a guess-“

“Is your guess truth gas? Because my guess is truth gas.”

“Yeah, it is. I mean, that’s my guess too. You’ve, uh, you’ve been really honest. Not that you’re not an honest person, I don’t know you, but I’ve asked a lot of personal questions-“

You give him a flat look. “You could stop doing that, you know.”

“Uh- Yeah. Sorry. I will.” Spiderman glances over his shoulder, then back to your list. “He’s gonna be looking for you, right? Mr. Barnes?”

“Probably.” You mumble, and Spiderman’s eyes widen.

“Are you guys, like, together-“

“No, we’re not.”

“Oh.” Spiderman gives you what’s likely meant to be an apologetic expression, “Sorry, that was another personal question. But, uh, if you’re not together, why-“

“We’re friends. And he was-“ You let out a breath through your teeth, and maybe you should just ask Spiderman to put tape over your mouth before this gets worse. “Not happy I was in the lab. And he has to protect me. He promised Steve.”

“You knew Captain Rogers? That’s so-“

“We were fuckbuddies.”

Spiderman’s eyes widen again. “Oh. Good- Good for you.”

He gives you a weak thumbs up, and you manage to pull your arms over your body into a tight hug.

“Do you, uh- Do you want me to call Mr. Barnes for you-“

“Yes, please.”

You list off Bucky’s number, and when he picks up in only seconds, you think you can hear him shouting at Spiderman through the phone. 

If you were lucky, you’d convince Spiderman to knock you out again. To eliminate the truth serum problem by force, and make it so you don’t have to look Bucky in the eyes when he arrives. But you suggest it, get shot down, and don’t push it further.

And when Bucky bursts into the warehouse—Sam right on his heels and looking far too amused for the situation—you really wish you’d fought harder. Fought at all. 

You can’t do this. You can’t listen to Bucky snap at Spiderman for being an idiot and kidnapping you, and watch Sam’s eyes light up when Spiderman explains the whole truth gas thing. 

“So anything we ask her, she’s gonna have to tell us the truth?”

Bucky’s jaw twitches as he glances at you. “Truth gas isn’t real. It’s just the aftereffects being knocked out-“

“It’s real, Mr. Barnes-“

“Only one way to find out.” Sam cuts off Spiderman with a wide grin, saying your name in a mockingly casual tone. “What was the best thing you and Cap ever did in bed?”

“Sam-“

Bucky looks like he’s going to throw Sam into the wall, but he’s too late. 

“Face-sitting.” When this is over, you’re going to shoot Sam yourself. “I liked the beard a lot.”

Sam’s grin looks like it’s going to start glowing. “Damn, good for you girl. You know, if you like beards-“

“Sam.” Bucky’s voice has dropped to almost a growl, and he’s not looking at you anymore. “Go start the car.”

There’s a long moment where they seem to be having a silent conversation—Sam wearing a shit eating grin and jerking his head in your direction, Bucky looking like he’s one brief moment away from strangling Sam with his bare hands—but before you can figure out what’s happening, Spiderman’s tapping on your shoulder.

You manage to angle your head to frown at him, and he’s holding your gaze in the silence, pointing to your list in his hands, then Bucky.

“Does he know you-“

“No.” You cut off the kid’s whisper before he can finish the sentence, because Bucky will fucking hear him. “Don’t say it.”

“Don’t-“ Spiderman pauses, then nods frantically. “Oh, yeah, sorry- Just- This is yours.”

He shoves the list back into your jacket, right as Sam walks outside with a dramatic sigh, and Bucky turns back to you, his expression unreadable.

“You weren’t supposed to go in alone.” He grunts, and you swallow.

“I know.” You give him a small, nervous smile. “Sorry.”

“I- No, you’re not.”

“I am.” You insist, somehow managing to lean forward as he approaches, and something strange flashes over Bucky’s eyes. “I can’t lie, Buck, I really am sorry, I- I didn’t want to freak you out, I promise-“

Bucky shakes his head, running a hand over his face. “Alright. I got you. Hold on.”

You blink at him. “Hold-“

Bucky hauls you over his shoulder without another warning, and you can barely hear Spiderman’s shouted goodbyes and last apologies over the drum of your heart. 

“Bucky-“

“Not now.” He grunts, squeezing your thigh with a hand, and that’s not fair. Your body goes molten from it, and he doesn’t know that, and if he asks why you’re suddenly breathing so heavy you’ll have to tell him that you can feel an ache in your core, it’s all his fault.

Bucky doesn’t seem all that interested in talking, though. There are no lectures about being insane and getting yourself drugged. No snaps or grumbles about not telling him where you were going.

He won’t even look you in the eyes, and it’s a million times worse. He just sets you flat on your back in the car and moves to the passenger’s seat, and Sam’s sympathetic look only makes you taste more bile.

Maybe this was a straw on something you hadn’t thought could break, and he’s going to tell you that you’re done. That if you can’t listen, you’re not allowed in the field anymore, and that’s not his fucking call to make but you know Sam won’t stand against him. You work with Bucky the most, and if he says he doesn’t want you anymore, you’re out.

He’ll still be your friend, but you’ll see him less. No more long train rides or later nights in hotels where you can watch him sleep like a fucking creep, imagining he’s holding you to his chest instead of a pillow. And without you there he’ll meet someone, and she’ll become his world, and you’ll be left with this glass over your heart that only becomes stained with color when Bucky looks at you. You’ll be stranded again, and Bucky will be guiding someone else home, and that grave you’ve dug for yourself will bloom a million times until you’re buried under it, and Bucky never removes the dirt from your lungs.

“So.” Sam breaks the silence, and maybe if you bite off your tongue you can save yourself from what’s coming. “Truth gas, huh?”

“Yeah.” You mumble, feeling the flush heat your face, and Sam hums.

“How’s it feel?”

You pause, but only to find the right word. “Fuzzy. Like- Drunk, but paralyzed and also kind of high.”

“Damn, that sounds nice-“

“It’s not.”

“Sam.” Bucky mutters, and you wish you could see him. If his arms are crossed, if he’s scowling, if he looks revolted by the sight of you. “I’ll crash the fucking car.”

“No, you won’t. Hey,” Sam drawls your name, and you can hear his grin. “You remember Singapore?”

“Yeah, I remember the country-“

“You remember the mission we did there, during the Avenger’s break-up era?”

You swallow. “Yes.”

“You remember how you and Cap vanished for like, an hour?”

“Sam.” You let out a long breath, and try your fucking hardest to dodge this. “You know I do-“

“What did you guys get up to?”

“Sam.” Bucky growls, but it’s—again—too late.

“I made him get food with me.”

“See, Buck,” Sam says, and you can see him gesturing in your periphery. “It’s not that bad-“

You cut him off, and you can’t stop yourself. “Then we had sex. I gave him a blowjob.”

There’s a long heavy silence, and you think they’re doing the silent conversation again. You can feel your every nerve, alight in your body, and if Bucky doesn’t kick you out you might just run away anyways. He can’t want to hear about it. Steve was like his brother, you’re talking about how you used to fuck his brother, and edging dangerously close to a worse conversation where Bucky tells Sam to shut up, and you agree, and when Sam asks why you’re siding with Bucky, you say it’s because you love him-

Sam says your name again, and whatever silent threats Bucky had given him didn’t seem to be sticking. “What would you do if Steve came back?”

“Nothing.”

That’s an easy one. Sam’s asked you that a million times before, and he seems to be convinced that whenever you say nothing, it’s a lie. That you’ve been hiding how you’d break down in tears and throw yourself into his arms, declaring that your love is undying when it’s never even existed at all, sobbing until Steve forgives you for not asking him to stay.

You’re pretty sure that Sam thinks that, if you’d asked Steve to stay, he would’ve. And you don’t really care either way, because he hadn’t stayed. He’d made his choice, and it had maybe left you hollow for a few months, but now you know that what had been a small bullet wound with Steve was really nothing at all.

It would be a gash through a vital organ, if it had been love. It would’ve been your spine out of your body and your brain leaking out of your mouth, your skin flayed by the loss.

Because Steve had only been a compass. You could make another one, or find another one, and it only guided you north. If he came back, you’d only offer him a hug and a smile, because he’d still be your friend but there was nothing more to do.

Not when your heart wasn’t screeching for him. Not when you had a home, and a way back to it that you might be about to lose, and why isn’t Bucky saying anything-

“Why’s that?” Sam drawls your name, and something twists in your gut. He sounds too casual, as if he’d expected that answer. “Thought you were Steve’s girl-“

“We had sex, Sam, we weren’t soulmates-“

The fuckface doesn’t drop. You hope Bucky stabs him. “But you loved him, right?”

“I never loved Steve, he was just-“ You’re going to fuck vomit. “He was my friend, and the sex was good, really good, but it wasn’t love.” 

There’s another silence, and maybe if you do vomit, you’ll choke on it and pass out. 

“Told you, Buck.” Sam mutters, and you frown into the air.

“What did you tell him-“

Sam cuts you off with a chuckle. “Tell ‘er, man, what have you got to lose-“

“Sam.” Bucky grunts, and you can hear his glower. “If you don’t drop it, now-“

“Jesus, hold onto your ass. Here, how about-“

“I’m fucking serious-“

“So am I.” Sam cuts off Bucky’s hiss, humming your name like nothing is wrong in the world at all. “How do you know you didn’t love Steve?”

“It wasn’t what love feels like.” You mumble, and maybe you can talk around this. Answer the questions truthfully, without saying the thing.

“Interesting. And what does love feel like?”

“Good.” 

“What’s good.”

“Love.”

You swear you could hear Bucky snort, or at least cough. 

“Alright, smartass.” Sam mutters, and you can hear him tapping on the wheel. “You ever been in love?”

Fuck. “Yes.”

“How many times?” 

“Once.” You’re going to throttle him. Drown him. Take Bucky up on that crash the car thing, because Bucky will be fine, but maybe you and Sam will die and then you can fucking murder his ghost-

“Anyone we know?” Sam’s voice is far too casual. He knows. You don’t know how, but the shithead knows.

“Yeah.”

“Really?” Sam chuckles to himself, and Bucky better punch him now, before it’s too late- 

“Yes.” You mutter, pressing on your eyelids until you can see little spiraling patterns. “Sam-“

“Who?”

You try to swallow it. You really fucking try to choke on it, to just let it kill you, to bury yourself before this can ruin everything, and Bucky won’t even be your friend anymore-

But you have no powers. No extraordinary will or resolve or healing factor, to flush the gas out of your system at will or bite down that immovable fact. 

It’s more than truth. It’s a tenant, a law, something as simple as cold air will sink and time will keep moving. 

You will. You just will. You’ll always fucking do it, and there’s no world ending disaster to save your from say that you simply do and have and will love-

“Bucky.” 

You think it’s a mercy, how the gas is fogging over your brain. You hear something slam into something else, but the car keeps moving, and a tight silence hangs over the rest of the ride that you allow yourself not to feel. You just keep your eyes closed and pretend nothing happened at all, because you’ve broken it, and you’re done.

It has to be done. Bucky knows, and he said nothing in return. You don’t have to worry about it, because this is going to kill you, but you’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. Bucky isn’t saying anything, and even Sam has stopped talking, and you’re going to fucking wither and fall away into nothing but you’ll be fucking fine. Bucky doesn’t owe you anything. Just because you love him like the water loves the moon and bees love flowers and trees love birds doesn’t mean he has to give you anything in return. 

To him you’ve just been his friend, and loving Bucky might be clarity for you, but for him it’s probably strange. You’re Steve’s girl that got left behind. You’re the little shadow that he’d already been planning on surgically removing from his wake, and you loving him shouldn’t make that different. He’s not going to just love you because you love him. If anything he might think you’re trying to twist his will, make him feel guilty for planning to push you away, force him to let you cling to him a little while longer out of obligation.

The same obligation that has him carrying you inside, when you finally park the car.

He must think you’re asleep. Must not want to wake you and force that conversation, with how he’s holding you in your arms like you’re a damsel or princess, and not just another piece of luggage.

You’re greedy. You won’t pretend to wake up, because you’re greedy, and you want this for just one more second. To let your face press into Bucky’s chest, to smell the coffee on his shirt, and amber of that old cologne he wears when he thinks he doesn’t have mission to do.

You’d ruined that. You’d made him grab you from a warehouse, made him carry you inside, and you don’t know why he’s setting you on your bed with such care when you fucked everything-

This isn’t your bed, it smells like that cologne, and a piney shampoo, and the blankets are thinner than yours.

“I know you’re awake.” Bucky’s voice is low, from somewhere across the room, and you really wish you could sit up. “I’m goin’ out with Sam to check out the lab, make sure nothing else got fucked on your trip. I-“ He pauses, and you can hear a slightly shuffling before he speaks again. “Don’t move. Please. I’ll be back.”

You couldn’t move if you wanted to. The gas is still running through your system, and when the door closes behind Bucky, exhaustion slams into your chest. 

It’s not sleep exhaustion. It’s drifting in and out consciousness, the light of the room seeming to shift as you roll around Bucky’s bed—this has to be Bucky’s bed, and you don’t really want to think about that too hard right now—ending up with your face buried in his pillow. You think you can, at some point, hear people moving around near you, but it’s nothing. The world, right now, is just you, in Bucky’s bed, breathing an imprint of him in as your limbs start to grow heavy, and motion returns to your body.

But you stay in Bucky’s bed. You don’t have the strength to move. Physically, at first, but then that’s just an excuse.

You don’t want to move. You won’t fight to convince Bucky to let you stay, but you also won’t fight to set yourself free before he kicks you to the curb. 

So you just wait. And you’re tired enough that you don’t hear him come in.

You yelp as a big, cool hand presses to your brow, and your eyes shoot open to find Bucky already watching you.

“Lab is fine.” He mutters. “And Sam’s out. He’s walkin’ it off.” 

You don’t respond, and Bucky’s throat bobs slightly.

“I didn’t beat him not. Not go for recovery and shit, but I did yell at him a lot. And he’s sorry. He’ll be bringin’ you cake later, to show it.”

Another beat of silence, and Bucky won’t stop looking at you.

“Ice cream cake.” He grunts. “You had a fever, for a minute. Think the cold will help.” He switches hands, frowning as he scans over your face. “You feelin’ better?”

You let out a long breath, and you can’t do this. You can ride it out, but you can’t do it.

Bucky grunts your name when you don’t answer, his brow furrowing slightly. “I need you to tell me you’re feelin’ better.”

You just blink at him, and give a tiny, weak nod. 

“Are you gonna talk to me?” His voice sounds strained, and you can’t fucking do this- “I- You don’t need to explain, I just want you to stop ignoring me-“

“You were ignoring me first.” You mumble, and you sound like you’re whining. This is horrible, and if Bucky wasn’t going to toss you away before, he will now. “You wouldn’t look at me.”

Bucky’s jaw ticks. “I’m looking at you now, doll.”

“Bucky-“

“Is the truth gas gone?:

You blink at him. “I- Maybe, yeah-“

“Tell me a lie, then.” His tone is urgent, and maybe the gas isn’t gone. Maybe you just finally fell into full sleep, and this is a dream. 

“Um…” You blink at him, your voice barely a rasp. “I can’t think of anything.”

“Shit, how about- Who ate my dumplings?”

“Sam.” You whisper, and Bucky frowns.

“He said you did it, so that’s a lie-“

That manages to pull a weak smile out of you. “And you trust him?”

“I-“ Bucky runs a hand over his face, shaking his head. “You’re right. What about this. What color are my sheets?”

You frown. “You can see them, Buck, they’re blue-“

“I know, you just gotta lie. Say they’re pink.”

“They’re pink?”

“Thank fuck.” Bucky lets out a long breath, watching you carefully as he continues. “No interrupting me until I’m done, got it?”

“Bucky-“

“Got it?”

His tone isn’t harsh, but it’s sharp. Almost desperate. 

You can’t fight.

All you can do is nod, and whisper, “Okay.”

“Good.” He braces his shoulders, the same movement as when he’s prepping for a fight, his eyes never leave yours as he speaks. “I wasn’t ignoring you. I thought- Shit, I was sure I’d fuck something up. Ask why you snuck off on that mission, and you’d say because you didn’t trust me to do it, then I’d ask why, and you’d- goddamn it-“ He cuts himself off with a groan, his word almost pushed through his teeth. “I didn’t want to hear it, doll. I didn’t want you to tell me what I knew, cause then it would be real, and I’d have to live with that. You’re, I never even hoped for it, cause that’s just not how this is supposed to work, and he might have left but he’d have to come back- I woulda always come back for you, wouldn’t have left you in the first place but the kid’s always been a punk, might’ve taken him a second- But you- Wait-“

Bucky reaches into his pocket, and you shouldn’t have agreed not to interrupt him. You’re only half-following what he’s saying, and he’s pulling out your fucking list, and maybe if you can’t fight it’s time to run-

Before you can move, Bucky’s hand lands on your thigh, holding you in place as he scans over the list. Like he’d been ready for you to go. 

Gripping you so tight, he might not want you to leave.

“I don’t think my accent slips that much.” He says, and you swallow. “And I try to use the conditioner, but sometimes I’m in rush.”

You swallow. “Bucky-“

“And that vase is shit.” He puts down the list, looking back to you with a heavy caution in his eyes. “I only made it cause Sam threatened to hide my arm, if I didn’t do that stupid fucking pottery class with him. Not nearly as good as that sunset painting you got in your room.”

“I-“ You take a heavy breath, forcing the words out, slow and neutral. “It’s a nice painting.”

“Sam mentioned Steve made it for you.”

“He did.” You mumble. “During the Blip.”

“But you don’t love it.”

You shake your head, and Bucky’s eyes narrow.

“Really is a horrible vase.”

You only shrug.

“Shit-“ Bucky sighs, glancing to his nightstand. “Can I show you something?”

You nod—words are really too much, too dangerous—and Bucky opens the side drawer, pulling out his own crumpled paper, almost identical to yours, and places it in your hands.

He doesn’t have to tell you to read it. Your eyes are scanning over the paper before you can stop them, and you’re not going to choke on vomit or spit or words.

You’re going to choke on your heart, right in your throat and trying to find a way out of your body. Maybe to blind you, before you can see too much and this all becomes hopelessly reality.

You’d tried not to think about what Bucky’s good things list contained. If you made even a single appearance. It always hurt too much, because what if you didn’t. What if he was apathetic of your presence—not hate, you would know if Bucky hated you—and you’d have strangle your own love a little further, bury it even deeper, wander after him a little more aimlessly, because what was home for you wasn’t anything for him-

“Sam tried to steal this, before I gave it to my shrink.” Bucky mutters. “He’s been trying to convince me to stop making assumptions about you and Steve for months, and his methods started to get out of line few weeks back. This,” Bucky taps the paper, still clenched in your hands. “Was his idea, not the doctors. He’s gonna be so fuckin’ annoying now, swear to god if he hired the spiderkid I’ll rip off his wings and toss him off the roof-“

“Bucky.” You whisper, and you’re worried you’re going to tear the already worn paper. “Do you mean this?”

He nods before the last word is even fully out of your mouth. “Never meant anythin’ more. Didn’t think you’d ever even see it. Or read it.”

You can tell that. His handwriting is rushed, and scratchy, and the words are almost illegible. The header says Good Things - JBB, in big letters, and everything else you have to squint to read.

Bucky likes Sam, but there’s an added note of sometimes in the margins. He likes YouTube, and that has a note as well, explaining there are a bunch of videos about how to upkeep his bike and fuck with the stereo of Sam’s car so it only connects to your phone.

All his items have little notes added on. Bucky likes the flowers in the park, because they make you smile when he puts them in the vase he made you. He likes peppermint ice cream because you always steal some of it, and then give him some of yours. He likes eggs because you make them for him, and the piano because you play it, and Russian because you can read it now, and sometimes you’ll pass notes like teenagers just to piss Sam off, and that makes him laugh. 

And Bucky likes you.

That one is underlined five times, and crossed out, and moved to very bottom of the page with a different header.

Best Things - JBB.

You look up at him with wide eyes, and he looks guarded. Worried.

“You need to say it first.” He mutters, scanning over you carefully. “Because you want to say it. You need to- Shit,” Bucky sits a little taller, his voice hoarse as he says your name. ”You need to want this.”

You can hear the missing word. 

Bucky.

You have to want Bucky.

And you’ve never fought for anything in your life. You’ve been like a chemical, reacting in a chain without any desire or thought to build yourself into anything more. It’s never mattered what you’ve wanted before, not with anyone. Steve finds you, then leaves you, then Sam finds you, then Bucky finds you, and you burst and bounce off of all of them without a thought because that’s what you do. 

You don’t fight for things. 

But you’d never been in love before either, and it’s moving you faster and with more fire than the truth gas had. You love Bucky, so this isn’t blood spilt in his name or a bullet bruising your organs to protect him. No plans or strategies or broken bones, because this isn’t something that can be broken. You dropped it but it’s still fully intact and filled with something better than you’ve ever had before, so you do more than fight for it. 

You’ll spit and bite and snarl to keep it in your hands. You’ll build something out of roses around it until nothing can take it, and then you’ll still defend it with everything you have, because to you it will still be clear and delicate and more resilient than the ocean.

And when you finally speak, there’s something strong to your voice that hadn’t been there before, because you want Bucky to hear it. To never doubt that, at the end of the day, you want him.

It’s clear. And the words flow out of you even easier than when you’d had no choice.

“I love you.” You push up onto your knees until you’re barely a breath away, your body still only steadied by his hand on your thigh. “You. James Barnes. Nobody else. Ever.”

“That’s good.” He mutters, his free hand reaching to cup your face. “Shit, that’s- Are you-“

“I’m sure,” you offer him a small smile. “Don’t ask stupid questions, Bucky.”

His lips twitch slightly, and you’ve never seen his eyes so dark. You can fucking feel it. Across your skin and in your gut, right into your vein and more electric than a storm. If you bother to think back, he’s looked at you like this countless times, but it’s as if one last veil has been lifted, and it’s really written all over his face before he can say it.

“I love you, too.” Bucky says your name in a soft voice than you’ve ever heard, his hand squeezing on your thigh, and you’re gone. Flying and falling and growing into him, up to him, over him.

You’re almost fully pressed over him.

He doesn’t seem to mind at all. 

“I’m going to kiss you now.” He pauses, raising his brows like he’s expecting you to flinch away.

You can’t have that.

Your hands fist in his shirt in half a second, and you yank him down into until you’re certain he feels it the same way you do. That this going to be immovable. You’ll mold into Bucky and climb on to his lap and open your mouth when he groans and presses his tongue on your lower lip, but that will only ever be for him. Your love for him will only ever fucking build, until it’s bursting through the atmosphere and coating everything, and you’re never lost again. 

The kiss deepens from long and slow to almost frantic. You can taste whatever fruit and coffee he’d been having while you were knocked out, and you can feel his every muscle ripping when he pulls you tighter to his chest, and you need him. More. All of it. You can bite at his lips and moan at his tongue down your throat, half claw your way up his body and grind down onto his leg, but you need more-

Bucky grunts your name, pulling back with his hands planted on your hips, and at some point you’d managed to straddle his thigh. 

He’s not letting you move, as he scans over your open, flushed features, and you can’t stop the whine that leave your lips.

“Jesus, baby-“

You let out another weak sound as the ache between your legs becomes painful, and drop your brow to his. “Fuck- Bucky, you can’t just say that-“

He frowns at you, brow furrowing slightly. “What are you- you mean baby?”

“God-“ You whack his arm, trying to roll your hips against him, but you barely even manage to squirm. “You’re such an asshole-“

“Yeah, ‘m sorry, ba- pretty girl.” He’s trying to help you, but pretty girl is worse, and you start to kiss over his jaw just have something. 

Biting and nipping along the line of his scruff, moving your hands under his shirt to trace over his stomach, and abdomen, and-

“Shit-“ Bucky knocks your hand away with a grunt, the metal hand starting to rub firm circles on your waist. “I’m tryin’ to be a gentleman, doll, get you on a date first-“

“Date later.” You mutter, moving one hand back up to tug at his hair. “Want this, Bucky, I- I’ve been- Fuck-“ You yank at his hair again as Bucky growls, attaching his lips to your neck and sucking, wet a long line over your collar bone as he starts to guide your hips back along his thigh. “God, that feels so good-“

“I know, baby.” He smirks against your skin when you moan, and you bury your face in his shoulder. “But we’re goin’ on that date later, alright?”

“Yeah, yes please, just-” you nod desperately, tugging at Bucky’s shirt. “Off, please-“

He leans back for a second, pulling his own shirt over his head before ripping yours off, diving his head to kiss along the line of your breasts and he holds you steady on his thigh. 

You’re going to fly out of your skin. Somewhere in the dizzying, building high of Bucky’s mouth anywhere he can get it, and your arms wrapped around his neck as you grind onto his thigh, he lifts you up for half a second and rips your jeans off, right before guiding you right back to where he’s decided you belong.

Riding his thigh with your cunt forming a dark spot on his jeans, your moans muffled in his chest or swallowed by long, heavy and bruising kisses.

And you’re close. You’re so close, and you can feel his cock straining right where your clit keeps bumping, and he’s started to lick and bite at nipples, and god, he’s so fucking good-

“Think you can cum like this, baby?” Bucky’s words vibrate through your whole body, and you moan against his lips. “I can help you, if you need a little more, all you have to do-“

“Please.” You whisper, squirming in his hold as he starts to kneed at your skin. “Fuck, Bucky, please, more-“

He silences you with another rough, almost branding kiss—as if he’s trying to push himself into your body, when he’s already been there for what may be forever—and grabs your leg, swinging it over until you’re fully sat on his lap, your bare pussy exposed to the air.

Bucky pushes a finger into your cunt without warning, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing harsh, firm circles until your gasping into his open mouth and yanking at his hair, every other strangled sound just another plea for more.

He gives it. Two fingers, pumping in and out of you, and it feels so good, you’re going to light on fire and burn because his thumb is just pressing down on your clit as his fingers crook at rub on the sensitive point inside of you, and he’s so fucking good-

Something white-hot and tight snaps in your core, your pussy starts to spasm and make wet sounds you’d never heard before, and you cum on Bucky’s hand with a high, relieved gasp of his name in his ear, yanking on his hair one last time. Bucky’s groan rolls through your whole body until a small, softer orgasm leaves you shaking in his arms, and when you pulls back, he’s watch you with an open, reverent expression.

Bucky pulls his hand out of your still quivering pussy, his gaze fixed on the wet mess you left all over his fingers, and you almost apologize before you see the expression on his face.

It’s hunger. And when his eyes drop only slightly to his own pants, you can see a large, wet stain around his crotch.

You swallow, looking back up to meet Bucky’s stare, and somehow the love on his face is clearer than before. Almost ardorous, and he’s licking his fingers clean without breaking your stare, and fuck, he’s already pressing right into your inner thigh again-

“You came in your pants.” You whisper, and Bucky shrugs.

“You squirted.” He glances down to his hand, then your parted lips, and his eyes flash slightly. “Can you open for me, babydoll?”

That one’s dangerous. You might do anything Bucky asks, if says it in that low, devout voice and calls you babydoll.

He groans as you obey, wrapping your lips around those same fingers that had been inside of you and sucking, moaning and licking around him, trying to show him what you’ll do for him if he lets you fall to your knees for him, touch him, taste him instead of your own release-

“God, you’re perfect.” Bucky mutters under his breath, and you start to grind down onto his already hard dick, steadying yourself with your fingers dug into his chest. “You want- Shit- I think you want more-”

You cut him off with a moan and a nod, and that’s all it takes. 

It’s almost impossible, how fast Bucky has you tossed backwards on this bed, towering over your naked body for only half a second as he rips his own jeans off, right before falling forward and kissing you until you’re dizzy and melted into the mattress, scraping at his back for more because you can feel his cock, free and big and pressed right onto your stomach-

Bucky rises up with wide eyes, his attention flicking to the nightstand. “I- Uh- Wasn’t expectin’ to do this anything soon-“

“Are you clean?” You trace your hand over Bucky’s jawline until his eyes fall back to yours. “Because I’m on the pill, and the last guy was a virgin.”

Bucky blinks at you for a second, then snorts, dropping his brow to yours. 

“You think you’re funny, doll.” He mutters, kissing slowly along your neck. “But I’m clean, and if you’re sayin’ what I think you are, you’re gonna be feeling me in that sweet pussy for a month.”

You swallow, a smooth shiver moving up your spine. “Promise?”

“Fuck- Are you-“

“Stop asking if I’m sure, Bucky-“

You cut yourself off with a squeak as Bucky slams his cock into you, and your back arches off the bed.

He must have somehow grown from seconds before, because fuck, he’s big. Splitting you open and filling you up until you’re already seeing faint stars, big. Driving you out of your mind just by sitting inside of you without friction, and that thought enters your head and now all you can think about is Bucky moving-

“I’ve got you, baby.” He mutters in your ear, and you must have said that aloud, because he starts to fuck you.

Really, properly fuck you until you can’t really tell where Bucky’s stopping and you’re beginning. Pounding into your cunt, with his skin slapping against yours and a big, rough, warm hand pulling and flicking at your nipples as his mouth attacks your skin, and fuck-

“Bucky-“ You gasp, your words morphing into a whine as he slams into that already raw, abused spot inside of you. “Fuck- I-“

“I know, baby,” He kisses over your face, never breaking pace as he soothes you. “Think you can come again, pretty girl? Gimme once more, before I fill your- Shit- Fill you up like you-“

Bucky groans your name as you squeeze around him, and any deceptively soft words turn in animalistic glowers as he drills into you. 

You’re not sure when you cum. If it’s when Bucky starts to repeat that he loves you, over and over in your ear, his movements growing unmeasured and desperate as his cock stared to slam into your pelvis. It might have been when the metal hand found its way to pinching and rubbing your clit, or when Bucky angled your hips up and started to drill into you at an impossibly deep angle.

But you know that you don’t think you’ll ever fully come down from this high. That even as Bucky paints your cunt white with his own release and a roar of you name, you’re still floating, and everything is just a blur of salt and blue and pine and Bucky and good. He’s leaking down your thighs, but remaining buried inside of you as you both take long, ragged breaths, and he’s good. Warm and sprawled over you, strong and caging you in his arms like you’re a work of art or diamond, all yours and good.

“You promised me a date,” you mumble in his ear, and he chuckled, turning his head to kiss your cheek.

“I did, didn’t I. You think Sam’ll notice if we got out tomorrow night?”

You roll your eyes. “I think Sam is lucky he’s not getting poisoned after that shit.”

“You want me to poison him, doll, just say the word-“

“No-“

“How about head trauma. I can give him head trauma-“

You giggle, running your fingers through Bucky’s hair until you swear you can hear him fucking purring. “Don’t give Sam head trauma. It would make you sad.”

“Shut up.” Bucky grumbles, squeezing you a little tighter. “You never said yes to dinner.”

“Dinner sounds perfect.” You hum, leaning back to smile at him, and there’s the ardor again. 

You’ve never felt anyone’s pure attention do that to you before him. Make everything in you soft and feral all at once, because it will only make you bloom but you’re certain now that you’d rip the fabric of time and space apart to keep it. 

“I love you.” You whisper, and Bucky’s grin splits his face.

Those grins are rare. Teeth and joy and light and all Bucky, more priceless every rare metal and magic in the world.

But they’ve never been rare for you. He’s almost always offered them to you like they were nothing, and if loving Bucky was clarity, admitting it is omnipresence. 

You’re everything, and everywhere, and you love him, and you don’t know how you’d never seen that he loves you back. It’s been written in crude but deep words, everywhere you could ever look.

“I love you, too.” Bucky brushes a little hair out of your face, his eyes almost sparklingly like stars on yours. “Think it’s okay if I show you, a lot, for a long time?”

Your smile hurts your cheeks, and you think the light in your body could outshine the sun.

“Yeah, it’s- please.” You lean up to press your lips to Bucky’s in a soft, slow kiss. “Please do that.”

He smirks, nodding as he tangles his hand in your hair. 

“Whatever my girl wants, I’ll get her.”

“Good.” You whisper. “Cause I’m yours.”

And this is it.

You’re home.

End Note: Sam Wilson and his silly fuckeries. Biggest little brother energy in the world.

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/63610357

“And then the next moment, he’s suddenly, blindingly awake.

Or at least, that’s what it feels like. A passing glance at the alarm clock shows it’s somewhere around 4 AM, but for the first split second of consciousness, he’s too disoriented to process the time. Jon woke them both up with a short, sharp, startled cry before he dissolved immediately into tears. Elias catches a glimmer of green and crimson as he turns, spectral eyes opening all around Jon and buzzing in response to his fear. Then they disappear just as fast. Elias sits up, still blinking blearily. He finds Jon curled on his side next to him, nearly smothering himself with the pillow from how hard he clutches it to his face. Oh. That makes sense. Blocking his senses to stop Beholding from slipping out through him in a moment of vulnerability.

Elias turns over, reaches, hesitates, then rests his fingertips ever-so-gently on Jon’s bent back. When this doesn’t elicit any reaction besides a brief hitch in the sobs, he smooths his hand up and down Jon’s spine in long, careful sweeps. He vaguely remembers his wet nurse doing this for him as a child. This is comforting, right?

“Ssshhhh… it’s okay, Jon. Everything’s alright,” he murmurs in the dark, his voice husky with sleep. “You’re safe. Can you take a deep breath for me?”

A pause, and then Jon obeys, his chest shuddering with the strain of sucking air through the silk pillowcase.

“Good. Good job. Another, please.”

A few more, and Elias convinces Jon to remove the pillow from his face so he can breathe more easily. He sees why Jon needs it, though. His eyes are pinned wide and unblinking with terror, glowing that unnatural shade of green they both know so well. The moment he can see again, the Eyes appear in the air all around him like a hungry swarm. It’s unclear whether they’re here to defend Jon from the perceived threat, or to feed on him.

It’s not often that Elias pushes any feedback into his link with Beholding, aside from the fear it feeds on and the pleasure he takes from it. He considers himself an instrument of his God: to speak back to it is as offensive as it is futile. But tonight, for Jon’s sake, he tries. He opens his own Eye — a single spectral visage glowing from the center of his forehead like the jewel of some terrible crown — and turns it away, across town to the nightmares of some other unfortunate soul. While he does this, he slips in behind Jon and folds his hand over the Archivist’s eyes. There’s a momentary but intense burn of static against his skin, Beholding displeased to be cut off from its Archivist and punishing him for daring to defy it. But he reminds it of its victim elsewhere and diverts its attention as best he can.

Almost instantly, Jon calms. A few more breaths and Elias feels the faint flutter of eyelashes against his palm as Jon finally regains the ability to close his own eyes. His sobbing turns from scared to relieved as he grips Elias’s wrist with one shaking hand, clutching tight as if begging him not to take it away.

So, Elias doesn’t. He crosses the remainder of the space between them, slips his other arm underneath Jon, and tucks the smaller man against his chest to make the angle easier on them both. But he keeps his hand sealed around Jon’s eyes despite the itch of tears drying on his hand. “You’re okay,” he murmurs into the Archivist’s hair. “You’re safe, Jon. All is well.”

It takes a few more minutes of soothing before Jon believes him. But he relaxes by degrees in Elias’s arms, until at last, sleep claims him again.

Meanwhile, Elias lays awake until dawn.

I did this.

I did this terrible thing to him.

He knew this logically. He did it on purpose. He spent years planning it. But to understand the consequences of his actions in the abstract is so, so different from seeing and feeling them now.”

[Excerpt from Chapter 3 of my JonElias fic, Villain and Violent (Infant and Innocent)]

[bambisnc]

[ 01:03 ] his breathing is heavy when he pulls away from the kiss barely enough to speak, tilting your chin to look you in the eye, “jus' lose yourself f’me, love.” ♡

### . STARRING ⌢ n.rk ⋆ suggestive. angst. + 0.5k // unedited + kissing + implied on-off situationship ˖ ✧

🗨️ .. ⌞ XOXO ⌝ niki brainrot. blind eyes red by minnie inspo! + [m.list]

ex childhood best friend nishimura riki who stumbles into your apartment one late night with no calls, no texts informing you of his arrival. as per usual.

you wouldn't have even heard the knocking on the door, to be honest, due to the sheer volume of the pouring rain outside. but you do, inevitably, end up letting him in despite a small logical part of you screaming at you to not do it. as if you could’ve turned him away anyway.

when you finally end up face to face with him,.. his tousled hair plastered to his forehead, expression unidentifiably alluring; looking like an absolute mess due to being completely drenched from head to toe – you almost forget why you even broke off contact in the first place. almost.

as he staggers towards you, riki’s movements are tired, sluggish even – the stresses of idol life quite visibly taking a toll on him. his arms wrap around your waist like it’s second nature, all but leaning his entire weight on you. you’re used to this routine, of course, but that doesn’t mean it ever gets easier.

water drips off his entire being and seeps into your own dry clothing, making it stick to your skin. it feels uncomfortable, heavy. 

you want to push him away. really, you do.  

but the absolute desperation with which he clutches onto your figure, not very much unlike a man drowning being thrown a board too, makes you fall weak to his embrace.

then, before you know it, he’s angling your face towards his own and kissing you, mumbles of  "i missed you"'s being whispered against your lips. it’s laughable how easily you melt at the taste of him.

pretending like you haven’t been thinking about this for weeks on end now, would be to no avail, and the way you can feel riki smile knowingly.., god that infuriating smile of his., it just about drives you crazy.

you do have to give him credit for the impeccable timing. it’s like he can somehow sense the exact moment when you feel even the slightest hint of confidence that you’ll be fine without him. that you’re getting over him. he won’t ever let you stray away from him, no matter how hard it is on both of you. riki's too selfish for that. 

but you knew that.

or should have, in any case. definitely would’ve saved your heart a lot of trouble.

his breathing is heavy when he pulls away from the kiss barely enough to speak, tilting your chin to look you in the eye, “just lose yourself f’me, love.”

so, you do. for the moment, at least. 

… however, just as soon as he’d stumbled back into your life, he leaves. gone in a whirlwind of mumbles promises. ones you and him both know he’ll never keep no matter how much he might want to. 

the silence he leaves behind feels deafening. it’s colder now. you can’t help but wonder if riki didn’t just take the warmth with him. he took pieces of you too.

𐙚 . regulars : none yet! ⋆

[@bambisnc] 2k25

[caelivir]

hidden lights | rayne ames

— synopsis. reading rayne ames is impossible. that's why you don't get why he offers to take you out on a date after you've been stood up again.

— pairing. rayne ames x fem!reader

— genres. modern au, you and rayne are roommates, fluff, you’re so oblivious it hurts, rayne's most likely ooc towards the end but we do it for plot,

— warnings. one kys thrown in at the end but it’s not in a serious manner

— word count. 3.2k

— notes. in honor of triple liner rayne being animated. i have quite literally been waiting to see it animated for years. also hi.

you can never tell what rayne ames is thinking. he wears the same cold, uninterested glare on his face at all times of the day. he never speaks unless spoken to, never lets you know when he leaves the apartment, never does anything to show that he actually has emotions.

you're asked on the daily how you survive rooming with him, and in all honesty, it's really not that bad. he does his half of the chores, and he doesn't leave his shit all over the apartment. really, the guy's only problem is his lack of emotion. it drives you up the wall.

finn says not to take it to personally during the one day he visited his brother. apparently, he's like that with everyone, but he's still a good guy. it just takes time.

you would like to believe that, but rayne makes that extremely difficult to believe when he looks like he wants to kill every person who so happens to exist in his direction.

so naturally, seeing him so angered after finding out that you've been stood up is surprising. it's an even bigger shock when he offers to take you out on a date instead.

you don't know what compels you to agree. even if you hadn't accepted his offer, something tells you that rayne would've found a way to get you to leave with him so there's no use in trying to deny him in this matter.

that's why you allow him to drive all the way to marchétte street, where a night market is being held in full swing. the road has all sorts of stalls lined up one after the other, ranging from foods to clothes. but because the marchétte night market is ridiculously popular, the place is packed to the brim with people.

rayne offers his hand once he notices that you're daunted by the crowds. you stare at him with surprise. when you don't make a move to accept this action, rayne huffs before grabbing your hand. he interlocks his fingers with yours and drags you into marchétte street's traffic.

the first thing you note is that rayne's hands are surprisingly warm and soft. for someone so incapable of talking, his touch is strangely reassuring.

he drags you to a vendor selling takoyaki. and even as he orders, rayne doesn’t let go of your hand.

“what do you want?” he says into your ear so that he doesn’t have to yell over all the noise. the feeling of his breath fanning over your skin sends shivers down your spin. it's maddening.

“oh. uh-” your eyes quickly scan over the menu, and you blurt out the first item that you read. out of habit you reach for your wallet, but rayne is quick to shut you down.

“absolutely not.” he grumbles, letting your hand drop to your side so he can pull out his cash. rayne hands the amount to the girl at the register, and she hands back his change that he drops into the tip jar.

“thanks.” you say quietly, still so flustered about the entire situation.

rayne only studies you before humming in acknowledgement. “come on.” he guides his hand to your upper back, moving you out the way so you can wait on the side for your orders.

it’s during this time you really look at rayne as if that would provide you with the answers you need to understand him. you try to wrap your head around it. you draft up every possible explanation, but none of them seem to make sense.

unless… it couldn’t be… does rayne like you? you shake your head, dismissing the thought as soon as it crosses your mind. no, that’s absurd, the furthest thing from logical. this is rayne ames we’re talking about. in the five months that you’ve been living together, you two have never had a solid conversation. how could he ever like someone he’s barely talked to?

you're about to confront rayne about his intentions until your number order is called, and all the courage you built up crumbles away as rayne leaves you to go pick up your takoyaki.

still, whatever his reasons for doing this may be, this is a rare opportunity to come by, and that means that maybe rayne doesn't have to continue being a stranger. maybe you can get under those layers and find that good guy finn said was there.

"i never knew marchétte had a night market." you say, breaking the silence as the two of you walk side by side through the market.

"i didn't either." rayne admits, poking his fork into one of the octopus balls, and shoving the whole thing into his mouth.

"what?" your face scrunches in disbelief. "then how'd you find out?"

"i asked finn as we were going down to the garage." your date shares nonchalantly.

you turn to look at rayne with the intent of questioning him further, but the sight of his cheeks bulging with food makes you burst out in a fit of giggles.

"what?" rayne asks, narrowing his eyes at you. you bite your lip to contain your laughter. your gaze falls on a mixture of crumbs and sauce that sits on the corner of his mouth, only causing you to smile wider.

"you got a little something there." you gesture at his lips. rayne fumbles for a moment, swiping his fingers around various sections of his mouth, somehow only cleaning half of the mess up.

you shake your head, still grinning up at him. he tenses when your thumb grazes the edges of his lips. you can feel his eyes staring deep into you, and you have to ignore the way it makes your stomach flip.

"all done." you whisper, wiping the remainders on the napkin in your hand.

rayne doesn't say anything regarding what occurred, only urging you to follow him further down marchétte street.

you swear that you see the tips of his ears go red, and something about that makes you all fuzzy inside.

as the night progresses, you and rayne abide your time by visiting stalls. well, it's more like you choose which ones interest you the most, and rayne follows behind. you comment on certain items that look nice; sometimes, you ask for your roommate's opinions to decide on whether something will be worth your money or not. to your surprise, rayne's advice is solid, and you end up listening to him.

at some point, you convinced him to buy a pair of absurdly looking mugs for the apartment. he fought you hard on it, saying that a mug shaped like a fish is extremely inconvenient, but in the end, you won with insistent begging.

when the two of you both got bored of the market, you decide to take rayne to one of your favorite spots in the city.

"the park? really?" rayne gives you a dead stare.

"hey, don't judge." you pout. "i love this place."

"why? no offense, but i don't think parks are all that special."

"i feel like i can take a step back here and just a catch a break from everything," you answer honestly. "sometimes, i sit down and watch people as they live their lives, and something about that is strangely comforting. it makes me want to keep going."

rayne doesn't follow up on your words, but you can tell that he's really considering them, and that brings a smile onto your face.

"plus, i feel like it's a good place for when you want to talk to someone." you grab onto your roommate's wrist. "come on let's go to the swings."

you practically drag rayne to the playground, which is completely deserted, but that's to be expected when it's already 10p.m. no parent would be dumb enough to bring their kid out this late.

you force rayne onto the the swing next to you, and all he does is sit there, unwilling to indulge himself in such a simple joy. annoyed with him, you hop off your own set, coming behind him.

"what are you doing?" rayne whips his head around as your hands plant themselves firmly on his back.

"oh live a little." you huff, mustering up enough strength to push him. the swing rocks forwards and comes back. even as rayne complains and threatens you, you continue to push him, watching as he goes higher and higher. he may be masking it, but you can tell that he's enjoying it.

you finally give up when your arms grow sore and a layer of sweat coats your face. slumping back into the swing beside rayne, you breathe heavily. "man, that was a workout."

"i told you to stop." your date reminds you, shooting you a look.

"you can be honest, rayne. i know you liked it."

"i did not."

"yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself that." you wave him off, laughing.

for a minute, neither of you say anything. you're the one who said that the park is a place where you can talk openly with someone, yet there's not a single topic that you can think to bring up.

luckily, rayne swoops in to save it. "can i ask you something?" your half-blonde roommate asks, something more serious laced in his voice. it makes you swallow a lump in your throat. an anxious feeling creeps into your body.

"of course you can."

"why did you bother giving that guy a chance?"

it's easy to know exactly who he's referring to. you shrug. "he's nice and has good energy."

"but he had stood you up two times in the past though. clearly he isn't as nice as you make him out to be. you seriously can't be that dumb to have fallen for it three times."

that statement in itself should get you mad (even though he would be right), but there's something peculiar in what he said that had you ignoring the jab altogether. "how'd you know he stood me up twice before? i never told you that."

at that, rayne freezes, eyes blowing wide open. it's so obvious that he's trying to find an excuse right now, but you push further.

"who told you that, rayne?" you lean closer, watching as his ears turn beet red. you're not even angry with him. it's mostly curiosity making you push him. not to mention that seeing him in a flustered state is entertaining and quite cute.

"max did." your roommate finally admits albeit quietly.

you pull your head back. "max? as in max land? how the hell does he know?"

"your dates happened to be at the restaurant he works at."

"why would he bother telling you that though?" you wonder. "up until tonight, i don't think it concerned you."

"it did though." the half-blonde mumbles, thinking you wouldn't hear, but you do anyway.

"what?" you press.

"forget it." rayne shakes his head, growing irritated.

"no. fuck that.." you seethe, annoyed at his unwillingness to be honest with you. rayne bites his tongue to hold back. you see it. "don't act like this. just tell me, or i swear to god i'll text max right now-"

"it's because i knew that i could treat you better." the words rush out of rayne's mouth as he snaps his head toward you. the fire in his eyes die as he locks his gaze onto you. the harsh emotion written across his features softens. you can feel your own exasperation slipping away like that of a retreating ocean tide. he grimaces in regret, knowing that he didn't mean to let that slip out, but he did anyway. it's out in the open, and now you knew.

surely, you're hearing things wrong. perhaps you're misunderstanding what he just said. how could that be misinterpreted though? it's such a painfully straightforward statement, yet it still doesn't make any sense.

rayne sighs. it's like he can already hear your thoughts and your confusion. the least he can do is clear the air and dump everything onto you while he can. "i didn't expect to feel like this," he begins to explain. "when i moved in, i just assumed you'd be another person i wouldn't pay attention to. i'm sure you know how i am. i don't bother getting to know people, but a lot of people feel the need to force themselves into my life, and shit like that pisses me off. but you didn't do that. you introduced yourself, explained the ground rules of the apartment, and then left me alone."

"so... you like the fact that i leave you alone?" you tilt your head.

"shut up. let me finish."

"okay."

"but yeah, that's part of it. you keep your distance, but you still try to show that you care. you don't do anything groundbreaking. it's just that the small things you do for me got to me. it may sound dumb to you, but it meant a lot to me."

suddenly, you're hit like a train because you know exactly what rayne means. you recall all the times you ensured that there was dinner for him, the times you moved his laundry into the dryer when he forgot to do it himself, and the times you restocked his favorite snacks when they ran out. you hadn't realized that you did any of that. it just came naturally, no hidden meaning behind it.

"oh." you breathe out, blinking.

rayne nods, continuing. you're honestly floored over the fact that he still has more to say. "you don't notice it. at least, i don't think you do, but at some point, i tried doing the same for you. i started paying more attention to you and what you liked and how you liked things done. i did it mostly to pay back your kindness, but over time i continued just 'cause i liked seeing your smile."

you have to process that for a minute, piecing together how certain events lined up until it finally clicks into place. "s-so the island vase-"

"i replace the flowers because you like them fresh."

"the key holder?"

"you always forgot to bring your keys until i installed it."

"when you put on movies-"

"i check your letterboxd and hope that you'll sit and watch them with me."

"when i put on movies-"

"i sit with you because i want to be near you."

your jaw falls open. never in a million years could you have expected this. you thought that rayne could care less about your existence, but the reality was that that was far from the truth. cold, aloof rayne was always doing things for you. all this time, you've been so oblivious.

still, there's more to the story so you stay quiet, letting him get his feelings off of his chest. "to be honest, i was never going to say anything. max tried convincing me to confess on multiple occasions, but i was dead set on letting it pass. i didn't think you liked me in the same way anyway.

"but then you came home today and you told me about your date and i just got so... angry," rayne clenches his fist around the chains of the swing. the whole situation infuriates him every time he thinks about it. "it just wasn't fair. you spent so much time into looking your best just for that asshole to go and waste your effort. you're so beautiful, so kind and understanding, and i fucking hate the fact that he's been taking advantage of that.

"i really wasn't thinking clear when i proposed this date to you, but god after tonight, i'd do it all over again. i wanted you to know what it's like to be with someone who does care about you. i wanted to see you smile. i wanted to hear stories. i want you so badly it's all i can think about sometimes.

"i know this is a lot, and i'm freaking you out right now. i'm sorry but you-"

"rayne." you interrupt with a big smile on your face. he was unaware to the fact that you had got up.

"for fucks sake, can you let me finish? this is already weird enough for me to talk about as is." he rolls his eyes, narrowing his gaze at you, blush splashed across his cheeks. still, without any resistance, you pull him up from his swing by his wrists.

"then don't." you whisper as you pull him in.

and the moment you crash your lips onto rayne's, the world stops. he instantly melts into you, the palms of his hands finding the soft skin on your cheeks. your hands tangle themselves into his hair. his lips are incredibly soft. a faint taste of matcha and sugar syrup dances on his tongue from the boba he drank earlier. a noise of approval vibrates down his throat, and you can't help but smile against his lips.

rayne wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as he deepens the kiss. you get what he was talking about earlier. this kiss is all it takes to prove it to you. you feel his affection and desire all at once. every single bone in your body is so aware of how much rayne ames cares about you.

when you finally pull away for air, it's like a smile is permanently tugged onto your lips. rayne trains his eyes onto you, engraining every detail of this moment into his head.

a comfortable silence falls as each of you take your time to catch your breaths. your stare finds its way up, admiring the night sky. there are barely any stars out tonight. no, that part isn't remotely true, not fully anyway, because light pollution drowns out stars and their lights. the reality is that there are billions of stars hanging high out of reach; they just go unseen.

rayne is kinda like that you realize. finn was right. his brother is a good guy. there's a hidden light within him behind all those aloof layers of his. you just have to squint and maybe put on some prescription glasses is order to see it. it's a shame it took you five months to to really acknowledge it. but now that you've finally found a glimpse of it, you'll continue to clear past the fog. you want to know every part of rayne and see his light just as he did with you. you want him to be able to shine at his full brightness with no fear. you'll take rayne ames for all that he is.

"come on," you coo, a lovestruck look in your eyes as you slip your hand into rayne's. "let's go home."

bonus:

rayne: finn, give me a date spot quick finn: are you actually going on a date? rayne: stop asking questions finn: there's a night market on marchétte street. finn: are you seriously going on a date though? finn: hello? finn: rayne. finn: stop leaving me on read. finn: is it (y/n)? finn: it is her, huh? finn: asshole.

delisaster: hey sorry delisaster: can we reschedule for next saturday? y/n: kys y/n: lol sorry that was my bf delisaster: bruh what? delisaster: did you have a bf this whole time? *this message could not be sent* delisaster: did you fucking block me? *this message could not be sent*

[loredrinker]

The story of Lavellan and Solas tickles my Tolkien-influenced love for fantasy. It falls into the category of Beren and Lúthien - a love story that, by all real-world logic, is absolutely batshit insane. And yet, placed within the mythic frame of fantasy, it fits perfectly. It belongs there. These are the kinds of stories that only make sense in a world comfortable with myths, legends, ancient beings, monsters, supernatural war and absurdity - where love doesn’t follow rules, it transcends them.

That’s what I love: the illogical. Because love isn’t logical. For every argument I’ve seen that says it “makes no sense” for Lavellan and Solas to fall in love over the course of Inquisition, or that waiting that many years to be together is unrealistic. I sit back and laugh. Really? Love needs a timeline? In a fantasy?

Beren took one look at Lúthien dancing and fell irrevocably in love - and Lúthien was all in too. They didn’t take three years to build a foundation of trust and talk about boundaries or what they saw in each other. Their version of courtship was joining forces to battle literal evil so they could earn the right to be together. It was reckless, wild, insane, illogical and absolutely delicious. 

Lavellan and Solas hit that same mythic nerve for me. Their story - two people drawn together across time, fate, and existential stakes - feels like something out of The Silmarillion.

I don’t need these stories of love and pain and tragedy and trauma and desire to be logical in the real-world sense. It was never meant to be. Like all mythological love stories, it speaks to something eternal, irrational, and luminous.

There are themes and tropes woven through Lavellan and Solas’ story that utterly captivate me. And it’s partly to do with the fact that their love story isn't a comfortable one. It asks something of you. It asks you to reconcile contradiction: love and betrayal, hope and despair, violence and tenderness, destiny and choice, love as performance vs love as presence.

I’ve uncovered themes and archetypes that fit perfectly in this world of fantasy and discovered new ones in conversations with fellow Solas and Lavellan lovers as well. Here’s my attempt to weave some of those tropes and themes together. 

Their story carries what I like to call the Tolkien Effect: elven atmosphere where immortals and mortals fall in love and brave inconceivable odds just to be together. It’s the story of a man tormented by the choice between duty and love - Solas’ self-imposed responsibility to mend the world demands that he sacrifice his heart, while Lavellan’s bond with him is forged within that very conflict. He stands as the tragic anti-hero: prideful, guilt-ridden, withdrawing into self-destructive isolation because he’s convinced only he can set things right. She, meanwhile, plays Beauty to his Beast - seeing the fractured soul beneath the would-be destroyer and, by loving him, becoming the mirror that reflects his lost humanity. In classic fashion, they are star-crossed lovers - she's a mortal leader of the present, he's an immortal haunted by his past. Their timelines are misaligned, their love a sacrifice in the face of fate.

Their relationship goes from prejudice to passion. At first, Solas sees Lavellan as a biased curiosity - a product of a world he resents. But curiosity gives way to respect, respect deepens into desire, and desire transforms into love overwhelming it's held in restraint. He tries to resist her, but she becomes a gravitational force pulling him into her orbit.

Here, love becomes existential salvation or existential disruption. Lavellan offers Solas something terrifying: a path out of the endless cycle of destruction. It's a chance to choose life and yet instead he chooses to run from it, fleeing the love that might transform his path.

He tries to let her go, believing he must shield her from the darkness he carries. But he's the immortal who can't let go. He visits her dreams. Writes to her. Remembers her. Because this is love across time - a mythic bond that survives years, silence, betrayal, and distance. A love that endures even after everything else has fallen.

He's the lonely immortal whose memories stretch back to betrayals no one else can comprehend. Lavellan is shaped in the mold of Tolkien’s quiet heroes - Frodo’s endurance, Aragorn’s purpose, Éowyn’s resolve - meeting unearthly stakes with a resilience that refuses to break, even when love itself feels like punishment.

In the end, wisdom and mercy override vengeance. Lavellan’s forgiveness doesn’t excuse but provides a path to healing. She has taken on the role of mortal muse of the divine. A single, fleeting human heart - fragile, finite - a key that might yet save an ancient, wounded soul. And so great is this ancient being’s pain, so immense the guilt and fear he carries, that it takes a fellowship to save Thedas, to save him - the mortal and immortal working together. And at the end, the star-crossed lovers are reunited, a bittersweet ending as they experienced so much pain to get there. They ascend together into another world, stepping outside the boundaries of Thedas, likely to inspire new legends in the years to come. 

Should I go on? There are more themes and tropes I’ve pulled from this story - more patterns of myth and meaning that keep drawing me back. And now, with the story of Lavellan and Solas together in the Fade, it begs for new narratives, new archetypes, new emotional terrain.

The story isn’t over. It’s only deepening.

[brattysx]

omg HIIII u can write more bouta mr.shibal plis???? 🤭❤️

The version of you!

Geum Seongjae x Reader | Weak Hero Universe | +18 mdni!

Tags: smut, +18, angst, exes, reconciliation, slow burn, emotional tension, feelings-driven sex, emotional pain, weak hero universe, school rivalry, redemption, mature language…

The streets were too empty for that hour. The kind of silence that feels like it knows violence is coming. I felt it in my chest — that strange weight we carry when we just know something’s about to go wrong, even if no one says it out loud. And no one needed to. Baku had answered the call with his jaw clenched, and Gotak exchanged a glance with me like he already knew I was expecting it. We ran. Without thinking. Without knowing exactly what we’d find. Just with the image of Jun Tae in our minds — that kind of kid who can’t hide it when he’s about to fall apart. He could be annoying, stubborn, a pain in the ass sometimes — but we all knew he didn’t deserve what was coming.

No one spoke on the way. Just the sound of sneakers hitting wet pavement. Our breathing tight, sweat running cold even in the humid air. The scene was always the same — boys armed with rage, recklessness, and more muscle than sense. And in the middle of them, him. Geum Seongjae. Tall. Still. Shoulders squared like he was about to destroy someone. For a moment, it all felt too obvious. My stomach twisted. That was just like him. The version of him that had chosen the Union. That chose power, reputation, and the fear he could stir in people — over anything we could’ve built together. And I felt angry. A kind of anger that doesn’t explode — it burns, silent and humiliating.

But then he moved. Without warning, without hesitation. He shoved two guys off Jun Tae with the same cold precision he used to intimidate anyone who crossed him. One of them hit the wall hard; the other froze under his gaze — the kind of stare that makes time stop and lungs forget how to work. For a second, everything froze. None of the Union boys understood what was happening. Not even Jun Tae, still on the ground, coughing through broken breaths and pain layered in his ribs. And definitely not me.

Because Seongjae didn’t do that. Not anymore. Not since he decided that power meant more than any kind of closeness. Since he turned his back not just on me, but on everything we tried to be. Seeing him there, breaking the cruel logic he helped build, shattered something in me. And he didn’t try to hide it. He didn’t pretend it was justice, or guilt, or some last-minute sense of redemption.

He just looked at me. And it wasn’t the kind of look that seeks forgiveness. It wasn’t regret — at least, not the clean kind. It was as if he was trying to figure out if there was still time — not to fix anything, but just to exist in the same place as me again. And maybe that’s why he didn’t speak. Because any words in that moment would’ve sounded fake, weak, or too small for what needed to be felt, not said.

The fight died like it had been pulled from the air. No one had the nerve to keep going. His name still carried weight — even after everything. Even if he was no longer officially part of anything — not the Union, not the chaos he once helped build. When he turned and walked away, the silence he left behind felt almost respectful. Like no one dared to touch something clearly out of their reach.

And I stayed. My eyes fixed on his back, just like I’d done so many times before, waiting for him to turn around. But this time felt different. Because now, he didn’t seem like he was really leaving. And I knew it — before he even turned his head and looked back. Once. Then again. Not angry looks. Not full of guilt or longing. Just… real. Like someone trying to find a memory in something lost but still breathing. And for a second, I thought he might come back.

But Geum Seongjae never returns the right way. He only comes back when the pain of leaving outweighs the pride of staying gone. And even without saying a word, I understood everything.

The house was dark when we arrived. Quiet, like it was honoring the exhaustion hanging between us. I didn’t say anything. Neither did he. The sound of the keys, the lock turning, our footsteps crossing the doorway — everything sounded louder than it should have. When I closed the door behind us, he still carried that same look from earlier. It wasn’t pain. It wasn’t anger. It was just… exhaustion. The kind that shows up after you hold too much in for too long.

We went upstairs without turning on the lights. Only in the bedroom did I switch on the bedside lamp — warm and soft, casting everything in a golden haze, like time had slowed down just for us. I locked the door out of instinct — maybe because some part of me still feared he’d leave. I pointed to the bed, and he sat without a word. His body felt heavier than I remembered. More tense. Like he’d forgotten how to rest.

I knelt on the floor, pulling the first-aid kit from under the bed. He glanced at the motion, then at me, and said — barely a whisper, but full of memory:

— That still stays there?

It wasn’t really a question. It didn’t need an answer. It was just a quiet acknowledgment of how, despite everything, not much had actually changed. The kit was still in the same spot. Like it had been waiting. Like I had been waiting, too.

I opened the box in silence, starting to clean the cuts on his face. My fingers were steady but gentle. His skin twitched under my touch, but he didn’t complain. He just watched me from time to time, with that look I never really learned how to read. When I finished with his face, I took his left wrist in my hand to clean the shallow cut bleeding slowly across it.

— I left the Union — he said suddenly. No drama. No attempt to impress. He just… said it. Like it was something that needed to leave his mouth before it got buried in his chest again.

My eyes met his slowly. And for a second, I couldn’t hide it — the surprise, the relief, the sudden bloom of hope. He saw it. And didn’t look away. He held my gaze, like he was trying to figure out how far this moment could carry us.

— When? — I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. But it came out too soft.

— Today. Or maybe… before that. But today, I accepted it. For real.

I nodded slowly. And even though I tried, my eyes shimmered. Not just because of what he said. But because, for the first time in a long time, he was saying something that had nothing to do with strength, or status, or pride. It was just him. Simple. Human. Vulnerable, in the only way he ever allowed himself to be.

I sat beside him on the bed. I didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anything left to say in that moment. And yet the silence between us was fuller than any conversation could’ve been. The soft lamp lit up his face in warm amber. And for the first time in a long while, I could see him without the weight of everything that had broken us.

He was still the same in many ways. But there was something new. Something that made me want to stay. That made me want to try again. Not because he’d changed — but because now, he was trying.

And sometimes, trying is enough to begin again.

The conversation started slow. Like someone touching something delicate, not sure if it would break. We talked about ordinary things at first — fights he avoided, the days he pretended not to see me, the places we almost crossed paths but didn’t. He said everything with a lightness that didn’t match the heaviness between us, like he was trying to disarm his own regret with that half-smile he used to give me when he didn’t want me to take things seriously.

But I always did. I always took him seriously.

When he stopped talking, there was silence again. One of those silences that makes you hear your own heartbeat. I watched him for a while, just observing. His eyes looked clearer under the dim light. His voice still echoed in my head even though he wasn’t speaking anymore. And then, without planning to, I let the question slip.

— Why did you let me go?

It wasn’t an accusation. Not even a demand. Just something I’d asked myself in silence a thousand times — and finally needed to hear out loud. He didn’t answer right away. Just lowered his gaze for a moment and took a breath, like the air hurt to carry.

— You’re the one who ended it — he said, without bitterness, just stating the truth.

— I did… — I admitted. — But you made me.

He nodded, and then his shoulders dropped slightly. Like that truth had settled back on him with the same weight it once had. I continued, softer now:

— I just wanted you to choose… something. Anything that didn’t make me feel like I was the mistake in your life.

This time, he looked at me. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just looked — like he finally understood what that meant. The Union. The fights. The shady alliances he never had the courage to walk away from — all of it had left me on the outside. And he knew it.

— Back then… I couldn’t. I didn’t know how — he murmured. — But now I do.

It took him a few seconds to speak again. His voice dropped lower, more intimate. Like it wasn’t meant to be said out loud, but he said it anyway.

— Now we can be together.

My chest tightened at that. Not from excitement — from caution. From everything still standing between what we were and what we could be. I took a breath and looked away for a moment, searching for the right words. When I spoke, my voice wasn’t cold. Just honest.

— Maybe things would’ve been different… if you’d done that back then.

He didn’t try to excuse himself. Didn’t try to convince me. He just said, with a quiet certainty that hurt more than any raised voice:

— They definitely would’ve.

And then it was quiet again. But not like before. Now, the silence had a pulse. Not urgency — presence. We were here. And that was enough. The air between us began to change, and without realizing it, we leaned closer. First with hesitation, as if we were still testing the possibility of being right. Then, with surrender. And when our lips touched, time stopped again.

The kiss wasn’t soft. Or immediate. It was a slow collision — one that started with the tentative pressure of long-held longing, and quickly turned into need. Hands found skin, bodies gave in to memory, and suddenly, everything left unsaid was spoken through touch. In the breaths. The friction. The way his chest pressed into mine.

There was no rush. But there was hunger. Not for the body — for the feeling. For everything we’d denied, postponed, buried under pride and silence and fear. And there, in that bed where only absence had existed before, he was finally present.

Whole.

The kiss lost its restraint, gaining a rhythm that kept building, fueled by all the nights I wanted to touch him but didn’t. All the moments he looked away. His hands moved over my skin like they were relearning it, fingers tracing every inch like I was something he thought he’d lost for good.

He laid me back gently, climbing over me. There was no doubt left. His eyes searched mine one last time, like asking for permission — but his fingers were already undoing buttons with a certainty born from old familiarity. And I let him. Because I wanted to. Because I felt it. Because my body had started calling before my mind could catch up.

Clothes came off, one by one. First mine. Then his. Skin met skin, sending a shiver down my spine, the heat between us rising like a tide. His body was strong, familiar — but there was something different now. A vulnerability in the way he touched. A surrender that hadn’t been there before.

He kissed down to my chest, his tongue leaving trails that burned softly. Moans escaped my mouth, low and broken, involuntary. Every kiss, every lick, every slight bite made my muscles tense, my body react with a kind of aching precision. He knew where to touch. How to touch. How to pull me apart and quiet everything else in the world.

He moved between my legs. Fingers came first — slow, teasing. He was deliberate. Preparing me. Testing. Making me beg without words. And when he finally pushed inside, deep and steady, my back arched. He was warm. Full. Too much — but exactly what I needed.

He moved slowly at first. Hips rolling with purpose, deep and controlled. Making me feel every second of it. And I did. I felt everything. The muted creak of the bed. The slick sound of our bodies meeting. The way he groaned into my ear when I pulled him closer. The friction was perfect. The rhythm built gradually — not from impatience, but from something deeper. The pleasure rising so thick and hot it stole my breath, my hands, my voice.

With each deeper thrust, I clung to him harder, my legs wrapping around his waist, silently begging for more. And he gave it. With force. With precision. With want pouring from his mouth, his skin, his eyes. Our moans mixed, low and rough, drowned in the heat between us. The tension between us stretched like a thread about to snap.

He looked at me — sweaty, panting, focused. His mouth slightly open, forehead resting against mine. And there, right at the height of it, I knew. This wasn’t just sex. This was everything we’d locked away finally taking form.

The climax hit hard. Hot. Tearing through. His came first, whispering my name so softly it almost didn’t escape — but just loud enough to wreck me. Mine followed, fast and fierce, shaking me from the inside out, making me grip the sheets, moan into his neck, helpless.

For a while, nothing else existed. Just the sound of our breathing, uneven and raw. Our bodies, slick and tangled. Our hearts beating like they were trying to remember how to sync again.

He didn’t pull away right away. He stayed. Still inside me. Present. His forehead pressed to mine, his eyes closed. And I let him stay.

Because this time, he was whole.

This time, he was mine.

a/n: tyy, i really appreciate that you liked it - even if i don't know your profile anon - take a special gift i hope you like it! <3😸

[ode2rin]

all my flaws

pairing. itoshi rin x gn!reader

genre. post-argument fluff | suggestive themes | established relationship | new boyfriend!rin 

content/warnings. 2k+ wc | characters are in their 20s ! | pro-athlete!rin | making out | narration heavy! | profanity | minimal proofread (me and my word vomit) | it’s like a new installment of this rin

in which: people say new relationships supposedly need a breakthrough fight to level up, but rin swears he would rather go through hell than do this again.

Your first fight as a couple freaked Rin out, even though he appeared stoic during the argument.

In the heat of the moment, Rin abruptly left your apartment, not uttering a word. Instead, he left you with a lingering glance filled with apathy—a look he'd never cast upon you before. His eyes turned void once again, when you were just getting used to it being bright and free.

What began as a simple disagreement, like any other couple's quarrel, escalated into rhetorical questions, accusing tones, and suddenly, it was him against you.

Silently, he rose from his seat, walked to the door, and vanished like a shadow that had never existed. To Rin, it felt like the right thing to do. You can't leave him if he does it first, he convinced himself. A twisted logic, fueled by emotions creeping from his past.

Yet apparently, his logic seems to be in total shambles when mixed and driven by emotions concerning you, because ten minutes later down the road, he wanted nothing more but to turn the car around.

Even so, in Rin’s true self-sabotaging fashion, he refrained. Because he’s awful, selfish, and couldn’t even fix insignificant arguments like a normal person would. Convinced of his own flaws, he believed you shouldn’t be with him— shouldn’t give him that chance after all.

The next thing he knew, the ten minutes he could’ve made to retreat back and apologize turned into 27 hours and 48 minutes of misery, spent in non-speaking terms with you.

It sucks. Everything sucks.

That night, he slept in his own bed. The next day, the in denial and emotionally constipated side of him made himself believe that the expensive yet seemingly useless mattress felt responsible for the raging tension in his shoulders and back. Of course it wasn't because of the absence of your messages or the unfamiliarity of his own bed. Of course, it’s the bed’s fault.

Life isn’t what it used to be. The sun didn't shine properly if it didn't come through the window of your room he spent the night in, his usual protein drink tasted like absolute shit because you didn’t make it for him, and not to mention the lack of cuddles before he gets up in the morning— it was bound to be the worst day of his life ever since you happened.

To make things even worse, he’s disassociating in practice, even missing a goal making everyone stop in their tracks. It was an unusual sight, Itoshi Rin doesn’t miss, after all. 

He was acting so gloomy that Bachira even pointed out how there’s a storm cloud looming over his head. A statement that earned a curt ‘fuck off, bobcut’ from the striker.

Meanwhile, Isagi took a more rational approach of expressing his concern toward his friend’s atypical behavior by taking out his phone and sending you a message.

Isagi: Did something happen between you and Rin? He's being tenfold more insufferable. [1:13 pm] Isagi: Please do something about this. - Chigiri [1:15 pm]

On the receiving end of these messages, you couldn't help but admit to yourself that you felt a peculiar sense of relief, knowing Rin was grappling with the same turmoil after he left.

You'd had your share of arguments before—petty disagreements that were easier to fix due to forced proximity. It was simpler when you were obligated to walk together on the way home from school; otherwise, he would stand in the same spot outside your classroom if you decided to be petty and ignore him. Annoyed but still caring, he insisted on confirming you got home safely, reasoning that your houses were next to each other.

Rin was still hard-headed, much like all these years. A testament to this was his silence over the past 24 hours.

Reading Isagi’s text messages once more, you let out a sigh and made up your mind – you will force him to fix things with you. You will express your displeasure at his abrupt departure, insist he not repeat it if he wants to do this right with you, and convey that it should always be the two of you against any problem.

It might be a blow to your pride to give in first, but it is what the two of you needed. It is what he needed. 

It just happened that you loved that man enough to provide what he needed, despite all flaws.

A day of missing you must have driven him to hallucinate, Rin concludes. You, perched on his couch, delicately peeling oranges and chuckling at a whimsical show on the screen, are just a hallucination.

“You’re home.”

And would you look at that, hallucinations even speak.

From your vantage point, Rin looks like he's seen a ghost greeting him with his unblinking teal orbs and brows slightly arching upwards. You notice the subtle tightening of his grip on the strap of his gym bag as he takes measured steps towards you, as though cautiously approaching a dream he fears might dissipate.

“Rin?” you whisper in confusion. It was meek, barely a whisper of his name, yet it was all that he needed to close the gap between you in mere seconds.

You gape at him from how determined his strides were. Surprise is instantly replaced by warmth as your lover basically throws himself over you for a well-sought embrace the moment you're within his arms’ reach.

You’re real, and you’re here.

And he can’t even begin to tell you how much tension finally left his body with that realization.

“I thought…” he trails off, burying his face in the crook of your neck. 

As shallow as one might say, each passing hour of being away from you has fully convinced Rin that it might have been the end to what the two of you had.

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” you whisper softly in his ear, your fingers finding solace in the familiar texture of Rin’s hair, tenderly tracing paths down to his nape. Rin responds with a gentle kiss along the side of your neck, a silent affirmation of his gratitude for the comforting gesture.

Unspoken sentiments hang in the air, but neither of you feels the need to verbalize them just yet. The minutes stretch, and you both savor each other’s warmth that has been sorely missed.

As minutes gracefully slipped away, you initiated the release from his embrace, much to his chagrin. Rin openly displayed his disapproval by gently yet firmly wrapping his arms around you. But you were resolute in your purpose and slightly pushed him back.

“Have you eaten?” you ask, holding his face to look at you.

“No.”

“I’ll make you some food, then. Stay here.”

Before your intentions could take you to the kitchen, Rin pulled you back making you fall back to his lap. “don’t want you to go,” he confessed.

“But dinner–”

“No.”

“No? You don’t want to eat?”

“No,” he firmly replied, “Later. I want to hold you first.”

You didn’t respond to Rin, and just took it upon yourself to make yourself more accessible for him to hold by facing him while still seated in his lap. The shift in position sent a shiver of anticipation through both of you, and Rin, consumed by the moment, reveled in the exquisite sensation of your body pressed closely against his.

Slowly, his fingers reached the side of your jaw, tracing and guiding you closer to meet him halfway. With closed eyes, you felt his lips approaching, delicately and purposefully, until his lips were a breath away from yours. The distance between your lips diminished as Rin closed in, capturing your mouth in a sweet, lingering surrender. 

Rin’s strong hands explored every inch of you it could reach. You felt his touch on your neck, shoulders, down to your thighs. The teasing fingers paid extra attention to your waist, their grip subtly teasing the hem of your shirt. You melt into him more when you feel said teasing hands slide inside.

He was everywhere— your mind, your body, your very soul. Rin had them well occupied with all of him.

A soft gasp escapes you when he nips the familiar spot on your neck just below your ear, each kiss that follows tracing a path to your collarbones. Another gasp, louder this time, as Rin gently sucked the skin beneath your collarbones, mending the sweet sting with his feather-light kisses.

It was getting harder to think when a feeling of desire ran from your chest down toward your inner thigh from how impossibly hot Rin’s lips were consuming you.

And just when you thought he had had enough of you, Rin’s hand once again cradled your jaw, guiding your gaze to meet his. Shivers danced down your spine as you absorbed the sight of his half-lidded, glossy teal eyes.

“I need you, baby,” he breathed, “please.”

It seemed as though there was a lot to make up for in the past twenty-four hours that he couldn't hold you.

You stirred from your sleep to the sensation of lingering kisses scattered from your forehead down to your jaw.

Blinking away the remnants of sleep, you found your lover gazing at you with those bright and free teal eyes, and you swore you never had a better way to start the day than this.

A smile graced your lips as you prepared to reciprocate the affection, intending to reach for him and plant a kiss on his jaw. However, your gesture was momentarily halted by his unexpected outburst.

“I love you.”

Professing to you used to terrify Rin – it used to knock all the air from his lungs and make the room seem so small. Now, with a few years ahead to gather enough backbone to escape the misery of pining, professing to you— loving you, felt as easy and natural as breathing.

And he hoped, with every beat of his heart against yours, that he would be breathing just fine in the many years to come.

“I love you,” he tells you again. Just for good measure, to ensure you heard him right, and just to make sure you know he does love you.

You heard him well. His words were clear enough, and the rapid beating of his heart against yours was loud enough to attest.

“Say it back, please,” he pleaded against the soft skin of your neck.

“I love you, Rin.”

“Still?”

“Still.”

He offered no verbal response, but a palpable sigh of relief emanated from him. For a man of few words, he sure does need a lot to feel better.

His warm breath lingered on your skin as a brief silence enveloped you both. Then, with a deliberate yet gentle gesture, he gathered both your arms, placing them above his shoulders, and pulled you closer by your thigh, guiding it above his own.

He loved holding you this way. He wasn’t a big believer, but he wondered if this, right here, was the closest he would ever come to heaven.

“But we have to unlearn those bad habits, Rin,” you asserted, your voice carrying a firm resolve, “No more leaving. We will sit through it, and we will talk, baby.”

Rin’s arms around your waist tightened, as if silently acknowledging your words. You knew he was listening— Rin could be hard headed and all, but he always listened. To you, and only you, that is. 

Minutes passed in silent communion, the world outside fading away as you and Rin held each other. Eventually, drowsiness began to cast its gentle veil over your senses. You couldn't tell if Rin had fallen asleep because his face was buried in the curve of your neck, hiding away in your scent. Yet, the soft and steady rhythm of his breath made you think so.

As you closed your eyes, allowing the realm of dreams to envelop you, Rin’s voice, muffled and quiet, broke the silence.

“Are we going to be fine?”

Barely audible, his question carried a hint of hesitation. And perhaps, if you listen a little closer, you could almost hear the 11-year-old Rin behind his lucid words.

Lucky for him, you had known that little boy throughout your life, enough to love him just as he needed, despite all flaws.

“We will be.”

note. hi, my life ain't life-ing lately soooo here !! i hope all of you are fine and having a blast. but if you aren’t, i’m sending you all of my love. we’ll have better days ahead, trust 🤞🏻

[abbotmohann]

closed doors

pairing: jack abbot x attending!reader

summary: you don’t mean to let jack abbot into your heart but when you realise you did, the only logical response is to push him away and pretend like you can go back to being a cold hearted bitch

a/n: i love reading angst idk what that says about me but anyways this was meant to be just a little drabble but it turned out longer than i imagined but the ending is kinda meh. also not proofread, hope you like it!

jack abbot is a widowed former trauma medic amputee not that he let it define him at least not anymore, the man has been through it and even though he occasionally hangs out on the roof he goes to therapy he makes an active effort to work through his ptsd and improve his mental health. so when jack meets you he feels a sense of kinship just as morbid as he was possibly even more so but he enjoys your deadpan humour.

you don’t realise how or when it happened but over the course of the months working together he worms his way into your life, he gets you coffee most nights and half the time when you’re in the doctors lounge trying to take a moment and eat a protein bar he comes in and offers you half his packed lunch which you insist you can’t take but he never takes no for an answer and when he offers rides home you don’t even fight it.

you come to the realisation the first time he’s off in months and you feel the lack of his presence the whole shift, your mind wandering what he was doing - you miss him and you hate it. you’re anxious throughout the next shift you feel tense and awkward around him, trying to process. you try to distance yourself from him but he makes it so goddamn hard, you couldn’t exactly turn down the free coffee so you find other ways like not eating in the doctors lounge, you keep small talk to a minimum where you used to banter with him you don’t - you’re not mean about it at least you don’t think so and when your shift ends you hang back a good 15minutes. eventually he seems to get the picture, he still gets you coffee and searches your eyes every time likely trying to figure what’s changed but you smile and say thanks like normal every single time leaving him confused but that’s really the only that’s stuck, there’s no back and forth anymore it’s strictly professional and you don’t have to hang back anymore, he doesn’t offer you ride anymore. you hate it you miss him, him still buying you a coffee makes it worse sometimes you want to say something spark it all back up again and every once in awhile he sees it and hesitates but you chicken out. eventually even the coffee stops and that really breaks your heart, he never treats you differently on a professional level which at the very least you’re thankful for not that you doubted him but a sick part of you almost wishes he did, there’s an aching void where he used to occupy that you keep trying to ignore - an impossible task when you see him almost daily.

one night you’re running into work early deciding to buy a coffee from the local spot that jack used to get it for the two of you, you make the impulsive decision to also grab one for jack immediately regretting as you’re walking in. you thought about all the ways this was a bad idea so close to throwing it away but just as you were getting to the entrance with both cups in hand so was jack - this was the moment.

“hi jack! i got you coffee”

he furrowed his brows perplexed, she doesn’t speak to him in months but now she brings him a coffee from their spot - she obviously needed a favour he assumed. “thanks” he gave a tight lipped smile as he took the cup and walked away. the rest of the shift went by as normal and there was no favour to be asked so what was that? he wondered, something to discuss with the therapist he figured.

now at the end of your shift there’s a downpour, the kind of torrential rain that soaks you through to the bone. you’re standing at the exit cursing at yourself for not having an umbrella or anything protective dreading getting onto public transport. jack walking out spots you, he sighs his chest tightening nervous for what he’s about to say dreading your reaction.

“i’ll give you a lift”

“oh no jack it’s fine, it’s not too bad”

he rolled his eyes huffing. “it wasn’t a question” you open and close your mouth not knowing how to respond and jack simply pops open his umbrella waiting so you get under it and walk to his car.

the silence is deafening, you feel sick to your stomach. you feel this wave of anger coming off jack you can’t tell if it’s all in your head your if it’s just own guilt projecting. it silent the whole journey and when you reach yours.

“thanks for the ride”

“here take the umbrella”

“thanks but i can survive a few feet”

you unbuckle your seat but you can’t move, you feel the overwhelming urge to fix this now but unsure of how to approach this you say probably the most ridiculous thing you could.

“i know you live far so if you want you can wait at mines for the rain to calm down” you lived a 15 minute drive away from the hospital but tonight he had taken 30 minutes and you knew he lived a 45 minute drive away. you were being logical in a situation that was incredibly illogical. “please for my sake”

he’s thrown off, irritated at the offer. he wants to be mad at you but your voice soft and shaky just makes him want to grab you into his arms and comfort you, you were maddening he thought.

when he walks into your apartment he’s struck by how clinical it feels, you have the barebones it seems there’s no warmth like it’s not lived in. “do you want something to drink like a cup of tea or coffee?” at ease now in your own domain the guilt temporarily forgotten.

“uh, a coffee would be nice” he stands there awkwardly not sure what to do watching you fuss about around your studio flat seemingly switching the heating on opening the curtain halfway (what was that about?).

“you can go ahead and sit on the sofa jack” and so he does, he mind swirling with a million questions, he decided this was it this was the best time to get his answers once and for all.

you come to sit beside him with two cups of coffee, the awkward tension stronger than ever you know you should say something or else what was the point of inviting him to your place at the very least for the sake of being a good host.

“it was lucky you brought an umbrella i don’t remember seeing it as going rain when i check the weather”

“seriously!? you wanna talk about the weather? not about how you’ve been treating me the past couple months?”

“i haven’t been rude”

“seriously!?”

“what!?” you running your fingers through your hair frustrated this isn’t going how you wanted, not that you had a plan but anything is better than this.

“you’re too smart to be playing dumb right now, you’ve been avoiding me” his voice is harsh now, exasperated with you and you’re inability to be honest. he knew you had walls, he knew you weren’t an open book if anything you reminded him a little bit of him and he liked it cos he understood it.

“no i haven’t” you know it’s stilly to so balantly lie but you’re still too scared to be real.

“you’re never in the doctors lounge, you never wanna speak about anything that isn’t medical anymore and don’t think i don’t know you purposely hang in the locker room so i can’t offer you ride home. i thought you were going through something personal and pushing everyone away but then i soon realised you had no problem with any of our coworkers just me, so if ive done something to hurt you just tell me how i can fix it?”

“jack, i’m sorry i wasn’t clear but our relationship was becoming unprofessional you’re my senior, i was just trying to establish boundaries again and keep it strictly professional”

“you think it’s professional to invite me into your home?” he rolls his eyes, he feels defeated now maybe tonight wouldn’t be the night this would be fixed.

“i’m not a total monster, i can’t have you getting into an accident on my conscious”

jack sighs and you both sit there silent for a beat, jack bumping his legs against yours willing you to look at him and you do.

“god you drive me insane” he lets out a chuckle rubbing his face.

you’re pouting now. “do you hate me now?”

“no! i wouldn’t be here trying to fix this, asking my therapist for advice”

“there’s nothing to fix” it’s out before you even think, wincing at the harshness but you don’t let jack speak. “wait i’m sorry that was mean”

he rolls his eyes “normally i like that about you so i’ll it slide” you chew on your lips at his casual confession, like in what way is the first thought and the second thought is ‘you’re insane’

“you spoke about me to your therapist?” a giggle escapes, it seemed absurd that you’d be brought up, that you had any significant meaning to his life. “i’m sorry it’s not funny, i’m just surprised”

“i know i said this already but god you’re drive me insane, what’s so surprising about that?”

“idk the fact that there’s anything significant about me or us to discuss”

“maybe throwing away our friendship was easy for you but it meant a lot to me, you mean a lot to me. i can’t stop caring about you even if i wanted to and if you really did think the professional lines were blurring and it was making you uncomfortable you could’ve just said so, i don’t wanna ever make you feel uncomfortable.”

“i’m sorry” you look down at your fidgeting hands breaking the eye contact.

“stop apologising”

“i don’t actually care about professional boundaries, i know you wouldn’t let any personal beef getting into the way of work. i just you’re better off without me”

“what’s that supposed to mean? you don’t think you’re good enough for me?”

“jack i’m incredibly fucked up and i don’t go to therapy even though i probably should, i don’t let people into my life but all of a sudden you weaseled your way into my heart and so i pushed you away for my sake and yours. i didn’t wanna go through the mortifying experience of you realising my feelings and rejecting them but here we are”.

“please look at me when i say this.” you oblige considering it’s the least you could do. “did i bring anyone else coffee? did i share my food with anyone else? am i giving rides out to everyone? you think you didn’t weasel your way into my heart? you’re the only thing i look forward to coming into work even when it hurt”

he strokes your cheek as he brushes a few unruly pieces away, “i’ve wanted to do this for so long” he pulls you in to a passionate kiss and you oblige melting into his touch, he’s soon pulling you into his lap the kiss frantic and desperate.

he pulls away to catch ch his breath and remark on the facts. “you know we could’ve been doing this for months instead”

pressing soft kisses along his neck, you let out a frustrated sigh “i know i’m an idiot, i’m sorry”

“what did i say about apologising, you can you make it up to me instead” he winked

“oh i’m not sorry then” you smirk running your hands through his salt and pepper curls.

“you’re gonna be the death of me” his lips are back on you again in a frantic mess, your arms wrapped around him tightly rolling your hips deciding this morning was going to end with both of you naked.

[sammys-magical-au]

But like… that’s not cutting back on caffeine because most sodas have caffeine in them???

I really don't care what people eat or drink or whatever it's bodily autonomy baby but i do however think it's wild that I've known multiple people who are like, "I'm trying to cut back on caffeine" and then replace morning coffee with morning soda

Like there's something a little off in the logic in that