#man literally left two widows in his wake

[pasdetrois]

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(deleted segment from the shadow of a doubt screenplay + gothic incest: gender, sexuality and transgression by jenny diplacidi)

[royalsweetteaa]

sadbucksblog asked: Ok here’s a thought that’s been running through my head. 1940s steve forcing himself on shy!innocent!reader and forcing her to marry him. Later when reader found out that he ‘died’ (during the plane crash), she was secretly glad. But surprise surprise Endgame steve came back to return the infinity stones n decides to stay with his widow for good.In my head, endgame steve is meaner & more jaded 😈

Oh, definitely!! Endgame Steve gives the most dom vibes out of all his previous versions. If reader thought Steve was bad in the 1940s, she has another thing coming when he returns. His stay in the modern age has corrupted him more and made him kinkier. Like imagine the things he would do against 40s reader now that he knows how to pleasure a woman, because I know for sure they didn’t care about that stuff in the 40s.

18+ ONLY | MINORS DNI

WARNING - Following contains: non-con, explicit smut, forced marriage, misogyny, 40s gender roles, dom/sub dynamic, dom!Steve, unbalanced power dynamic, mentions of somnophilia, slight bondage, dumbification, loss of virginity.

Title: His return

I imagine with this scenario, Steve liked Y/N a lot before he received the serum. You were so sweet and actually nice to him unlike the rest of the girls, but whenever he asked you on a date, you would reject him, saying you only saw him as a good friend.

And so after he got his super soldier strength, he expected you to like him back, because all women love strong and masculine men who can protect and provide for them (at least that’s how the gender norms were back in the 1940s). So imagine to his surprise when you kindly reject him even then after he has become a living female fantasy.

He literally cannot contain his fury and forces himself on you the same day, ignoring your pleas when you beg him to stop because you wanted to save yourself for marriage and give your virginity to someone you love.

“Don’t worry, my love. It’s not a sin if we end up getting married. You will take me as your husband or I’m going to tell everyone how much of a whore you are for spreading your legs so easily for me.” Steve threatened.

You were so scared, and knowing you had little authority in this situation, you did as he said. You knew no one would side with you if you were to protest against the new hero of the country; Captain America.

A month later, the two of you married and became husband and wife. Steve made you into his little house wife, and for each mission he came home from, he would fuck you for hours until you passed out. You were so clueless of the things Steve did to you sometimes, like whenever he would thrust inside of you in a specific angle causing you to feel an arising sensation from your abdomen. You didn’t know what it was, but it felt good no matter how shameful you were of it.

Whenever you accidentally dropped something, like a plate of food or when you burned dinner in the oven because you forgot the time, Steve would punish you by harsh spanking, telling you how bad of a wife you are for messing up your husband’s food. You would cry and apologize profusely until he stopped and left you with a sore butt.

He would also take you when you were fast asleep. You were a light sleeper, and only would you wake up when he jackhammered into you, causing a burning feeling around your sore pussy. Steve was huge due to his bodily enhancement, and it took a while for you to get used to his size. He would hardly talk when he fucked you as his only mission was to cum for relief. Steve was a busy man after all, with the war still ongoing. The weeks he was gone were the most peaceful times of your life ever since Steve took claim of you.

One fateful day, a military personnel visited you at your house and gave you the unfortunate news of the Captain’s loss. You shedded tears, but not because of Steve’s death. It was rather because the nightmare of a life was finally over. You felt relieved knowing Steve could never put his hands on you ever again.

2 years pass by, and you have all forgotten about Steve Rogers. You would occasionally see his face on posters and articles, and while it brought back some of the trauma, you always reminded yourself that he was gone for good.

At least, you thought he was.

It was a day like any other in your small little suburban house that you moved to after selling Steve’s house, and you suddenly heard the doorbell ring to your front door. You shouted ‘coming!’ to whoever was waiting outside, and turned off the temperature of your oven where there were freshly baked cinnamon rolls waiting for you later.

You open the door, and it’s like your whole world shatters before your eyes. There he was, your unmistakably still alive husband standing there. He looked more older, and it was only 2 years ago he was announced dead.

“Hello, my love. Have you missed me?” He asked darkly. You shrieked and tried to escape through the back door, but it was too late. Steve ran after you and grabbed you around your waist and held you down on the floor, preventing you from struggling away.

“That is no way to greet your husband after thinking he was dead for such a long time. I expected better from you, my wife. Maybe you have forgotten who you belong to and I need to give your dumb little brain a reminder.” He said, and carried you upstairs to your bedroom.

He threw you onto the bed like a rag doll and started to tie your wrists with velvet ropes he had brought with him to the headboard. This was new to you from all your previous experiences of having sex with Steve, and it scared you. “S-Steve, what is this?..what are you-!”

“I’m going to fuck you so hard and make you wish you never pulled that little escape stunt earlier. Silly woman, thinking you stand a chance against me. You’re mine, and I’ll do everything in my power to make sure your dumb head understands that.”

He ripped your clothes off harshly, and he unbuttoned his trousers to free his cock from the restraints. You expected him to penetrate you like he always did before. That was the only type of sex you two were familiar with. But this ‘new’ version of Steve had different plans.

Your eyes widened when his face lowered at your pussy, causing you to feel distressed. “W-Wait, don’t do that!…I-It probably smells, I don’t want you to get too close to it!”

“Oh, Y/N, my sweet wife. You’re so clueless. What I did and did not do before I disappeared was when I was a boy. But I’m a man now, and I’m going to teach you so many things of how we can pleasure each other.”

His tongue stuck out of his mouth and he licked a stripe of your cunt, causing you to cry out a moan. You have never felt anything like this before. It almost felt unreal. It only got worse when his tongue glided between your pussy lips, gathering all your juices for him to savour.

“You taste delicious, my love. There isn’t a thing that’s more tastier than your sweet pussy…” he mumbled into your sensitive skin.

Steve never talked like this during sex, and somehow you preferred him not to talk because it made it easier to not enjoy it. This Steve however was making it harder to hate it with each new thing he did, and it made you feel horrible about yourself.

Suddenly, Steve used what felt like his thumb to rub at a particular spot. It caused your whole body to jolt at once like you were electrocuted, and you felt an overwhelming heat spread across your whole body.

“Do you know what this little pearl is, doll? It’s called a clitoris. It’s your most sensitive part of your pussy, and it will only be recognized as what engorges your wetness and surrounds your vagina in 2009 - about 70 years from now on. It also has about 8,000 nerve endings, which is why you become so sensitive when I touch it. Isn’t that fascinating, my love?”

You didn’t pick up a word of what he was rambling about because you were too out of it from his circling motion of rubbing your pearly nub. You couldn’t stop moaning and panting. Again came that familiar feeling of a rising high. Before you knew it, the feeling hit you like a wave and you felt your hole quivering.

“Aaaww, you just came. How cute….” He cooed, with a victorious grin. “Now, let’s get to the main course of this session. Haven’t been in this pussy for a loooong time. And I’m sure you’ve been a good girl not having anyone else inside you, right?”

You didn’t respond to that question, still pretty out of what had taken place moments earlier.

He slapped your cheek lightly but harsh enough to take you out from your daze. “Answer me, whore.”

“N-No! I haven’t, Steve! No one has been inside of me since you disappeared! I promise!” You answered with frantic.

He smiled again. “Good.”

He aimed his cock at your hole and shoved himself in with little care. He groaned loudly, sounding so content with the current feeling. “Oh, I’ve missed her…missed your pussy so much…I’ve missed you..” he said followed with a grunt. “I’m so glad I’m back. Back together with you.”

For the rest of the evening, he would torture you with new tricks of his that opened a new world of sex for you. By the end of the night, Steve had you wrapped in his strong arms, whispering the most obscene things and promises in your ear. Most of them were connected to one promise that made you dread for the future.

A promise of never leaving you ever again.

Note from author: this turned out a lot longer than I originally planned but I really enjoyed the concept and couldn’t help myself. I’m a hoe for endgame AND 40s Steve.🧍Anyways, thank you @sadbucksblog for sharing your idea! <3 Hope you enjoy it!

(This has been reposted here as I have deleted my old account!)

Hearts & Reblogs are very appreciated! <3

[olsenmyolsen]

Ups and Downs The Final Part

master list

dark master list

Slight MCU AU (Female Reader X Natasha Romanoff)

Be sure to read part one! . And Part Two!

Summary: You finally take Natasha on a date!

Word Count: 4.6K

TW: None, Pure Fluff with some mentions of Yelena. <3

You stood in front of Natasha's door with a bouquet of roses in your hands.

It was officially the first Friday since being discharged from the Avengers medical wing, and you wanted to be Natasha's woman in shining armor.

Even though she literally saved your life after being shot when mercenaries busted their way into her safe house apartment, so there was no way you'd ever outshine The Black Widow- ya know what, that doesn't matter!

Here you stood in front of Natasha's door! At Avengers Campus! Feet firmly planted! Flowy red sundress flowing! A fist raised to the door, and just as it was about to make contact, it flung open.

Your right hand flew through the open air before falling by your side. "Huh?" Your eyes went from your hand to the woman who opened the door.

Natasha smirked with painted red lips as her green eyes looked you up and down. The bruising was no longer visible on your exposed skin, but that's not why Natasha was looking at the way your sundress stopped just 4 inches above the knee.

You watched the way her green eyes lifted to you. Making eye contact before they lowered back down. "Are these for me?" Natasha stepped forward and grabbed the bouquet of flowers from your hand. The contact your fingertips made was electric for you both.

Your brain immediately flat-lined.

"I-uh- yeah!" You let Natasha take the bouquet as she smiled at how you fumbled with your words. "I figured we've already lived through a couple of cliches, so what's one more?!" You moved back and forth on your feet as Natasha examined the flowers. "I hope you like them." Natasha looked at you. "Captain- Steve- uh, mentioned how you like Roses." Natasha looked down at her hands, and a quizzical look turned into a smile that broke into laughter.

You smiled and laughed, too, but you weren't sure why. But if Natasha was smiling because of something you did, you'd count that as a win.

"These are Carnations." Natasha finally said.

"What is that now?" You asked as you took a step forward into Natasha's space. Tip-toeing around the flirty line, you two have been playing since waking up here.

"These aren't Roses. They're Carnations. They look very similar." You took a closer look, but flowers looked like flowers, so you just nodded and took the Up (Going on a date with Natasha) with the Down (Getting her the wrong type of flowers).

"Don't worry," Natasha said as she bumped your shoulder and smiled. "I love them." You smiled and rolled your eyes. "Who said I was worried, Natasha?" The redhead threw an eyebrow and looked at you as she closed her bedroom door. "Hmm." She hummed. "Tell that to the corners of your mouth." Natasha then mocked you as she made a pouty face before laughing as you tried to look away. But you wore a big smile.

"Come on," Natasha said with glee as her hand wrapped around yours. Not letting go until the two of you reached the kitchen.

"I'll put these in a vase, and then we'll go." You nodded to her words and watched the way Natasha filled out her black jeans as she walked away with an extra oomph on her step.

This date was something the two of you wanted, and Natasha couldn't wait.

She was going to tease you all night.

"Take a picture. It'll last longer." You jumped to the sound of a man in your ear. Turning to your left to see Clint Barton smiling from catching you in the act. You swung your arm down and made contact with his. "Don't you have anything better to do?" You yelled at the older man in a hushed tone.

He shrugged.

"Not a lot at the moment. So where are you taking her?" Clint held his fork up to his mouth and blew on his noodles to cool them down.

"That information is for Natasha only." You whispered to Clint as if Natasha couldn't hear you.

But she could. If there's one thing Natasha has learned about you since moving in. You think you know how to whisper, and you definitely don't realize how loud your footsteps are. Twice now, Natasha has woken up to the sounds of you getting a late-night snack.

To your knowledge, it had been one time that Natasha woke up. That was when she joined you in your room to watch re-runs of The Nanny.

You fell asleep with your head on her shoulder.

Natasha turned red when it happened. Because she officially knew what she had been thinking this whole time.

She was falling for you.

"Boring," Clint said as he put a fork full of noodles in his mouth and walked away. The conversation no longer fun to him.

Natasha held in a smile and presented you with the vase full of carnations.

"What do you think?"

You smiled and kept your eyes on Natasha. "I think you look beautiful." Natasha rolled her eyes, which made you laugh. "Come on. I told you that if we started dating, it would only get worse." Natasha nodded and placed the vase in the middle of the table. "Well, don't run before you can walk." Natasha sent you a wink as she stuck out her hand. "And is it dating if it's only the one so far?" You smiled and took hers in yours. "Years from now, you'll laugh about this, Natasha." You said with smug written all over your face.

Your cheesiness makes Natasha think back to the apartment weeks ago.

"So, which car is Stark letting you borrow?"

"Oh, I was supposed to ask?" You said as you and the redhead entered the garage. Natasha turned her head and couldn't tell if you were joking until your lips cracked. "Any of them, he said."

"Generous." She lifted her eyebrows as you two walked past rows of luxury cars.

"Yeah..." You said as Natasha started walking towards the motorcycles. One in particular. "I feel like Tin Man was threatened by a hot spy."

Natasha stopped in front of a black Harley Davidson with a red leather seat and orange accents and details. "Hot spy, huh?" You nodded. "Red hair. You wouldn't know her." Natasha playfully rolled her eyes and turned back to the bike. "What do you think?" She asked as you took a step forward. "I didn't think Tony drove this."

Natasha lifted the pillion seat and pulled out a set of keys. Tossing them to you. "He doesn't." You caught the keys and looked back to Natasha as she leaned against the bike with a tight-lipped smile as her tongue rolled over her teeth.

Fuck, you were starting to get hungry, and it wasn't food calling your name.

"Wanna try it?" She asked as she grabbed a red helmet from behind her, waiting for your answer. "Nat, you can't be serious!" Natasha pulled her body away from the bike and walked towards you before she placed the helmet in your hands. "I mean, you can always say no," Natasha said as she looked at you with a confident smile and glimmer in her eyes.

She had you.

You looked from the helmet back to Natasha. "Promise to help?"

Natasha placed her hands on your hips and leaned closer. You inhaled sharply from her touch. Her perfume worked its way through your nose, making you smile. "I'll make sure we don't crash." Natasha kissed your cheek and left you blushing as she picked up the helmet and placed it on your head. "Ready?" You nodded as Natasha pushed the helmet down onto your face. Only your eyes are the thing Natasha sees.

She grabbed your hand and led you to the bike. Natasha watched how you wrapped your legs around the seat. "I'm starting to think maybe a dress wasn't the best idea." You said as your voice was muffled by the helmet.

Natasha smirked and looked at the way your dress rode up. Revealing more thigh from you. Your soft skin against the leather seat was doing wonders for Natasha. "Trust me." Natasha started as she grabbed a helmet from the bike beside her and put it on. "You'll be fine. I'll keep you warm."

You understood the double entendre and couldn't help but blush once again. Natasha wasn't holding back tonight, and for someone who was usually spouting flirty attempts, it left you worried that your cheeks would always be stuck in a giggly smile.

Natasha sat on the seat and let her black jeans brush against your legs. "Put the key here." Her hands worked down your arms and rested on top of your own hands. You nodded and placed the tiny key in the ignition. "Hit this button to turn it on." Natasha pointed to a red button in the center of the handlebars. "Once you do that. This is the accelerator. This is the brake." Natasha showed you how to use each one while her hands never left your body.

"Okay." You sighed as the idea of driving this without thinking about the vibrations and Natasha gripping your body was going to make you crazy.

"Ready?" Natasha asked as her hand was above the red button. "I.. I think so." You said. "Y/N." You turned your head back. "Don't worry. I'll be here." You could see the way Natasha's cheeks lifted below her green eyes. She was smiling to you and giving you reassurance.

You nodded.

"I'm ready." Natasha hit the red button and laid her hands on yours. "Good girl." You heard her yell as she traced a birthmark on your middle finger.

You bit your lip. "Okay." You thought to yourself. "If teasing is what she wants." You could do this.

You kicked the leg stand up, and turned the accelerator, forcing Natasha to grip her body around yours at the sudden acceleration. "Good girl!" You yelled back, making Natasha scoff with surprise as you picked up the speed right before the two of you left the garage and hit the main road.

You felt free with Natasha Romanoff as the noise of the bike engine roared while her hands moved up from yours to around your waist. She was gripping you tighter.

Natasha was in awe of your quick ability to handle the bike due to every clumsy spill of water or untied shoelace you've had since meeting her.

But you surprised her.

Natasha even caught the wink you sent her from the side mirror as you turned the bike onto the exit for the city.

She had no idea where you were taking her, but she couldn't wait to find out. _

The lights of New York City passed over your helmets as you turned the bike down a one-way street and pulled into a side alley. The bike rolled to a stop just before you kicked the leg stand out and turn off the bike.

Natasha kept her arms around you as the volume of the city worked its way into your ears. You smiled at the contact and weren't surprised when the hands moved south to the end of your dress.

You turned and clinked your helmet into Natasha's, making her shoot her eyes your way. She watched you raise an eyebrow. But Natasha ignored your gaze and let her red-painted nails scratch your bare skin before pulling away.

"Did you enjoy it?" She husked as the two of you lifted your helmets. You rested your helmet on the left handlebar and checked your hair before turning back to face the redhead. "Every single bump in the road." You smirked.

Natasha looked you up and down. "I bet." She hummed and got off the bike first before helping you. "Your touch wasn't so bad either." You said as you handed Natasha the keys. "My touch, huh?" She asked. You nodded and walked behind her. Wrapping your arms around her waist. "Your touch." You rested your forehead against her shoulder before pulling away. Pink hue on you both.

Natasha loved this.

She smiled and placed her helmet on the right handlebar before stepping back next to you. "So, where did you take me?"

You pointed around the corner and briefly held Natasha's hand as you approached the entrance. "Sushi?" Natasha questioned at the Japanese signs in the window. "But you don't like sushi," Natasha said as you opened the door. "But you do." Natasha, while flattered, shook her head. "Y/N I-"

"Nat."

"What are you going to eat?!" Natasha questioned as you let go of the door and walked closer to the woman on the sidewalk.

"I'll eat whatever you get. Or I'll order something I can get down. Tonight is my date night for you. Okay?" Natasha looked from the door to you. "Are you sure?" You nodded. "Plus the thought of you speaking Japanese, oh man!" You made your eyebrows jump while Natasha gave you a pity laugh. "But seriously, don't worry. There's more planned for tonight."

Natasha nodded. She believed you. "Okay." You smiled and quickly opened the door for Natasha. "Thank you."

"Of course." You said as your eyes fell to Natasha's jeans. "Eyes up, Y/N." She said with a smirk before sitting herself at the open sushi bar. You following.

"Tsu onegaishimasu," Natasha said to the man who nodded behind the bar as he placed two small ceramic cups for sake. He smiled at you before looking and speaking to Natasha. Natasha laughed and turned to you. "He said my Japanese is excellent." You smiled and looked at the menu before you. "Hot, too." You mumbled with a smile before feeling a soft slap on your knee. "Detka, please." Natasha quietly said.

You closed your legs.

"Russian, too?!" You quietly shouted.

Natasha scanned up your body before smirking and biting her bottom lip. "Da."

Maybe you needed another ride on the bike.

Your menu was taken from you minutes later when Natasha went ahead and ordered enough for the two of you. She made sure to mix enough new things with some things you could keep down.

"So..." You looked to Natasha as she set her drink down. "Next dates gotta be at a Russian restaurant, right?" You smirked and waited for Natasha to answer.

She shook her head with a laugh.

"This one's not even over, and you think you're gonna get a second one?" You nodded with glee. "I know I will." Natasha enjoyed your overconfidence. It was natural as opposed to off-putting.

She had enough of that, thanks to your boss, Tony Stank.

"Besides, we already live together." Natasha moved her head from side to side as she squinted. "Debatable."

"Well, our address is the same. Is it not?" You had the redhead there. Natasha closed her mouth and playfully glared at you. "Not holding back tonight, huh?" You shook your head. "We can start the cliché 20 questions if you're ready?" You said with a laugh that lit up the room in the eyes of The Black Widow.

"Okay," Natasha said as she turned more towards you as rolls of sushi started to be placed between the two of you. "For each question we answer— honestly— we eat a roll. Given by the other person."

Natasha caught how you added the H word.

She swallowed and nodded.

It was known to the both of you that Natasha knew a whole hell of a lot more about you than you did about her.  So this was your way of getting to know the woman you wanted to spend more and more time with.

Natasha picked up a pair of chopsticks. "I'm ready." You did the same. "Me too." You smiled and looked at the rows of sushi. "Just don't make me eat a gross one." Natasha playfully rolled her eyes once again. "Trust me. Whatever I put in your mouth will be good for you."

Your mouth fell open as you drop your chopsticks to the ground.

Two minutes later, with a red face and new chopsticks, the game of questions started. _

"Oh, come on, don't be a baby."

"Natasha, you said it was deadly!"

"I said it's deadly if it's not prepared right!"

You closed your mouth and dodged Natasha's pufferfish sushi before she reached over and grabbed your nose closed. Your eyes went wide and searched the spy's green ones for any sign of giving up. But you saw the same look she had when you were bleeding out. Determination.

"Take it!" Natasha said as the sushi flew into your mouth before she placed her hands over your lips. You wanted to make the first dirty joke that came to your mind, but you were too busy trying to get the pufferfish into your stomach.

"Done?" Natasha asked as she lifted her hand after a minute of chewing.

You swallowed. "It wasn't that bad." You said before reaching for your glass of water.

Natasha shook her head before breaking into a laugh. "You're unbelievable." You perked up and winked. "So I'm told." Natasha looked over your face before lifting her hand up and gently wiped away the smudge lipstick from the corner of your mouth. You sat still and let her fingers linger under your chin before she drug them up and away.

How she looked tonight was etched into your brain.

"I meant what I said before. You're beautiful." You said before Natasha's eyes left your face. She stopped. Her body softened. You saw her eyes look from your eyes to lips and back.

Natasha cleared her throat.

"Thank you, Y/N." Natasha closed her mouth and opened it, but nothing came out. You just smiled and loved the way she looked at you before picking up a California roll. "Okay, my tu-"

"I really like you." Natasha cut you off.

You moved your gaze from the roll to her eyes staring at you. Natasha nervously smiled at you before surprising you by leaning forward, grabbing your chin, and kissing your lips.

She was gentle and tasted like cherries. Well, and sushi, but her red lips were sweet nonetheless.

Like she was.

She was a hot, dangerous spy who spoke a multitude of languages but, at the same time, was profoundly caring for her friends and had a glow deep within her that was good.

Natasha thinks that pain makes her stronger.

But you knew that was naturally Natasha—a strong, gorgeous person inside and out.

Her lips left yours as air came back into the two of you. "I-I like- I really like you too." You fumbled over your words before giving her a quick peck while holding onto the California roll between your chopsticks.

Natasha nodded as she sat back down. "Okay. Good." She said before laughing to herself. Her nerves were calming back down.

You just thought she was being cute.

"We like each other." You said as you laughed, too. "That's good, or else this date wasn't going anywhere." Natasha threw her head back. "Well, I'm glad it's going somewhere," Natasha said.

"Me too." You said as you raised the California roll to Natasha's mouth. She opened up and took it with joy.

You placed the chopsticks down.

"I guess it's my turn for a question, but I feel like it's inappropriate now." You said as Natasha picked up a roll for you. "Inappropriate, huh?" Natasha smirked, making you roll your eyes. "Not like that." Natasha played along. "Okay, sure, Y/N."

You smiled back and opened and closed your mouth before finally placing your arms on the bar top. "You don't have to tell me, but... Who's Yelena?"

Natasha wasn't expecting that question. Her mouth slowly fell as she lowered the roll back onto the plate. Her eyes hardened while a look of guilt flew across her face. "How do you know that name?" Her voice had an edge to it, and it instantly reminded you when she held you down on the floor in Budapest... Budapesht?

Boy, the two of you have been through a lot in such a short time.

You made sure to lock eyes with Natasha. "You said it in your sleep a couple of nights ago." You answered honestly. "It was the night you came and watched The Nanny with me. I woke up around 4 am to see you still there. I'm not going to lie it was sweet, but it looked like you were having a pretty intense dream. You kept murmuring in your sleep about someone named Yelena."

Natasha swallowed and sighed as she turned her body more to you. Her clothed knees brushing against yours. "Yelena is my sister." You pulled your head back in shock. "Oh!"

You wanted to say. "I didn't know you had a sister." But you'd just be stating the obvious. "Did I say anything else?" Natasha cautiously asked. You shook your head. "No. Just her name." You smiled in an effort to try to make Natasha feel better, and it worked a little, but now Natasha felt the need to tell you about Ohio.

But before she could, you said something that would stick.

"I'm sure you'll see her soon." Natasha paused at your words. "You think?" Natasha asked, earning a nod. "If she's anything like her sister, she's out there, and she's strong and caring too. You, too, will find each other again." You sent a big smile to Natasha.

She returned it with watery eyes before blinking them away.

"I'm just happy it's your sister and not an ex. I was about to go hot spy mode." Natasha laughed while she picked up a napkin. "I would've loved to have seen that." You shrugged. "There's still time, Miss. I speak over ten languages."

Natasha picked up a roll and brought it towards you. "You just want me to speak in another language again." You opened your mouth, allowing Natasha to feed you.

"Of course!" You said in a duh-like manner with a mouth full of sushi.

Natasha signaled for the check for you as you swallowed. She turned back to you. "Okay, Y/N." She gave you her full attention, making you close those legs tighter.

"Dove andremo dopo?" (Where are we going next?") _

You parked the bike in front of the cafe Tony helped you rent out for the night.

Once again, Natasha helped you off the bike before the two of you placed your helmets on the handlebars.

"A cafe?" Natasha asked as she took your hand in hers. "Not just any cafe, Nat." You smiled as you walked ahead and grabbed the door for her. Natasha let go of your hand as you two entered the building. Stopping in front of another set of doors that were locked. To the left was a sign in the area where a woman was sitting.

"A cat cafe!" You exclaimed as you turned to the woman waiting. "I take it this is the Y/N Romanoff party?" The woman with the name tag Ana asked. You nodded with glee while Natasha's brain was playing catch up.

How did she figure out my love of cats? Wait, did she say Romanoff party? Y/N Romanoff??

These questions and more swirled around before you turned around and made eye contact with Natasha.

"I may or may not have heard from a man with an eye patch that you have a fondness for cats. Specifically black ones."

When the hell did she meet Fury?

Was the next question Natasha kept inside.

"Y/N, this is so sweet! Thank you!" Natasha smiled as the two of you lathered your hands with hand sanitizer. Gotta be safe and careful with the kitties.

Ana opened the second double doors and waved you and your date inside. "Well, come in, Romanoffs. We have some cuties waiting to meet you."

You blushed at the name, and hoped Natasha wouldn't point it out. But you already knew her well. She bumped your shoulder while Ana left the two of you with menus and a binder full of the cats' names, likes, and dislikes.

"Y/N Romanoff, huh?" Natasha said as she flipped through the binder. Not really looking but giving you the impression as her eyes did not turn to meet yours. "Cool it." Natasha nodded.

You turned away from Natasha as Ana let the cats into the giant space. "Not a bad last name, though." You smirked and saw Natasha look at you with a soft gaze from your peripheral vision before she, too, looked at the cats flooding the room.

Immediately, a tabby cat ran up to your table and jumped closer to you. You laughed as you remembered briefly having a cat before it turned out to be your neighbor's.

Oof.

You peeked at the name of the tabby. "Majima." You whispered. "He's cute," Natasha said but without much more interest as she looked around at the multiple black cats. Some had white paws. Some had spots. But they were all precious to her, and she wanted to scoop them up and kiss their little heads.

Which she did to a few cats named Kiryu, Geoff, and Mr. Soupwater.

But then a pure black cat walked by Natasha, and it was all over. You practically watched Nat throw herself to the ground in order to get closer. Leaving her cinnamon lavender latte behind.

You watched the cat with hazel eyes stop in its tracks before taking slow steps to the woman who made your stomach flutter with a certain feeling.

You could see the heart eyes Natasha had when she turned to with a wide smile. "Y/N look!"

"I see!" You returned the joy and gently rose from your chair and sat behind Natasha as the cat looked from you back to Natasha before running into her arms.

"He loves you!" You said just as Ana was coming around to check on the kitties.

"She never does this," Ana said. A melting Natasha looked up. "Really!?"

"Maybe she was waiting for you." Ana left it at that. You reached for the collar. "Liho." You said. The cat purred into Natasha's chest.

Slowly, Natasha turned her head. "She's perfect."

You nodded.

Yes, she was.

Safe to say, the rest of your date turned into you being a third wheel as Natasha spent more and more time with Liho. But you couldn't be mad or even remotely upset as you watched the redhead transform before you. All night, you had seen the honest Natasha, and she was breathtaking. So was the spy. But something about seeing someone you watched kill people weeks ago roll around on the floor with a black cat was perfect.

You don't know how you didn't slip up and say the L(ove) word.

I mean, of course, it would've been too soon. But you were you, and it wouldn't have been a shocker to anyone.

Regardless. That night led to you driving very slow on the way back home as Natasha held Liho in her carrier as if her world depended on it.

And yes, Tony made the same joke you're thinking.

Two lesbians who are already living together go on a date and end up adopting a cat.

But three years later, you wouldn't have it any other way.

Except for maybe when Natasha comes home to your shared apartment, she greets you first instead of Liho.

Ups and Downs.

dividers by @/benkeibear

[senka-mesecine]

You know the 'Only person who can kill Barnes is Barnes' line?

Well, imagine that in effectively killing Barnes, Chris, at least symbolically, becomes him. Or like him. By extension, in murdering the man who was bringing down so much grief to the platoon and everyone else living and breathing, Chris decides to make things very literal and take Barnes' significant other too. He's become like the man? Okay then. So he gets to have everything that belonged to the man as well, including the man's own woman. Thoughts?

---

I can see Chris Taylor developing a fascination with both Elias and Barnes post-war.

His two 'fathers' and 'makers'.

In equal measure, I can see him visiting both of their home states, home towns, you name it --- just anonymously, on the downlow. Just as likely, he could be the bearer of bad news to Barnes's significant other personally, originally posing himself as a 'an old friend' or someone who knew the man and served under him; only one of these being a white lie. Okay, maybe not-so-white a lie. More like one of these is a blatant lie. But it's somehow enough to get invited in and receive an insight into what Barnes's civilian, domestic life could've been like before he personally destroyed the chance of any reunion between you, admittedly, perhaps for the greater good, because he might not even be willing to imagine what a man like that would do and act like if his evil seeped back home and into the civilian world instead being effectively contained and left somewhere in the jungle. Just as likely, Taylor might not be able to outright reconcile that Barnes's partner was just a normal individual because Barnes's own reputation during the war as so insidiously...well...mythical, he might've almost imagined you like a Gorgon turning men to stone with a mere glance; but to discover you're actually all commonplace, perhaps even polite, kind, natural in your grief over the news and, well, beautiful --- not a shocker, but hey, maybe a bit. You're just a person who's significant other he's fragged and nothing more complicated than that --- you're not in fact a three headed dragon breathing fire. How did Barnes being Barnes of all people managed to get someone like you, Chris might think a little bitterly? There's no denial that someone like Taylor, perhaps naive to the ways of the world, no matter how hardened he comes back would need time to digest this.

Does he feel regret?

Maybe, as much regret as a sane individual innately needs to feel regret over a murder they've committed no matter how wicked a person they've killed is even though he understands Barnes needed to be put down like a rabid dog so justice could be served.

Does Chris think he's entitled to something from you?

Not immediately, but his idealistic nature might kick when faced with you in and he could very well feel innately protectively of you as you're there, weeping and bawling over the update concerning the fact that Barnes is KIA and that you'll never see him again...and that Taylor's to thank. Not that you know that. Not just yet anyway. He might even think himself morally responsible for you and just as likely to feel a little resentment because he doesn't believe Barnes of all people deserves this many tears, least of all from a person like you. If anything, he's partially convinced, you should deem him, Chris Taylor, something of a hero and your champion because he's freed you from that monster, being both quietly judgmental and sympathetic to your cause, envious of the obvious love you had that animal and wanting to grab your shoulders, shake you and demand that you wake the fuck up, about to tell you every atrocity he's seen Barnes commit and see how much you like him then. Just as much, he wants to be your comforting rock. He realizes it's messed up. He's introspective enough. Consoling the widow who's spouse he's singlehandedly emptied a round of bullets into in cold blood and what's worse --- that Barnes personally goaded him to. But, he can't help it. If he becomes something of a self proclaimed family friend who visits and checks up on you he thinks it's righteous and that someone should. Part of him might even think he's doing society a tiny favor by keeping an eye out for you thinking that any day now, you'll show a side just as bad as Barnes's and that he'll be justified in doing something bad to you too.

Admittedly, this newfound friendship can develop in this direction for a while.

Maybe even months. A year?

Enough for a love sick Chris to grow on you with his regular visits.

Because you've certainly already grown on him in the most possessive, overzealous way imaginable. It isn't just some passing boyish puppy-dog crush. He behaves almost domestic and matrimonial when he knocks on your door. Almost. He acts right at home, for lack of a better word. He's starting to remind himself of Gardner, wanting to carry your picture around in his wallet and introduce you as his girl, except, unlike Gardner, he might just snap if anyone actually looks at the image he's personally showing them. He's there drinking from mugs Barnes might've drank from. Sitting on a dining room chair Barnes might've sat on. Eating from the man's plates. Mouth agape at the man's woman. Looking through old album photos you're guiding him through with teary eyes. If you ever ask him to sleep over just for practicality's sake, he could be there, sleeping in the man's own bed. And he's a frequent guest. But, is he really? He's admittedly angry how consistently sad you've been surrounding Barnes's death to the degree he might just feel it's right and just to tell you the truth and nothing but the truth once he's already embedded deeply enough in your life for you to be unable to just casually cut him out. Chris might be all venom and ire as he tells you about all the atrocities, all the carnage, the violence and how yes, Barnes's death was no accident. He's killed the bastard. Feeling simultaneously perturbed and made weirdly proud by your shock and fear and thinking that yeah, you should be afraid. College boy did that. College boy's here to stay too. You're his, because he's convinced, unlike Barnes, he'll do right by you. That you deserved better all along and he's here to give it to you.

[elfandomdelpandicornioyeldorito]

Chapter 6. The ghosts of guilt

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Valentina Rivera (OC)

Word count: 1035

Trigger Warning: Angst, alcohol, grief

Disclaimer: I don’t own any Marvel character, only the Original characters are mine. English is not my mother tongue.

General Masterlist - Willow Series Masterlist

Gifts and pictures aren’t mine

Dust, that is all in her mind, close her eyes for sleep? Dust, having a dream? Dust, an anxiety attack? Triggered by dust. She kept dreaming the same thing all over again, herself in that control room, suddenly losing contact with half of the people in the battlefield, watching the other people in it become dust, and when she came out, there was a light cloud of dust that was people, that was the signal of defeat. 

It's been two months, but everything kept feeling like yesterday.

Her aunt Gloria planned a girls day, at her home in Long Island, the few adult girls of the family that make it and some survivor friends of her, in a whole day of alcohol, food and "spa". 

"I found vodka, Rum and Wine" her cousin Diana sits at her side, with the company of her two "now widowed" cousins Rosa and Michelle.

The four of them were hiding in an old closet of the guest room.

"I claim the wine" Val takes the bottle, opens it and starts drinking from it.

That was her daily routine, wake up, smile, pretends everything is fine and drink all the liquor she could find, she knows her drinking state was ending that week when Miguel force her to go to a psychiatrist and a therapist 

"Why did this have happened?" asks Rosa, with the Rum in her hand "I mean, I understand we were fully sons of bitches with the environment, but this is awful, why do I have to lose my husband? What can I say to my kids?"

"At least he “died” and not left with another family with a much younger wife in Portugal"

"Val is right"

"Cheers" Val and Diana do a drunk high five

**

Steve calls Valentina’s brother to dinner. The old capsicle was worried about her, somehow he felt the pain she was feeling but she was close to speaking with him, or whoever was a superhero.

"She is a mess, man. I have seen my sister being a mess but this time… she drinks herself to sleep"

"There is something I can do for her?"

"Yeah" Miguel looks at his empty cup of coffee" Stop trying to push her, she needs time, I understand that you are doing this for good, but she needs space. She feels guilty"

"Is not her fault"

"She knows it, but somehow, when someone leaves because dies or something, she feels it is all her fault" they both made a pause, that Miguel used as an advantage to look at his phone" You know what? Yes, you can help me with something"

Miguel drives to his aunt Gloria's house in Long Island with Steve. Someone as skinny and definitely not sporty as him, the task that his aunt Gloria was asking to do, was now difficult.

The scene is quite sad, her sister was on the floor, literally rolling on the carpet laughing hard at the shenanigans of Rosa and Michelle, trying to fight, and Diana, well, she was in the bed, jumping, cheering at her cousins. All of them in a really sad drunken state, evading reality.

"Yeah, I’m pretty sure this is more than alcohol" Miguel took his phone, opened the camera app and took some pictures of it, Valentina needed to see herself.

"Is just alcohol, nada mas mira el tiradero de botellas que se tienen"

Miguel sighs, putting his phone in his pants pocket.

"Took Valentina, I would try to stop those locas"

Steve nods, and walks to Val, taking her and putting her over his shoulder.

"HEY! IS THE DORITO POPSICLE!" all the four drunken girls explode in laughter at Val’s comment" Wait, what are you… WAIT!" The poor girl tried to hold herself from the door frame, but it was useless, and Steve finally can take her out of the house.

It was around 5pm when Valentina was out of her drunken state, under Miguel’s order, Steve took her to her family restaurant, Las Tres Damas. Also the older sibling made a very clear order of keeping the little sister away from the alcohol and made her eat nuts and greasy food that can be found there, and that worked well.

"Where is Migue?" Steve take seat at her side and hand her a bottle of electrolytes

"I don’t know, he told me something about working in a different time zone"

"Shit, yeah… He is probably in my apartment" she opens the bottle and takes a few long sips" I owe you an apology, Steve. All that happened is nobody faults, you tried the best you could, all of you tried… we all… It just happened, I guess it has to be that way"

Steve gave her a sympathetic smile, everyone was feeling guilty, Avenger member or not. Silence establishes there for a brief moment, while both of them watch the empty restaurant.

"You know? This place was always full of people"

"Being honest, is the first time I heard of this place"

"The idea came from my aunt Gloria when uncle Jorge left in duty, he missed so much of his children, nieces and nephews, then my mom jumped in the idea, she gained money by cooking for rich people when she got divorced, and mi grandma Rita jumped later, her first job in America was in a kitchen. Those ladies brought together their ideas and created Las Tres Damas, a place in which veterans could see their kids perform on a lazy night, even if it was an old thing, a family place to reunite; a safe place for everyone that needed that kind of place"

"What a shame that I missed that all this years, sounds like a nice place to be"

"Maybe, one day when the family feels ready, this place will open again. I’ll be sure to keep the best place for you and Nat. And whoever superhero that would want to come."

"That would be nice"

"Steve, I need a favor… Would you teach me how to fight? Like… for real, training me"

His first thoughts were related to a really bad drunk joke, but Valentina kept her straight face, she was talking seriously about it.

Tags: @pinkpondofasgard @invisibleanonymousmonsters @dance-dreamer @americasmarauders

[episodicnostalgia]

Spider-man: The Animated Series, 102 (Feb. 4, 1995) - “The Spider Slayer”

Teleplay by: Stan Berkowitz Story By: John Semper Jr. Directed by: Bob Richardson

The Breakdown

Hoo boy, lots going on with this one! Let’s dig in.

Spider-man gets attacked by explosive drones with the most 90’s paint job I have ever seen.  Spidey manages to evade his animatronic pursuers, but without any evidence he’s left to wonder what that was all about.  We discover that the drones are run and operated Spencer Smythe, a brilliant scientist/inventor who was testing Spidey’s abilities.  Why?  He’s building a giant robot-spider to capture Spider-man (because of course) for his mysterious benefactor, mega-rich Norman Osborn (of Oscorp Industries), who wants Spider-man out of the picture.  Why? Because he is being coerced by the EVEN MORE Mega-Rich Wilson Fisk aka The KINGPIN OF CRIME! *Gasp* Why? Because we need to introduce Spidey’s Boss villain!  Now on to the good stuff!

Meanwhile Peter Parker has been assigned to a charity ball where he is CRUSHING IT with total-babe Felicia Hardy.  Sick of being thoroughly cock-blocked, ass-hat Flash Thompson enacts a flawless plan to make Peter look the fool. Dressed AS Spider-man (who is obviously not Peter Parker), Flash intends to threaten physical violence on Peter, in front of numerous witnesses, as a hilarious prank!  Unfortunately Smythe (with the aid of his Paraplegic son Allistair) crashes the party with his Robot-Spider mistaking Flash as the real Spider-man!  What a conundrum!

Anyways, Spidey has to go save Flash and destroy the Black Widow-bot, upsetting Osborn & Fisk’s schemes in the process.  Sadly Spencer Smythe perishes in a climactic explosion, which really pisses Allistair off. And since he’s newly motivated to seek out revenge against Spider-man (literally the one dude in all of this who never wronged him), Allistair agrees to join and serve The Kingpin; setting events in motion that will span across multiple seasons…

Thankfully it’s safe to say this is the last we’ll see of the Spider Slayers…

NEXT EPISODE: Return of the Spider Slayers!

The Verdict

SO MUCH happens in these episodes.  I’d forgotten how packed-to-the-seams the story telling is.  The downside is that certain emotional beats get rushed or glossed over, but it sure is fun.  Plots, schemes, secret enemies, and tons of other solid world building. This episode really leans into the promise of follow up, and that something more will come from the events of this story, which historically hadn’t been that common in kids cartoons.  I’d be lying if I said that I don’t find some of the plot lines much sillier than I remember as a kid, but one can’t let things like growing up ruin the fun.

3.5 stars (out of 5)

Additional Observations

Aunt May wants Peter to go on a date with her neighbour’s niece “Mary Jane”, but Pete’s not feeling it.  I bet when they finally meet a he’ll be ugly and boring.

With all due respect to Sam Raimi, one thing I always thought his Spidey films got wrong was how they depict Peter around women, where he always seems awkward and clueless. Meanwhile here we are two episodes in and Felicia’s picking up what Pete’s laying down. That was a full proper kiss right there, nothing coy about it.

More Eddie Brock. Spencer Smyth hires him to record his capture of Spider-man (because that would make it legally legitimate somehow). The whole thing backfires when Eddie unmasks Flash Thompson-in-the-costume, all on live television  (which Eddie apparently can do without informing Jonah first).  In turn, Jonah fires Eddie for making the Bugle look bad. I bet he’ll use this as a wake up call to clean up his life, and become a more ethical reporter, all thanks to Spider-man’s public example.

[midgardianweasley]

Keep you safe

Keep you safe

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Avenger!reader

Summary: When the civil war breaks out among the team, what happens when you find yourself and your girlfriend on opposite sides of the fight?

Warnings: Extremely minor cursing, angst, injury, ends in fluff

Word Count: 1.8k words

Message/ask if you’d like to be added to the taglist <3

Requests are open!

“Vision, you can’t keep her prisoner here” I announced to what seemed like a brick wall. The S.H.I.E.L.D. meeting was only this morning and already it felt like the team was beginning to drift. Tony and Steve were fighting, not being able to agree on where they stand regarding the Sokovia Accords and whether we should sign our rights away. Wanda, not being a US citizen and having been a big part of the incident in Sokovia, has been put under Vision’s watch for protection. But from what i’ve seen, I think Wanda can protect herself just fine.

“It’s not imprisonment, Y/N, this is for her safety.”

“Safety? She’s fully capable of walking to the shops on her own.”

“I think some members of the team would disagree, Nata-”

“Don’t, Vision. Please.” I sighed, rubbing my forehead, the stress going straight to my temples upon remembering the events from this morning with my girlfriend.

Nat and I had just walked out of the meeting room, thoughts flooding both of our heads. We were exhausted, the emergency meeting not giving us enough time to wake up with a coffee before having to be fully functional. My head was resting on her shoulder, her head on top of mine as we stood in an abandoned corridor, revelling in the peace and quiet. It was a few minutes before one of us decided to speak up.

“You okay, голубка?” She whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of my head before returning to her previous position.

“Mhmm, I think so. My head is officially fried though and it’s not even 9am yet.”

“We’ll get some coffee in us soon.”

“I think we’ve earned it” I mumbled, earning a slight chuckle from the both of us, returning back to the silence for only a couple of minutes before a thought crossed my mind.

“I feel bad for Wanda. She must feel terrible.”

“I know. Hopefully this whole Accords business can be of help.”

“Well, that would be nice, but we’re obviously not signing that.” An airy laugh left my lips, amused at the idea of signing away any freedom we could have for ourselves. I felt Nat’s body go rigid beside me, suddenly feeling tense. I pulled away slightly and looked up to see a frown taking over her features.

“You’re not going to sign?” She spoke, suddenly sounding more awake, albeit still having a gentle tone, but I could feel the disbelief behind her words.

“I wasn’t planning on it, no. Are you?”

“I feel like it would be a good idea. Maybe we need a little more guidance to go about our missions.”

“This isn't guidance, Nat. This is essentially locking us away just without the bars.”

“It’s protection.”

“It’s losing our freedom!” I bluntly responded, almost shocked that we weren’t on the same page about this. We both stood across from each other now, arms crossed and staring into each other's eyes, all tiredness beforehand gone and replaced with fire.

“I need some air” She groaned, walking away towards the exit, signalling the end of that conversation.

“Nat-”

“I’ll see you at home, okay?” Not giving me a chance to respond, having walked out the door before I could utter a word. I guess coffee is the least of my problems now.

Lost in my daydream, I hadn’t even noticed that Clint had walked in and was currently fighting Vision. Wait, Clint?

“Clint? I thought you retired?”

“Ah nice to have you back.” He choked, currently caught in a headlock with Vision. I stood next to Wanda, the two of us sharing a look of confusion. “We need to go, Cap needs us.”

“You can’t overpower me, Clint.” Vision spoke, still holding his grip.

“I know i can’t, but she can”

I looked beside me once again and saw Wanda beginning to use her powers, and before I knew it, Vision had fallen to the ground..and further until we could no longer see him.

“We need to go” The archer rushed, taking Wanda by the hand and leading her outside. I was yet to be clued in on what exactly was going on, but I knew one thing, this couldn’t be good.

---

It was absolute chaos everywhere. Steve, much like Tony, had recruited a small team of his own, some familiar faces, some new, the ant guy was pretty cool. However, there hadn’t been much time to admire the different skill sets and powers that had been brought to the table before both sides had run towards each other. Especially considering seeing the recognisable assassin on the other side had brought on a wave of sickness, fighting her was the last thing I wanted to do.

While Bucky had taken to fighting who I assumed to be Blank Panther and Sam was in the air, I’d stuck to helping Steve, not wanting to get involved in the fight Clint was having with Natasha. This teenager had started shooting webs at Captain, and while I know he was on the opposite side, I had to admit, he was pretty good at fighting.

“He also said to go for your legs” He chuckled, again shooting webs at the supersoldier and holding him back from retrieving his shield.

“Hey Spidey” I called, gaining his attention.

“Hi”

“Might wanna drop the Captain, yeah?”

“I can’t. I gotta impress Mr Stark”

“Look, this isn’t your fight, you don’t know what’s going on” I tried to reason, falling onto deaf ears, or just stubborn, as he then shot his webs at me and tried to pull. His eyes shrunk in confusion as he couldn’t flip me, my power of immobility coming in handy.

“Why-” He groaned, still trying to flip me. I lifted my hands, grabbed the webs and flung him into one of the loading crates that were scattered around, my super strength making the impact a lot harsher, but not enough to cause major injury.

“Thanks Y/N” Steve spoke, a quick nod of approval was shared before I caught a glance of another fight going on. Wanda’s holding a crate, trying to take someone flying above it out, completely oblivious to Vision starting to come towards her. Looking down slightly, I saw who was directly underneath.

“Shit” I mumbled, running as fast as I could towards them, avoiding gunfire and punches along the way.

“Language!”

“Sorry! Jeez” I directed towards the man now running in a different direction.

Vision was much closer to them than I was, no matter how quickly my feet took me. It was no use trying to warn Wanda, I wouldn’t get there in time. I had to go with plan B.

“Nat! Move!”

She quickly turned and caught sight of me, giving me a confused glare that didn’t last long before I pushed her away from where she was standing, out of harm's way.

“What the hell Y/-” She hadn’t managed to finish her sentence before her eyes widened in horror at the large crate suddenly falling from Wanda’s hold and onto me. My arms lifted quickly to hold it, slightly wobbling due to not being in the centre of it.

“Is there anything behind me?”

“Wha-”

“Is there anything behind me?!” I spoke more urgently, not knowing how much longer I could hold it.

“No, no you’re clear.” Natasha responded, I thanked her silently with a nod.

‘Okay. you’ve got this. One. Two-’ I thought to myself.

With the remaining strength I could have gathered, I bent down slightly and pushed, sending the metal hurling upwards while I ran forward. Overestimating how high i’d thrown it, the bitter reality hit me, quite literally as it fell onto my leg, sending me face first towards the ground.

“Wanda!” Was all I could hear before I felt my head placed in someone’s lap and the world went black.

---

My head pounding like a hammer had been a lovely wake up call, followed by a throbbing pain in my leg which I'd looked down to see was lying along a row of pillows. My eyes darted around the room and I recognised the photo on the bedside table beside me. It was a photo of Natasha and I standing in the rain laughing at a joke we can’t remember anymore, but it must’ve been funny according to the huge smiles on our faces. The love in our eyes was enough to make galaxies jealous.

A knock on the door had interrupted my train of thought, opening before I had a chance to respond, Natasha walked in, a guilty look taking over her face.

“Hi”

“Hey. You okay?” I questioned, earning a smile and a scoff to come out of The Black Widow’s mouth.

“Am I okay? Really?”

“I-”

“You ask me if i’m okay when you’re lying there with a broken leg and just woken up from being knocked out, because you decided to throw yourself into danger.”

“You had a tonnes worth of metal about to fall on you. Forgive me if i didn’t want a squished girlfriend.” I defended myself, not entirely certain on how this is turning into being my fault.

“You could have died”

“But I didn’t”

“But you could’ve, Y/N!”

“Love-”

“I can’t lose you” Her voice broke. Only then had I managed to really take a look at her. Her eyes had clouded over, her hair was all over the place, her nose running slightly. A pang of guilt hit me, not knowing that my action had affected her so much.

“Can you come here? Please?” She hesitated, but soon made her way round to the other side of the bed and sat herself down, making herself comfortable in my arms that I held open for her, hands immediately going to run through her hair. Small sniffles could be heard in the otherwise silent room, each one having a kiss pressed against her head in response.

After a couple of minutes, the silence was broken again.

“I’m sorry, moya lyubov, I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to keep you safe.”

She turned her head up slightly to look at me, a small smile playing on her lips

“I know. i just panicked. I want you to be safe too.”

“I’m okay. I’m here. I promise.” I kissed her head again. “How does a bath and a movie sound?” A small sigh left her lips at the suggestion.

“You’ll join?”

“I’ll join”

A small but passionate kiss was exchanged, followed by a few quick pecks before the redhead walked off towards our bathroom, the sound of running water filling the air not long after.

No matter the mission, the fight, the argument or the disagreements, we’ll always protect one another. We don’t need the Sokovia Accords for that.

taglist: @the-dumbass-that-throws-knives

[barnesandco]

Little Hands (II)

Series Masterlist

You, Bucky, and Anastasia pay Bruce Banner a visit. 

This is an entry for @star-spangled-bingo 2021. Word count: 1836. Square filled: “You don’t wanna know.”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: More Sad Child. Needles, fear of. So much overthinking.

A/N: Gosh, I’m so glad I got this chapter edited in time. I hope you like it and I’m sorry for skipping out on y’all last week! To make up for it, there’ll be two updates this weekend, so look out for the next chapter tomorrow! Lmk what you thinkkkk

The Avengers Compound is every bit as spectacular as you could have possibly hoped, and yet you’re unable to fully appreciate it because of the sheer absurdity of the situation. Your hand is in the vice-tight grip of the supposed daughter of your neighbor, who happens to be an Avenger.

Said neighbor is pacing back and forth in front of you as you sit in Bruce Banner’s laboratory, with Anastasia beside you while you wait for Bruce to arrive. Ana is remarkably calm, her young features – the round cheeks, still-wet eyes – made mature by her abnormal silence. Something about her makes you think she’s used to this kind of tension. Something about her screams war-child. Perhaps this grip she has on you is the first demand she has made in a long time, the only tantrum she has ever been allowed to throw.

While you aren’t particularly experienced with children, you think you want her to feel safe with you, because it seems she hasn’t been elsewhere. Ana’s eyes flit around the room in the only behavioral indication of her youth – a childlike curiosity, shining in the face of this fancy, new place that gleams like a toy store. Every now and then, her gaze jumps back from the alien appearance of the lab to her father (?) who seems intent on wearing a hole in the tiles with his pacing.

It is beginning to wear on you: both Bucky’s pacing and Ana’s steadily increasing anxiety. He hasn’t said a word to her since he opened the envelope, only asked that you accompany him to the Compound seeing as Ana won’t go alone with him (You would have gone with him even if that hadn’t been so. Though the nature of your relationship is ambiguous at times, the strength of your friendship is not. You’ll figure this out. You won’t leave him alone). Clearly, there is some unspoken memory that has him convinced the claim in the letter is plausible. Neither of you would be here if it wasn’t.

Bucky doesn’t talk too much about his past. He has offered a few of the shattered shards of his past reflection to you in the few night-caped moments you have hammered on his door upon hearing shouts across the hall. Between that, and what you know thanks to Black Widow’s file dump, the big Avengers’ in-fight in Europe last summer, the consequent resolution to the Accords, and Bucky’s publicized pardon, you can guess at the traumas that lurk in the depths of him.

They’re traumas that are closer to the surface of his eyes now, pulled forth by this new life, this little soul that has no business with such dark things, and the implication that this holds. Ana, innocent as she may be, is an insinuation of what else might have been unwillingly torn from Bucky.

You don’t want to think about it, because it hurts to do so, because you care for him, in many, many ways. It seems that Anastasia is also starting to tire of it. With every step Bucky takes, her hand tightens on yours. Fortunately, soon, the door to your left opens, and Bruce Banner enters his lab.

He's appropriately disheveled for this hour in the morning. Under his pristine lab coat, one of his shirt buttons is done into the wrong buttonhole, but his eyes are alert, frantic even, though you get the feeling that this is a man always on the edge of escape.

Bucky lets out a breath he seems to have been holding at the same time as his shoulders tense. “Thanks for coming so early, Doctor Banner. I wouldn’t have called if—”

“You never call, so I know it must have been important. But it looks like I’ve kept you waiting anyways,” Banner says, his eyes widening as they move from Bucky, to you, to the little girl at your side. “What’s the matter? You know I’m not a medical doctor, right?” He asks, putting a work bench between himself and his visitors.

Bucky clears his throat, and doesn’t quite know how to say what he needs to. After a few more seconds of hesitation, in which Banner waits patiently, Bucky extracts the envelope containing the fateful letter from his pocket, and hands it over.

The furrows in Doctor Banner’s brow multiply spontaneously, and when he looks up, Bucky gestures with a subtle nod of his head to Ana. He has yet to explain your presence, but you think Doctor Banner is a smart man. It won’t take more than Anastasia’s tight hold on you for him to put two and two together. Sometimes, a scared child is just that, no matter how unusual.

Most of their ensuing conversation is held at a lowered volume, set by Bucky, probably out of courtesy for Ana. You can hear snatches and phrases, most of them confirmations of things you had expected and some, not so much. Lobby security cam footage… fingerprints… paternity test… serum… blood sample…

By the end of it, some facsimile of a plan seems to have evolved between the two men, because Doctor Banner turns away with a smile and you, taking it as a welcome, stand and approach him. He rounds his desk and shakes your hand, exchange introductions though he hardly needs one, and then, he crouches, the way Bucky had, and offers Ana his hand.

“Hi, I’m Bruce.”

“Ana.”

Bucky steps forward. “Anastasia—” the name is clumsy on his tongue, because he’s scared. You can see it, and you hope he knows you are, too, but you’ll stand with him regardless, “—Bruce is going to check that you aren’t sick.”

“I’m okay.”

“We need to be sure.”

“Okay.”

Banner pulls out a chair, and you’re about to sit Ana down on it, when she pushes you gently into it, and sits on your lap. You can do nothing but wrap your arms gently around her, so she doesn’t fall. The apology in Bucky’s eyes is melted with a sympathetic smile. It’s alright. A child developing an inexplicable affection for you is not the worst thing to ever happen to you.

Ana is warm and a comfortable weight on you, and you hold her as loosely as you can, feel the movement of her chest against your arms with each breath. Her hair is a mix of wool-thick and silk-soft against your chin, smelling faintly of the sugar-sweet strawberry scent found in children’s shampoos. Someone took care of her.

Someone she isn’t asking for. What kind of child doesn’t ask for their mother, past the initial, momentary heartbreak? How has she come to terms with the apparent change in custody, when the new custodian hasn’t?

Whether Bucky is to be the new guardian has yet to be determined. You can see Bruce pulling out a syringe and preparing a vial. You wonder if she’s scared of needles. Bucky flinches at the sight of them, even now. He’s said that his disdain for the cold clinicism of medicine dates back to long before Hydra. Medical equipment reminds him of worrying that his best friend was going to die. It’s the fear he has harbored longest, longer than his fear of war, of gunshots in the dark, of blood on his hands.

Ana shares it. When she sees the needle, she screams, and Bucky lunges forward to help you hold her in place. She’s so, so much stronger than you thought and while you can hold her limbs, her head thrashes about, and so does her torso, making it impossible for Bruce to get to the inside of her elbow.

In the chaos, your eye lands on a trinket on a nearby desk, sitting there like a peace offering, literally beckoning to you. “Hey, Ana,” you whisper-yell, trying not to get hit in the jaw by her head. “Do you like animals? Cats? I have a friend who has lots and lots of cats, and I could take you to see them.” It’s working. You’re out of breath, but she’s quieting. Most little kids love cats. You love cats. “I think Bruce has a toy cat. See, over there?” You dare to lift an arm to point at the maneki-neko on the table. Ana stills. Her eyes follow the hypnotic movement, and the syringe at Ana’s elbow does its job.

When the bandage is put on, you and Bucky let go with twin nervous chuckles of relief and disbelief, and Bruce puts the vial in a machine. Ana hops off to approach the desk, and bats at the paw waving at her like a mirror of it.

“We should have the results soon. I think the others are starting to wake up, if you want to say hi,” Bruce says, taking off his glasses and wiping them on the corner of his lab coat.

“Maybe later,” you say, seeing that Bucky is hardly in any position to converse casually with his teammates right now. Not to mention, it’d be a lot of work to explain Ana, especially before having any sort of confirmation of who she is.

Bucky pulls out a chair next to you while Bruce opens a laptop a few counters away, and an x-ray machine lifts its head behind Ana, who has moved on from the lucky cat, and is stroking the leaves of a flowering plant.

“Peace lily,” Bucky says, startling you. You look at him, the bags under his eyes, the way he almost looks his age right now, and fight the urge to hold his hand. “It’s the first flower I bought for my apartment. I put it in a community garden after a nightmare about the war. Didn’t feel right for me to have it.”

He's talking about the Second World War. The war always refers to his first war. You think he’s talking about peace, and not the lily, after what he’s done. After what he was forced to do.

“It’s not your fault,” is an automatic response, and never enough, especially for the war, because at least he was in his own senses, even if he was drafted. It always elicits a self-deprecating laugh, but right now, he’s too tired for even that.

Right now, he can only watch as the x-ray camera follows Ana around the room, from the peace lilies, to an Amazon elephant’s ear, to a strange sculpture made from Coca-Cola cans glued together by what looks like spider-webs.

Too soon, Bruce calls you over to his work station. You follow Bucky, one eye on Ana.

“She’s yours,” Bruce says, and Bucky inhales sharply. Now, you do take his hand, stroke the metal ridges with your calloused thumb. “But she has disproportionately more of your DNA than her mother’s.”

“What does that mean?”

Bruce wrings his hands. “She’s not a complete clone, but nearly a genetic copy. 80% of a clone, if you will.”

Bucky is growing increasingly uncomfortable, shifting next to you. “How’s that possible?”

“You don’t wanna know.”

[thenovelartist]

ABC Fluff Headcanons - Luke Pearce - Tears of Themis

A = Admiration (what do they absolutely adore about you?)

You may be the Watson to his Sherlock, but he knows you’re not a follower by nature. You stand firmly on your own two feet. And though it may scare him at times, particularly when your safety is on the line, he can’t deny the pride he feels watching you go above and beyond in all you do, especially when it involves others. That selflessness paired with your determination is what he truly admires about you, and he hopes that you’ll never change, no matter what trials you face.

B = Body (what is their favorite part of your body?)

Your smile. Because if you’re smiling, he knows everything’s going to be okay. He also knows when that smile is forced and when it’s faltering, prompting him to take action of his own to protect or hold you. It’s a tell-all for him, and that brings him comfort.

C = Cuddling (how do they like to cuddle?)

In any way he can. He loves holding you. However, he likes it best when you’re chest-to-chest with his arms around you holding you close, no matter if it’s a long hug, lounging on the couch, or snuggling in bed. It’s a versatile position, allowing for you to either meet each other’s gaze while still having close physical contact or for hiding your expressions, such as you snuggling against his chest or him resting his chin on top of your head. It fits for every scenario.

D = Dates (what does their ideal date with you look like?)

Ideal date? Well… a date… with you. He’s not picky. However, he definitely leans towards the more casual settings. Things where you two can be relaxed around each other, chatting and bantering all the way. Whether that’s strolling around town or a camping adventure or even relaxing at home with a familiar movie you’re not really watching in the background is up to you, but he’s down for any and all of them.

E = Emotions (how do they express emotion around you?)

He’s… well, not quite an open book but rather a book you have to open. He frequently puts on a happy face, so sometimes, you have to break past that. Once you do, he’s not ashamed of being open and honest about his feelings. He wants first and foremost for everything to be okay and for you to be happy, but if you’re shutting that down and calling his bluff, he’ll surrender and be open to having heart-to-hearts so as to get on the same page as you.

F = Family (do they want one? If they do, when?)

Yes… and no.

No, he doesn’t want a family because the lingering fear and guilt of leaving them behind would weigh heavily on his soul. But, if he was being honest with himself and the fear of his life being cut short wasn’t hanging over his head, his answer would be “how many kids are you willing to give him?” None? Okay, he gets you to himself. Five? Fantastic, he’d love a busy house. Adopt? He’s already got all the forms downloaded. Mix of both? Perfect. Family is what you make it, and he’s more than happy to make one with you, no matter what form that takes.

G = Gifts (how do they feel about gift giving? What are their habits when it comes to this?)

He loves things from you and accepts them all as a treasure. But he places the most value in things that are made. A solid ninety percent of the gifts he gives you are ones he made himself. He doesn’t see the value in giving gifts just to give them; they should either mean something or bring some sort of use to you. To him, gifts mean the most when time and effort was poured into it.

H = Holding Hands (when/how do they like to hold hands?)

All. The. Time. He wants contact with you, and hand holding can be both perfectly innocent and sweetly intimate. And little squeezes here and there can communicate without words. He loves it.

I = Injury (how would they act if you got hurt?)

Instantly blames himself. He’s there to protect you, and if you get hurt, that means he failed miserably, so you’ll likely have to coax him out of his self-abusive state. Doesn’t matter if it’s anything from a papercut to a large accident, he’ll think it’s his fault, and he will be by your side as much as humanly possible during your recovery. And if it has something to do with NXX? I pity the person who caused you harm. He’d devote far too much time and resources to hunting them down as quickly as humanly possible and making their life a living hell.

J = Jokes (do they like to joke around with or prank you? how?)

You’re childhood friends. There’s plenty of teasing and inside jokes to go around. It might just be impossible for you to go a single day without one inside joke or playful reference to the past being pulled up.

K = Kisses (how do they like to kiss you?)

Luke’s kisses come in one of two varieties: Reverent and Passionate. Reverent kisses cover most kisses, consisting of everything from good morning to good night to general pecks on the forehead, cheek, nose, you name it. The ability and privilege to kiss you means a lot to him, so no kiss is ever taken for granted. Passionate kisses, on the other hand, are less about the way he pulls you close or presses his lips against yours and more about him emotionally baring his soul in those moments. However tangled or feverish that kiss ends up being is only a byproduct of him wanting to express just how much he genuinely adores you.

L = Love Confession (how do they confess?)

You will have to drag it out of this man. Not so much the confession but the confidence to admit he wants to be with you, in sickness and in health, for as much time as he has left. So really, it’s far more likely that you confess first and he’ll admit he feels the same while telling you all the reasons you can’t be in a relationship. Only once you get over that will he pour out all his secrets of how long he’s loved you and how deeply he loves you… And potentially propose right then and there.

M = Marriage (What does the wedding look like?)

He could elope with you and be perfectly happy. And honestly… he might be the happiest with that. If you wanted an actual wedding, he really would have no problem letting you have what you wanted, but the beauty of an elopement is that it can be done sooner rather than later, and he thinks he’s running on borrowed time. If he’s gonna marry you, he’d want to do that, like… yesterday. So if you’re up for an elopement, you basically have twenty-four hours to find a dress because he’s gonna take you down to the courthouse ASAP.

N = Nightmare (what is their worst fear?)

That he’s going to die soon and leave you behind. The biggest stressor for him is letting you get more attached to him because then his death will be even harder on you. And then what if you end up getting very close to him and marrying him like he wanted, only for him to leave you a widow at a young age? Or worst of all, what if he leaves you a single mom? He already hates the thought of leaving you, but leaving his kids behind…

He tries really hard not to think too deeply on this but it feels like a waking nightmare he’s not going to wake from any time soon.

O = Oddity (what is one quirk they have?)

This man cannot go forty-eight hours without making at least one Sherlock Holmes reference. And he occasionally has the knack of saying them… at the worst time.

P = Pet Names (what do they like to call you?)

I don’t think he’d be into cutesy, couple pet names all the time. Instead, I feel like he’d probably use “Watson” or any other childhood nickname he had for you on the regular basis. “Baby” and “Sweetheart” are probably in use, too, but he would tend to save those for quiet or tender moments. And “love” is reserved for the private, more intimate moments.

Q = Quality Time (how do they like to spend time with you?)

In any way he can; you just have to be present. Quality time for Luke can be anything from you two sitting in the same room while doing different things to going on an adventure together to an intimate date night. As long as he’s with you, time is not wasted.

R = Romance (how do they show their love and affection?)

Yes, yes, there’s grand gestures, but his love is shown in the little things. It’s the way he always is looking out for you, like offering you a moment to sit if you’d been walking a while or water if it’s hot. It’s in the way he squeezes your hand in the middle of a conversation. It’s the way he texts you reminding you not to over work yourself before ending it with an XO. Every day to him is precious, and he’s not going to bother with large, elaborate gestures of love if he can smother you in little, affectionate ones all day every day.

S = Secrets (how open are they with you?)

He’s pretty open with you, but the few secrets he has? Those he keeps locked away in the deepest part of himself. He will not let on that he has those secrets unless you get an inkling of their existence and go fishing to pull those secrets out of him. Keep at it; he won’t last long because he’s weak for you.

And of course, there’s state secrets he literally can’t tell you, but that’s a different matter all together.

T = Time (how long did it take you to get together?)

Freaking years.

This boy has been in love with you forever and could have asked you out as early as high school, but he didn’t. Then you were apart for eight long years, and he could have started something up with you soon after you two reunited, but he didn’t.Instead, he plays the “beat myself up with regrets” game and wastes even moretime trying to logically distance himself from you before you eventually have to forcibly break him down. Only then does he cave. But the “beat himself up game”? Yeah, that never quits. Because eventually, he’ll beat himself up for wasting so much time to make a move.

You really have to help this boy out of those habits.

U = Upset (how do they act when you’re upset?)

Will do anything to make you smile again. If you’re sad, he’ll try to pick you up with either a smile and some light banter or a hug and soothing words. If your mad, he’ll try to redirect or release your anger in any way he can. If you’re mad at him, que the kicked puppy look as he practically falls to his knees and begs for forgiveness.

V = Vaunt (what are they proud of? Do they like to show you off?)

He will show off when he can, usually about his detective skills or ability to fix things, and he will look like a five-year-old boy trying to impress a girl on the playground while doing it. Be sure to praise him for those moments. You will be rewarded with a grinning blushy boy.

W = Warrior (how do they feel about you fighting? Would they fight for you, beside you, etc?)

No. No. No.

…

Until you put your foot down and insist you’re gonna be by his side in a fight no matter what. He literally cannot win against you. And he hates it.

However, he is 110% your warrior and will be until he draws his dying breath. Nothing is going to change that. So if he can fight first and keep you from fighting in the first place, then he’ll do that.

X = X-Ray (how well are they able to read you?)

Like a book. He’s known you waytoo long to not be able to. Even those eight years didn’t change you too much, and he was able to relearn everything that felt new to him fairly quickly.

Y = Yes (how would they propose to you?)

One of two ways. In scenario L, after the love confession, he would propose marriage in the heat of the moment. You’d probably already both be crying and a total wreck, but your hearts would already be out on the line, and he’d just take that moment to drop the bomb of “please be by my side for the rest of my life”.

OR if that didn’t happen, (or maybe it did BUT he didn’t consider it a proper proposal and wants a redo) the proposal would be nothing big or fancy. Rather, it’s in a quiet moment between the two of you, either hanging out at your place or his. He’s sure to get down on one knee, holding your hand reverently as he pours out his heart to you. You’ll be in tears and his eyes will probably be glassy too by the time you say yes. At which point, he’ll put the ring on your finger and then hug you tight. And probably not let you go until absolutely necessary.

Z = Zen (what makes them feel calm?)

You.

No, really. You’re basically his world, so as long as he’s able to see you and know you’re okay, he’s okay. And if you want to settle him with sweet words and gentle touches, go right ahead.

You will also put him to sleep if you massage his head with your nails, so be sure to pet the Golden Retriever Puppy. Let him have a moment where he isn’t carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

[peralta-guaranteed]

Wishing I could read something about Peraltiago talking about how they feel on all Teddy's proposals to Amy. They are really akward, uncomfortable moments and Teddy really crosses the limits every single time, and wish we knew more on their takes about it. Once I read a fic about Jake sending Rosa to stop Teddy and take care of Amy but it just not the same.

lol I have a fic on that topic exactly - I have a proposal for you - where I had the cathartic experience of writing about Rosa breaking Teddy’s hand for being so awful, but I agree with you, Teddy reappearing in the show is so uncomfortable each time ugggh. I thought the wedding one was the worst but then he shows up literally fathering a child with someone else and still does it, disgusting.

So maybe take this as taking place before that fic of mine, where Jake does mention how bad Teddy's proposals make them feel!

Jake can tell, just from the simple drop of her purse in the hallway, that it wasn't a good day.

Weird, how it's these tiny things that he's learned to read instantly - or maybe not, given that he's a detective trained to focus on details others would overlook, and being unable to stop the habit when it comes to the most important people in his life.

She tries to be all smiles when she comes into the living room, though, where Mac is happily rolling around in his playpen while Jake is folding laundry on the couch, the very picture of domesticity as she leans over the pen to kiss their squealing, giggling little baby. The view of her in one of her old pantsuits instead of her Sergeant's uniform is already making his hearts do little leaps even before she makes her way over to Jake for their customary Welcome Home kiss.

"How was that inter-department meeting today?" He asks as she shrugs off the suit jacket and continues her pace into the kitchen, setting aside a set of Mac's bibs that can't be folded anyway.

"Okay." She replies, and that's enough to make him abandon the laundry alltogether and follow her (one eye on Mac, of course, but he's not even crawling yet, and couldn't roll himself into any danger on his foam-based playmat - probably). It's rare that she doesn't have at least one inspiring, 'interesting' or just generally informative story to share from her meetings, the only person in probably all departments looking forward to them.

She's staring into the fridge when he reaches the room and leans against the counter, trying to gauge her level of upset. From the raised shoulders and the fact that she doesn't need to check the fridge to know they were going to order Chinese tonight, he guesses it's at a solid 8, at least.

"Teddy was there." She mumbles into the cold, bright space in front of her, and Jake's shoulders tense up just as much as hers even as he tries to sound as chill as possible.

"How is he?"

"Still extremely boring." Then, after a pause. "Still hung up on me."

So much for chill.

"Did he propose again?"

She nods and sighs, her shoulders dropping as she closes the fridge, but doesn't turn toward him.

"I don't know what's wrong with him." She says through gritted teeth, suddenly. "He has a child with someone. He has a wife. How can he look at them and turn around and-"

Mac's little happy cooing from the living room interrupts her, as do Jake's arms as they wind around her middle, his chin dipping into the space between her shoulder and her neck.

"That's probably a question only a therapist could answer, babe."

Amy sighs as she leans back, falls into the warmth and support of her own husband, the father of her child that she can hear happily babbling to himself from a room over, and wonders some more how Teddy could ever think he would be a better option for her.

"He wasn't like this when we were dating." She muses, and feels Jake's kiss against her jaw - a reflex action she's noticed whenever she mentions a past partner or anything, frankly, that reminds him that there was a point where he wasn't Jake Peralta-Santiago yet. But she kind of needs to finish this thought, and she knows he can handle it. "He was nice and kind and he wouldn't- he wasn't manipulative, pulling something like that in public, or deluded enough to think he was in the right for it. I mean, he thought he was pretty great, but he wouldn't have -"

"You musta broken something pretty major in his brain when you left him." Jake's voice is joking, luckily, but she can sense a hint of something more. "The absolute devastation of a Santiago break-up speech, rehearsed or not."

"Harsh, Jake."

"Remember manbun musician? He went downright insane after your split - not that he was probably the sanest person around before that, but-"

"You promised we'd never mention him again."

"I'm just saying. I don't think any man left by you is going to be completely right in the head after that."

"You're making me sound like some black widow monster." She smiles, though, hearing the awe and affection in his voice bleed through.

"I'm not judging those guys, anyway." He continues, and that tinge of something else in his words is back. "I mean, I can't imagine what I'd be like if you ever decided to take Teddy up on one of his proposals."

She straightens up from her lean on his chest, twists in his arms without breaking the hug, and stares right into him as she studies his face - his actually slightly scared face.

"Jake, you know that's not ever-"

"I was joking babe."

"No. Jake. That's not even an option. Not even an idea. Never. Not in a million years. Not if-"

She grabs his shirt where it's unbuttoned, right next to his heart, and his hand reaches up to squeeze hers like it always does, thumb swiping along her rings.

"I know, Ames." The soft kiss that follows calms her just as much. "I cashed out that jackpot and I'm not giving it back."

She hums as she kisses him again, leans her forehead against his for a deep breath.

"It's just... sad." She returns to her original train of thought. "That he can't move on despite his life doing so. I mean, it's been years. He's got a new job and a new partner and a new baby, and he's willing to, what, dump all that? For me? For that idolised image he probably has in his mind of me now, because nothing between us has been real since ages ago?"

"Wow, this is really bugging you."

"Yes! He's barging into my life and thinking he knows what's best for me and that it's him, like I'm some love-struck silly dreamgirl who's going to drop her entire world because he's romantic enough to go down on one knee in front of our colleagues and superiors who have no idea what's going on-!"

Mac's noises from the next room turn from content to disagreeing, growing into what is sure to be a cry any minute now, and it's the only thing that can make them break apart from their hug. He calms down immediately when Amy lifts him out of his pen, and holds him close while she settles on the sofa next to the half-done laundry basket, snuffling against her chest in a very obvious I’m hungry mom couldn’t you tell?! move before she can even unbutton her dress shirt.

He latches on immediately when her shirt is open and her bra pulled down - not a nursing bra today, considering she got ready for an important work meeting - while she feels Jake rearrange the pillows behind her and to her side to get her comfortable, without a second of hesitation or having to think about it. He moves on to pick up the jacket she's dropped onto a dining room chair, drapes it on a hanger in the hallway, and she feels the soft prick of tears in her eyes before he settles down again next to the two of them with a glass of water for her set on the coffee table.

Jake only hums as he notices the shine in her eyes too, and wipes across her cheek. He knows that nursing can get her into a pretty emotional state sometimes, but this is probably a bit more than that.

"I love you." She says, and barely waits for his return of I love you too to continue. "I can't believe Teddy expects me to look at Mac, and look at you, and still think he could ever be a better offer for anything I want."

"Aw, babe." He grins softly in return while playing with Mac's foot that is kicking in his direction, covered in the fuzziest green socks with red apples on them. "You scored a pretty dope 2-for-1 deal with us, I admit."

“Before that, too.” She insists, leaning to unlatch Mac and hand him over to Jake to burp as they always do while she buttons back up, thinking about Teddy’s many proposals before Mac was even planned on. “Jake, you know that, right? You alone were the best deal first and foremost.”

He smiles at her, Mac’s soft little curls right next to his cheek as he sways and pats his back, but it doesn’t fully reach his eyes.

“Jake-”

“You were happy with him.” He says, quietly, while Mac lets out his usual milky burp and smiles at him much wider when he wipes him clean with the linen cloth pulled from his shoulder. “I know it’s in the past and I - I’m not jealous or anything that stupid, but. Like you said... He wasn’t like this back then, and you were happy.”

His eyes seem forlorn, even as he smiles at the now sleepy baby in his lap that looks so much like him it always makes her heart twinge, that little bundle of joy with Amy’s dark hair and skin that seems to know the Cuban sun without ever having been there.

“And I know it’s not - and it doesn’t make sense to think about, but - sometimes his stupid proposals made me wonder what would’ve happened if he’d done that while he still made you happy.” His voice turns low, and it’s probably not just to avoid waking Mac back up as he falls asleep. “And that just makes me think about how I had to watch you be happy with him, and that’s not - that’s never a good memory to revisit, honestly-”

“I wouldn’t have said yes.” She leans over into his field of vision, the most serious look on her face. “Even back then, I wouldn’t have said yes to his proposal.”

Jake’s eyebrows scrunch up in question, his eyes turning into those puppy dog eyes that she knows as a direct hit to her heart when he’s actually sad or worried, and she can’t not hold his face in her hands again.

“Yes, I was happy with Teddy for a while, but looking back at it I realise I was- there was always this feeling of waiting for something. Hoping for something to be different.” She kisses him, careful and short and barely there, but enough to make him close his eyes and lean towards her a bit more. “And maybe back then I thought I was waiting for him to change somehow, but really I was only waiting for him to change into you.”

“Teddy couldn’t change into me if he had major brain surgery.” Jake scoffs, and Amy huffs a laugh with him.

“Yeah. And that’s why he’d never been right for me. That’s only ever been you.”

He finally, properly smiles now, eyes open again and set on her with a soft shine to them before he leans over more, as much as he can without waking the deeply asleep baby in his lap.

“I’m glad you figured that out when you did, in the end.” He quips and earns himself a shy nod. “And said yes when it came to the only good proposal you got.”

She snickers at that, thinking about the gaudy but wonderful boxing belt in her mementos box, and leans in the last few inches she needs to kiss him again, neither careful nor short this time, but equally as soft. 

“And the next time I catch Teddy trying to propose to you again I’m going to punch him out before he can even get down on one knee.”

“You are not assaulting a fellow officer.”

“Kick in the balls?”

“How very mature, Mister-I-have-an-actual-child-now.”

“Can I at least tell him where he can stick his ridiculous ideas of marrying you at any point in the future, no matter the circumstances?”

She hums for a second.

“You can. If you add in how ridiculous the idea was in the past as well.”

“Oh now, that’s a good deal.”

[mermaidsirennikita]

I know cheating is still kind of taboo in romance, but you do have any recs? I find many authors tend to skirt the issue by having one of the two have an estranged spouse or something - not like that if, you know of any. I would totally read a bridgerton s2 AU where Anthony marries Edwina but inevitably has an affair with Kate tbh! I don’t get why romance is so lame about these things still.

Romance.... has a lot of conservative values entrenched in it still, unfortunately. The romance readers online are diverse--many of the more vocal readers are more open-minded and even quite leftist, but lots of the people who are still buying romance are very much... not that. With that being said, even a lot of left-leaning readers shy away from cheating, in part I think due to us as a society having a very black and white morality scale. We're all about this purity culture and if our faves are cheaters that means they're evil forever and we can't possssssibly stan them.....

So I don't have many recs, lol. But what I can offer is:

Notorious Pleasures by Elizabeth Hoyt--I've been re-reading this one (it's the first Maiden Lane book I ever read) and it is... a fucking lot. Hero, the heroine (gotta love a Hoyt name) is engaged to the hero's brother. The hero is basically a reprobate good for nothing bullshitter, but they start to get physical and eventually begin falling in love. They are cheating... all over the place. Like she jacks this man off and then they go to lunch with his brother. It's real.

Waking Up with The Duke by Lorraine Heath--the heroine has permission to fuck someone else from her husband for the purposes of conception, but imo it leans into cheating preeeeetty quickly. Because like, if the idea is to just... get pregnant.... they're doing a lot of shit that does not get anyone pregnant, ya know? Added layers of angst because her husband is the cousin and best friend of the man she's cheating with, and her husband is impotent due to an accident he got into with said cousin and best friend.

Ravishing The Heiress by Sherry Thomas--this one is just okay for me but a lot of people love it. The hero and heroine are in a marriage of convenience that they agreed not to consummate for quite some time (as she was very young when they got married). The hero has been in love with another (married) woman this whole time, and the woman has returned a widow, which means it's affair time! It's kind of a cheatingception because he's been having this emotional thing for this woman who's not his wife, but it's never been physical; and now that it's expected that it will become physical he's falling for his wife.

The Heiress Hunt by Joanna Shupe--very light cheating here, but the heroine does get engaged to another man while being seduced by her childhood friend.

Duke of Midnight by Elizabeth Hoyt--again, very light (I mean, the sex definitely isn't light but the cheating is) but the hero in this book is courting a woman with the intent to marry her when he falls for her lady's companion, and they fuck like... crazy. Literally, he's insane, I love him.

Her Night with The Duke by Diana Quincy--as has been recommended by many as an alternative to Bridgerton s2. The (widowed) heroine and hero fuck in a one nighter which gets complicated when it turns out that he's about to get engaged to her stepdaughter.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Broken Mirror: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: ~1.5k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill, and angst

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated.

Feedback is gold, and it’s the only currency I take

"When a good man is hurt, all who would be called good must suffer with him." - Euripides

Thinking about going on a date with Spencer is way different than actually doing it. Gideon got you two the good seats even if it is a first come first serve. However, you made sure to arrive early enough to get a seat by the exit so you didn't have to waste time just sitting around while everyone else leaves. Gideon picked a good day as well since they were playing a two special horror movies, Psycho and The Shining. Spencer hadn’t seen either of them, but you have and you knew you would have a good time.

“Okay, I got literally every sweet thing they had,” you announced, climbing into the bed of your truck. Spencer didn’t have a car since he preferred to take public transportation to work. Sometimes you would be his ride if he asked for it, so it was natural that you two take your car. It was better anyway since you had a 4x4 off road truck with a comfortable bed if you laid down blankets and pillows, which you did. Spencer leaned on the back of the truck as you sat next to him, handing him the candy he requested.

“I didn’t know you liked sweet stuff.”

“Sweetheart, my whole life revolves around sugar,” you chuckled, pausing when you realize what you just said. “Sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

“For calling you sweetheart. It just came out,” you chuckled nervously.

“It’s okay. I like it,” he smiled.

“Great, okay,” you immediately felt better.

“So, what do we do here?”

“You’ve never been to a drive-in theater before?”

“Never.”

“Well, some people stay inside the car with the windows rolled down, but that’s only if they have a bench for a seat so they can sit really close to each other. I don’t have that so I chose the bed. We can sit anywhere we want,” you began to demonstrate by moving all around the trunk to show him before settling right… next… to… him, “even here.” You go to move, but he placed a hand on your shoulder to stop you.

“You can stay here if you want.”

“Oh, okay, sure,” you cleared your throat, trying to get the awkwardness out of the way. It was clear Spencer didn’t do this too often which was fine, but you wanted to move past the awkward phase.

“Aren’t these movies two hours long each?”

“Yeah, or more, which I don’t know why Gideon thought getting us tickets for this day was a smart idea. He knows I fall asleep during movies all the time.”

“How do you know Gideon?” he asked. Your intentions were to lean against the car, but you shifted too much and ended up against his side, which he didn’t seem to care. Opening the bag of candy you got, you popped one in your mouth and chewed.

“He was the lead agent on my case,” you finished once you swallowed.

“What do you mean?”

“My sister was murdered by her boss since he kept harassing her at work and she would always deny him. He was the one who helped me through losing her. I mean, she wasn’t my blood sister since my parents were fostering a bunch of kids, but she was my sister. The man killed himself before Gideon and his team could get to him, but at least we know he did it. He had the whole plan and more laid out at his apartment.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know,” he said quietly.

“You couldn’t have. It’s fine. The more I talk about it, the less it hurts. I was the one who led Gideon to his apartment since I saw the whole thing after it happened. After that, Gideon and I stayed in touch and would occasionally ask me for help on cases. It’s why he wanted me to join the BAU.”

“That must have been so difficult.”

“It was, but I’m glad I have it. I get to help a lot of people because of it,” you grinned. The first movie started playing, and you and Spencer got comfortable enough to sit through four and a half hours of both movies.

“Did you know due to how repressed Americans were in the 1950s, Psycho is actually the first American film to show a toilet on screen. Consequently, it’s the first American film in which we hear the toilet flush,” you informed him.

“I didn’t know that, no,” he chuckled. 

Halfway through the movie, Spencer began to feel your weight getting heavier as you gave up holding yourself up as to not crush him. He looked over at you to see your eyes closed and your mouth parted. He didn’t want to move for fear of waking you, but he couldn’t help but give a smile at your state.

Walking into work the next day, you couldn’t help but recall the events of yours and Spencer’s date. You did fall asleep halfway in the first movie, and you didn't know why he didn’t wake you since it was supposed to be a date. Nonetheless, when it was all over, you two got some ice cream which was way better. Gideon did a good job sparking up the flame between you and Spencer, but it was now up to you two to keep it lit.

“You fell asleep?” JJ laughed as you, her, and Penelope walked down the hallway to the bullpen. 

Of course, you told your two best friends what happened on the date. You three were getting closer which is why you thought it would be good to engage in some healthy gossip.

“Yes, I did. I always do. But Spencer and I went out for ice cream afterwards which was way better,” you chuckled.

“Did he kiss you?” Penelope asked with a grin.

“No, he didn’t. Well, not on the lips. He did kiss me on my cheek, but it’s a first date and I don’t even know if it’ll happen again. I mean, he hasn’t really talked about it. We haven’t had time to really talk about what this might mean. I can tell he’s nervous and tense which can either mean he’s trying to find a reason to let me down gently, or he likes me but won’t do anything about it,” you explained as you walked into the bullpen.

Spencer was on the other end of it talking with Derek, and when you two made eye contact, you gave him a small wave. He stiffly waved back, and you looked away with a sigh.

“His emotional state is all over the place, but I don’t know what it means,” you shrugged.

“Reid, Morgan, Y/L/N,” Hotch announced when he and Elle exited his office, “document's up on the screen regarding the kidnapping of Trish Davenport.”

“That’s my cue,” Penelope left the group.

“Keep me updated,” JJ whispered.

“Have you read them yet?” Spencer asked as you three walked up the stairs to follow the duo.

“Yeah, I got a copy from the document examiner.”

“What does it say?” you wondered.

“That we've got until 8:00 tonight,” he sighed, closing the door once everyone was inside the briefing room. The note that was left for Evan Davenport, the father of the kidnapped girl, was up on the screen.

“You will follow instructions carefully. You will do this to ensure the safety of your daughter. You will wait for the call. You will answer the call at 8:00 P.M. You will write down the instructions and follow them to the letter,” Spencer read it word for word.

“That gives us less than 9 hours to get to Connecticut, work up victimology on Trish Davenport, and prepare her father for the ransom drop.”

“How do we know the letter is real?” you asked.

“The handwriting is a match for Trish's,” he explained as he showed it. “He dictated it to her, and they found saline on the paper.”

“Her tears,” Gideon muttered.

“He never says ‘I’. He doesn't say, ‘I will call’. He says, ‘you will answer the call’. He's distancing himself from the kidnapping. If he said ‘I’, he'd be taking responsibility for it,” Derek noted.

“There's also another missing element. No mention of the police.”

“Ransom notes almost always forbid police involvement,” Elle stated.

“So, is he expecting law enforcement to get involved?” you wondered.

“Well, if he's expecting us, let's not disappoint him,” Gideon smiled.

“Is everyone familiar with the father?” Hotch asked as he passed out the case files while the plane was in the air.

“Evan Davenport, U.S. Attorney, executive assistant southern district, New York, widower. He assigned U.S. Marshals three times in the past ten years due to death threats,” Spencer spit out the facts.

"Is the protective detail still current?” Derek inquired.

“Around the clock, but Trish declined protection when she turned eighteen.”

“But why kill the boyfriend?” you asked, crossing your legs in your seat.

“Well, if I'm gonna kidnap someone I know, I have to take out whoever's with them. It says here she's got a sister,” Derek stated.

“Cheryl.”

“Any problems? Were they close?”

“Yeah, they’re identical twins,” you showed everyone the picture of both sisters side by side. “Which makes me think was Trish the target or was Cheryl?”

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[caranfindel]

Take these broken wings and learn to fly (15.20 coda)

het, but Wincest-compatible | about 2300 words | PG-13 for language | characters: sam winchester, sam’s blurry wife |

Julia has been widowed (God, what an awful word, widowed) for three years when she meets Sam. It’s a work-based friendship at first. She’s kind of lonely and sad, he’s kind of lonely and sad, and they gravitate toward each other. And then one evening they’re at a bar, the last ones left from an after-work happy hour, both of them drinking more than they should, and she thinks he’s kind and thoughtful and smart and he may be 10 years older than me but he’s still hot as hell and I enjoy being with him and I look forward to seeing him and maybe I should just… and she kisses him. He’s shocked; shocked enough to confirm that he wasn’t just hanging around hoping to make it out of the friendzone. And then he’s holding her face in his hands and he’s kissing her too.

It’s good. They’re good together. It’s not the earth-shattering, all-encompassing romance she had with Shaun. Julia knows she’ll never have anything like that again. Most people don’t even get one soulmate in their lives; no one gets two. And she knows Sam doesn’t have that same desperate love that Shaun had for her; she knows she’ll never have his whole heart. (She knows the woman he intended to marry was killed in a fire, she knows another woman he loved went back to her ex. She doesn’t know which of these women still owns that last piece of Sam’s heart.) But she loves Sam, and he loves her, and they get married.

(The sex is amazing. Sometimes he’s gentle, almost reverent, as if he’s afraid he’ll break her, and other times he’s fierce and passionate and almost tries to break her, and she loves both ends of the spectrum.)

She suggests they melt down her old wedding band to make a new one. It was an heirloom from her grandmother, a plain wide band of yellow gold that she loves, that she thought she’d wear for the rest of her life. But Shaun is the one who put it on her finger the first time. It doesn’t seem right to ask Sam to accept it now. A new band from the old gold seems like a good compromise. No, Sam says, I couldn’t ask you to do that. I know a way we can make it ours. He has the inside of the band engraved with the same symbol he wears tattooed over his heart, and makes her promise to never take it off. Bad luck, he says.

He’s such a contradiction. Scary smart, but as superstitious as an Appalachian grandmother. Calm and unflappable, but with a weirdly hyperactive startle reflex. Kind and empathetic, but capable of extreme violence when pushed to his limits (seriously, don’t walk your drunk ass up to Sam Winchester’s wife and lay hands on her, and don’t get mouthy when she tells you to back off) and just really, frighteningly skilled at that violence.

(A little frightening and also very sexy. Julia’s always had a thing for the hero type.)

They both have nightmares. One night Julia watches Shaun’s face melting under his gear and wakes with a cry of horror. Sam holds her as she tearfully describes living on the knife edge of constant fear that comes with loving someone whose job is literally running into burning buildings. I know, he says, over and over, even though he can’t possibly know. The irony of their first loves both dying in flames is not lost on her, but it’s not like his college girlfriend was a firefighter. It’s not like he watched her go to work every day and prayed she’d make it home alive.

Julia’s pregnancy is a wonderful surprise. She and Shaun had tried for over a year before she was widowed, and she just didn’t count on it happening with Sam. They agree not to name the baby after anyone they’ve lost. Let’s not name him after our pain, she says, and Sam is okay with that. (Or he isn’t. But ever since she showed him the positive pregnancy test, she’s known she could ask him for anything. She’s known he would rip out his heart and serve it on a platter if she asked for it.)

But they haven’t decided on a name yet when her water breaks four weeks early. When their perfect baby boy is born at 12:10 a.m., the nurse announces the date and time and Sam looks up at her in shock and blinks away happy tears and says it’s the 24th. It’s my brother’s birthday. Julia is flying high on endorphins; she loves this baby and she loves this man and she even loves his dead brother she never got to meet, and she says it’s got to be a sign; let’s name him Dean.

She takes off her wedding ring, just this once, to have Dean’s birthdate engraved on the inside. Sam does the same with his own ring. He insists they go to a jeweler who will engrave while they wait, rather than leaving the rings there. She waves a hand at her lumpy postpartum body. You afraid someone’s gonna make a move on all this if you don’t keep a ring on it?

He laughs at her and says you’re onto me, even though he’s the one who needs to be locked away, still with that long lean runner’s body and the amazing shoulders and the goddamn dimples. I just don’t like us being without them, he says. He is a sweet, sentimental fool and she adores him. He bends down to kiss her, carefully maneuvering the baby he’s wearing in a sling, and Julia looks at this man and this baby and this life she didn’t think she was get to have and knows she’s happier than she has any right to be. And she’s relieved when Sam slips the ring back onto her finger, this ring imbued with the men she loves, so maybe he’s not the only sentimental fool.

(One thing she loves about Sam is that he understands why she feels guilty that Shaun didn’t get to share this life with her.)

In July they light a little candle for Dean’s six-month birthday. When Julia wakes the next morning, Sam’s side of the bed is empty and cold. She finds him cuddling their sleeping baby in the living room. I got up to give him a bottle, Sam says. I guess I just fell asleep out here. His red-rimmed eyes and empty coffee mug suggest he didn’t actually sleep at all, but, well. They’re both battling their own private demons. If a night cradling the baby gives Sam some peace for whatever reason, she’s glad of it.

Sam’s fierce love for their child takes her by surprise. If Julia has 90% of his heart, his son has 110%. He parents with a vengeance, is the only way she can think of to describe it. Like he’s making up for something. She doesn’t feel slighted, but it’s impossible to ignore that ever since Dean was born, Sam’s prime objective has been to make sure the boy is happy and safe. Everything else comes second.

(When she notices Sam has been carefully marking his tattoo symbol onto Dean’s clothing, hidden near seams and always in a color that almost matches the fabric, she decides not to say anything. He gets a little funny about his superstitions sometimes.)

Sam desperately wants Dean to have a sibling, and they try for another one, but it doesn’t happen. Julia reminds him that they’re lucky to have even one child. That having a sibling is not a lifetime guarantee of companionship and love. She should know, after all, since Stephanie cut her off after she married that asshole Scientologist and decided she couldn’t have a relationship with anyone who wasn’t also in their stupid cult.

Dean has plenty of friends and tons of activities, which Sam encourages with an almost religious fervor, but he never pulls away from his parents. They have so much in common, Sam and his son. Instead of rebelling as a teenager, Dean seems to grow even closer to his father. They spend hours together, paging through the ancient books in Sam’s study (she hates them, they smell musty and make her sneeze) or driving in the old Chevrolet. They even travel together sometimes, visiting those friends of Sam’s that live up north somewhere. Julia met them at the wedding and they were perfectly nice, thrilled to death that she and Sam had found each other. But she always feels like an outsider when they’re around, like they’re part of something she’ll never understand. So much history, with Sam and the brother she never got to meet. They absolutely dote on Dean though, and he seems to love them too, so the boys’ trip to Sioux Falls becomes an annual event.

(Dean is 14 years old when he comes home from one of these trips with his own version of the tattoo.)

When Julia is diagnosed with cancer, Dean is 16 years old. Sam does his best to ensure life goes on as normal for their son but somehow never neglects Julia’s needs. He throws himself into research and is always on top of the latest treatment, always at her elbow with the top internet-recommended remedy for her side effects, making sure both she and Dean have everything they want and need, all the attention and support they can tolerate. She doesn’t know when, or if, Sam actually sleeps. When she feels up for it, he arranges experiences for the three of them. A week lying on the beach, a weekend in New York City, a night in the mountains looking at the stars. When we look back on this time, he says, I don’t want us to only remember how much it sucked. I want us all to have good memories too.

(She doesn’t know why he’s concerned about her memories. There’s a good chance she won’t have much time to enjoy them. But it’s good for Dean. She doesn’t want this to ruin Dean’s childhood.)

Sam insists Dean go away to college as planned. Julia agrees, although she’s kind of surprised he’s willing to let the boy out of his sight. Aren’t you going to miss him? she asks.

So much, he answers. But this isn’t about me, and what I need. It’s about him. They drive Dean to school in the ancient Chevrolet. Supposedly because the trunk has room for all of his stuff, but Julia is pretty sure it’s just one last sentimental road trip in the old thing before Sam retires it. When they pick Dean up at the end of the school year, it’s in her SUV. Dean promises his father, more than once, that he’ll restore the Chevy someday.

Five years after Julia’s diagnosis, she’s sitting in the doctor’s office learning that her last remission was her last remission. There are no more options. She has months, not years. Sam clutches her hand and nods, once, as if to say I should have known this would happen; I should have expected something like this. Then he takes her home.

It’s a blessing in a way, he says late that night, after a little too much to drink. Knowing what’s coming. Having time to say goodbye. You don’t always get that. And yes, she knows this as well as anybody does.

Sam has always been supportive of her choice not to contact Stephanie, but one day he says Jules, I promise I’ll never bring it up again. It’s just that I don’t want you to have any regrets. I don’t want you miss the opportunity to say things that you’ll wish you’d said. Julia isn’t sure Steph will speak to her. She’s not even sure she’ll have the same phone number — they haven’t spoken since Dad’s funeral, a year after she was widowed — but she makes the call. And Steph answers. And cries. And comes to visit, where she hugs and cries some more. Sam watches it all with a sad smile for a while, then disappears into the garage to sit in the old Chevy.

When Julia takes her last conscious breaths, Dean is holding one hand and Sam is holding the other. She squeezes her son’s hand and thinks I love you, dear boy, and I’m sorry I have to leave you. She squeezes her husband’s hand and thinks thank you for giving me this, thank you for taking care of me, thank you for loving me and letting me love you. Then she closes her eyes and lets the soft, warm darkness take over.

And then. Then she wakes to a cool breeze and the sound of chirping birds. She’s standing at a lake she recognizes. It’s Shaun’s favorite fishing spot. And Shaun is there, waiting for her. And everything is okay.

Sam does show up eventually. Julia’s sitting on the porch of the cabin with Shaun, enjoying the perpetual nice day (sometimes a spring morning, sometimes a fall afternoon, but always nice) when she hears the familiar rumble. It cant be, she thinks. It can’t be that old car. But it is.

I’m glad you found someone with good taste in cars, Shaun says, as Sam unfolds himself from the driver’s seat. He looks exactly as he did the day she met him; no glasses, only a little grey at his temples. Still tall and strong and beautiful. She runs to meet him and embraces him as Shaun watches from the porch.

You found Shaun, Sam says. I’m so happy for you, Jules. I really am. He doesn’t seem to have any intention of joining her (their) Heaven permanently, but he doesn’t seem to have anyone else with him either. Where is the dead girlfriend? How is this fair?

They talk about Dean, and Julia’s heart swells with pride over her strong, smart, kind, brave son. He’s like you, she says. He’s just like you.

Sam shrugs. He’s a Winchester.

But what about you? she says. You’re not — you’re not alone here, are you?

Nah, he says. I’m good. I promise.

(Eventually Julia meets the first Dean, and she understands.)

===

I know a lot of people have mocked Sam's blurry wife, but I actually have grown to love the concept. Because it means she can be anything we want her to be. And yeah, initially I liked the idea of her being Dr. Cara, or Eileen. But now I don't think that would happen. I think Sam would have to start fresh to have that kind of relationship. And I also like the idea of Sam's wife having her own soulmate somewhere, waiting for her, so she's not a huge part of Sam and Dean's shared Heaven. I mean, they're gonna visit, obviously. And then they'll go home to their soulmates.

The title is from "Blackbird" by the Beatles.

[quietlyimplode]

I dont really have the words for this one, except to say this is a story that's really close to my heart. It's one that was written of experiences and fueled by the movie being released. I wasn't sure if i wanted to share it, but I think it's a story I would like to tell.

Please heed the tagged warnings, on posts - there is nothing particularly kind or gentle about this series. It will move between Clint and Natasha's point of views and doesn't pull any punches. To those who have supported me with this one, I owe you a one shot, collect at any time. Thanks so much for the encouragement.

As always, take care of yourself. <3

summon your courage

1/6 (2137 words)

.

The television is split into four screens, each with a different room in the sparse apartment. He stirs his yogurt and clicks the remote to zoom in on the room the Black Widow currently sits in. He’s been watching her for just under a week now, having put the cameras in, invading her privacy in order to gather information for his employers.

At times, he feels dirty; like a creep; which in all honesty he is; watching a woman when she thinks she’s in private, all the private and intimate moments. He didn’t expect her to stay here for so long but he’s been glad for it, it’s almost respite for him.

Watching.

Waiting.

There’s a lull in her work, obviously; and she seems almost human, doing regular human-like things. Not at all like the dossier that’s laid out like a map on his left. All the information he has on her is stuck in his head. Death and destruction follow in her wake and there’s been certain kills that even he’s had to fold the page on and forget.

This is different.

She’s reading a book in French, he can’t make out the authors name from his view point, but he can see the title; Arsène Lupin is written in block letters.  Her knees are tucked to her chest and he can also make out how her foot taps, like she’s listening to music. He doesn’t think it’s a nervous tic and he can’t hear music; so, he assumes it’s in her head.

Sighing, Clint turns the sound up, and heads to the kitchen to make some coffee and dinner. Looking quickly at the clock, he marks the time as 9.15pm. She’s been reading since 7. If she follows her usual routine, she’ll be up in 15 minutes and get changed and go for a run, be back by ten and then get ready for bed. He’s assuming the run serves as a perimeter check, he often runs it backwards after she’s gone to bed, doubly making sure what she already must know.

The Russians are watching.

.

9 days in, she’s seemingly despondent. She hasn’t followed any of her usual routines, and has stayed in bed. He pulls his laptop closer and chews on fresh apple, watching as her eyes open and close and sleep. She has not moved once today. He wonders if what he’s been watching over the past eight days has been functional depression, she can do things, clearly. He has a bit of experience with that, according to his employer's psych team. She can take care of herself, but this, today, all together feels like giving up.

Maybe it’s a bad day, he rationalizes. She’s terrifying enough that the Russians have not made a move, suspects that they don't even know. He wonders if they’re hunting her, watching her or protecting her; it’s not something he’s made clear just yet; and to make matters worse on his run last night, he noted DRSD agents. Their walk as distinctive as their Russian counterparts. So, it seems that his presence here is not the only one. American, French, Russian, all vying for her attention and here she is, lying in bed. He focuses in, making sure she’s still breathing and marks the time. 1pm.

He loads the camera up on his phone and heads to the roof, craving the fresh air. He flips through the cameras he’s set up around his apartment to watch his own back, his own surveillance footage of his surrounding area. He’s satisfied enough that nothing is amiss and that his French is passable to not have alerted anyone, and then flicks back to watch her. She’s still not moved from the bed.

.

Day 12 hits and they’ve not had another day like Day 9. He doesn’t report that one to his seniors, reports it as a day in which nothing was amiss. French intelligence has moved on, but today, the Russians have made contact. It wasn’t anything big, a chalk mark on the pavement, a change in path on her run and dead drop of a post card from what he can make out when she came back. He writes it up, emails quickly and await orders on what happens next, wonders if he’ll be given clearance to wherever she goes next.

Some sick part of him hopes so, he wonders what that makes him.

.

He’s been pulled and sent to Barcelona with a fool of an agent that’s so far beneath his skill level, he sees it as agent training. Coulson must know. He makes it a point to be an asshole, he doesn’t want a partner and after this job, this man won’t want him to be partnered with him.

The whole time he thinks of her.

Wants to know what she’s doing, reading, if her routines changed or she’s completed her mission. He sighs hard on the plane home. He’s definitely a creep.

He can’t stop thinking about her.

.

Coulson is kind enough to put him back on surveillance. A reprimand of punishment for being a dick to the young agent. He’s gleeful as he heads to his apartment and bids Bonjour to the woman at the bottom of the stairs. He airs the room, and sets up the computers again, reactivates the cameras and waits for her return.

If she returns.

The apartment is lived in, still, her meager belongings scattered around the house.

He has hope.

.

He doesn’t have to wait long and within the day she’s back. He sucks in a breath at her appearance when he zooms in close. Black eye, split lip and he’s sure of unseen ailments by the hitch in her gait which she only allows inside her apartment. He watches her undress and walk around in her underwear; ribs are wrapped and he can see a stitched wound that goes from her neck to shoulder. At least she’s taken care of herself, enough to tend to her wounds.

He pays attention as she starts to punch her punching bag, her fighting style is clearly Russian, and there’s no clear compensation for her injuries. Her shoulder wound weeps blood down her arm, and still, she hits just as hard.  It’s impressive if not masochistic. It’s almost 40 minutes before she stops, drops and then starts with her usual routine of push-ups, sits ups and squats. At least some things don’t change. He marks the time and settles in.

It’s nice to be back.

.

He runs the perimeter nightly now, focusing on his own routines, now he understands hers. Marks all the Russians easily. Babysitting he decides. They’re babysitting her. By the run she takes, she knows exactly where her handlers are, makes it a point to run near each of them as a check in. It’s smart, but feels contrived, like she wants them to know she knows. He believes she can run circles around them, and likes watching her do so.

.

It’s a bad day again. She’s not got out of bed. He wants to shake her, tell her to get up. Do something. Punch the bag, read a book, eat something. But she does none of it. He watches her closely and makes sure she’s breathing. Hopes that tomorrow is better.

.

The next day seems worse. He didn’t go to sleep, just in case.. He doesn’t think she’d do anything to herself, but didn’t want to take the chance. He wonders what he would have done if she'd taken the knife to her skin. He calculates the quickest way there and waits. She doesn’t get up. Her eyes are open and no one's home. He wonders if she’s wet the bed, because he hasn’t seen her move once in two days.

It’s panic inducing. One day was enough. He almost wants to break cover and knock on her door to see if she’d open up. Instead, he hacks her phone and calls it. She makes no move towards her phone; the only response is a slow blink and recognition of sound.

He keeps calling. She doesn’t move.

In desperation, he contacts Coulson and asks what he should do. Since the apparent end of the mission will end in her death or the makings of a double agent, Coulson is non-plussed.

Watch and wait is the official lines. The feeling of dread curls in his stomach and settles like a stone.

.

They must know something is amiss. Obviously, she's not run her checks and hasn't touched base in almost 2 days.

They come for her in the middle of the night. It’s not something Clint had anticipated.

They put a bag over her head and drag her out. She doesn’t fight, and allows the men to inject her with something. He loads the cameras quickly to his phone, and sprints to her apartment. He feels like he breaks all speed records getting there, but he’s not quick enough. They’re gone by the time he arrives.

Breathing heavily, Clint pushes his body to run to the locations of Russians, the ones he passes nightly. They’re gone, except, god, he’s a fucking idiot. He has all their number plates and can track them. He calls through to Shield and is patched to tech. He fucking loves those nerds. It’s nearly 4 hours later but he’s been given three locations where she might be, where 3 of the cars have stopped. He only hopes she’s in one of them. Coulson hasn’t said anything, and he’s not explicitly said no, so he takes it as a yes; go get her and bring her in.  

.

The first address leads him to a dead end. Literally. The van is wiped down and abandoned. He holsters his gun and sits in the front seat. He feels ridiculous, his surveillance has led him to.. This. Chasing cars for a woman who when he catches up to her, if he catches up to her, he’ll have to recruit or kill. He 100% second guesses himself as he hot wires the van and heads for the next address. He just hopes she’s not dead when he finally gets to her.

And then wonders why he cares.

.

At the failure of the third address, he’s frustrated. He’s driven for over 10 hours and is tired. His back is hurting and he longs to lie down. Calling tech support again, he gets the location of the vans that were still on the move, they’ve all stopped now and he has another three leads to go on with. He’s got some choices to make. If he sleeps, he risks her being dead on his watch. If he stays awake, he risks becoming dead because of a stupid mistake.

He grunts and kicks the tires of the van, pulls open the back and unfolds the blanket from his backpack to create a makeshift bed. He sleeps on a 45 degree angle, gun in hand, legs out straight, relaxing his body and focusing on all parts of the blanket touching him. He goes through muscle relaxation and forces sleep to come. The three hours is definitely not long enough, but it makes him feel at least functional, as he lets caffeine and chewing gum do the rest. At least he gets to watch the sun rise.

.

The second to last address leads him to warehouse almost in Belgium and he rolls his eyes at the cliché of it. He’s strung on coffee and energy drinks, sugar keeping him going and he knows at some point he’s going to have to eat real food. He’s compartmentalising everything he does. It’s been 3 days and he hasn’t had a proper meal, barely any sleep. He just concentrated on the next thing. Fill up the car, drink coffee, next location, fill up the car.. it’s monotonous but serves a purpose, and got him here.

He knows this is where they’ve taken her. Knows it like the curves on his bow. It’s what he would do for wet work. Scouting the location, he tags five Russian’s pacing and one Black Widow tied to chair with a bag on her head. He can make out barbed wires not handcuffs holding her down, he closes his eyes to the barbaricness of it all but in the same moment the stones of despair in his stomach ease.

She’s not dead.

The little voice asks again, why is he so invested. It’s kill or recruit. Maybe he should shoot her from here and just divest them all of the responsibility of choice.

But he can’t.

He knows he can’t.

Knows that if she chooses death, it can’t be him.

He doesn’t want to wonder why.

Clint calls in, gives his location and an update, even if Coulson doesn’t want to know.

The reproach is significant, followed by a sigh and a be careful.

The rest of the series will be posted up on Ao3 with all my fic, maybe here, idk? As always any encouragement is lovely either here or Ao3. <3

[toothpastecanyon]

We Creatures, Chapter 1

When Alcor felt Mizar calling to him, he came to help. Perhaps, this one time, he should have stayed asleep.

See most updated version on Archive of Our Own.

______________________________________________________________

    Sometimes Alcor the Dreambender was a terrible name, a name spoken by doomsday cults, by grieving widows, by pale newscasters over aerial shots of burning rubble. Sometimes Alcor the Dreambender was a soft name, whispered by children who’d found an unlikely friend.

    And sometimes, it was neither. Sometimes Alcor the Dreambender came out of a bad period, and into a quiet period. He didn’t feel like himself, but he’d gotten bored of the violence, bored of the blood, bored of the world, and for a few centuries he’d just… let it be. He’d sit in the fields of his Mindscape, close his eyes, and rest.

    When he felt like this, only a very special call could wake him from his slumber.

Alcor…

    A wing twitched.

Alcor…

    A brow furrowed.

Help me.

An eye opened.

    That felt like Mizar.

______________________________________________________________

    The smell hit him first. It was rank, wet, and pungent like he was standing knee deep in a sewer - and looking around, it seemed very much like he was. Dirty concrete and trash-filled water was all he could see in either direction, and the ceiling was so low his hat was phasing through it. Alcor wrinkled his nose at the mixture swilling around his leggings; he considered just leaving now, returning back to his comfy rest, but-

    “You came.”

    A voice. Her voice. He turned, and saw her standing beside a rough circle scratched into the curving walls. Her face looked strange to him for a second, but… wow. She looked a lot like Mabel.

    “I didn’t know if you would,” she continued, and her voice sounded like Mabel too, didn’t it? “These haven’t worked in over a hundred years.”

    Alcor didn’t know what to say. Maybe he’d forgotten - it was a long time since he’d last spoken. Mizar didn’t wait for a reply.

    “Listen: you have to help me. There’s these - these elves, they think I killed one of their own.” Her fists balled. “I didn’t do anything, but they’re hunting me. You can’t let them get to me.”

    Alcor blinked slowly. Help. He… he could help. He reached out a hand - and frowned when Mizar recoiled.

    “No, no teleports! They’ll, they’ll track the signal, don’t touch me. Just help me lose them, okay?”

    There was something missing, here. Something he needed. Almost on cue, Mizar started fishing something out of her sweater.

    “Hold on, hold on… here it is!” She opened her hand, revealing a tiny crystal twinkling on her palm. “One pristine elder dewdrop. Closest thing to a soul I could give you - just this much could turn New York into the Amazon.” A grin. “So, we doing this?”

    For a moment, Alcor just stared at her. He stared at her brown eyes, at her long flowing hair, at her bright sweater and skirt. He stared at the freckles on her cheeks, and the jangly bracelets on her arms. He stared at her hand, outstretched to take his, and reached out-

    “Hey, we agreed, no touchy.” She stepped back. “Deal?”

    Alcor parted his lips.

    “D̳̭̹̺̲̠̪̼́e̡̯̮͝a̹̥̜̘ͅl, M̰͝i̞̝z͕̙̞͙a͖̥̮̖̗̯͈͝͡r̜̰̗̹ͅ.”

        The sound echoed down the tunnels, and Mizar wrinkled her nose.

    “Real master of subtlety, aren’t you. Well, a deal’s a deal, soooo…” she turned, and tossed the dewdrop over her shoulder. “follow me, big guy.”

    And off she waded, wet trash piling over her white socks. Alcor didn’t quite float behind her as much as he was behind her; he willed himself to always stand a few feet behind her as she moved forwards, and the edge of his shoes clipped through the concrete as the tunnel took a turn.

    After a little while, Mizar glanced back in amusement. “I take back what I say about you being loud,” she said. “I keep having to check you’re still there. That’s a neat trick.”

    Alcor stared at the shine in her eyes, at the little snort she gave.

    “Not a talker, are you?” She turned back, and stepped over a large mound of filthy tissues. “Eh, that’s okay with me, I don’t need you for talking.”

    Talking… Alcor remembered talking. He remembered sitting with his Mizar for hours, talking about emotions, about favourite shows, about grief, about dinner. He frowned at the back of her head.

    “Mizar?”

    “Oh, great. Shouldn’t have said nothing - what?”

    “What’s…” He paused, and thought. “Why… Do you like…?”

    Mizar waited for him to finish, but when nothing came out, she chuckled. “Jeez, you okay, man? You sound like me when I wake up.”

    “Wake up…” He nodded. “Wake up. I wake up.”

    “Wish I could offer you a coffee.” She chuckled. “Anway-”

    “This is-” Alcor frowned. “We’re… running from elves?” He rubbed his head. “I don’t remember them doing this to humans… hunting humans. Why are they-”

    Mizar stopped. “Hold that thought,” she said, and pressed an ear to the concrete. “You hear that?”

    He listened, and he could hear everything. The trickle of water, the hum of a nearby powerline… the flap of a butterfly’s wing on the other side of the planet.

    “Yeah…” Mizar said, nodding. “That’s the sound of you not talking. I like it.”

Alcor watched as she straightened.

“Not trying to be rude, man. But elves can hear you from the surface, so shut up and keep up.”

______________________________________________________________

It was a couple hours of slow, silent, walking, and Alcor was starting to remember why he’d left this human world. The drudgery, the boredom, the sheer human waste he was literally trudging through… what did he like about helping people, again? And where were they going?

    He’d tried to ask, but the most he’d gotten out of her was a “Zip it.” By the way she was navigating the tunnels, though, they were definitely going somewhere; his omniscience wasn’t cooperating on where, so he resigned himself to finding out when they got there.

    He even closed his eyes a little, letting the tether between their souls take him along for the ride. He thought of the soft grass in his Mindscape, and prayed that he could return to it soon.

    Soon…

    “Wake up.”

    Her voice. Alcor opened his eyes, and saw her climbing out of a culvert. She offered a hand - and then quickly retracted it.

    “Come on, this, this way.”

    Alcor climbed out, and found himself standing at the beginning of a little moonlit creek. From the sounds of it there was a highway not far away, but Mizar was stumbling into the forest.

    “Hey,” Alcor frowned. “Uh, shouldn’t we be going away from the forest? The elves-”

    “Shut up!” Mizar snapped. “Shut up, will you!”

    Her hands were shaking, he noticed. He watched her clasp them together, like she was restraining herself.

    “Sorry, just…” she started, and then sighed. “You’re… a lot right now, I need to - I… Just trust me, okay?”

    Alcor cocked his head. “Are you okay?”

    “Just trust me,” she muttered, hobbling past trees. “Just trust me…”

    Frowning, he did follow her. They seemed to be walking some sort of overgrown trail; ferns had definitely broken it up, but he could see the way it still cut through the trees. It wasn’t long until they came upon a small shack in the woods; this too looked abandoned, but by the way Mizar started forwards, it was where they’d been headed.

    “Mizar-”

    “Wait! Wait there. Wait there.” Mizar was biting her knuckle. “Wait there, please. Trust me.”

    His frown deepened. Something was definitely off about this… but he was letting her go, wasn’t he? He heard the door slam, and stood there a little awkwardly. There was an old firepit in front of the cabin, and two mossy logs opposite each other. They were probably benches, but they were damp and slippery… no one had been here in a long time. He looked up at the black sheets covering the cabin’s broken windows.

    Not to camp, anyway.

There was a noise as the door creaked open. Mizar strolled out, hands in her pockets.

“Alright,” she said. “Sorry about that. Anyway, we better keep going.”

“What was in there?”

“Hmm?” Mizar smiled wider. “Oh, just an old shed. Had to get some supplies.” A pause. “You can take a look if you really want to, but there’s nothing in there.”

Alcor hesitated, and then took a couple steps towards the shack. He noticed the smell as he got closer - sewage - and the wards. They were uncomfortably strong, and kept him from looking in until he opened the door, and saw…

...Not much at all. There was an old table and a bed, but the only truly unusual thing was the two piles of magi-orbs sitting in the corner. There was a small pile of working ones, but the other, larger stack was all defunct; their screen had cracked or gone foggy, and they were covered in grime.

“Find any bodies?”

Alcor glanced over at Mizar, who was waving at him from the trees. He made a face, and then closed the door and floated back over to her.

“Glad you got that out of your system. Now come on.”

“What were all those magi-orbs for?”

“It’s a side business, I fix ‘em.”

“In an abandoned shack in the woods?”

“I like the solitude.” Mizar bared a smile at him. “Speaking of solitude-”

He reached out and grabbed her arm. He felt her stiffen, and then relax… and nothing more than that.

“Do you mind?”

Alcor was frowning as he took his hand away. “You’re… strange. You’re hiding something.”

“If you say so.”

“I know why the elves are chasing you.” He felt the dewdrop in his pocket. “Your end of the deal… you stole that from them, didn’t you?”

Mizar shrugged.

“Why would you do that? How did you do that?” He rubbed his head. “You… I wasn’t thinking about it earlier, but you’re just a human, how on Earth did you-”

“Shh.”

“No, don’t shush me this time, I-”

“Shut up.”

Mizar had gone very still, and that was when Alcor noticed the forest had gone absolutely silent. There wasn’t a cricket to be heard; in its place was something ancient, something angry, something… watching him. He locked eyes with Mizar, and her subtle nod said everything.

They were here.

Alcor didn’t see a knife coming until it opened his throat. He whirled around, and a shadowy figure was there - no, gone, and vines were erupting around his feet. It was strange magic, harder to break, and he gave a roar before incinerating it with a blast of blue fire.

Now he looked for elves, and he could see four souls shining bright as day as they were pinning Mizar down. He launched himself at one and tore its throat out, relished in the gargled cry it made. Oh, this he missed. It was- ack!

Magic… magic that hurt. He fixed his eyes on the elf that had come from, and-

A blade erupted out of its belly. Alcor could see its aura flash with surprise, and as it fell he saw another elf standing behind it. Mizar was standing beside it, smiling.

“Good, you got it. Excellent.” She spoke in perfect elvish, and hefted one of their blades. “You’re bleeding. Stand still, let me…”

And she lopped its head clean off. Its body hung there for a second, then dropped to the ground, spurting and convulsing. Mizar stared down at the body with an unreadable expression.

“Mizar?”

Almost unconsciously, she traced her finger across the bloodied blade, brought it close to her lips. Alcor made a tentative step forwards.

“Mizar?”

“Huh?” Mizar looked up, and saw him. “Oh… some fight, huh?” She tossed the blade away. “Saw what you did to that guy - glad you’re on my side!”

“Yeah…” Alcor traced his eye across the battlefield. He’d downed one elf, there were the two he saw Mizar take out… and there was the fourth one, lying some ways away, still breathing. He could see a deep, sucking chest wound, like a bear had slashed him down the middle, and next to him was a strange shattered visor.

All of the elves had been wearing those - it struck him how strangely… artificial they were, compared to their enchanted bark armour and bone-carved swords. He made to pick one up, but-

“Hey, no time to admire your work, we gotta move!” Mizar glanced over at him. “Oof, is that one still alive? Poor guy.”

Alcor looked at her, then back down at the elf. It… he looked young for an elf, and scared. He was staring up at Alcor with wide eyes, shaking his head, trying to speak through the blood pooling in his lungs…

Alcor closed his eyes. He snapped his fingers once, and when he opened them, the soul had left. It was just a body, now.

Just another petty mortal he’d killed, but it wasn’t quite as fun anymore. The pit in his stomach - was this his conscience coming back? It had been a while, for sure.

There was a hand on his shoulder, and he saw Mizar standing there with him. When he met her eyes, she gave a little smile, and motioned him to follow.

She stepped over his body and continued forwards. After a moment, Dipper stepped around, and followed.

[weareallstoriesintheend]

Take Your Time (Reader x Zemo)

Zemo wakes from a nightmare and unfortunately it seems to have awoken some of your fears too

Word Count: 1,242

Warnings: Mentions of death. I just can’t stop writing these two apparently

Part 3 of the Escape Series, Here is Part 1 & Part 2

Zemo Tag List: @lucky-luck-lucky @neoarchipelago @mrs-mischief-209 @londoninamerica

He jolts awake with a muffled shout; you instantly reach out to him in the dimly lit darkness. Light from the moon was shining directly into the bedroom, illuminating it in a barely there blue-white glow. You had already been awake for a few minutes, the sound of him shouting in his sleep waking you from your own disturbed slumber. He had been slurring sleepily in a mix of English and Sokovian, face screwed up tight, when you had sat up to see if he was okay.

Now he blinked at you, eyes darting still in that confusing place between asleep and awake. Sitting up a little more you ran your hand tenderly across his face, your other hand on his chest to steady his breathing. He stared at you, eyes wide, but didn’t speak – his expression made it look like he was trying to work out if you were real or not.

“You’re alright” you cooed, without a word he pulled himself to you and buried himself as close to you as he could, like he was trying to climb inside your skin. As he leant against you both of you fell back against the pillows softly, you gathering him in your arms. You shushed and soothed him, stroking his hair as he breathed heavily.

“My wife… all I could see was my wife” he whispered after some time.

“It was just a nightmare” you replied, voice calm and quiet. His chest was moving at a slower pace now; you hoped he would just drift back off to sleep. He needed the rest.

“It’s her birthday today” he said into momentary silence.

You internally flinched; you never found conversations about his wife comfortable and as he lay naked in your arms it felt even more out of place. But you couldn’t leave him to deal with this alone, “I’m sorry I didn’t know”

“How would you? I’ve never told you. I should tell you more about them” he said, voice still slightly slurred. He was rambling like his thoughts had no filter and you stroked your hand down his back in comforting circles. You loved hearing about his family but every so often the encroaching guilt would overwhelm your anxiety. It’s not like you didn’t understand what had happened but in your mind it wasn’t like they had separated or divorced, she had died. One day she was just gone from his life and you knew he would always want her back – if she hadn’t died he wouldn’t be here with you and that felt like an impossible fact to forget.

“We used to buy her the same cake every year, it didn’t matter cause it still made her smile” he laughed quietly recalling the memory, “I miss that smile”

“I can never replace them, I can’t ever replace… her” you said suddenly, hesitating on your last word when you realised what you were doing. The words had just fallen out of your mouth and as he pulled back from his hold on you to sit up again, the sheets draped around his shoulders, it was like a shot of adrenaline and you scrambled “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that I-I’m still half asleep, forgive me. I’m sorry… go on what were y-“ He stopped you by pushing your hair back out of your face and shushing you gently, his face drawn down in empathy. You felt selfish and a pit developed in your stomach, tears stung in your eyes as they pricked against your eyelashes when you looked away from him.

“I don’t need you to replace anything” he whispered, kissing your cheek lightly “My wife is gone my love, I have come to terms with that. My life is different now but that doesn’t mean I can’t remember. Even if I want different things now, even if my life has moved on she will always be part of it but that doesn’t mean-“

“-What if I can’t be what you need me to be?” you interrupted him, voice thick with the emotion stuck in your throat. You couldn’t stop yourself despite how much a voice in your mind was screaming at you to let it go. The thought of pushing him away was unbearable to you now, you were insecure about a woman who was no longer living and that felt ridiculous and self-centred all the same.

“Yourself?”

“What?”

“You can’t be yourself? Cause that is all I need from you.” he smiled sweetly and tapped the tip of your nose affectionately. He took a breath, as if stilling his own emotions, before continuing “You already saved me. I don’t mean literally, from that prison, but in here” he tapped his temple as he spoke.

You reached for him, wanting to stop the conversation and just go back to sleep, but he grabbed your arms and shook his head “When the Dora came for me at the memorial I was already willing to die, I understand James’s motives when he put that gun to my head. I should be long gone. But then I met you and you helped me realise I still had so much life left to give and I wanted to give it to you. You are the woman who brought me extra food, who cared when the cuffs broke the skin at my ankles, who listened to me talk about my home. You understood my message, my motives and you didn’t judge me for my actions.”

Your tears finally spilled over, still feeling sick with regret you wished he would stop talking. In this moment you should have been caring for him but in your sleep-addled state you weren’t able to stop the word vomit of your fears. You felt guilty because he had done nothing but soothed you when he should have been angry.

He had lost so much, he was a widow and there wasn’t even a name for him losing his child because it’s too damn painful for words, and yet here he sat with only words of compassion for you. You wept for a man whose heart was so damaged and yet so full. He masked his pain in cruelty and violence but here with you, when he could so easily do those things, he chose empathy. “I don’t need you to replace my wife, no one ever could. But if it makes you feel better… she would have really liked you”

“And your son?”

“You apparently have access to the best Turkish delight I’ve ever tasted it, you’d have won him over in a heartbeat” he chucked his thumb under your chin teasingly. You smiled shyly and wrapped your arms around his neck; you pulled so that you could bury your face into his warm skin. He dragged you closer, wrapping his own arms around you and hoisting you into the curve of his side as he nestled back against the pillows with a soft sigh.

“All of this still feels so fast and out of control I know. But whatever life I have left to live I want to spend it with someone who doesn’t treat me like I’m dangerous”

“You’re not dangerous, not really” you protested, trying to sit up but he held you tightly. “Shhh, let’s go back to sleep dear one” he whispered, stroking strands of your hair through his fingers, “I’m a patient man milaya, you can take your time. I’m not going anywhere”