#now i'm wondering if i really should make some ducks and offer them

[pastafossa]

your woodcarving is absolutely amazing!! you're making me want to try it lol

have you considered making a duck/ice cream sundae? in honor of matt and jane's first time meeting in trt?

THANK YOU SO MUCH! It's honestly SUCH a cool craft to get into, and once you have the base supplies (technically all you need is a carving knife + knife strop/sharpener, and some wood), it's pretty easy to keep up. If you see a little class or something near you I'd take it! And if (low chance but what the hell) you're in driving distance of Ripley, West Virginia, consider the weekend and week long classes at Cedar Lakes! That's where I learned, and it's been worth the long drive every time I go. Bob is an AMAZING teacher.

Also, FUN FACT! Do you wanna know why I used a wooden duck/ice cream sundae in TRT chapter one? It's cause this guy I made was on my shelf nearby!

Or, as Matt senses him:

So I am happy to say that the TRT Duck does exist! 😂 He was the first thing I ever carved. Maybe I should make another and do a TRT raffle or something.

[comfortingevanbuckley]

I'm Taken

8x03 Missing Scene | PG | 1k

ao3 link

What if Buck was flirted with when he returned the motorbike to the guy at the call?

Note: No infidelity here, just Buck being flirted with and turning into a cute, blushing mess.

As much as Buck loved the parts of his job that involved saving lives, there was only one part of it that he despised the most. That was the cleanup portion of it all. Yes, of course, there were other moving parts involved which meant he didn’t have to worry about it since that was the job of other transportation companies.

However, there was one job he had to do and Buck really wondered what he did to deserve this. He knew it couldn’t be punishment over the Gerrard situation. Chimney practically threw him a party! He had to hunt down the guy whose motorbike he borrowed. Yes, he borrowed it, even if he didn’t exactly request it so he could clear the highway for a freaking airplane.

“We won’t leave without you, Buck, and Brad did tell us that the crowd of people should still be back there.” Hen said as she finished loading another passenger into the ambulance.

Buck grabbed the helmet from the bike and set off to find the guy. Luckily it was pretty easy since he at least remembered the guy had a thick set of hair and was wearing a bike jacket. Now that Buck wasn’t running on adrenaline, he thought to himself, “Huh, he was kind of cute actually.”

It wasn’t brand new, anymore at least, for Buck to finally realize what it meant to think a guy was hot. His boyfriend still teased him about it, but all Buck could see was the sexy guy he got to come home to. Technically, he was only going over to Tommy’s to see him, but he barely spent any time at the loft anymore. It was a little embarrassing when Eddie came over for beers and Buck’s refrigerator was empty for the first time in what felt like years.

It didn’t take long for Buck to find the crowd of drivers, many who looked perturbed, but most of them in awe of the plane they could barely make out in the distance. The guy who owned the bike was right there and he hopped off, taking the helmet off in the process.

“Hey, man. Thanks again for letting me borrow this. It was a huge help.”

The guy took the helmet back and Buck noticed his eyes moving up and down his body. It made him blush as he realized what was going on. Oh.

“No problem, glad I could help LA’s finest. So is everyone on the plane okay?” He had a smirk on his face as he looked at Buck.

Buck glanced behind him, “Yeah, just some injuries, but overall, it’s better than the alternative.” He knew he shouldn’t say more, especially since the pilot of the plane was gone and he didn’t need to have her loved ones find out from a random person filming him. 

“That was pretty badass of you, even if you did take my bike.”

Buck laughed, scratching his chin with an embarrassed smile. “Hey, it was just to make sure no one was in the plane’s path.”

“Our hero.” The guy was still staring at Buck in a way that made his stomach flip and he had no idea what to think about.

Instead, he ducked his head and blushed, glancing up. “Uh, well, anyway, thanks again. Here’s your keys and hopefully they will have the road cleared up soon so you all can head home.”

“Hey, I didn’t catch your name. I should at least know the name of the guy who commandeered my bike.”

“Uh, Buck, the name’s Buck.” He held his hand out to shake the guy’s hand.

“Hey, Buck. I’m Sean.” It took a second for Buck to get his hand back since Sean seemed to determined to keep shaking it.

“Nice to meet you,” Buck nodded and turned to leave when Sean spoke up.

“Maybe we could meet up for coffee?”

At any other time, Buck would have taken up the guy on the offer. He was cute, he had to admit. But his heart was back in a little yellow house, waiting for him to come home. “I’m so sorry, I’m flattered, but I’m spoken for. I have a boyfriend.” The flutter in his stomach made him feel warm inside saying the word out loud.

Sean groaned, “All the gorgeous ones are taken.”

Buck let out a nervous laugh, “Thank you. Be safe tonight, okay?” He said this to the group, who were now smirking at him. 

He turned to head back to his team, just feeling his phone ring in his pocket. Looking down, he smiled to see Tommy’s name. “Hey baby,” he said as he answered the phone.

“Hey. I just turned on the news. Are you at that emergency right now?”

“Indeed I am. It was Athena’s flight actually.”

Tommy was quiet for a moment. “I turn off my phone for one day!”

Buck laughed, “You missed a lot.” He said as he began the long mile walk back towards the team. Maybe Eddie would take pity on him and grab an ambulance for him.

“I see first responders, but not you. Where are you?”

“Trekking back, actually. Had to go a mile down the freeway to track down the guy whose motorbike I borrowed to clear the highway.”

“You-I have got to hear this!”

“Are you sure? Cause as it turns out I am exactly his type and he flirted with me.” Buck didn’t want to hide that from Tommy. This relationship was important to him and while he knew he didn’t flirt back, he did not want Tommy to ever worry.

Tommy chuckled, “Baby, I have eyes, I understand why he would. But you know what the important thing is?”

“What’s that?” It melted Buck’s heart that he could easily tell Tommy someone flirted with him and he just brushed past it. 

“That you’re coming back to me.”

Buck smiled goofily, “I am all yours.” It was all he wanted actually. “Being with you is all I ever need.”

“And I hope you know I trust you, Evan.”

“I do,” Buck looked down at his feet, trying to stop blushing so that the team didn’t notice once he got back to them. “I can’t wait to see you. This has been a long shift.”

“I’ll be right here waiting.”

“Good.” They hadn’t reached the big I love you stage, but Buck was pretty sure that he felt it.

[coquelicoq]

Shuuichi had always found autumn a lonely time: his breath a haunting ghost in the air; branches stretching, naked and imploring, to an indifferent sky. His birthday, never a particularly populous occasion, was in November. After his first magazine profile, shortly before his twenty-first birthday, he had started getting mail about it from fans, which only made the lack of any in a personal capacity all the more jarring. The first time Natsume wished him a happy birthday, he barely kept the surprise off his face. Surprise, and something else, something tangled he couldn't quite name, despite his hard-won expertise in identifying and replicating emotions. There were too many facets, overlapping, mutually exclusive in a way that should have canceled out, but didn't.

Natsume said it awkwardly, of course. He seemed unsure if it was all right for him to acknowledge Shuuichi's birthday, given he'd only learned about it through some friend of his who was a fan, and only in the second year of knowing Shuuichi.

"Of course it's all right," Shuuichi told him, the wind pushing them forward as they walked side by side. "It's nice, actually." It was many things, but nice was one of them, so it wasn't a lie.

"It's just," Natsume said hesitantly, "I know birthdays can be complicated." Shuuichi had time to wonder how he could have found out (Did such a vast reserve of spiritual power allow a person to read minds?, he wondered, not for the first time), before Natsume continued, "When I was younger, it was easier if no one knew when my birthday was. Then there couldn't be any expectations."

Shuuichi thought, Garden variety childhood neglect, then. Nothing to do with those strange, fleeting years of having somebody to share birthdays with, or the years after, when he knew what he was missing. But Natsume wasn't wrong, either. He thought, briefly, of his own early birthdays, waiting to see if his father had remembered, and knew it must have been worse for Natsume. This kid, with his big heart, with his undampened spirit—or rather, dampened and in the process of undampening. Shuuichi felt a familiar rush of affection that didn't even hurt anymore.

"And now?" he asked Natsume. "How are you feeling about your birthday nowadays?"

He looked in front of him, at his breath, at those damn branches, giving Natsume time to respond. "I'm…still getting used to it," Natsume admitted after a moment. "It's weird, having people pay so much attention. It's hard to get used to. And…maybe I don't want to get used to it."

In case it stops, Shuuichi completed mentally. It was easier never to trust, and never to be disappointed. It hurt less. But it wasn't better.

Shuuichi turned and gifted Natsume a smile. He had so many different smiles: charming smiles, ironic smiles, selfie-with-a-fan smiles, smiles for when a stranger professes a desire to eat jelly beans out of one's belly button. Dozens upon dozens of smiles for every conceivable occasion, labeled and slotted into place in his mental storehouse. He had crafted them, each one; they were his tools, his currency. But this smile was one he felt like Natsume had created—or maybe it had always been inside him, in potentia, and Natsume had been the one to wake it up.

It was gentle, this smile. Like Natsume.

"It is hard," Shuuichi said. "But I'm proud of you." It didn't really make sense, didn't seem to follow directly from what Natsume had said, but Natsume ducked his head, embarrassed, and Shuuichi, feeling merciful, changed the subject.

Natsume took him home for dinner, where the Fujiwaras also knew what day it was, and where nobody said anything about why he didn't have anywhere else to be, anyone else to celebrate with. They thanked him for coming, like he was the one doing them a favor. Touko-san made a huge meal, a feast really, and in front of Natsume's foster parents that cat of his couldn't even make snarky comments about puny human lifespans. It was a good birthday, his best since…well, in a while.

They offered to set up a futon for him (it's already so dark, it's cold, all that time on the train!), but he had an early shoot in the morning. He was halfway home when he realized he'd left his glasses behind, but fortunately he always carried a spare. He wondered what the Fujiwaras thought his glasses were for, now that they knew he could see well enough to forget them.

Off the train, through the park, along the water. Twenty-five. A fake number. Most days he felt himself already an old man. The wind picked up, scraping the denuded branches against each other. He felt loud, present. With the noise he made wading through leaves, surely anyone could hear him coming from a block away. Unless, of course, it was drowned out by the sound of the wind, and their own wading.

A crack ahead, and something thumped to the ground. A small branch, snapped off, still covered in maple leaves. Ironic, that the bare branches should be fine, while this lively specimen, heavy with color, had fallen. But then again, those branches weren't dead, were they? Maybe it was their lightness that had saved them. And they would be green again, come spring.

His building now, thick with warmth. The elevator: a weary man, face and suit equally creased, heading home late from the office. His door, and now he was inside, taking his time untying his shoes, not wanting to turn on the lights, which were always depressing at night, glaring off white walls stark and unforgiving against the darkness.

He went over to the phone and plugged it in, in case someone tried to call him about the glasses. If Touko-san found them, she'd be sending Natsume out here with them as soon as possible, which wasn't necessary. In fact, maybe he should call them first and head off the possibility. What time was it now? Was it too late to call?

A ringing. Speak of the devil. He picked up the receiver, but suddenly it occurred to him this could be a curse call instead, not about his glasses at all. In his moment of hesitation, a voice came down the line.

"Shuuichi-san," it said, natural, like it hadn't been years since he had heard that name from that mouth. "Happy birthday."

A beat. His heart began to pound, knocking against his gums. The lizard burrowed frantically under a sleeve. Not Natsume, and not a curse. Or not the kind of curse he'd been thinking of. Shuuichi clutched the phone. He felt—what did he feel? Why must there be so many nameless emotions?

He didn't know what to call this. But he felt something stirring, a familiar sensation. A smile, a different one, dormant, waking up. It was groggy, and far from his mouth, but it was there, it was possible. It had been there, waiting, for spring.

"Seiji," he said, with a mouth that wasn't smiling but could learn how. "Hello."

[dangerpronebuddie]

Kiss Me Once Cause You Know I Had A Long Night 29/?

71. Lingering forehead against forehead, consumed by each other to the point of barely having strength enough to breathe

Summary:

"So what's this revelation you wanted to tell me about?" Eddie tossed his keys on the counter and stood in front of Buck. The setting sun offered just enough light to see the softness in his eyes, and the slight curve of his lips.

(read below!)

Buck took another long pull of his beer. It did nothing for his nerves. He knew he had nothing to worry about, not really.

But telling Eddie would open a door he'd long thought closed. Since the day Shannon came back.

Opening it was dangerous. If, by some tiny chance, Eddie loved him back and it didn't work, he'd be throwing away the best friendship- the best relationship- he'd ever known.

Keys jingling behind the door drew him from his quickly growing spiral. He wiped his surprisingly sweaty palms on his thighs and stood as Eddie came in.

"Sorry I'm late," Eddie said as he entered the loft, "there was construction on Sunset."

"I knew you'd get here eventually," Buck said with a smile. The last time Eddie was late was because of Ana. Now, not even Marisol stopped him (Buck did not do a happy dance when Eddie told him about the breakup yesterday. He did not).

"So what's this revelation you wanted to tell me about?" Eddie tossed his keys on the counter and stood in front of Buck. The setting sun offered just enough light to see the softness in his eyes, and the slight curve of his lips.

"Well, you know the other day when I uh... came out to you and Chris?" Buck asked, wringing his hands.

Eddie nodded.

"I was... I was wondering if m- maybe..."

Why was it so hard? Eddie was his best friend, it should be easy. But... maybe that's why it's not. If they tried it, and it didn't work-

"Buck," Eddie said softly, clapping a reassuring hand on his shoulder, "you know there isn't a thing you can say to me to make me walk away."

Buck ducked his head with a bashful smile, his lower lip between his teeth. Eddie's thumb swept across his pulse point, encouraging him and grounding him at the same time.

He took a deep breath and looked into Eddie's eyes. "Would you like to go out on a date? W- with me?"

Slowly, like the sun rising, a smile appeared on Eddie's face. A smile so bright and beautiful it made his eyes crinkle. God, Buck loved him.

"Yes," Eddie said with a happy giggle. "I'd love to go out with you."

Buck couldn't help the relieved breath he let out. He couldn't believe his ears, his eyes. It wasn't all in his head. Eddie had feelings for him too.

"I have one question though," Eddie asked, the smile transforming into possibly the hottest smirk Buck had ever seen.

"What's that?" Buck asked.

Eddie placed a steady hand on his waist. "Do I have to wait till after our date to kiss you?"

Buck giggled and wrapped his arms around Eddie's waist, drawing him in. "I'm done waiting," Buck whispered before pressing his lips to Eddie's.

He expected stars, or supernovas, or at the very least confetti canons. Instead, all he felt was a sense of home, of rightness. A band in his chest unfurled as the hand on his shoulder slowly came to rest at the nape of his neck.

Eddie pulled away and rested their foreheads together. "Wow," he whispered.

"Yeah," Buck said with a breathless chuckle.

Eddie leaned in again, slotting their lips together. Buck pulled them flush together as Eddie teased the seam of his lips apart. Sparks flew down Buck's spine, lighting every nerve on fire. Lightning couldn't compare.

They kissed until the need for oxygen pulled them apart. Buck rested his forehead against Eddie's, his hands splayed across his back.

"Is it too soon to tell you I love you?" Eddie asked.

"I think we've been saying it for years," Buck said. The door he was so afraid had been closed was always open, just waiting for them to step through. Together.

"I love you," Eddie said, pressing a chaste, already familiar kiss to Buck's lips.

"I love you," Buck grinned against his lips.

They did go on their first date... after a few other firsts.

[burnt-out-vacationer]

[REBLOGS > likes]

hi guys !! have some mafia boss x right hand man almodnfort au content or something . a bit dialogue heavy until around the 700 word mark since this was originally just a little writing practice,,,

context for this one since its a doozy. but roguefort (famous criminal known for going solo) gets injured and almond (mafia boss) saves them from dying and in return they stick around him in an effort to repay how kind he was to them and then they got attached. btw i know nothing about the mafia i just had a burst of energy <3

reminder roguefort uses they/them !!

[1686 words]

"You're up late, aren't you?"

"Customary for people with our worklife, isn't it?"

"I suppose." Almond paused. "If you don't mind my bothering you, I've been... thinking recently."

"That's dangerous."

"Not as dangerous as some of our other escapades."

"Right as always." Roguefort turned to look at him, their normally intimidating features softened by the glow of the moon. "May I hear what's on your mind?"

"You've been here quite a while, haven't you? Two, three months?"

"You've been keeping track."

"Of course. And it's left me wondering... you haven't brought up leaving to go on your own again."

He was met with silence - not deafening silence, more of a thoughtful quiet, leaving him to keep on going.

"You're a solo act. Or, you were a solo act, before I offered you a place here. It's left me pondering whether or not you think I'm keeping you here."

"I don't," they interjected quickly, shaking their head. "I've never felt so."

"Good to hear. But, look, if you did, I was going to offer you the chance to leave."

More silence.

"Personally, I think you've repaid me in full," he continued, going over to stand by them. "You have no need to stick around anymore, if you don't want to. I will admit, I've gotten used to having you around, and it will feel... emptier without you, but you had your life before I came along. You will always have a place here, and an ally in me - you may come back whenever you please, and you will have my full protection."

Still nothing. Just a quiet intake of breath, one he might have missed had he not been so close to them before they finally spoke.

"No."

"...No?"

"No. I won't leave. I may not need to stick around, but I'd certainly love to." They finally met his gaze and smiled, their eyes crinkling adorably around the edges in a way that made his heart soften. "It's an unforgiving world out there. But... you make it seem less scary."

"That's what I do. It's what I've always done. Nearly everyone here has been scorned by the world that claimed to love them - I just gave them what they had wanted, what they had a right to."

"Which is?"

"Love. The feeling of home. The full trust of someone else, knowing they would always be there for you." 

They chuckled. "You really are a mom at heart."

"Shut up."

"...Really, it's amazing, what you do. Sure, maybe everyone out there would disagree." They jabbed a thumb towards the window, towards the city outside. "But I think it's beautiful."

"Beautiful, huh?"

"Of course. I wouldn't stay if I didn't think so."

A small smile crossed his lips. "I can think of other things that are just as beautiful."

"Can you, now?"

"Personally, I've always been fond of solo acts."

They ducked their head at this, in a way that was endearingly shy, before looking up with something new in their eyes. "Call me crazy, but I think I prefer duets to solo acts."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He reached up and brushed a lock of their hair back, fingers lingering in a way that made their cheeks go a little pink, he noticed. "Are you suggesting an audition to be in a duet with you?"

"Perhaps I am. Perhaps the audition was ages ago, and you passed from the very start."

"So what does that mean for us?"

"It means I'm fond of you."

"Are you, now?"

They leaned down so that they were at eye level with him - when had they gotten so close? "I feel very strongly for you. That should be made clear."

"...I see."

"And you, Almond? What do you feel?"

His name had never sounded so sweet before.

"I feel as if we've been wasting too much time talking."

They grinned, looking so delighted that it was just impossible for him not to grin back. "I would agree. Why don't you show me what you would rather have us do?"

“Well, aren’t you bold?”

“I would have thought you already knew that about me. Solo act and all that.”

He liked the way they spoke to him now. As if they were his close friend, someone who could look after him the same way he looked after them.

“I’d recommend you drop the solo act. I can see it no longer fits you.”

“You’re awfully interested in a chance to duet with me,” Roguefort said, with a teasing lilt to their voice that just about stole his breath.

He hadn’t known they could be, well… playful.

The walls of formality and politeness between them seemed to fully crumble down, leaving behind the aura of what was once a business transaction.

Now, it was… something else. Something better. Almond could feel it, an unfamiliar sensation all the way to his core, yet welcome in a comforting way.

And he could tell they felt it, too.

“Who wouldn’t be?” he said softly, in a tone unlike any he’d used before with them. “I’ve never been more interested in anything before.”

“...Never?” they said, their eyes growing a little wider. “Never.”

“Oh,” they murmured, barely a whisper in the night. “Oh.”

Oh, their voice. So breathlessly hopeful, like they couldn’t dare to believe what he was saying. Like what he was offering was too far out of reach.

That was all about to change.

Slowly, he trailed a hand over their wrist - causing their breathing to hitch in a way that made his head spin - up their arm, brushing past their shoulder, before cupping his fingers around the back of their neck.

They swallowed and glanced down at him as he brought his other hand up, too, linking his fingers together. “You aren’t about to choke me, are you?”

That got a laugh out of him, which eased the tension in Roguefort’s shoulders. “Oh, never. I don’t think I’m strong enough to, anyway.”

An admission like that would be a death sentence if he were in unfamiliar clutches.

In front of them, though, it felt like a relief to say.

“I would hope you don’t find a reason to have to choke me anytime soon,” they chuckled, letting their hands drift over his waist, promptly causing his mind to blank. “I don’t want to give you any reasons to.”

“I… I could never hurt you,” Almond said quietly, slowly bringing their head down to his level. “I’m a healer at heart.”

“I love that about you.”

Could they get any more perfect?

“How long have you loved that about me?” he whispered, heart pounding relentlessly in his chest as their nose brushed against his own.

They thought for a moment, lip caught between their teeth in what was an undeniably cute expression of concentration, before finally saying, “I think I’ve loved it all this time.”

A smile broke out onto Almond’s face, bright and giddy. “You sure?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I weren’t.”

“Just clarifying,” he said, pulling them a little closer, just so he could feel their breath on his lips.

It smelled like strawberries.

Roguefort had gone quiet, licking their lips in what seemed to be nervousness. Was that truly what was happening? Were they just as terrified of screwing this up as he was? Were-

His thoughts were interrupted when they exhaled softly, and he looked up into their eyes. “There’s no easy way to ask this, but…”

“I’ve got time,” he said. “I’ll always have time for you.”

They smiled, their expression so unguarded that he felt himself melting. “Then, may I…?”

He knew what they were asking.

And they hadn’t even finished their sentence before Almond pulled them in, eagerly pressing his lips to theirs.

It was so sudden that it caused them to make a startled sound in their throat, which was somehow adorable, before they reciprocated so enthusiastically that it swept him off of his feet.

Roguefort was surprisingly gentle with him - or at least, they were at first, as if they were a little shy to truly lose themself in it. But it wasn’t long before they had become more comfortable, deepening the kiss and pulling him close so that they were pressed against each other, making Almond’s entire body shiver with need.

His hands went to cup their face, thumb stroking their cheek, which elicited a soft noise of surprise and only led them to kiss him harder, making him go dizzy with delight.

He was already cataloging this moment in his head, memorizing the tilt of their head as they kissed him, the warmth of their hands gliding over his waist, the way their eyelashes fluttered over his, the strawberry sweet taste of their lip balm.

The way they felt like home to him.

And yet, all too soon, it was over, and they parted with matching wide-eyed expressions of wonder.

His eyes flicked over their features, and he felt a little twinge of pleasure when he saw how red they were in the face. Like they’d been giving their entire heart and soul in that kiss.

Almond blinked and suddenly realized in that moment just how hard he was breathing, and how weak his knees felt - oh, lord, were they holding him up? How had they managed to get him trembling like this within moments? 

How had he never met someone like them before?

“So,” Roguefort said quietly, with a look in their eyes that conveyed how greatly they’d enjoyed that. “I suppose a duet can be arranged.”

He let out a breathless laugh, before leaning into them and wrapping his arms around their middle. “Good god, you…”

“I’ve got you,” they said softly, making his heart flutter. “I’m here.”

“I know. I’m here, too.”

“Almond?”

“Mm?”

“I’ll always be here. For you.”

He smiled into their shirt, closing his eyes and listening to the rhythmic thump of their heart, almost in time to his own heartbeat. “Thank you.”

It was all he could say, but it was enough. He knew they understood what he felt.

He knew they understood just how much he loved them.

[namelesschurch]

Weekly notes 6/30/2023:

Lev: Been testing Impose with the assistance of Sylph. Results have not been promising; admittedly, seeing her fail makes me feel a little relieved. The moment Lev starts really finding a direction in earnest is likely the moment she'll probably be getting into a lot of danger. I haven't really mentioned Crow to her, though she'll probably be reappearing in the next week...I should probably warn her.

Chi: Still do not get her unusual drive for school. Why school specifically? She does not seem to understand her own reasons or just doesn't want to tell me. I'm hoping school doesn't disappoint her...

Kris: His godhood is unusual in the sense that he retains his human characteristics. Usually, gods embody a concept such as rage or order - etc - and are usually engulfed by it. Just goes to show that the multiverse makes things different.

He however can still get bored, tired, listless, etc. Not sure what I have to offer - other than letting him go ham here. And though he does enjoy hanging out with Chi and Lev, it's probably not -fulfilling- he mentioned he likes to feel useful - probably to feel like his extraordinary powers - and potential suffering to get it- had purpose. I mean, I guess letting him deal with crime here would be useful - even if he's restricted by the World Boundary here, he still has the experience and technically can't die for real. It's not like this is the world I knew anymore, and the circumstances that led to the first timeline imploding are not present anymore.

Stupid Radiance. Stupid Dream.

Madison Ruarc (note the name change): He seems to be doing better after encountering two annoying bits of anonymous magic, which is concerning. Is he being targeted because he is an angel or is it something else entirely? The second one seems to be particularly ill-intended/problematic requiring someone else that I cannot recall off the top of my head to partially halt the effects.

He is currently living with some sort of entity known as Sarandiel - or at least was in the same room at one point - they seem non-hostile. What is of concern is that it does not seem that Mads may have his place of work anymore, which he seems to derive happiness and comfort from. He also doesn't like being off-world so-to-speak. Maybe create something that doesn't really require a time requirement here - like an animal shelter here with his assistance welcome as needed?

Chi seems to have already attracted another dog to the Inn on her walk with Lev. So we now have a chicken, 2 ducks, 2 dogs, and two cats (even if one of them is a ghost).

Random note, I am just going to admit this in the privacy of my own head.

I think it is an utter shame Gotham did not employ the Nameless City's stance on dog killers.

Erna: Met one of her friends online, Tataru. From the sound of it, considerations would likely have to be modified since it sounds like there's someone on it. As expected Scions is a close-knit group. Learning Erna having the capability to fight the equivalent of gods in her world is also surprising. Seems to be straining herself in regard to her comatose friends though if convo with Crowley is any indicator.

Crowley: Continues to deal with the hivemind algae thing. Lack of online presence is likely secondary to that. Her plan is interesting in that there's a way to somehow restrict said algae thing to make it seem like it is an ordinary, if probably toxic (red algae blooms?) algae. Makes me wonder how many supernatural things are being hidden in plain sight.

Hermes / saintworks: Still not sure how the "Datalight" went past the World Boundary, still theorizing. He is currently finding a new planet? to inhabit. What's left of his company after the attack seems to be a whole bunch of misfits and malcontents that are working together for the mutual sake of survival and potential new business.

Not quite sure how to approach, given Datalight for some odd reason passes through the World Boundary for no reason. The whole "don't want to draw attention until I figure out what's going on" to the "I can't figure out this person who bounces between rational and guns-glazing" to the whole "cross between AI and human body with some sort of very high-level technology that can pass as magic in any other world.

At least his cafeteria sounds decent. And they have food and housing. Safety, not so much.

Bruce / something-in-the-wayne: Upon my review of the dashboard later at night, he suddenly got very serious when talking to a kid that seemed like she was self-destructing and apparently entering into a dangerous situation. Probably because he's a father himself.

Other than that, not much changes other than some interesting advice from his own perspective as starting out with his inherited company. Which is useful. Unions could be used as a means to deal with annoying shareholders - the problem is I don't have any shareholders for them to deal with. Still cross-training is an interesting concept. No one really aspires to be a grocer after all. I can believe Farmer, but...grocer...Anyway.

And apparently he started using Grindr? again?

Not much happening on his front.

Nata: She seems to be healing from the wound she received (cracked horn) from Damara. And whatever aches and pains she's been feeling - perhaps just from a strenuous day - it seems that even deity / near-deities can still have aches and pains, though Kris also does prove that. Seems like Hermes can port things to her world too. She seems to be doing fine hopefully.

She does singing, which is interesting, though it does not seem like often enough - and the act itself has a special meaning to her.

Yugi: Introductions with Sarandiel have revealed some more of his hobbies, though the favoring of analog games over video games is expected. Seems to be more of a social creature, willing to do more things outside of his comfort level, if his friends are around. Friendship seems to be a big thing with Yugi - companionship and all that. This is assumed to be the main Yugi and not the other Yugi.

Clarification on the "Island Sinking." - so Yugi is not as dangerous as Lev made out. Lev made me believe that Yugi summoned a monster in a duel that accidentally took out the island with it - either that or this was just her exaggerating, which is likely.

Siege - strikingskeletonsiege - Backtracking on the dashboard - was likely one of the sources for Chi picking up the Flesh Suit thing. Also of note, Siege knows Nata - at least assumed given how he commented how Nata gets really stupid anons. He has a very lively personality as seen in his introductions with other people.

----

Lex Luthor - Earth-3 :: An interesting note that Lex has dill-emma's father's phone number - and used it to make sure dill-emma would be retrieved safely from a Joker (clowningachievement). Not much to report on this front though beyond that. He does note himself to be primarily doing meta-gene research and biology? except the way it was put like there's a supernatural element to it.

Lee (ultra-rage) - Well, his username matches his demeanor to say the least. Sounds like Lex really has a handful with him - sounds like that Ultraman (father?) really made a very bad impact on him. Superpowers and being easily provoked are not a good combination unfortunately.

Provocation seems to primarily stem from the feeling of being mocked? Or pointlessness. There's just a lot of disproportionate aggravation with his interactions involving dill-emma.

Has a soft side with Dove. Guess every lid has its pot.

Nightwing - slightlylessdarkknights - Haven't interacted much beyond the initial encounter. Seems to share a universe with thedarkestknight? and maybe kalkalicious? The times he is on, I suspect he is on patrol in the city as a superhero. Has an interesting mindset when at work - that everyone can be redeemed, and I'm assuming he is someone who will not kill another criminal.

His post (assuming again about dill-emma who is the inciting force of this week) is likely referencing her about how he cannot stand being drowned out by someone else. He doesn't like people who don't listen.

Ember and Jack - emberoops and cyberneticlagomorph - Linked due to the interaction. It is interesting that Ember works for Jack in some sort of "desk?" job. And that Ember gets PTO for an unspecified surgical procedure - or maybe it was specified and I missed it. But apparently he can divide into multiple bodies with a shared? consciousness - does having one part work and three part recreation memories lower the strain due to the proportion or amount of time lived?

As for Jack, apparently a somewhat lax boss who gives decent PTO. The kids are interesting, especially Egg who seems to be like in the terrible twos stage or something but perpetually. Jack is managing though. His world is especially interesting too - the Moon producing milk? Talk of fae, etc.

--

Miscellaneous: I'd been under the impression that Grindr is a branch of the Tinder dating website. I am technically correct. It is a dating site, but it is one that caters to the LGBTQ+ community. This explains Bruce's, while maintaining some level of jovial, somewhat taunting / somewhat "shame on you" posts.

[antvnger]

Ant-Man and Ant-Mun: A Little Birthday Celebration

Scott couldn’t help but feel incredibly guilty. He should have paid better attention. After all, with this peculiar version of quantum entanglement he shares with his dear friend, he's privy to a lot of her forefront thoughts and feelings as she is with his. He should have honed in on her exuberance and understood it for what it was. And he should have checked his calendar better.

He approached her from behind to surprise her, and he silently covered her eyes. She squeaked out an ooh! as he did so, but she kept still, curious to see what was going on. "Guess who..."

She giggled and shrugged. Even without their connection, the voice was unmistakable. But still, it was more fun to mess with her friend. "Ummmmm, are you that one guy who guest-starred on that one popular sitcom in the 90s?"

"Ha ha," he said flatly as he turned her around, but he couldn't keep his straight face for long as she started laughing at her own joke. "You know I'm younger than that version of my face, right?"

"Yeah yeah yeah," she waved dismissively, still giggling. "I know. You like to mention that every time he's mentioned."

He shrugged. "Yeah well, I just want it to be clear."

"Oh it's clear, my friend. Very very clear."

He raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Speaking of ages..." Now she raised an eyebrow and smirked. He presented her with a big plastic bag which carried three wrapped gifts and a card. "Happy birthday!"

"Aaaw, Scott," she grinned wide. "Thank you! You're so sweet. I was beginning to wonder if I'm being honest."

He ducked his head a bit, looking a little sheepish. "I kinda sorta thought today was the 27th."

"Ah." She nodded once. "I see."

"Yeah, a friendly little Anon bird pointed out the day to me, so I booked it to make sure I fixed this. Sorry it took me so long," he said quietly as he offered his bag of gifts.

"You're too hard on yourself," she answered as she accepted the bag. "I understand, Scott. It's okay, really. I've definitely gotten my dates mixed up before too. No harm done." She looked down at the bag before looking back up at her friend excitedly. "Can I open them?"

"Of course! It's your birthday. Just do me a favor and save the card for last."

"Last? That's unusual."

"You'll see."

The gifts were certainly good ones. He knew his friend very well, indeed. A red and black beanie - for she loved beanies - and a new copy of one of her favorite books that had been accidentally damaged and...

"Where did you get these earrings, Scott?" she asked him excitedly, laughing as she pulled them out of the box.

"I have resources," he answered with a chuckle. "Besides, I know you're just as fond of my merch as I am."

"You got that right! They're so cool! Now I can be nerdy and chic, my favorite combination." He laughed at that as she pulled out the card. "If there's tickets to some concert or NFL game in here, I'm going to lose my mind."

"No no," he shook his head, "sorry, nothing that cool."

No, instead there was another gift per se, one right from the heart.

If someone had told me before all this Ant-Man stuff happened that I would literally be sharing a brain with someone, I would have laughed and said to lay off the sci-fi. Yet here we are. And I couldn't be happier to share this weird brain and quantum entanglement thing with you. Are you sure you're not a variant of me? It just makes sense because we're so similar. If a person can have more than one soulmate, then I'd say we're definitely the platonic kind. You're one of my best friends, and I'm so glad we get to go on this crazy adventure together. Happy birthday BFF, Scott

She swallowed the lump in her throat before she quickly tackled him in a hug. "You are one of my best friends ever, and I'm very blessed and thankful to know you. Thank you, my friend."

"No," he said as he returned the hug. "Thank you."

[smokescholar]

"Hm, I see. I understand that would keep many individuals away." Atieno wondered if they were particularly brave, or was it their trying to work through their own interest in touch that made them determined. Willing to take risks that didn't seem to obviously make sense. "It's quite nice to know that you are so fond of physical contact, guess I do really appreciate when someone is open to that sort of thing." They offer a slight smile to him before continuing to touch lightly and gently.

His ears visibly twitch, more content than he probably should be. But then again, he was always a bit of an odd duck when compared to the rest of his kin. He had become well adjusted in his age, his animalistic impulses well restrained in the presence of other creatures. If his brother saw him now, he would probably be laughing.

"Physical contact like this is not something commonly done among my kind. 'Not being gentle' was a bit of an understatement on my part, our contact is usually quite abrasive. They're quite fond of throwing their weight around." Fights were common, even among mates. By human standards, only pups could be seen as gentle, only because they hadn't developed the strength and bloodlust that came with age.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself. I'm glad that I can be some sort of entertainment for a while, as odd as it may appear."

[fckwritersblock]

How I Meet Your Auntie

Part 1: The Other Guy

Sam Wilson x black reader

Description: for the longest time Sam had been the other guy. The guy making moves both big and small behind the scene. But what if he was more?

Warning: this is a slow burn . But I will link all the additional parts here don’t worry. Eventual smart per usual.

A/N: While we’re getting into how they met this is always an introductory to the reader

This is gonna be a 3 mini part series. Maybe 4 but we’ll see. No beta.

(Unedited.)

The place was pretty empty. Deserted in fact, looking as if no one should be there at all. That's what made it a great hiding spot. No one would think to check for them there. This was all that was left from the good of S.H.I.E.L.D. The remaining agents that were alive who hadn't gone into hiding. In the corner of the downsized 'facility' were two persons separated by two glass boarders. The only sound that could be heard was whispering between the injured and his visitor.

"Can we tell them now?"

"No."

"....how about now?"

"No."

"Now-"

"Y/n!"

"Nick!"

He gave her a look which made her roll her eyes.

"Sorry. Fury!" She repeated.

"Will you stop pacing? You're giving me a bigger headache than I already have." The man groaned shifting the position of his head on the pillow of the hospital bed.

"I can't help it, I'm nervous." Y/n sighed, plopping down in the cushioned seat next to his bed, "I just- you didn't see their faces."

"Neither did you, you've been here with me." Fury deadpanned.

"I know but Maria said-" Y/n was cut off.

"It isn't time yet Y/n and you know it. If the world is to believe I'm dead, it has to be everyone." Fury explained once more. "HYDRA has been deeply rooted in S.H.I.E.L.D for quite some time now. To expose us now is dangerous."

"How do you know I'm not dangerous? "

She wasn't a danger, not to him at least. While Fury didn't trust many people, he was 100% sure he could trust Y/n. Not just because of their close history, but because he knew she was genuinely a good person.

"Look, how about you go ahead and meet up with them." He suggested instead of answering her question. "See for yourself that they are okay after the run in with Zola."

"Are you sure?" She stood to her feet, grabbing his hand. "I'm not sure about leaving you alone."

Glancing out the glass window around the small facility she wearily took in the few agents left. While she didn't trust them, Fury did. Usually it meant something, but after he was nearly killed, Y/n was no longer sure if his trust in people meant anything.

"He's not. He has me."

Maria Hill stood in the door way offering Y/n a small smile. With a nod in her direction, Y/n smiled back before looking back at Fury.

"Take it easy sir. I'll be in touch with the both of you."

Walking past agent Hill she stopped as Hill grabbed her hand.

" Be careful." Hill gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

"I'll keep you posted." Y/n agreed with a nod before departing.

Breaking into the home was fairly easy. It was clear whoever it was Steve and Natasha found refuge with didn't have any enemies. They were either really skilled or stupid to not have any form of protection. As soon as he threw the first punch, Y/n knew which of the two he was.

Stupid.

It was a clumsy punch, one that she evaded with ease. Ducking out of the way, she blocked the next with her forearm pushing him back slightly. Deciding to end this pointless battle Y/n prepared for the mans next throw.

Right arm elongated she caught his fist. With her free hand she landed 3 quick punches -1st to the abdomen, 2nd to the chest, 3rd to the face-

Before flipping him over her shoulder and onto the floor where he landed with a loud thud.

"Shit."

Groaning Sam rolled around slightly, trying to figure out how he got his ass handed to him so quickly. Through small slits he peered up at the caramel complected beauty that stood over him, wondering where the angel came from.

"Gets them every time." She grinned a little placing her hands one her hips.

"Nice to see you no longer throw your punches."

Turn her head quickly, Y/n relaxed at the sight of Natasha who now stood in the doorway of the dining room.

"I had really great teachers." she winked.

Hearing the commotion, Steve also made his way into the area, a look of confusion on his face once he saw Sam on the lying there slightly rolled.

"What happened to you?" He questioned his friend.

"Me? Oh. No. Nothing man. I'm good. This is my thinking spot." Sam waved off still lying on the floor. "Can I ask you something? Does everyone who comes after you guys look like her?"

It was then the Captain  noticed there was someone else in the room. His eyes locked with hers, the corner of his lips twitching upwards.

"Uncle Steve," Y/n greeted with a wide smile.

"Y/n! What are you doing here?"

"Eh, I had a feeling you were going to do something dumb and stupid." She shrugged as Steve helped his friend up as she hugged Natasha.

"Eh, we've done worse." Nat shrugged when the pulled apart.

"Budapest." The two friends shared a laugh, Y/n turning to Steve who had yet to take his eyes off of her.

"Bring it in old man!" Y/n stepped forward smiling.

The embrace between Steve and Y/m was filled with love as they both seemed to relax into the hug. When S.H.I.E.L.D fell, they weren't together and even though they couldn't didn't show they're concerns, they were there. Knowing the other was okay was one thing, but seeing it right before your eyes was relieving. After all, all they had left was each other.

"I'm glad you're okay." Steve spoke kissing the side of her head.

"You too. You know I worry."

Feeling eyes on her, she shifted her brown orbs in the direction of the man she didn't know. "Whose the other guy?"

"Hi. Sam Wilson." He greeted holding his hand out for her to shake. "and uh......your uncle?"

"Son. Just don't." Steve held his hand out as a warning.

"Uh huh. Well," Sam scratched the back of his neck glancing at the hero and to assassins. " I made breakfast if you guys eat that kind of thing."

While Natasha and Steve sat at the table, Y/n leaned against the kitchen counter. Sam, who was going through a bunch of files, started up more conversation.

Y/n Rogers was a very distant relative to the Captain America. Believed to be an only child, the name should've died along with Steve. However, he wasn't an only child. His father had fathered another child, one whom he met at his fathers funeral. A half brother, Joseph Rogers the second, who later sought him in their late teens, Joseph being the eldest by 2 years.

Her grandfather, however frowned upon, unapologetically married a black woman. Together, that union brought about Y/n’s mom, Scarlet. Her mom raised her a single mother, before unfortunately passing away from an illness when she was only 12. From there, her grandparents both raised her. The pair passed when she was 25, her grandmother first, her grandfather following suit shortly after. If you ask her she believed it was from a broken heart.  however fat, she believed they would get it and that alone bought her peace. Still good no remaining family, Y/n was alone. 

So when Steve woke up from his icy slumber he looked up his estranged family. Imagine his surprise when the only remaining member turned out to be little ole Y/n.

“He found me at the end of my first tour.”

“Army?” Sam raised an eyebrow.

“Airforce. JAG.” She answered.

"Finding you wasn't the problem. It's getting rid of you." Steve commented playfully.

"Rude. You love me."

"Debatable. Is it Wednesday?"

A small smirk on her face, Natasha couldn't help but observe the interaction between Steve and his niece. Whenever they got together, she felt like she was seeing the real Steve. scarlet bought out a side of him they didn't get to see too often

“Of course that was just a cover.” Natasha teased making Y/n laugh at what Sam and Steve could only assume was a memory the two women shared.

"I met Nat a few years back when I was working for Tony."

“Stark?”

“That would be the one.” She laughed. “I was caught hacking into his Iron Man database.”

“Why?” Sam asked perplexed.

For..fun?” She smirked before continuing. “ Anyway, he gave me a job and when Natasha came in as an assistant clicked. When her cover was ‘blown’ she told me she thought I had potential and asked if I wanted to do something more.”

“I taught her everything she know," smirked Natasha.

As she leaned back in her chair to stretch she winced slightly.

You okay?" Asked Steve.

A 'yes' came from Natasha, while 'no' came from Y/n.

"It's nothing I'm fine." Shook off the red head.

"Nat, let me see."

“Y/n.”

“Natasha.”

“Fight me.” Natasha said after letting out a groan.

"Your out of shape right now. I'll kick your ass. Now, let me see."

Reluctantly shows her wound, which Y/n begins to examine.

"Ribs are slightly bruised. This cut is going to need stitches."

Not only was she extremely beautiful, smart, she was resourceful. Good with her hands. Everything about her was sexy to him.

"Sam....Sam....Sam!"

"Huh?" He coughed as he snapped back to reality.

"Do you have something I can stitch this up with?" Y/n asked sweetly.

"Uh sure."

Discreetly his eyes scanned the faces of his companions;

- Natasha was stifling a laugh

- Steve was not so subtlety glaring at him

- Y/n wore her best poker face leading Sam to believe she hadn't noticed him staring.

She had.

"So, the question is: who in SHIELD could launch a domestic missile strike?" Natasha asked as Y/n stitches her up.

"Pierce." Chorused the Rogers.

"Who happens to be sitting on top of the most secure building in the world." Y/n added.

"But he's not working alone," Steve continued. "Zola's algorithm was on the Lemurian Star."

"So was Jasper Sitwell." Frowned the Russian.

"So, the real question is," Y/n began after pulling down Natasha's shirt having finished patching the assassin up. "how do the two most wanted people in Washington kidnap a SHIELD officer in broad daylight?"

"The answer is: you don't." In the perfect moment for a mic drop, Sam dropped a huge folder in front of Steve.

"What's this?" Steve curiously began to pick through the files.

“ Call it a resume.” Samc winked in Y/n direction when she glanced at him curiously.

Natasha picks up a photo of Sam with his para-rescue team.

“Is this Bakhmala? The Khalid Khandil mission, that was you.” She then directed her next statement at Steve. “You didn't say he was a para-rescue.”

Steve Rogers: Is this Riley?

Sam Wilson: Yeah.

“I heard they couldn't bring in the choppers because of the RPGs.” Natasha recalled.

“ What did you use, a stealth chute?” Quizzed Y/n directing her attention from the files to Sam.

“No. These.”

The next older Sam handed the trio consisted of several photos of him as the falcon. The full mission report as well as how effective him and his wings were in combat.

“I thought you said you're a pilot?” Steve raised an eyebrow at Sam, recalling their previous conversation.

“I never said a pilot.”

“Impressive.” Y/n voices with a grin.

“I can't ask you to do this, Sam. You got out for a good reason.”

“Dude, Captain America needs my help.” Sam spoke with enthusiasm l. “There's no better reason to get back in.”

Steve mulled over for just a minute before: “Where can we get our hands on one of these things?”

"The last one is at Fort Meade, behind three guarded gates and a twelve-inch steel wall." Sam informed them as if the 12 inch wall would stop them.

Steve looked at Nat and Y/n who both shrugged.

"Shouldn't be a problem." Steve stated nonchalantly.

"I could use a warm up." Y/n confirmed.

"Sorry about your face." Y/n apologies feeling a little bad about the bruise she caused under his right eye.

"Don't worry, it'll never happen again." Sam stated indefinitely.

"At least it's still a nice face." She winked at him before following after her uncle and Natasha.

Thankful his skin was just the right shade of brown to mask his blush.

-------

I decided to start this far back because I don’t feel like Sam got enough love back in today. Not the way he should’ve so I am planning to break everything down from the beginning to where we are now, with TFAWS.

This is a slow burn, I repeat this is a slow burn.

Xoxo

[nightowlwriting]

summary: steve is acting weird. avoiding you, being snippy and mean, leaving the room when you enter. all you want is your boyfriend back, but all he wants is to pretend you don't exist. when he's almost hurt on a mission, you do what you're made to do.

word count: 11k

reader specifics: no race/gender/sexuality/body type mentioned, no pronouns for reader used, powered!reader, insecure!reader

warnings: steve is mean to the reader in the beginning, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, canon-level violence, brief ptsd symptoms, slight description of blood, brief mention of racism in the '30s & '40s

brief mentions of: reader's parents being toxic, homelessness, past accidents, ableism in the past & present

note: this one hurt me lmfao. idk why this went the way it did but i'm not mad at it // also i am a queer, trans, disabled american. i have fundamental disagreements with things that marvel/the mcu as it stands for and some of the more nuanced things that you might not notice unless you're looking for it. this will take place in my writing because i cannot separate myself from the lens in which i consume/create content.

title credit: lil nas x

mobile masterlist - request - support my work? - ao3

Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his. Sure - he’s clever, righteous, courteous… You can’t forget he’s also drop-dead gorgeous because every trashy gossip magazine in a three-state radius of New York doesn’t let you forget. Neither does the sight of him waking up in your bed every morning. (Well, actually, maybe that would remind you if he was still fucking doing that.)

But lately, you’ve had to rely on the fucking tabloids to catch a glimpse of your super-hero boyfriend. The university class you had picked up on a whim at the end of the summer - Life & Times of the ‘30s and ‘40s - avoids any mention of Steve Rogers and the Howling Commandos. Not that your classmates do because, Christ on a bike, those magazines manage to catch pictures of you and Steve in moments that you don’t even remember. Plus, you’re an Avenger too. It’s bound to catch some attention when you waltz into a college classroom.

You’re sure if you were an undergrad trying to fill a gen-ed requirement and were sitting next to someone who could kill you without blinking but also dating Captain Rogers you’d be a little distracted too. You try not to blame your classmates too much, but they do make it hard to concentrate with their -really dating Captain America?- and -wonder if I could get an autograph- whispers. None of that matters because you’re learning, really studying, in between missions and missing Steve and believing that maybe the gossip reporters are right.

Maybe he’s forgotten about you.

You grit your teeth and push the thought away. It does you no good right now, while you’re training with Peter. He’s working his way up to bona fide missions and, because you’re the only one on the team who has experience with real-life teenagers outside of saving their lives, it’s up to you to get him to the level that he needs to be. Plus, the mission where he’s going to get his gills wet is just you, Tony, Steve, Nat, and Bucky. You’d much rather be the one to train him because you won’t traumatize him.

Right now, though, you’re just kicking his ass to try and get rid of some of the tension in your body. You feel a little bad about it, but when you started as his mentor you told him point-blank that you’d never go easy on him. That meant if you were having a bad day he either needed to up his game or he’d have a bad day too. It appears he’s taken that to heart as he struggles to dodge the hits you’re throwing his way. He lunges out of the way when you try to land a right hook but practically walks into the leg sweep that sends him crashing to the ground.

“Awe,” Peter groans, letting his guard down. You take the momentary lapse of focus to grab him by the collar of the hoodie he’s wearing and haul him to his feet, jerking one fist back to cold-clock him but he beats you to it. You hear the sound of your nose cracking before you feel it but then the pain rushes you all at once. You’ve had worse but coming from Peter, the move surprises you. You don’t yell out but he does when you push him away from you and call the fight off. Peter practically yelps your name, hands up by his head as he watches you bend at the waist, both hands over where your nose is absolutely gushing blood. “I am so sorry, I just reacted-!”

“It’s fine, Pete,” You shake your head and stand straight again, the blood beginning to leak through your fingers, “Just go get me a towel, okay?” Peter practically trips over his feet to get something for your nose and as you track him on his way into the locker rooms, you see Steve, Bucky, and Nat. The latter are looking your way, eyebrows raised like they’re asking you if you’re okay. Steve hasn’t even broken stride in his conversation so you wave them off with a bloody hand. Peter’s back in a flash, pressing a wet towel into your grasp and snapping you out of your self-pity party. “It was a good hit,” You compliment as you wipe your face off, “I just wasn’t expecting it. Prob’ly wouldn't have landed it if I had.”

He wrings his hands, shifting from foot to foot. “I’m sorry-”

“It’s a good thing, Peter, means you’re getting better.” You deadpan, checking to see if your nose has stopped bleeding yet, “I don’t think you actually broke it, but I’ll go down to medical to check later.” You do your best to clean up your hands with the wet towel, but it’s so soaked with your blood that it mostly just smears it around. You grimace and shake your head. “Well, I should go now before our sparring match ends up looking like I murdered you.”

“I’ll go with,” He offers, “I’m the one who broke your nose.” You let Peter walk you down to medical even though you were originally going to refuse. Perhaps petty, but it was the way that Steve didn’t even look your way as you left that made you let the teenager walk you the two floors to where you’d be able to clean yourself up. He hums in the elevator and you know that he wants to ask you something - it’s the way he holds his mouth when he’s prying for information or keeping a secret that tips you off. Finally, just before the elevator opens, you sigh and turn to him.

“What, Peter?” He grins but then it falls when he has to skitter after you down the hall. Maybe that’s why it falls - the question he asks next nearly sends you to your ass.

“Is everything okay with you and Captain Rogers?” He easily catches up to you when you stop in your tracks, ignoring that you’re still bleeding a little bit down your face and you might be dripping blood everywhere from where it’s run down your arms.

“What?” You do your best to look confused like everything is fine, but Peter is perceptive. He may fumble around and be pretty awkward, but those are really just teenager things that he’ll hopefully outgrow. You should have known that when someone caught onto how bad things are on your end, it would be Peter. (You wonder if Nat or Bucky has brought it up with Steve, considering he’s spent more time with them in the past week than he’s seen you in the past month.) “We’re fine.” Your words are stilted as you begin walking to the medical wing much faster than before.

“I just thought I’d ask, well, because I’ve sort of noticed… Something just seems off, you know? Like, you two used to spend a lot of time together, and maybe it’s the recon mission coming up, but I was just thinking that you two really barely look at each other even when you’re in the same -”

“Peter!” You say his name much louder than either of you expected and both of you jump. “Peter,” You say softer, looking at the glass door to the medical wing instead of him, “Just leave it, okay? It’s nothing you have to worry about, kid.” Peter ducks around to open the door, forcing you to look at him. “He’s just focused on his stuff and I’m focused on getting you whipped into shape for this mission. We only have two days.” Once you’re inside and surrounded by the medical crew Tony keeps on staff, he thankfully drops it. You love Peter, you do, but it’s a lot like having a little brother. You can only love them so much before you want to fucking strangle them. Eventually, as the doctor checks to make sure he hasn’t broken your nose, you have to order him away to go study or something. “I’ll join you later,” You promise him as the doctor prods at your tender flesh, “I have an essay due soon.”

That’s another thing that’s been bugging you that Peter surely picked up on. Nearly everybody knew you were taking a course at the local community college, but nobody knew what it was about. You’d wanted to keep it a secret until you told Steve, but the day you had registered he’d flown out for a two-week mission without telling you or saying goodbye. After that, you decided it didn’t really matter if anyone knew what class you were taking, and keeping it a secret sort of spiraled from there. If they wanted to know they could look it up. Maybe it was petty, but you just wanted the class to be over and done with so you could forget that you really only picked it up so you relate to your boyfriend more.

If you can even call Steve your boyfriend anymore. You’re not so sure where you stand and, honestly, you’re really close to giving up on the relationship as a whole but you can’t do that. Before you were dating, you were friends, and Steve… He never gave up on you. Not once. How could you repay him by giving up on your relationship? The one that you thought was The One? Even if it hurts, even if you’re unsure more than sure these days, how could you? Somewhere, though, you know you deserve better. You don’t deserve the sinking, dark feeling that lingers in your gut for most of your days now or the way that you second-guess every move you make - even in the field. It’s dangerous but you can’t do anything to fix it.

You’re too scared. You know that eventually, it will happen, he’ll break up with you, but you’d like to put that day off for as long as possible. To relish in the love he once had for you, how pure and powerful it was. You’re sure that you’ll never experience anything like that again.

Hell, you might never fall in love again.

Those thoughts don’t do anything to help you, though, so you try not to have them. You get clearance from the doctor and get cleaned up as much as you can without taking a full body shower. The idea to go back to your room and take one crosses your mind but you know that Steve’s probably done training, probably heading back for his own shower, and you don’t want to open that can of worms. Instead, you go to the common room and drop into the couch between Peter and Tony. They’re talking about something something science something something, but you pull your stack of books and notebooks out from the shelf underneath the coffee table and continue outlining your essay from where you left off. The assignment was focused on how the end of WW1 changed American life and then how life changed leading up to and during WW2 but that had hit a little too close to home for you, so you’re writing about the racial tension and overall racism of the times. Tony and Peter keep talking over your back and then you hear footsteps heading toward the common room.

You barely look up when they enter - Nat and Bucky - because it’s fine. It’s normal. They’re just two of Steve’s best friends, that’s all, nothing to be jumpy about. You don’t even register that emotional pain that hits when you realize that, yeah, you’re not one of his best friends anymore. You doubt you’re even considered a friend in his book.

You groan and lean back into the couch, bringing your study materials with you. Peter glances over, skimming over your page and a half of shorthand, and gags. “Jesus, can you write like a normal person?”

“Oh, sorry,” You say lazily, not looking up as you continue to scribble in your incomprehensible code, “I do forget that some of us had privacy at home.” You lift your lips just a little bit to let Peter know you’re kidding, looking up at him through your lashes as you slouch next to him. He looks red in the face. “Besides, once you have to start doing mission reports you’ll be begging me to learn my shorthand and use my stenography machine.”

“I keep telling you that I can update that ol’ thing,” Tony draws your attention. For the first time, you realize that Nat and Bucky are on the loveseat looking at you expectantly. Steve is standing in the corner over their shoulder reading a book from the bookshelf in front of him. His back is tense and he looks like he’s not reading, just listening. You force your eyes back to Tony on your right and shake your head.

“No, because then you’d know my shorthand and it makes me too happy to see you spend hours trying to decipher it.” His eyes wander to your essay again, trying to find any patterns that he can use to figure out what the hell you’re writing on anything ever. He’s opening his mouth to make a smart-ass remark that will no doubt lift some of the weight off of your shoulders when another voice speaks up.

“Wow,” Steve doesn’t even look at you even as he says your name sardonically, “Way to be a team player.” Your mind comes to a screeching halt, trying to figure out what the fuck he’s playing at. Even Bucky and Nat look surprised at the cold way he spoke to you, Tony and Peter both gasping from your side. You can’t say anything, throat tight and burning with tears as you stare at your boyfriend with raised eyebrows. What do you say to that? How do you respond? You know it wasn’t a joke because he’s not laughing, not smiling, not even looking up from that fucking book in his hands. You can’t tell if you’re more hurt or embarrassed, but either way, you don’t want to stick around for someone to get the nerve to say something.

Instead of replying, you slam your textbooks shut and bundle everything into your arms. You doubt Steve even notices that you’re making such a hasty retreat but if he does, he doesn’t say a fucking thing. You feel like you’re in high school - practically running through an empty hallway with your notebooks and textbooks pressed to your chest, trying not to cry. It’s ridiculous. You’re a trained assassin, you’re an Avenger, you are strong and powerful and yet… And yet. You’ve given so much of your heart and soul to Steve Rogers that he can knock you down eight pegs without even trying. Without even looking at you. You can’t wait to go on this fucking recon mission, where you can put all of your focus on making sure Peter is doing okay and gathering the intel. Where you can stop thinking about how easily Steve Rogers seems to be pushing you to the side.

You spend the next two days writing your essay, ignoring almost everyone, and working on your essay. On the day of the recon mission, you’re running out the door for your eight a.m lecture, printed essay in hand, and reminding Tony that he promised to pick you up on campus after class for the mission.

You’re lucky that you went, too. You hadn’t counted on the professor making everyone stand up and tell the class the subject of their essays - didn’t realize that it would be twenty-five percent of the grade on the paper. You’ll never understand college professors and the weird shit they do, but the class is informative and entertaining. He goes around the room, starting on the opposite side of you, so you’ll be last. Great.

Several students did their papers on the propaganda of the time, one student was brave and did her essay on the ethical dilemma of the super-soldier serum and eugenics, and most of the other students focused on pop culture and how it changed. When your professor looks at you it’s almost like he’s expecting you to have done nothing but fawn over Steve and Bucky, considering you know them personally. He looks surprised when you clear your throat, stand and say: “I focused on the casual and institutional racism that faced non-white Americans at the time.” You almost preen when he looks impressed and then the shame fills you. It’s just… You want Steve to be proud of you. You want him to congratulate you on going back to school, even if it’s just for one class. You want him to be happy and surprised that he was the inspiration for taking the class.

Though, lately, the class has been more for you than for him. You like learning new things, pushing the boundaries of assignments, making people uncomfortable with the truth of the times you’re studying as told to you by two people who lived it. It’s nice. Normal.

Everyone needs a little bit of normal.

But, honestly, normal is fucking boring. By the time your class is over and you’re handing in your essay it’s like ants are crawling over your skin. A combination of nerves from the upcoming mission, a head full of fog from whatever is happening with Steve, and a little bit of fear at the thought of taking Peter into the field has you bolting for the door the moment your essay is taken from you. You’d worn your tac-suit underneath a pair of baggy sweats and a loose hoodie, so you don’t even bother slowing down as you head toward the car that Tony has waiting for you. He’s in the front seat, grinning at you from underneath his aviators and Peter is driving.

You slip into the backseat without thinking or looking at who’s there, tossing your bag in the back and peeling your hoodie off. “God, Tone, we’re goin’ to die before we even get to the mission with Petey driving.” You toss your hoodie back to join your bag and finally see who’s sitting next to you.

Of course, it’s Steve. He’s looking at you - but not really. He’s looking through you, like he can’t stand that you’re both crammed in the backseat of Tony’s electric car. His gaze catches you and holds you in place. Everything around you goes cold and fuzzy, making you miss Peter’s indignant complaining that he has his license so he should be able to drive… And then Steve scoffs and looks out his window, ignoring you. It stings but you have a job to do. You make some witty retort back to Peter, but it falls flat as you struggle out of your sweats. This is what life is, you think. Relationships aren’t meant to be forever - you learned that at a young age.

Until your accident at fifteen, you had watched your parents run out of helium, their relationship expanding and cooling in arguments, in days spent not talking, in trips to your grandparents without the other, in passive-aggressive computer searches for divorce attorneys left open for anyone to see. Then, after you were trapped between those machines - after you spent hour after agonizing hour with electricity pressing between your atoms, being torn apart and rebuilt as a young god - after that day you watched them expand against each other before the neutron core of their relationship collapsed on itself and the resulting supernova sent you to the streets. But then Fury found you. Then Tony, then Nat, then Steve.

Your parents exploded out from each other and the shockwaves ruined your life. At least now, your relationship with Steve is ending silently. There’s no explosion, no collapse, no rapid expansion to take over your cosmos. Your relationship with Steve is simply approaching the event horizon, where it will hang in the air until one of you takes the final step and you both become frozen, two collapsing objects on opposite sides of the universe. Maybe that’s what you already are. You feel so far away from him in the back of Tony’s car - like he’s eons and light-years away from you - and you feel so cold. Frozen, down to the bone. It makes you stiff in your replies to Tony and Peter, slow on the uptake when the car pulls up to the quinjet, nearing stasis and unable to respond when Nat asks if you’re okay.

Finally, you turn to look at her, nodding. “Fine,” You clear your throat, “Been a rough day.” You do your best to smile at her, but your face feels heavy. Your chest feels cold and tight, making you worry about your performance on the upcoming mission. When Peter shakes his head next to you, discreetly telling Nat not to press, you’re focused on Steve and the electricity humming in the most base part of your body.

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. You turn away and force yourself to smile, throwing a weak and numb arm over Peter’s shoulders. “Are you ready for this, Pete?” You jostle him back and forth, leading him toward the sitting area behind the cockpit. “Gonna get your ass kicked?”

“Please,” He shoves you off, nervously laughing, “Not with the skills you’ve taught me.” He mimics throwing webs, making hissing noises under his breath, and you bark out a laugh, shaking your head.

“You’re payin’ my medical bills when I have to save your ass, Spidey.” You shake your head and strap in next to the wall, Peter taking the seat to your right. Tony, from the aisle across from you, points a thick finger your way.

“You don’t pay medical bills anymore,” He waggles his finger, “So you’ll just have to make him do your homework for a week.”

“Mister Stark!”

“He’ll have to earn shorthand to do your essays,” Nat chimes in from between Bucky and Steve, who are both doing their best to not look at you - or anyone really. “You willing to share that with him?”

You lean back in your seat and jab at Peter with your elbow. “Hell no, so I guess Spider-Boy better do his best.” The arachnid in question grumbles, crossing his arms and slouching in his seat.

“No pressure, right?” He complains, “Not like I’m already nervous or anything.”

“You’ll do fine, kid,” Bucky pipes up, drawing your eyes back to Steve, “It’s goin’ to be a cakewalk.”

“Don’t jinx it, Barnes,” You warn half-heartedly, tucking in on yourself, “We need this to be easy.” From the look on his face - everyone’s face, really - you know that they heard you loud and clear when you were really saying I need this to be easy.

After an uneasy laugh from Bucky, a claustrophobic silence settles over you all as the jet begins to take off. You’re in for an hour ride and plan to spend it going over battle plans with Peter when harsh whispering catches your ear. It’s Bucky and Steve nearly crushing Nat between them until she gets up and sits across from Peter, rolling her eyes. Still, you try your best to run him through the actions you both had planned - the names, the setups you needed to execute them, everything. If something happens to Peter, you’ll never forgive yourself.

And then, cutting through your soft promptings to Peter and his equally soft replies, Bucky’s voice. “Leave it, Steve. Until after this mission.” Even Tony looks up from his tablet, curiosity piqued. Their faces are both red, set hard and angry at each other and your stomach drops. What the hell is going on that Steve ‘Till The End Of The Line Rogers is fighting with Bucky You And Me, Pal Barnes? You must shift, or lean too far into Steve’s eyesight, because for the first time in what feels like years he is looking directly at you - and seeing you, too. It makes your pulse jump and, almost instinctively, you want to reach out and ground yourself on the rubber of the seat underneath you.

You don’t get the chance, though, because Steve speaks. “No, why should I? This is clearly affecting the team.” He’s still looking - glaring - at you like you’ve done something wrong. “What’s the point of waiting? I’ve been waiting to talk about this.”

“Bo, I don’t think this is the time,” Bucky looks over his shoulder at you, then, and you know what’s coming. You know that it’s time, that Steve is about to break up with you in front of your teammates. Your friends. Your family. You steel yourself for the anguish you’re about to feel and then jerk your chin out, hardening your resolve.

“Buck, it’s fine. If Steve wants to address something, he can.”

Natasha says your name, a low warning over the hum of the quinjet. “I think he should wait.”

“Well, I’m not goin’ to wait!” Steve unbuckles himself and stands, “I have tried waiting, and look at where that has gotten me.” He puts his hands on his hips and puffs out a breath. You unbuckle and stand, too, unsure of where this is going. “You need to,” He holds one hand out, pointing at you while his voice shakes. You notice his hand is shaking, too, but fractionally. If you didn’t know Steve as well as you do you may have never noticed it. “You need to get it together.”

“I need to get it together?” You question, eyebrows nearly hitting the ceiling with how fast they shoot up. You’re not totally sure you’ve heard him right because what do you have to get together? The broken shards of your relationship? The information and research for your final paper? The awful way you’ve let yourself be treated for what seems like forever?

“You heard me,” Steve says, at the same time Bucky leans his head back and groans deep in his chest. “What? Someone had to say it.”

“We should wait for this,” Nat speaks up again, but lifelessly. She knows now that you and Steve are both on the warpath, neither of you are going to stop. (That’s also why the two of you work together as a couple so well. Very rarely are you both so worked up about something that you can’t back down, so the other is always there to meet you halfway and get you back to earth.)

“No, no, no,” You say, near hysterically, “No, he wants to do this now? Before a mission? Instead of the fuckin’ weeks we had to hash whatever crawled up his ass and died out? Be my guest. He’s already dragged everyone into this by treating me like a pariah.” You’re not sneering, but your teeth are gritted so tightly together you can hear them scraping and feel a tension headache beginning to bloom in your temples. Bucky looks… Almost incredulous at your statement. Like putting the blame on Steve is a dick move or something.

“Oh, so I’m the bad guy here?” Steve is curling his lip, glaring at you. There’s something behind his eyes, but he’s buried it so deep that you can’t reach it and figure out what it is. “I’m the bad guy, right. Right, right, right.” He scoffs, shakes his head, and then he’s running his fingers through his hair like he really can’t believe what you’re saying to him.

“Well, what else am I supposed to think?” You throw your hands out to the side and let them slap back down on your thighs. “You ignore me, you make me feel like shit, you talk down to me like I’m some insignificant foot soldier. How else am I supposed to take that, Steve?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe ask me what’s wrong? Maybe ask me why I’m acting like this, instead of ignoring all of your problems like a child?” He mirrors your moments, but the sound his hands make when they hit the outside of his suit is more powerful than yours. Fueled by anger, you think. Anger and whatever the hell was in the serum Erskine pumped into Steve.

“Ask you?” You repeat, near-hysterical, “Ask you? Oh yeah, let me get right on that. Hey, Mister Rogers? Mister Captain America? Mister Ignores-His-Partner-For-God-Knows-Why? Hey, just why are you doin’ that?” You’re surprised that you’ve said something so snotty, but you don’t back down. (Steve looks surprised, too, and Bucky has stood up next to his friend like he’s about to start berating you as well. At least he looks more cautious about it, like he’s not totally sure that this fight should be happening.)

The more surprising part of your fight is how fast it’s shut down. Tony and Nat stand at the same time and exchange a glance like they’ve surprised each other. “That’s enough,” Tony starts.

Nat cuts him off. “I don’t care if you fight this one out instead of talking, but if you do it before this recon mission you two are going to blow it. Do you understand me?” She looks dangerous, the sharp edge of a knife spiraling through the air. You force yourself to look away from her, from Tony, from Bucky, from Steve. She’s right. You know she’s right - especially on this mission. Peter is there, going to be in real danger even though there’s not supposed to be one Hydra agent in a four-mile radius. You have to clear your mind and focus on protecting him.

Steve seems to think the same thing because he stands down. When you watch him collapse in on himself, Bucky’s arms around his shoulders, into the little quinjet seats your everything aches. Heart, lungs, eyes - everything. Even though you don’t know what’s going on, what could have possibly happened to make your relationship sink this quickly and out of the blue, you still love him. He’s still The One for you. You still want to be the one to comfort him and make him feel whole when he’s struggling.

But you can’t. You can’t and it kills you.

The heat of battle makes a lot of things fade into the background. Important things like why the fuck are there Hydra agents here? and Steve is going to break up with you when you get back on the jet and Tony swore on the fucking limited edition AC/DC vintage tour poster he has in his office that this would be an easy in/easy out information mission. None of that matters, though, because you’re in deep shit. There are seventeen of them, all primed to the teeth with weapons made to take your team down permanently.

You’re practically glued to Peter, calling out commands and plans for him to initiate. It’s when all of your plans fall through that you take a hit from a heavy fist on purpose, hitting the ground hard. “Plan F, Spidey, Plan F!” You cover the instruction with a groan and then you’re back on your feet, working your way toward him.

“Plan F?” Tony says, somewhere above you in his suit. Your comms crackle ominously as another heat-seeking grenade is launched, interfering with the radio waves your tech relies on. You don’t worry about it, because you know Tony is on it. He’s your eyes in the sky.

Peter is the one who answers his question, watching your close hand-to-hand tilt out of your favor briefly. “Plan Fuck It, Mister Stark.” He grunts as he webs up a Hydra agent, jerking him away from where he was about to slip a knife up and under Natasha’s kevlar. You finally drop the guy in front of you, ignoring Steve’s disappointed Language! and toss one of your knives toward Nat for her to use. Tony is still laughing in your ear, wheezing as he drops down and snags the rifle from one of the snipers and then takes back off.

What your little protégé failed to mention about Plan F is that it’s not just chaos, but controlled chaos. You let loose, letting a soft current cover every inch of your skin as Peter switches to his conductive webbing and takes special care to not web any of his allies. Except for you - if you’re in the way and he catches you in a web it doesn’t matter because you’re you, alive with electricity that drops the men that get caught in the web, too. You rip out of the webs and turn the current off when one of your teammates gets too close.

More Hydra agents are pouring out of the woods, topping out their numbers around twenty-five. That’s twenty-five too many in your opinion, especially when you can see Peter getting tired, his anxiety spiking, his moves having more and more hesitation behind them. You need to get this over with quickly, but you don’t have the options to do that. Steve, Bucky, and Nat are really the heavy-hitters - you, Pete, and Tony are the only ones without serums despite all of your individual abilities. Desperately you reach out for a web that’s still connected to Peter’s arms, pulling him out of the way of a baton that’s about to come down on the back of his neck.

The baton the agent is wielding glints in the coming dusk, freezing you as Peter scrambles past you with a quick apology. You’ve seen that before - seen it, felt it, know it like the back of your hand. There’s no way that you could ever forget that weapon. The man stumbles when his hit doesn’t connect but then rights himself and searches for a new target.

A long, black baton that splits into two prongs at the end is heavy in his hand. Electricity crackles between the bulbs at the end, flashing in the setting sun and your memories. The man only has one, but if it was hooked up to a machine, spinning. If there were four, five, six. If you were pinned between them, screaming in the pain as they rewrote your DNA… You’ve only felt it once, but you’ll never forget it.

And now, you’ll taste it again. On purpose this time. The man holding the stun baton is going for Steve’s back - his strong back, the one that protects people, the one that holds the weight of the world, the one that lays in your bed, the one you see whipping out of rooms as you’re entering just so that he doesn’t have to look at you - and you can’t let that happen. It only takes ten amps to kill a regular human, but you know those things are cranked up to twenty minimum. You don’t want to see how many amps of current it will take to stop Steve’s heart. You’re between the baton and Steve before you can think about what you’re doing or what comes next, the hard bulbs settling unyielding into your side and cranking out maximum power for maximum damage as soon as the current is connected and able to flow from one bulb to the other.

The pain hits you and your throat catches on it. It burns through your body, setting everything on fire - your chest hurts as your heart protests the electrons and then your powers kick in, sweeping them into your very atoms and cells. You’re a live wire now, ears humming and body thrumming with power you’ve only dreamed of. It hurts, and it burns, and you feel tears rising in your eyes because you’re back there - back begging for death or for life or for God and god at the same time - but then it’s over. The man sees that you’re not seizing up, not dropping dead in front of him, and he takes three steps back.

It’s not far enough.

You’ve only felt like this once before - right after you were unhooked from the machine that changed your life and brought you to your new family. You remember how you looked when you were put in front of a mirror with all of the pent up electricity circling your body - how your eyes were filled to the brim and dripping with bright and blue electricity, the way it was jumping across your body, how you didn’t need to breathe because your body was fully saturated with pure, unadulterated power. You wonder if you look like that now and assume you do because you can see the bright blue reflecting in the terrified eyes of the Hydra agent.

Your suit, unlike everyone else’s, is not grounded. It’s metal, metal, metal. You’re made to conduct, born for it, and the earth beneath you comes alive with bright white as you release all of the energy, the power, surges down and out. You’re practiced. You can reach out and feel the synapses and neurons of every human being in the clearing, know exactly where your teammates are standing, and know exactly how to target everything but them and the pitiful amount of electricity their brains carry. You grin, something truly feral and unhinged, and you can see the fear in the Hydra agent. Then, you let go.

You know that everyone is going to be pissed. (Maybe not everyone.) You’re not built for this, not made to take down nearly twenty fucking people at once. As you let go, you feel what they feel. The seizing muscles, the stopping of their hearts, the inside of their bodies crisping against their bones. At that moment, that delicious moment, you see the universe.

You become God. You become everything - your mother and your father and God and god and anyone else who’s watching your life from the ether. You become the judge, jury, and executioner of souls that you don’t know from Adam. You become lightning, and thunder, and exposed nerves of the cosmos at the same time. The world bends to your will and you relish in it, taking that power in your fist and wielding it to protect the man you’ll love for the rest of your life and the family that you’ve made. You will stop at nothing to end this, even if it means turning yourself inside out to do it.

You damn near do turn yourself inside out too, but that doesn’t matter, does it? The blood spilling from your ears, nose, and eyes feels like heaven. It’s hot, and thick, and it’s proof of the power that your body holds. You’re a temple and a sanctuary, a war-room and a bunker, a field of flowers and a sun-dry desert. It does not matter if Steve doesn’t love you at that moment, because you are love and hate wrapped into one package. You are everything and nothing, spread thin at the beginning and the end of time.

And then none of that is true. You are just… You. Standing in a clearing, surrounded by twenty-something dead Hydra agents and your terrified, terrified family. It hurts to breathe and you can taste blood in your mouth, but that’s an afterthought. Steve is still standing behind you, but he is alive. That is what matters.

This is what love is, you think.

Pain and pleasure.

Even if he leaves you, you will always love him.

Pain and pleasure.

You’re weak at the knees when he finally turns to see you - and you’re a sight. Struggling to stand, fingertips blackened with soot but not burnt, blood pouring from your nose, ears, eyes… You look like death, but you feel like life. Someone says something behind you - Peter, maybe? Or maybe Tony, in your comms? - but you don’t hear it. Everything tunnels out, your weak knees finally collapsing as you keel backward.

Steve bears down upon you almost immediately. You’re halfway to unconsciousness when he wraps you up in his arms, keeping you from falling in with the pile of bodies around you. He’s saying your name, harsh and soft and then in a voice like he’s ordering you to wake up. You loll about as he drops you down onto a patch of clear grass, hands searching your body for wounds. When he skims over your side, where the baton has burnt through your suit and your flesh, you surge back toward being able to have cohesive thoughts. The pain brings you back, hands wrapping around Steve’s arm and calling out his name. “Steve! Fuck, that hurts!”

“Honey,” He breathes, “Fuck, we have to get you back to the jet.” His jaw ticks, hair dirty and loose from its normal style. “Why’d you do that?” Steve doesn’t wait for an answer from you, ordering Peter to web something up to carry you over your protests.

“I’m fine,” You argue, only slurring slightly, “I feel fine.” But you’re going to let Nat and Bucky load you up on the webbed stretcher anyway because it’s the first time Steve has cared for you in a long time. You want to relish in this moment, the way that he didn't say your name but called you honey.

Well, and because Natasha slides a thumb across her neck over Steve’s shoulder in a silent threat.

You groan when Bucky accidentally grabs your calf where there is an absolutely awful stab wound, but you wave off his apology. “How could you have known?” To be honest, you hadn’t even known it was there until his Vibranium hand was slipping against it and sending shockwaves of pain through you. Peter is next to you the whole time that you’re being carried back to the jet - Tony staying back to begin scanning the bodies of the Hydra agents for the information you need and any other information they may be carrying. The poor kid is nearly at a breakdown, so you reach out to him and shake his arm when his fingers twine with yours. “Chill out, kid, I don’t know how you got it into your head that this is your fault, but it sure isn’t.” He sniffles, but hands back with Steve as Bucky and Nat get you situated in the small medical room of the jet. They transfer you and then make to leave, only Bucky hesitating near the door.

“Stevie’s goin’ to be here soon and… I don’t know what made you do what you did but you have’t explain it to him. He’s bendin’ over backwards to figure it out, and we don’t have’a clue. Came out’a nowhere.” He looks at you for another moment before shaking his head and stepping out of the room. Your head is spinning, partially from what Bucky just said and partially from the pain and stimulus of electricity. You wait there, then, because this is it. This is the event horizon. You wait there, eyes closed, until you hear footsteps approach the med room, and then the door slowly opens. Steve says your name, holding all the finality and weight of an atomic bomb. You don’t open your eyes until he swings a chair next to the stretcher and lays a hand on your calf.

“You don’t have to do this,” You finally say, pushing yourself up onto your elbows to watch him. “I know that you don’t want to.” Steve only scoffs and begins to wash the stab wound using a packet of soap and a water bottle. You say his name twice before he looks at you, something between hate and hurt curdling into a glaze over his eyes that stops you in your tracks.

“Just let me do this. It is the least that you can do.” His words are painful and stilted, like it’s taking force to push them past his teeth. You lay back down and close your eyes, content to just feel the pain of Steve beginning to stitch you up and then dress the wound before you feel the pain of Steve leaving you like you knew he always would. (Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his.)

When he’s done he sits back and puts his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He heaves a heavy sigh and then shakes it off, “I’ll dress your burn, and then we’ll talk.” And normally, yes, you would agree but this is too important. You want to get it over with so you can lick your wounds metaphorically and dress them literally - and then you want to go home, you want to pack your bags, and you want to disappear and remake your life somewhere else.

Some far-off place where everyone you know won’t take one look at your face and know that you’re still painfully, deeply in love with Steve Rogers, end of your semester be damned. Family you’ve made be damned. You can’t sit around and be in love with him like a neon sign on a dark highway while it’s painfully clear that he hasn’t had a sign on his highway in a long time.

So instead of agreeing, you swing your legs over the stretcher and swallow your flinch when the burn pulls tight. Steve opens his mouth to argue but you give him a tight-lipped shake of your head and his jaw snaps shut. “No,” You say, voice not giving in to the emotion swirling in your chest. “I have let this go on long enough.”

It’s the wrong thing to say because Steve fucking scoffs again and looks away from you. “One day was long enough.” He says, cutting straight to your core. Okay, ouch. You take a deep breath and shake your head to try and bite back the tears that are inevitably rising in your eyes. If one day was long enough for him to realize he doesn’t want to be with you, why did he let it go on for nearly a full year? Why did he spend so long leading you on, pulling you by a thread before garroting your heart with it? What was the point?

“If you want to leave me, just say that,” You reply harshly, standing and wobbling away from him. He just watches you go, watches the way you struggle past the lead weights your muscles have become, the way you’re starting to feel the stab wound on your leg, the way the skin on your burn is beginning to blister and only just now losing its heat. He just watches you, where the Steve that loved you once upon a time might have helped. You turn your back on him, hands on your hips so that you can hide the way that you’re crying and your hands are shaking.

“If I want to leave you? If?” He says. You hear the scrape of his chair as he stands, “I think after what you’ve done, it’s not an if, sweetheart.” The way he says it tastes like iron. Steve never calls you sweetheart like he never calls you by your name. It’s always honey, lover, dovie. You don’t turn to face him because you’re struggling to keep yourself above water. “I spent so long thinkin’, wonderin’, askin’ myself - God damnit, will you look at me?” You turn slowly, not because you’ve never heard Steve speak like that but because his voice is desperate and raw. When you turn, you’re not sure what to expect. Maybe him, standing in front of you, broad-shouldered and disappointed like in those PSA’s he had to film once. Maybe he’d be angry, hands clenched at his sides and eyes narrowed like he gets in meetings when he doesn’t agree with something but he’s out-voted. But you never expect to see him crying, lip wobbling, folded in on himself like a young boy instead of the strong, invincible man you’ve come to love.

He looks so different.

It hits you, then, that you’re not looking at Steve Rogers. Not really. He's not Steve Rogers, not Captain America, not even Captain Rogers. You see him as he was - before America spat it’s untruths all over him and injected him with a serum that changed who he was, is, will be. He’s not the able-bodied man that you know, not strong and unreachable, not the heartthrob that overshadows the team during press events. He’s not America’s Darling, not really. Not where it counts.

You’re looking at Stevie Rogers. Stevie Rogers who, for all intents and purposes, was supposed to die before he made it out of toddlerhood or soon thereafter. Stevie Rogers who the doctors said wasn’t supposed to survive. Stevie Rogers who grew up sickly, rattling painful breaths and never playing ball with the neighborhood boys. Who couldn’t walk until middle school when he got his braces off. Who never had a partner because Bucky, strong and handsome and tall Bucky, was always deemed the better option. Who believed in his country so much that he tried to sneak into the second world war, subjected himself to a painful medical procedure so that he could change his very DNA to be what the world wanted him to be.

Captain Steve Rogers. Captain America. Strong, blond, patriotic, resilient.

You’re sure that if men don’t want to go to therapy now, in the modern age, they certainly didn’t want to go in the ‘40s. So where did that leave Steve, your Steve, standing in front of you and looking small, and broken, and sad, and alone? Did they expect him to take his new, taller, working body and run with it? Did they not think about how he would lose a part of himself in the process? How did they expect him to go from disabled to abled without some disconnect?

You think about the You That You Were Before and the You That You Are Now, and how you lost a part of yourself when the accident gave you your powers and how you’d lose yourself if someone figured out a way to take them away. You Before formed your identity around being normal - living in a shitty home with shitty parents, sure, but normal - and You Now form your identity around your powers, your team, your job, your love. If you lost those things, what did you have left? Who would you be?

When Steve lost his identity and became everything that America wanted everyone to think that America was, what did he have left? Sure, he could tell himself that he represents America - strong and patriotic and just - but it must have conflicted with everything he knew about himself before that. You know that disabled people now know that American society is unjust, unfit for them with abled people not willing to make room to allow them to thrive. You can only imagine what it was really like for Steve in the ‘20s and ‘30s and ‘40s. What he had to do just to survive. (Medical experimentation, you remind yourself. Did they know it wouldn’t kill him? Did they know his body wouldn’t rip itself apart with the new sinewy muscle they were packing on? Did they care? Or was he just a body they saw as broken? A project to fix? To turn him into something more like them and call it patriotism?)

You shake your head at him, still filled with despair, and try to figure out what he’s talking about. “Stevie,” You start, pet name easily replacing what you had been calling him because it’s not fair to shoe-horn him into a body that doesn’t feel like his own. You wonder if he still expects the bone-grinding pain that he used to tell you would happen when it rains. He raises a hand, a strong and family hand, shaking his head.

“I just need to know why I wasn’t enough for you,” Steve looks sad, slouching in on himself like he’s expecting to get his ass handed to him in another alleyway and hope Bucky is there to save him. “I need to know why you wouldn’t just break up with me if you wanted to see other people so badly.” You suck in a shocked breath because, okay, that’s not what you were expecting. Between that and the paradigm shift you’ve had on how Steve must view his identity, body, and self, you’re stunned. Steve continues like he doesn’t even register that you look shocked and pale and now you’re crying because he thinks you’re cheating on him? “And I get it. I get it. You have no idea how much I understand. If I were you, I wouldn’t want me either, okay?”

You cut him off there because what the actual God damn fuck is he talking about? “No, Stevie, I’m not cheating on you.” You shake your head again and this, your statement, lights a fire in him. He still looks like Stevie rather than Steve, but there’s anger there. You imagine that’s what it might have looked like moments before he got himself in trouble back before he was serumed. “I’m not.”

“Oh, yeah?” He challenges, jaw ticking and chin jerking up, “Oh, yeah? You can’t lie to me. I know, okay? The act is up, it’s over, I know, okay? You can stop pretending.”

“Steve, I do not fucking know what you’re talking about but I”m not cheating on you!” You raise your voice, not really angry but more out of necessity. You need to get it out of his head that he is anything less than everything you want - that you could possibly love anyone more than you love him.

“I wanted to clarify something for you,” Steve says like he’s reading an old script from when he was just a beefy, red/white/blue stage prop for the American military, “I am excited to meet with you, but there are some rules. Do not talk about Captain Steve Rogers. I don’t want to hear about him,” As he continues to recite something that has clearly hurt him, you go lax. You know exactly what’s happened - your fists unclench, your jaw drops a little bit, and it feels like someone has gutted you, “I think it is wise to keep work and pleasure separate, and it’s a rule I will enforce heavily. I look forward to seeing you again.” He’s sneering at the end, tears falling down his ruddy cheeks.

“Steve,” You try again, but he cuts you off.

“Am I just work for you?” His voice is shaking more than you thought possible, and so are his hands. You’ve never seen Steve so off-kilter, so thrown, and it breaks your heart that yes, technically, you’re the cause of this. Before this, before this horrible misunderstanding, your relationship with Steve was the paragon of trust so neither of you cared if the other read emails or texts. You remember the email - the email from your fucking college professor - because it had made you so angry that he’d referred to your relationship with Steve as something as simple and base as just pleasure - like you could even put words to the galaxy of a relationship you had with Steve - that you’d gone to the gym to work off some of that irritation. You hadn’t wanted to take it out on anyone accidentally. When you came back from the gym, Steve was gone on that two-week mission that he’d left on without saying goodbye.

Oh, God. You feel sick to your stomach as the paradigm of the way that Steve’s been treating you shifts violently to the left. You have to physically hold yourself up and try to speak past the lump in your throat. Steve looks… Brokenly smug. Like he knows he’s right, but he’d rather gnaw his own legs off than be right.

“No,” You croak, “No, Steve, you’ve got it all wrong.” You want to reach for him, but it feels like the room is closing in on you. You’re second-guessing everything now - especially what you’ve just said. How many people said the exact same thing to him pre-serum because they said something meant for Bucky to him? How many times did he hear that when he was getting a new diagnosis, hoping for the best? How many times had his own mother said it to him when he told her something someone had said, fresh-faced and not yet used to the way that abled people sometimes treated disabled people? You think you might be sick. “That email was from my professor, Steve. I’m not cheating on you, I’d never.” He laughs darkly and sits back down in his chair, head in his hands again. You try to gather the strength to move toward him when you see his shoulders shaking, a telltale sign that he’s crying.

“A professor,” He says with a watery laugh, “Right.”

Finally, you realize that he needs you, needs to know you love him, that you’d do anything for him. You can iron out the kinks later - figure out why he didn’t want to come to talk to you past the original hurt, why he treated you so coldly, why he didn’t trust that you wouldn’t do this to him - but now, you need to show him that you’re here. That you choose him. That you’ll always choose him.

You make your way to him and set a shaking hand on his shoulder. For a brief second you think he’s going to shake you off but then Steve’s hand shoots up and latches onto where your hand is resting, dipping his head to press against your arm. “Stevie, please,” You say, unsure of what you’re asking him to do, “I picked up a class, just one, and it’s… I picked it up for you, it’s about the ‘30s and ‘40s and…” He looks up at you and he looks so broken - face ruddy and wet with tears, lip wobbling, chest heaving as he tries to not sob. His brows are knit and he looks confused, “I just wanted to be able to understand you better. You had to leave so much of yourself at the door when you joined the Avengers, had to leave so much of yourself in the ice… In Erskine’s lab… Stevie, I just wanted you to be able to be you when you’re with me. I wanted to know the you that you were before you became Captain America.” Your voice is shaking, knees knocking together, and honestly? You feel like you might blackout.

“What?” He rasps, “What?”

“He sent that email because too many kids signed up for his class thinking that they’d be able to look at pictures of you and Buck for a semester. Emailed me directly because he knows we’re…” You choke on your words, shaking your head because you’re not even sure there’s a we anymore, “Because he knows I’m on the team. Didn’t want me walking in and making his class about just a few years in the ‘30s and ‘40s rather than the culture of the time.” You don’t know how else to explain it to him, but Steve isn’t saying anything - practically isn’t moving or breathing- so you continue to try and explain what’s really happening as best as you can, “And - and that email made me so angry because he singled me out, didn’t email anyone else about it, and I left to try and work some of that out; I didn’t want to take it out on you, or let it spoil - let it spoil… But when I came back from the gym, you were gone. You were gone for two weeks and I didn’t know why.” You’re crying harder now and pretty sure that within the next sixty seconds you’re going to collapse if you don’t sit down.

Steve shakes his head, still looking like he doesn’t understand. “What?” He says for a third time, “A class? A college class?”

“I just wanted to feel closer to you,” You confess, “Just wanted to understand a fraction of your life without making you do the heavy liftin’ and teachin’ me. Shouldn’t have’t do that,” You’re sobbing, barely biting out your words as you realize that something you’ve done to strengthen your relationship with Steve has destroyed it, “Shouldn’t have to explain a whole different time just to feel loved, Stevie. Should be able to be with someone who understands without you havin’ to explain.” You’re not sure you can say Peggy’s name out loud, and you hope he understands what you’re saying without making you actually say it, “Should’a been able to have love with someone who knew, and I know I’m nothin’ compared to what you should’a had, but I want to be. I want to be in the same ballpark instead’a watchin’ from the stands.” You wipe your face with your free hand and look away from Steve when he stands in front of you. You don’t want to see the look on his face - what he’s thinking about what you’ve said.

He says your name and you glance at him, but his expression stops him in your tracks. Where Steve looked broken and hurt and fuming with anger to hide the anguish, now he looks stricken. You shake your head, “No, no. I didn’t say that to make you feel guilty-”

“You think that I care about whether or not you can understand the ‘40s?” He cuts you off, hands moving to curl around your biceps, “You think that I care whether or not you can relate to a time in history when you weren’t even thought of?”

“Of course I love you. I love you more than anything in this world, but you shouldn’t have to not care, Steve,” You argue, shaking your head, “That’s what I’m trying to say. You should be with someone who understands without explanation. I just wanted to give that to you - didn’t know that this would happen.”

“I should be with someone who loves me,” He argues back, “If you love me, that’s all that matters. My past be damned.”

“But your past is you!” You try to pull away from Steve, but he anchors you there. You’re dizzy from being so close to him after this long, but also because of how many different twists this situation has taken. You can barely keep up with how bad your communication with Steve has become - barely keep up with how you need to fix it, or how to fix it. “Your past is you,” You repeat when you realize that Steve isn’t going to let you go. “And you shouldn’t have to give that up so that someone will love you.”

“But you love me,” He says desperately, ducking his head so that he’s nearly nose to nose with you, “You love me, right?”

“More than anything,” You say, closing your eyes and relishing in the feeling of being so close to Steve, “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. I don’t care about what anyone else thinks, or anyone else. I’ll even stop goin’ to class if you want me to - Steve, I just can’t do this anymore. Can’t do this thing where you don’t talk to me about what’s botherin’ you.” You’re choking up, barely whispering, but you know he hears you. YOu can feel his warm breath on your face, “Nearly fuckin’ killed me.”

“I thought it was goin’ to be easier,” He breathes, nose bumping yours, “When you eventually decided to leave me for him. Thought I was savin’ myself some trouble.” You can practically taste his tears as they fall again, “Buck and Nat tried to tell me that you weren’t - that you wouldn’t - but I just couldn’t believe them.”

When you open your eyes, his are closed. This close to him you can see the soft freckles that are blooming over his eyelids, his soft eyelashes kissing his cheekbones. You can feel him breathing, feel him nearly pressed against you in a way that feels hauntingly nostalgic and terrifyingly fleeting; like you’ll be able to feel his warmth for years to come, but he’s about to disappear. “That’s okay,” You finally whisper, “It’s okay that you didn’t believe them. That you thought what you thought. It’s okay.” He shakes his head against yours, opening his mouth to protest, but you refuse to let him feel guilty about feeling this way - you have plenty of time to sit him down and talk to him candidly about the way he acted because of these feelings, anyway. “If I would have been in your place I’m not sure I would have believed them.”

“I treated you so badly…” He shifts and wraps his arms around you. It’s almost immediate - you relax into his arms and wind yours around his waist, keeping him pulled against you as he presses his face into your neck and you press your cheek against his chest. “So awfully.”

“We’ll talk about that, okay? But later. Right now you just need to know that I love you, Steve. I love you more than I can tell you - more than I can express.” You want to kiss him, but you can’t. Can’t kiss him, you need to wait for him to kiss you, for him to close that gap and show you that he still loves you like you love him. “We’ll have to have a talk, a long and hard conversation about this, Stevie, but for now… For now, I’m just content to be with you, okay? MIssed you so much.”

He sighs, nose pressing against yours again. “Missed you too, dovie. Missed you more than I can even say,” His voice breaks as his lips brush yours. Your relationship is not without its flaws and problems - Steve’s actions when he thought you were cheating on him are proof of that and, well, the fact that you didn’t realize what was happening, why it was happening, or a large part of your boyfriend’s psychological makeup having an impact on your relationship while it went unknown by you… There is a lot of work for the two of you to do, a lot of work to do, a lot of communication to be done… But you’d do it all for Steve, over and over again.

When he presses forward and presses his lips gently to yours, you know that he’ll do it all for you, over and over again, too.

[blackacre13]

Hii I'm obsessed with your works!

Can you do one where Loubbie has 6 yr old Dani and had gone to the beach. Deb constantly calls them to see if they're alright, insisting to feed them and patting them dry making Lou smitten for how hands-on Deb had become since their marriage, especially now that they have Dani.

Some fluff pls❤️🦋

Have a great dayy!!!

“You’re sure you had enough of your sandwich?” Debbie sighed, studying her daughter with great concentration as Danielle looked up at her with a toothy grin and a thumbs up, followed by a simple, “yup!”

“And you promise you’ll hold mama’s hand while you walk, even when you get to the water?” Debbie prodded, looking worried.

“I won’t let go of her,” Lou promised, unable to keep from beaming at this world-renowned criminal turned helicopter parent Debbie Ocean, too concentrated on deciding whether her daughter was telling the truth about her lunch or whether she’d be starving in the car on the way home and trying to shove sunblock, both in lotion and in spray form, into Lou’s hands as she instructed Dani to turn around so she could spray down her arms and legs.

“Don’t forget her nose, baby,” Debbie added worriedly, holding out a juice box to their daughter. “You sure you had enough to drink, D? It’s really hot out. We don’t want you getting sick.”

“I’ve got her nose,” Lou laughed, plopping on a droplet of white sunblock with a “bloop” sound effect that made Danielle giggle as Lou booped her nose before rubbing it in, spreading the excess gently over her cheeks. “And I don’t think apple juice will help her from being hot in the sun, no matter how many boxes you offer her. But I’m sure that’s a matter NASA would be happy to take up with you.”

“Can it, Miller,” Debbie grumbled, sitting back on the towel as she squinted up at the two of them from beneath her sunglasses.

“Yeahhhhh,” Dani mocked. “Can it, Miller,” she shrieked, tickling Lou as the blonde shook her head, clasping their hands together.

“Mommy’s just being silly, isn’t she?” Lou smirked, throwing her wife a pointed look before she squeezed Dani’s hand. “Come on, love. Let’s see if we can find some shells for your jar.”

“And shark teeth!” Danielle insisted, tugging on Lou’s arm, to try and pull her towards the water line.

“Lou,” Debbie whined, her partner back treading across the sand to lean over her wife as Debbie craned her neck upwards so she could kiss her cheek. “Promise you’ll be careful with her?”

“You know I always protect my girls, honey,” Lou promised, kissing her softly, while Dani tried to tug her away. “Besides, she said shark teeth. Not full sharks.”

Lou walked hand in hand with her daughter along the shore line, swinging their hands back and forth as Dani occasionally squealed and pointed out a shell or something shiny in the sands, scooping it up and showing it to the blonde for her approval as Lou watched Debbie become smaller in the distance, but her worry grew no less large, seeming to loom beyond the ocean itself, wrapping around her wife and daughter in a way that made Lou smitten and sappy, thinking it was crazy in the most wonderful of ways that this is who they were now.

“You think a lot,” Dani giggled, pushing another shell into Lou’s hand for her to examine as the two stopped. Lou knelt down to rinse it off in the waters of an incoming wave before she pretended to hold it up and inspect it with a loud “hmmm” that made Dani laugh again.

“I was thinking about mommy,” Lou admitted, smiling down at her daughter. “Bucket’s getting heavy. Should we unload some so you have more room for pretty ones?”

“Mommy thinks a lot too,” Dani observed before ducking down to spill out some of the contents of her bucket, weighing her options between two small and sticky handfuls of shells.

You have no idea kid, Lou thought. Danielle’s observance was something that intrigued her. And was entirely Debbie’s behavior. And Lou loved having a little mini Debbie more than she could express, even though she’d been sure to influence her taste of music and fashion before the brunette could persuade her.

“She worries about us, I think,” Lou hummed, sitting down on the sand, holding out her hands so Dani could make a “keep” pile.

“That’s silly.”

“Mom’s silly,” Lou nodded. “But she has every right to worry. She loves you a lot, D. More than you know. And sometimes when you love someone a whole bunch, it’s a bit scary. You just want to keep them safe. And protect them.”

“Mommy loves you bunches too, right?” Dani smiled, passing Lou a shell that the blonde rolled in between her fingers. “She keeps you safe. With kisses. And presents. And she dances with you in the kitchen. And puts blankets on you if you sleep on the couch.”

“She loves me bunches,” Lou agreed, silently cursing at the tears brimming in her eyes. “We both love you so much, D. I hope you know that.”

“As much as the beach?”

“More than all the beaches in the world and all the grains of sand on them.”

“That’s lots of sand! Will you help me with my shoes when we get in the car so mommy doesn’t get sad about the sand?”

“Yes,” Lou laughed, the gentle moment between them flickering away, replaced by the memory of Debbie’s sharp inhale as a wet and sand-covered Dani had climbed into the car a few weeks ago, getting sand all over the floor of the car as Lou chuckled, her wife looking like she was on the verge of a heart attack before Lou settled her onto a towel and claimed her sandy swim shoes as contraband until they could be washed. “Come on, bug. I think we should go say hi to mommy. Show her some of your new shells.”

Lou walked them back to their beach spot where Debbie was waiting with her hand raised over her head to block the glare, scooping Dani up into a tight hug with a big, genuine smile as Dani told her about her shells, waving Lou over with the bucket for her little version of show and tell for her moms, only stopping to let Debbie wrap her in a towel and pat her dry, cradling her in her lap as Dani yelped out an excited, “beach hug!” As Debbie rubbed her shoulders dry, rocking Dani as she went back and forth before she released the girl to play on the blanket, smiling with relief as Dani reached for a juice box and asked for the rest of her sandwich.

“Me next?” Lou smirked, raising a brow as she held out her towel to Debbie, the brunette pulling her in for a salty kiss instead, humming against her lips.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

I'm sorry but i'm addicted to our boy Spamton- I have a little unique request here. So this takes place where Spamton just moves in the Queen's mansion, he meets the reader and immediately falls for their kind words and gestures. Weeks pass, and he goes to see them, but catches them talking and hanging out with Swatch.. He gets really jealous to the point of changing his style to match Swatch's

"Oh [y/n]! Have You Met Our Newest Guest?"

"Uh, I don't believe-"

"He's An Interesting Addison Who Made A Big Name For Himself! Ohohoho!" Queen laughed joyously, pausing to sip her glass of battery acid. "I Wonder How He Got So Rich...No Matter. As My Peon, I Order You Greet Him......Whenever It's Convenient For You."

"Sure thing. I'll go now." With a respectful nod, you set off to the mansion's guest chambers to meet this newcomer. You've lived here for a long time--and somewhat reluctantly since Queen decided to make you one of her peons one day. But life was actually pretty good.

It wasn't like you had anything better to do, so if she needed someone to help her with plans that..didn't seem all-that urgent, you'll offer your assistance. She let you stay in the mansion for free and never made you do anything if you weren't feeling up to it.

For a tyrannical ruler she was rather kind.

Yet you didn't wanna take advantage of her hospitality, so you'd just listen to whatever she says. And if she wants you to meet this celebrity as part of her endless lists of requests, then you'll happily oblige. But you were eager too since you've seen his face on TV a lot. It felt like an honor.

After wandering the corridors of deactivated puzzles, Mona Lisa-esque portraits, and meticulously-placed pottery, you finally arrived at the guest rooms. You hummed a small tune as you passed by each one, stopping when you noticed one door was open.

Peeking inside, you saw the Addison still setting up things. A phone was tucked between his shoulder and ear as he moved a box whilst rambling to whoever was on the other end of the line.

"Yea! I promise I won't let you down, okay? Soon I'll be bigger than ever before! I know I'm already a big shot but....haha, yeah, I shouldn't get carried away. Okay. Right..we'll discuss more of this tomorrow. Thanks!"

After hanging up the phone and returning it to the receiver, he finally noticed you and smiled. "Hey, hey! Haven't seen your face around here yet. But surely you know mine, right?"

"Yeah." You smiled, not wanting to shy away from talking with him. "Spamton, right?"

"Everybody's favorite number-one rated salesman!!" He laughed. "It's good you know me..'cuz soon ALL of Cyber World will know my name! It's a pleasure to meet you...?"

"[Y/n]. I'm one of Queen's peons." You shook his hand politely. The energy that radiated from him was so bright. Just as much as his pearly smile was.

Stepping inside, you glanced around at the luxurious furniture. He definitely got the higher-class rooms, with the addition of a large window that showed the neon green meridians that stretched across the night sky. It was certainly a beautiful view to fall asleep to. "Need help unpacking?"

"Oh--sure!!" At first Spamton seemed surprised by your offer, but he nodded. "If you want, be my guest. And while we unpack, I gotta ask you..how's it being Queen's peon?"

............

Weeks passed, and you've gotten to know Spamton more and more. You realized he was actually a sweet down-to-earth guy all around. Although he was on the phone a lot, he'd make time to hang out with you, so you two became fast friends.

He was truly living the best life. Posters of his car advertisements were littered all over the city, and the Swatchlings attended to his every need. Though one thing was hard to admit, even when it seemed like he had it all:

You were his only friend now that everyone else is intimidated by his status--as they would shy away from conversing with him--and the Addisons, well, abandoned him out of jealousy.

Obviously that made him worry about driving you away, especially when he's on the phone nonstop. But...the fact you've been so kind to him in every word and gesture, treating him like a regular person and not some untouchable celebrity, was quite endearing. Most admired him for his products, not his personality.

Your kindness made him fall for you hard and fast, ever since day one. He wasn't sure if this was a good idea; to let it get in the way of his business.

But what the hell? He was a big shot! He can afford to go a bit bigger and take more risks. Living in this mansion with someone who loved him would be the perfect dream.

There was a much bigger dream that his valued caller insisted he focused on, but that can come later.

So this morning, Spamton set out to find you to address these feelings once and for all. Yet he was rather nervous. Addisons were most confident in selling products, not so much...everything else. But he didn't wanna back down. He kept smiling no matter what.

As he checked inside the color café that he usually frequented, he saw you eating at the table. He noticed you weren't alone but with Swatch, talking and...

Laughing with them?

And just like that, his smile faded much like his hope.

Of course, the head butler had their ways to swoon people. He tried not to think of it as anything more than just their personality. It's just their way to entice returning customers.

That's all...right?

Spamton ducked behind one of the displays, listening in on your conversation to determine if he should proceed or not.

"By the way, we've known each other for a while and..I've always wanted to ask you something.."

"Yes? What is your inquiry?"

He held his breath. This is exactly what he feared. Knowing that you've been here longer, it's obvious you'd be closer to that damn bird-

"Your outfit."

Then he exhaled shakily, relieved. 'What are you getting so worked up for, idiot?' He thought in the back of his mind, but he continued eavesdropping.

"Did the Queen make it or give it to you? It's very stylish and really makes you stand out from the other Swatchlings."

"Ah, in fact I decided this look for myself." Swatch chuckled softly, raising a wing to adjust their glasses. "The tailor did marvelous work with my vision: black suit, tinted glasses. Very fashionable, is it not?"

"It is. I like it a lot."

"Why thank you. I see why our Lady Grace admires you. Just for that compliment, I'll give you a discount on any of our products in the gift shop."

"Should be every day if you ask me." You joked, earning another chuckle from them.

Seeing all of this and the way you two spoke like close friends was a jab in Spamton's heart-shaped object. 'So [y/n] likes people who stand out? Well I can stand out, too..' He thought bitterly as he stormed out of the shop without either of you knowing he was there.

Why should he settle with being a blank-slate Addison like the rest of them? He didn't consider himself one anymore.

Today, he told his valued caller, he was gonna be a whole new person.

It would help him get closer to both of his dreams, but there was only one on his mind now.

............

Later that night as you were getting ready for bed, you heard a knock at the door. You huffed in annoyance, assuming Queen needed you for something.

She had a knack for disturbing you at ungodly hours. But knowing better than to ignore her, you went to answer the door anyways-

To some strange black-haired guy in a black suit and white turtleneck sweater.

"Hi, um...can I help you?"

"[Y/n]? It's me."

"....wait....Spamton?"

"Yeah!" The salesman laughed, throwing his arms out and making a pose. "Whatdya think of me now?"

Perplexed, you looked him up and down. He ditched the lime-green pants, instead wearing white trousers. And his hair was slicked back. But what was most peculiar about him were his glasses, tinted with pink and yellow lenses.

Had you not known any better, you would've thought Swatch suddenly shrunk and became robotized.

"Cool but..you kinda look like Swatch a little bit. Was that on purpose?" You mused.

"...haha....yeah uh..funny story. Um.." He dropped the act, losing his trademark grin as he wondered how to explain himself and this sudden transformation. You could tell he wanted to talk inside the room, so you let him in and shut the door.

"I don't recall Queen mentioning any costume contest-"

"It's not a costume." He muttered, uncomfortably rubbing his hands together as he looked at you with sadness. "This is who I am now. The new me."

"..huh? You serious?" When he nodded, you frowned slightly. "I'm confused. You don't look like an Addison anymore-"

"That's the point...! I...I don't wanna be associated with them anymore. I decided to stand out, y'know? If you're gonna be a big shot, ya gotta stand out from the crowd!" He forced a laugh that sounded rather glitchy.

You didn't buy it. It wasn't like him to do this out of the blue.

"Spamton, why imitate Swatch of all people? And why out of the blue like this? I mean..I don't mind if you like their style. But I didn't even recognize you until you spoke."

Try as he might, he couldn't make any better excuses. So seeing that he was cornered made him finally admit his jealousy, overhearing your conversation with Swatch while he was browsing--when he really wasn't, but he didn't wanna come off as creepy.

His voice glitched further due to stress, accidentally blurting out some kind of...flirtatious term as he explained how much you meant to him since day one.

You weren't sure if he meant to say "hot single" on purpose. Though you were flattered that such a famous guy like him...actually had a crush on you, an ordinary Darkner who just fetched the Queen's stick wherever she threw it.

You found it hard to believe he thought of you that way..so you kept your own feelings buried. So to see that it's mutual was a relief, and it made you smile.

Spamton, on the other hand, was stressing the hell out. So much so he didn't even see your smile. He just saw himself being stupid the more he rambled on.

It was such a stupid, stupid reason to get insecure--to the point of changing his entire appearance without warning. All because you were friends with a butler who was doing their job???

How selfish can he get when he already had everything he wanted and more?

When he did acknowledge your small smile, he thought you were holding yourself back from laughing. But you had every right to laugh and call him a joke for thinking this will get your attention.

As he finished talking, he could see your smile fade and huffed. He waited for you to tell him how stupid he looks and to go back to being the plain old Addison you met.

Instead of ridiculing him you...hugged him?

At this point you were sitting on the bed together. Of course yours wasn't as massive as his was, but it was big enough for you two to share.

"Spammy, I'm flattered you like me in that way but...you didn't have to do all of this to get my attention. I promise there's nothing going on between Swatch and I. We're just friends. They're not replacing you or anything."

"I know, it's just.." Taking off the glasses, he set them aside before hugging you tightly, head buried in your chest. "I don't wanna lose the only person in this damn place who makes me feel like myself. Who loves me for me, not my success. And...I-I felt like I had to change something about myself to make sure of that."

"Well..you don't need to change anymore. I love you no matter what you look like."

He blinked, his face turning as red as his cheeks.

You could sense his embarrassment from the way he tensed up in your arms and chuckled, patting his hair softly. "Just..don't feel pressured to change for me..or anybody for that matter, okay? Or at least let me know if you're gonna change things up again."

"You don't think..I look stupid or creepy like this?"

"No. Honestly you look pretty handsome. Black hair suits you well."

Hearing those words made him breathe a small sigh of relief. He nodded and hugged you tighter.

His new looks were staying for good.

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Someone Else (I'm Still Right Here)

also on ao3

minor warning for Geralt coming on to Jask when he doesn't know who he is, but nothing comes from it. 

 They've hardly been in town long enough for anything to go wrong and yet, Jaskier finds his thoughts interrupted by banging on the door of their room. If it was Geralt, he would simply let himself in even if he didn't have his hands free to open the door properly, so it must be important. Jaskier rises from the bed, setting his lute aside with a sigh. He detests being interrupted while he's working for anything less than an emergency - and judging by the fact that the knock hasn't come again, this is hardly an emergency.

He saunters to the door, pulling it open to find the face of the innkeeper's wife staring back at him anxiously.

"Sorry to interrupt," she says, "it's your Witcher, sir. Something's happened and no one is... well, they're all afraid to get too close to him. They called in the healer from the next town, but-"

Jaskier frowns. The contract was for a pair of drowners, not even a nest of the damn things. Geralt could have taken them out in his sleep - so what went so terribly wrong?

Jaskier lets himself be led downstairs, doing his best to mask worry with intrigue, but it isn't working. The innkeeper's wife leads him to the edge of the forest where her husband is waiting, a look of pained concern on his face. Jaskier's stomach drops as the man just points into the trees, and he hurries forward without delay. If the people in town won't help Geralt, he will certainly do his best.

When he finds him, Geralt is in a bad state. His eyes are still dark from the potions - probably why the locals wouldn't come near - and there's blood streaked down the side of his face.

Jaskier stays quiet. It's bad enough that Geralt can hear his pulse racing, he doesn't need to make his fear any more obvious to him. He kneels down on the soft ground, assessing the damage before moving him. He's learned from experience that one wrong move can make a wound worse rather than better.

"Okay," he says once he's satisfied. "I'm just gonna pull this off," he taps on Geralt's left pauldron, "make sure your head is the only thing you banged up." Jaskier frowns as he says it, but Geralt seems, as usual, unconcerned. He's much better behaved than usual though, which strikes Jaskier as being particularly odd.

He ignores it and pushes through, tearing an already ripped piece of Geralt's shirt to wipe away some of the blood. Geralt will be grouchy about it later, but if Jaskier replaces it, he can't be too angry. He does his best to clean Geralt's skin and he finds just the one injury - a hefty blow to the head. Not that it seems to be bothering Geralt any.

But when Jaskier cups his jaw, tipping his head to one side, Geralt hums. It catches him off guard and Jaskier jerks back to look at him.

"Your hands feel nice," Geralt breathes and leans into the touch. Okay. So maybe the head injury is more serious than it appears. The innkeeper's wife said a healer was coming, Jaskier will mention it to them when they arrive. Or maybe it's just the blood loss. Either way, the healer will be better prepared to deal with it than he is.

"What are you doing here?" Geralt asks.

"The innkeeper's wife came to collect me. Figured someone ought to come and collect you."

"No one else would even get near me."

"Yes, well, I'm not everyone else, am I?"

"Hmm. Guess not."

Jaskier comes around to look at him, straddling his thighs and Geralt leans forward, resting his head on his shoulder and nuzzling into his neck.

"Yes yes," Jaskier hums, "I know you're tired, darling, but we have to get you up and back to town."

Geralt is reluctant, but he lets himself be hauled to his feet and doesn't even complain about Jaskier propping him up as they make their way back toward town. He's quiet, which is to be expected, but Jaskier is worried that he's keeping something from him, that he's worse off than he seems because Geralt seems quite happy to let himself be assisted - something he would regularly fight against.

As they make it back to the inn, Jaskier knows everyone is watching them and he scolds a couple of them for not offering to help when a man was injured. He takes Geralt up to their room and ducks out from under his arm, leaving him alone for a moment so he can get the fire lit and ready the bed for him. But before he can do either, he finds himself pressed up against the room door with Geralt's face mere inches from his own.

The dark veins and darker eyes are… sexier than they have any right to be and Jaskier swallows back a groan, pressing a gentle hand to Geralt's chest. The Witcher is still woozy and unsteady on his feet, but he resists being pressed back and Jaskier frowns at him.

"Mm, as much fun as this is, I doubt you'll think so highly of me in the morning, darling." Geralt smiles slyly and, for a split second, Jaskier worries that he's become Geralt's quarry, that the toxins running through Geralt's body are really as bad as he always claims they are and that he is, in fact, in real danger around him. But then Geralt leans in, bumping his nose against Jaskier's and any thoughts of fear dissipate immediately.

Instead, Jaskier ducks down and away, holding both arms out as Geralt follows him.

"Geralt," he asks, "what's gotten into you? Not that I mind, but-" he eyes him carefully and Geralt just grins at him again.

"Don't be coy with me, bard, this is what you brought me here for."

"Um. No? I brought you here to rest, to put you to bed not take you to bed, and find you something to eat. This is our room, Geralt, not my room. They only had one left and I didn't think you'd mind-"

"Our room?" Geralt interrupts and Jaskier nods. Worry creeps in and he looks closely at Geralt. His eyes are black still, though the veins are retreating and he seems brighter than usual, not so gloomy.

"Yes?"

"Why would we be sharing a room," Geralt huffs, "I've only just met you."

Jaskier gawks at him. It's not like Geralt to play games, that's Lambert's area of expertise - and this is stupid and obvious even for Lambert's tastes. But something is off about Geralt tonight. The worry turns to fear and Jaskier suddenly wonders if the man he's brought back is his Witcher at all.

He's never met a doppler, but he's heard Geralt tell stories about them. For the most part, they're harmless, but Jaskier suspects they can be paid or bribed like anyone else and the thought of a stranger here in the room with his things, with Geralt's things-

"I thought you wanted sex," maybe-Gealt says again, slightly confused but not at all dissuaded. Normally Jaskier would take it as a compliment that he was still so enthusiastic about fucking him, but this feels very, very wrong. And yet a part of him still considers it.

If it is a doppler, there's no harm really. He's consenting and Jaskier is more than happy to fuck a man with Geralt's face (he doesn't think too much about how that will affect him after it's fine). Right? But there's still a nagging feeling that this isn't a doppler. He'd know, he thinks, if he brought someone else home with him.

"Can you just-" he says, backing up toward the bed where his bag is sitting on the floor. Maybe-Geralt just watches him with confusion as he crouches down and pulls his dagger from his pack.

It's just a little thing, but it's pure silver, gifted to him by Geralt in case of emergency.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Jaskier says, holding it out, "I just need you to touch this."

Maybe-Geralt gives him a questioning look but reaches out and takes the dagger from him, turning it over in his hand. Nothing happens.

"Hmm," he says, "nice weight, well made. A little decorative maybe-"

"Doesn't hurt?" Jaskier asks and maybe-Geralt, who is seeming more and more like just Geralt laughs.

"Not unless you stab someone with it."

Jaskier valiantly ignores the little smirk and shuts his eyes.

"Okay," he says, "start at the beginning, what do you remember?"

"I… woke up in the forest and then you showed up," he smiles at him and Jaskier is already preparing a refusal.

"Listen, Geralt, I am your friend and you would probably even argue that-"

"How come? You're very handsome and you've been helpful and kind-"

"But it's not like that, Geralt. It never has been. I offered once and you were… less than impressed with me." Geralt says nothing and Jaskier takes the opportunity to reign the conversation in. "Can I clean you up now? Something is obviously wrong and we have to get you to a doctor."

"They said a healer was coming."

"I was thinking of someone a little more professional," Jaskier says and Geralt gives him a look. "We have a mutual friend who may be able to help. But for now, you've got me and I'd like to take a look at that wound."

Geralt relents and Jaskier finally succeeds in getting him sat on the bed without Geralt trying to come on to him again. He pulls Geralt's hair back and ties it out of his face, it'll need to be washed later, but he's not going to try and explain how it's fine for him to wash his hair but not fuck him right now.

The wound itself it's so bad, a bit swollen, a bit bruised, but the actual gash is small and very manageable. He cleans it first with water and then with vodka and applies a good amount of salve. He doesn't know which herbs Geralt combines for a poultice, so he bypasses that for the time being; when he gets him to Shani if the wound isn't healed on its own, she'll be able to tend to it.

He finds linen wrap at the bottom of his bag and presses it to Geralt's forehead, gently wrapping it around and tying it at his temple.

"Should be good for now. I'll go down and have supper brought up. Do you want a bath?"

"No. Thank you."

"Alright. Just… stay here, I'll be back."

As soon as the bedroom door is shut, Jaskier closes his eyes, but he waits until he reaches the main floor to lean against the wall and sigh. He has no idea what he's going to do. He never thought he'd be sad to see the day Geralt tried to get him into bed, but it feels so wrong. He'd rather spend the rest of his life failing to impress Geralt than spend another five minutes with him like this.

He takes his time ordering food, half-hoping that Geralt will be asleep by the time he gets back to the room, but their supper is ready quickly and Jaskier reluctantly takes it back up to their room, setting the tray on the table beside the bed.

Geralt at least spares him conversation while they eat and then Jaskier sets the dishes aside and strips out of his clothes for bed, already dreading having to share a bed. He keeps his shorts on and waits until Geralt is already in bed before climbing in after him.

The fire is burning low already, so he's not worried about it, but he blows out the candle beside the bed and pulls the blankets up over himself. He faces out into the room, preferring not to see Geralt right now. It feels weird to want to avoid him and it makes his chest ache because this is Geralt, but it's not. He just wants his Geralt back.

He shuts his eyes and tries to sleep but Geralt is cuddly like this, shifting closer and pressing up against him. He gets an arm around Jaskier's waist and Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut. It's everything he thinks about during the long nights sleeping around a campfire, but he can't let himself give into it. But it feels good because it's Geralt's arm around him, Geralt's chest pressed to his back, Geralt's breath against his neck. He very nearly whines because it's so damn unfair.

But then Geralt's lips press against the back of his neck and a little gasp escapes his lips, unintentionally. He ignores it the first time, but then he does it again and when he shifts closer, Jaskier can feel the length of his cock pressing against his ass. And fuck, that's hard to turn down, but Jaskier wrenches himself out of Geralt's arms.

"I can't," he whispers, unconvincing even to himself.

"You want it, though," Geralt hums, "I can smell it on you."

"Maybe," Jaskier confesses, "but not like this. Not when you don't know who I am. Not when fucking any other person in this place would be the same for you. I can't, Geralt. Go to sleep."

Jaskier hates how disappointed Geralt sounds when he pulls away, but he doesn't try again and Jaskier almost finds himself wishing he would. He tugs the blanket a little tighter around himself and pulls his knees to his chest, trying to force back the fear that he might not get his Geralt back.

In the morning, Geralt wakes first and Jaskier is relieved to find himself alone in bed, although he worries about where Geralt has gotten to. But when he drags himself out of bed, he finds Geralt packed and ready to go with a hearty breakfast waiting for him.

"What's all this?" Jaskier asks, "trying to get away from me all of a sudden?" It comes out more bitter than he intends and he winces at the tone of his own voice.

"You were so sad, last night," Geralt says quietly. "I don't know how to fix this, how to remember you, but I thought you'd want to get started early. I had breakfast brought up." He offers a soft smile, gesturing to the food and Jaskier's heart flip-flops.

"Oh. Thank you."

"I've eaten. Take your time and we can leave when you're finished."

"Right."

Geralt just sits on the bed while Jaskier eats his breakfast and contemplates the fact that this is still his Geralt, as much as it doesn't seem like it. His own things are still ready to go and he has no idea who to go to to collect the reward for the drowners, but it couldn't have been much anyway, so he's not worried about it. Geralt won't be pleased about it when he remembers himself, but there's only so much Jaskier knows how to handle and he wants to get Geralt to Shani as quickly as possible.

They head out mid-morning, and Geralt insists on letting Jaskier ride, which is… nice, in a concerning way. Roach is equally confused and concerned, but Jaskier does his best to comfort her. Thankfully, they aren't far from Oxenfurt or Jaskier isn't sure how he would cope.

Geralt walks alongside him, happy enough apparently to let Jaskier ride. He hums as they travel, a low wonderful sound that had Jaskier's heart fluttering, but it tears him in two because the song is his which means Geralt does remember something, but he's also so sad to see him this calm and relaxed knowing his goal is to take that away from him.

For now, he won't say anything, will just let Geralt enjoy the journey. When and if they find a way to get his memory back, he'll explain everything and give Geralt the chance to decline if he wishes. The selfish part of him hopes he doesn't.

They carry on in much the same way, but even when Geralt talks, Jaskier struggles to find it in himself to be too enthusiastic about anything. He's already in a difficult spot and he just wants to get through this, whatever the outcome. But it's obvious Geralt notices and that he's trying to distract him from it.

Jaskier tries to cheer up a little, if only for him, but he finds it difficult because he knows Geralt can tell how he's really feeling. But Jaskier appreciates the effort, either way.

"Remind me where we're going?" Geralt asks and Jaskier realizes he hasn't told him, Geralt just trusted him not to be leading him towards certain death.

"To Oxenfurt," he says, trying to sound cheerful, "it's one of my favourite places on the continent. I have a friend who practices medicine, she should be able to help."

"You don't have to pretend for me. I know you're sad, I know you miss him. Me. I wish I could give you your friend back."

Jaskier's heart clenches and he takes a steadying breath. "I'm fine," he says, "and I can't miss him, he's you and you're right here." He feels odd, like he's talking to a child, but Geralt just smiles at him, softly but like he doesn't believe him. Jaskier wouldn't either, he's never been good at lying to Geralt.

There's a heavy silence that falls after that and for some time they continue forward unspeaking. Jaskier twitches to feel the silence, to sing or talk to something just to keep from thinking that Geralt is upset with him. Then, abruptly, Geralt speaks.

"What kind of man am I?" Jaskier doesn't even have to think to answer that.

"You're kind," he says, "more than anyone gives you credit for. You always try to take the less violent route, even though your job is to kill monsters. You're generous and loving and you care so deeply for your friends and family."

He pauses for a moment, swallowing a lump in his throat. Because he's not included in that group. He knows Geralt must care for him, but not in the way he loves Eskel or Lambert, or even in the way his friendship with Shani or Zoltan comes so easily to him. Next to him, Geralt is silent for a moment and then.

"Jaskier are you-" Jaskier shuts his eyes, dreading whatever is coming next. "Do you love me?"

"Of course I do," he says, forcing cheeriness into his voice, "You're my best friend."

"But it's more than that, isn't it?"

"Geralt-"

"I know I don't really know you, but I… think I love you, too."

"Geralt, don't say that," Jaskier shuts his eyes tightly, "you can't know that."

"I feel it."

Jaskier wants to scream. It's so unfair to hear those words from Geralt's mouth and know they’re not true. He pushes Roach a little quicker forward, but Geralt stops him.

Roach comes to a full stop and Jaskier grows frowns at Geralt as he comes to stand next to him. Geralt raised a hand up, cupping his jaw and guiding him downward.

"I feel like you won't hear it from me again, so I love you." He's soft, almost breathless, and when he stretches up to kiss him, Jaskier doesn't stop him.

It's just soft, no urgency, no want for something more than just a kiss and Jaskier can't help but lean into it just a little. Because those are Geralt's hands on him, Geralt's mouth against his own, soft and slow.

But Geralt moans softly against him and Jaskier remembers himself with a start. He pulls back from the Witcher, almost unseating himself, but Geralt steadies him.

"I'm sorry," he breathes, "I can't, it's not fair-"

"To me?" Geralt asks and there's sadness behind the humour in his voice.

"Yes."

After that, they spend the rest of the day in silence and Jaskier feels bad for Geralt - he can't imagine losing his memory and not knowing who he is - but he can't stand the fruitless hope. Because Geralt doesn't love him, he's made it known that they're not friends and how could Jaskier hope for more when he can't even attain friendship?

Then again, the man walking next to him now still is Geralt. He doesn't feel like Geralt and he doesn't act like Geralt, but he is. Jaskier isn't sure how people usually react when they lose their memories, so he doesn't have a basis to judge by, but it is still Geralt.

When they stop for the night, Geralt sleeps close enough to keep him warm but doesn't cuddle up like he did the night before and Jaskier hates himself for it. Maybe Geralt has a chance here at a new life, one where he can be happy and not weighed down by the memory of his childhood. And if he does, if he wants it, who is Jaskier to deny him that?

He's not sure he could be a part of it, though. Even thinking about him now, wishing Geralt would come a little closer, curl an arm around his middle, he feels like he's betraying his friend, betraying the old Geralt as the case may be.

Either way, he'll get Geralt to Oxenfurt so they can speak to Shani and see if there's anything that can be done. If there's not, he doesn't have to worry about making the decision to leave or stay, but if there is- If there is a chance Geralt can regain his memories, Jaskier has to let him make that choice alone and then make his own depending on what Geralt wants.

They reach Oxenfurt a few days later after what feels like a month-long journey and Jaskier is just glad to be somewhere warm where he can have his own room and not have to worry about wanting to be close. He leads them immediately to the inn and rents two separate rooms. It's fairly costly and he's reminded of the reason they needed to take the last contract, but he could be in Oxenfurt for a while depending on how this goes and he'll be able to pick up work easily enough.

Jaskier heads up to his room and makes sure Geralt gets settled, then he heads down and orders food and a bath up to Geralt's room before heading out to find Shani.

The first place he looks is the hospital, but the nurse working informs him that Shani has her own clinic now and she's located near the centre of town. Jaskier thanks her and doubles back, following the directions she'd given. Shani's clinic is tucked between two other buildings and Jaskier knocks before entering. There's no one inside but it's only a moment before Shani emerges from a back room, the neutral look on her face quickly growing into a smile. When Jaskier doesn't return the gesture she frowns.

"I take it this isn't a personal visit," she says and Jaskier can feel something inside him slip. He shakes his head.

"No, I'm sorry. I- we need your help."

"Geralt?" she asks and the last bit of his self-control gives way and he chokes on a sob. "Hey," she says, "come sit down."

Shani guides him to a back room and sits him down on a plush soft, surprisingly nice for a medical clinic. She shuts and locks the door behind them and sits next to him.

"What's wrong?"

"It's Geralt," he chokes, "hes'-" he takes a deep breath, swallowing back another sob. "Shani, he doesn't know who he is. He doesn't know who I am."

"Oh. What happened?"

"I wasn't there. I just- they came to get me because no one else would get near him. It was just supposed to be a drowner contract but he got hit in the head or something. I don't know what to do."

"Where is he now?"

"Back at the inn."

"Here?" she asks. Jaskier nods. "Why don't you take me to him, I'll take a look."

"I- I don't know if he'll want to be fixed? He came with me but Shani, he seems happy."

"Why don't we go and see him first. We'll figure out what's wrong before worrying too much, hm?" Jaskier agrees and Shani packs a bag and they head for the inn.

They find Geralt in his room, having eaten and bathed and he looks good. He's got his hair down around his shoulders and he's shirtless and Jaskier has to avert his eyes. He takes a seat in the corner and lets Shani introduce herself and asks to look him over. Jaskier stays quiet and watches cautiously as Geralt easily lets Shani look him over. Once she's finished with his body, she examines his head.

"Well," she says at last, "you obviously took a pretty hefty blow to your head, but the good news is it should be simple to reverse the memory loss."

"Good," Geralt says quickly. He spares a glance for Jaskier before turning back to Shani. "What do we have to do?"

"It's simple really, just a shock to your system should do it. I have a friend who can help."

As Shani goes into the details, Jaskier tunes out. He hears something about neurons, but he's more concerned about getting Geralt alone for a couple of minutes before he makes a decision. He loves Geralt, wants nothing more than for him to be happy, so he wants him to go into this knowing everything Jaskier can tell him.

"Can we have a moment Shani?" he asks and Geralt looks at him as Shani nods and ducks out of the room.

"You want to do it?" Jaskier asks and Geralt nods.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"You're happier like this," Jaskier whispers, "Geralt, I've never seen you this relaxed. In twenty years, you've always been miserable. I just- I want you to make an informed decision."

"You say you want me to be happy," Geralt says, "but since I told you I didn't know who you were you've been so sad. How is it fair for me to be happy like you say when you're still suffering." He tips Jaskier's chin up with two fingers and looks into his eyes. "What I said before, I wasn't lying. I don't know where all these feelings are coming from but I know you are so important to me."

He pulls up a smile and Jaskier knows how this is going to end. And he'll be happy to have his Geralt back, but know him like this? To know this Geralt wants him, even in some weird, imaginary way? He doesn't know how he'll be able to continue.

"Okay," Jaskier relents. "I just… wanted you to know what you were getting into."

"I'm sure it can't be all bad. I have you."

Jaskier's heart clenches, but he doesn't get another chance to speak because Shani enters the room. Thankfully, Geralt has stopped touching him, but he's still close and she gives Jaskier a look.

"I put out a call to my friend," she says, holding up a box that looks vaguely familiar. "Xenovox," she explains, "Marilla is a mage. She should be here in the morning."

It's late afternoon now, so that means spending another night at the inn and Jaskier is torn. On the one hand, he wants Geralt to be back to normal, but on the other- he's selfish and he wants Geralt like this. He wants so badly to have anything and- no. No, he can't.

Shani leaves them shortly after assuring Jaskier that it will be alright, that Geralt will be fine. He wishes these were better circumstances, that they had come to visit Shani instead of asking for her help, but she waves him off with a smile.

"Come and visit when things are back to normal," she says, "I'll see you in the morning."

Jaskier sees her off and then returns to the room to find Geralt sitting on the edge of the bed, contemplating. He's still shirtless and Jaskier finds it hard to look at him directly. He sits in the bed next to him, hands folded in his lap.

"Well," Geralt says, "we have the night. Things will be different after I get my memory back, right?" He turns, reaching out to cup Jaskier's cheek. "Be with me tonight," he breathes, "just for tonight, let me take care of you while I have the chance."

Jaskier huffs a humourless laugh. "That's the problem, you always have the chance, but you never want to take it."

"Then let me now," he hums and his hand falls to Jaskier's thigh.

And it's so tempting. Because Geralt is right here offering everything he's ever wanted, if only for a night. But this is not the Geralt he fell in love with. This is not truly his Geralt's consent. When Jaskier looks up, it's obvious that Geralt knows his answer before he even speaks.

"I'm an idiot," he says softly, "to not jump at the chance to be with you. If I don't remember tomorrow, I want you to know you're important to me." Jaskier nods weakly, but he can't find the words. "Maybe we should turn in early? We have a long day tomorrow, I think."

Jaskier nods and he lets Geralt pull him down to the bed and tonight, he lets himself be held, curls into Geralt's hold and presses his nose into his neck. He doesn't let himself think, just buries himself in Geralt's scent, so warm and familiar and shuts off his mind.

Jaskier awakes to a knock on the door and realizes he's still in his clothes from yesterday. Geralt answers the door to Shani and Marilla, and Jaskier is only just climbing out of bed when they come into the room. He gets a look from Shani, but if she's feeling any particular kind of way about finding him in Geralt's bed, she doesn't say anything.

The actual process doesn't take any time at all. Marilla comes in and does something to Geralt, what she does is unclear but he falls unconscious and Jaskier panics at first, but Shani holds him back.

"Sorry," she says, "I should have warned you."

Jaskier does his best to make Geralt comfortable in the bed and he leaves with the two women to let him sleep. He thanks Marilla desperately and asks her to stay until he wakes, but she tells him she has other business to attend to and after dipping down to kiss Shani briefly, she disappears down the stairs.

"Friend, huh?" Jaskier asks and Shani smiles at him.

"Don't try to change the subject."

"Actually, can I ask you about something?"

"Of course. Why don't we get a drink, he could be out for a couple of hours."

They head down to the common area and Shani orders them a pair of drinks while Jaskier finds a table out of the way. He's never understood why Geralt likes corner tables, but right now he gets it. He doesn't want anyone to talk to him and he just wants to be able to sit and drink with Shani.

When she returns, she slides his drink across to him and slips into her seat.

"What did you want to ask about?"

"Uh," Jaskier starts, turning his mug in his hands, "when I first took Geralt back to our room, just after he was hurt. He tried to kiss me. He… thought I was bringing him back there to fuck him."

"Oh."

"You don't sound surprised."

"I'm not, really. I'm surprised he acted on it, but-"

"What does that mean?"

"Geralt doesn't have any brain damage," Shani explains, "something just… got knocked loose, so to speak. He was still him, Jaskier. His thoughts, his feelings? That was all him, Jask."

"You're telling me-" abruptly, the memory of Geralt telling him he loved him comes back to him and his mouth goes dry. "You're telling me that was just him?"

"Mmhm. Without all the baggage and self-loathing."

"I don't- he can't- if he wanted me that way, I would know."

"Would you?" Shani asks, "because I think you would be the last person to know. Wait till he wakes up, talk to him."

"Yeah, I know. Thanks, Shani, for this and for everything."

"Happy to help."

They finish their drinks and Shani heads home. Jaskier thanks her again and promises to visit when things are better and waits until she's gone before heading back up to Geralt's room.

The first thing Geralt knows when he wakes up, is a pain in his head. He blinks awake to find himself in a bed in a nondescript inn. A better look around finds Jaskier asleep in a chair next to him, but he stirs as Geralt sits up and then he's scrambling to pass Geralt a mug of water.

He feels woozy, but Jaskier's presence soothes him; he knows from experience that Jaskier would never let anything happen to him and is willing to risk his own health and safety to assure it. There's no one else he'd rather see upon waking. But he doesn't remember falling asleep. The last thing he remembers is taking a hit and stumbling away from the scene.

"Geralt?" Jaskier asks gently. He looks up and the first thing he notices when he looks at Jaskier is how sad he is. The emotion wafts off of him, but Geralt doesn't need his heightened sense of smell to be able to tell.

"What's wrong?" he mumbles, his voice thick.

"Tell me what you remember. From the start."

Geralt thinks back, going through the events of the hunt, none of which are very interesting until he was thrown into a tree. Water hag, he remembers, chucked mud and blinded him. Then he's stumbling away, all three monsters dead and then- fuck.

His gaze snaps up to Jaskier's face, looking for any sign of recognition, but he remains eerily calm, even as Geralt recollects kissing him, pressing him up against a wall and- fuck, what was he thinking? The more he thinks about it, the more comes back to him, but in bits and pieces.

Kissing him, touching him, pressing up against him in bed. The memories are all foggy, scattered, but they feel too real to have been a dream. But Jaskier shows no signs of being assaulted by him.

"I'm-" he starts, but sorry doesn't feel like it's enough. Jaskier is open with his affections, but he wouldn't be okay with that.

Geralt tries to push himself up, to get out of bed and away from Jaskier because he can't stand the thought of doing something like that. He can't remember why he did, but the more he thinks about it, the more real it feels.

"Geralt," Jaskier says firmly, "I'm not mad. But I think we need to talk if you're up for it."

He doesn't want to talk to Jaskier. He would rather find out from someone else, he can't bear to hear the words from Jaskier. And he knows Shani was there. Shani and another woman who he didn't recognize.

"Where's Shani?" he asks.

"She's gone home, darling. Are you hungry? Can I get you anything?"

Geralt looks up at him and he feels hopeless. Jaskier is exhausted, he can see the bags under his eyes, the dark circles. And he doesn't seem any less sad than he did initially. It doesn't take much to realize what happened.

"I'm sorry," Geralt mumbles, "about what I did- when I kissed you, I-"

Jaskier stops, already halfway toward the door and sighs deeply, stopping in his tracks before turning around.

"Okay," he says, "we're talking about this now, then." He comes back and seats himself on the end of the bed, facing him. "Tell me exactly what you remember, Geralt."

"I remember taking the contract, fighting off the drowners - and a water hag - got mud in my eyes, stumbled and something hit me, threw me into a tree. Probably one of the drowners pushed me. I took them out, started back toward town but I must have passed out, the next thing I remember is-"

"Me."

"Yeah. You took me back to our room, I thought you were- I thought you wanted sex."

"I know, you were fairly adamant about that."

"Fuck. Jaskier I'm sorry-"

"You didn't know who I was. If a handsome stranger took me back to his room, I'd think the same. When you didn't know who I was I was… terrified. I didn't know if I'd get you back." They're both silent for a moment and then Jaskier prompts him to continue.

"I remember that. I remember talking to you," he lowers his eyes, "I told you I loved you, I don't know why." Immediately Jaskier's sadness intensifies and he catches it in the twitch of his lip, the way he glances away.

"You asked if I was in love with you," Jaskier explains, "and told me you loved me. What else do you remember?"

"I remember asking you to- suggesting we- I propositioned you. And I remember being in bed- Jaskier, did we-?" He can't imagine anything worse than sleeping with Jaskier while he's not himself, than having the chance to be with him and not truly being present in the moment.

Because he certainly won't have another chance, especially not now that he's gone and muddled things up.

"No," Jaskier confirms and for the first time a small smile tugs at his lips, "not that you didn't try. But It didn't feel right. I knew when you had your memories back, you'd hate me for it and I couldn't-"

"I could never hate you," Geralt interrupts, "if anything I'd hate myself for pushing you into it."

"No," Jaskier says, shaking his head, "Geralt you don't understand. I wanted to. I wanted so badly to just say yes last night when you asked me. I tried to work it around in some way that you wouldn't hate me for taking advantage, but every time I just feel terrible to even think about it. The reason I didn't sleep with you is because I couldn't bear the thought of fucking you when it wasn't really you. Because I didn't want him, even if he was you. I wanted- I want this you."

"You do," Geralt snorts, "someone who throws himself at his friend because he doesn't remember, someone who tells him he loves him unprompted-"

"Do you think," Jaskier suggests, and it's clear by the look on his face that he's considering his words very carefully. "That maybe what you said to me and what you did- what you offered," he corrects quickly, "was because you do have feelings for me?" His voice shakes just faintly and Geralt can smell the anxiousness coming off of him.

It's cloying, overwhelming and it mingles with the scent of sadness and fear and just the faintest hint of something hopeful.

"It's just that Shani said there was nothing wrong with your mind, it was still you in there when you asked, when you said that." Jaskier looks up at him and Geralt feels years of emotion welling up inside him and he doesn't know how to hold it back any longer, not what Jaskier is asking him outright.

"Jaskier, I-" he takes a deep breath, focuses on a mark on the blanket between them. "I don't remember everything. But I did mean what I said. I do… I love you," he whispers, "I didn't want you to think less of me or," he glances up and Jaskier's eyes are shiny like he's trying not to cry. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean for you to find out like this."

"I'm not sad," Jaskier says, "Geralt, I have been following you around for half my life, caring for you, singing about you and you didn't think for maybe a moment that I could love you back?"

"You-" Geralt stumbles over his words as Jaskier's confession sinks in. "You sleep with everyone. Everyone but-"

"You don't even call me friend, Geralt. Why would I try and take you to bed with me thinking you don't care enough to call me your friend?"

"Oh."

"Oh? You didn't consider that?"

"You're not my friend," Geralt says, by way of explanation, "but you're not a lover, either. You're not a brother. Not a comrade. I don't know what you are."

"Oh."

"But you could be… a lover?" the word feels strangely heavy in his mouth and he nearly regrets saying it at all until he sees the way Jaskier's eyes light up. A smile tugs at Geralt's lips and he leans forward, reaching out to take Jaskier's hand, tentatively turning it over.

"Jaskier," he whispers, "can I kiss you?" A wide grin spreads across his face and Jaskier tips forward toward him.

"Darling, I thought you'd never ask."

[sichengtual]

baby, i'm yours | jh. s

— summary: johnny might still not know much about life on earth, but he knows one thing: you're what makes it worth it.

— pairing: johnny suh x reader.

— genre: fluff; demon!johnny, wizard!reader, magic café, part of the love potion universe!

— word count: 1,439 (1.4k)

— warnings: none.

— song: just like heaven — the cure.

— a/n: a gift for the bestest bestie ever, @svtxsoju! i'm proud of you today, tomorrow, and every single day for the rest of time! 💞

There are a million things that Johnny loves about life on earth. They’re so many, he can’t even begin to count them with his fingers.

Sometimes, when it’s late at night and he’s tired after a long day of work, he looks up at his ceiling and tries to think of them as bullet points inside his mind: the way the sunlight seeps in through the big windows of the café every morning, breaking past the curtains and reflecting upon the delicate leaves of the hundreds of plants he’s set to tend to day by day. Your laugh whenever Lucas tells a dumb joke, traveling through the space and into his ears, coming inside his head as the most beautiful song he’s ever heard. The calmness and steadiness of a Sunday morning spent in bed. Your voice on the other side of the phone. The foam that collects at the top of his freshly-brewed morning coffee. The warmth of your body on his skin when you accidentally bump into him while walking past.

Johnny has known, from the very first time he saw you, that he’s in love with you. He had been brought down by accident, a failed spell from Kunhang’s book summoning him right as he was about a chess match against Jaehyun, one of his best friends. In the days he had arrived on earth, he still couldn’t believe such a clueless wizard could have summoned him, a powerful demon, without even meaning to, but once he met you, he started wondering if maybe fate had played a part.

He’d always found it funny — a demon, believing in fate? He’d believe in anything as long as anything meant you.

“It’s good the weather kind of picked up,” you say as you walk up the steps that lead to the rooftop. “If you had planned on taking me out there in the rain, I think I would have asked Kunhang to brew you a duck transformation potion.”

Johnny gasps, (harshly and loudly) slapping a hand to his chest. He’s walking right behind you, and you can almost feel the warmth of his breath against your neck.

“Quack,” Johnny breathes out, giggling.

It had been completely unexpected; Friday night, you had been drinking a cup of peach-infused tea as Lucas and Johnny set to clean up the kitchen after a long day, when the latter had held your hand and walked off with you following behind. He kept saying he had a surprise prepared for you, something to celebrate the news you had just received a little earlier, and although he wouldn’t budge in telling you what it was, his freshly ironed black button-up gave you an important clue.

“You should have told me I had to dress up nice,” you say, breathing out a little more relaxed once you’re able to see the door leading to the rooftop up ahead. “I’m in jeans!”

“I’m also in jeans, baby,” Johnny laughs. He reaches up, placing a palm on the small of your back, fishing the keys from his pocket with his free hand. “And anyway, you look as beautiful as ever.”

You don’t answer, too focused on the fact that the closer you get to the door, the more you can hear music playing faintly — except the more you walk, the louder the sound becomes. Is Johnny playing Baekhyun’s Candy?

“Now, close your eyes,” Johnny whispers as soon as you reach the last step. He leans against you to open the door, and you catch a wisp of his cologne when you hear the keys dangle loudly. “Don’t peek! It’s a surprise!”

“Johnny, we’re here already!” You say, but you oblige, closing your eyes just as Johnny twists the doorknob so you can walk outside. “Okay, just tell me when you can open them. I don’t want to bump against a wall or something.”

“I wouldn’t let you,” he whispers against your ear as he helps guide your steps. “Ivy would never forgive me… which means Kunhang would probably bewitch me when I’m showering or something.”

A gust of air meets your face as soon as you step outside. Senses are immediately overwhelmed, and you try to make sense of everything you’re feeling, but it all comes together to simply send your heart on a frenzy before Johnny can even give you the green light to finally see what his surprise is all about.

You try to piece everything together; the music playing from a speaker nearby, the sweet smell that resembles freshly-baked pastries, the city sounds rising from the back and mixing in with the music, the feeling of Johnny’s hand on your back.

“You can open your eyes now.”

And you’re not completely sure what you’re seeing is real. It’s like a scene that has just come out of a movie, or a dream, because the more you see, the more you’re convinced that what you’re seeing is romanticism brought to life. The rooftop, deeper than it is wider, is covered in multiple series of fairy lights that hang from side to side, completely illuminating the entire space. There’s a table and a couple of chairs set near one of the furthest corners, and every single centimeter next to the edges of the rooftop are all traced with tall, colorful bougainvillea bushes. Next to the table stands a bar that’s decked with food and drinks; you can’t quite make out all of the dishes and concoctions that await you, but the mix of smells that reach you don’t fail to make your mouth water.

“Johnny,” you whisper, spinning slowly to make sure you catch every single detail. A rose bouquet rests in the middle of the table, and you can feel your voice threatening to break when you begin to speak. “You did all of this?”

“Had to celebrate my baby,” he says, quickly pecking your cheek as he moves to walk in front of you. “It’s not everyday you get offered to co-own the café, is it?”

Taking your hand in his, he guides you over to the table, and the song changes to a soft Ariana Grande tune when you finally reach it.

“Still, I can’t believe you actually pulled this together, I’m just ​​— when did you even have the time?”

“The boys helped earlier today,” Johnny winks, moving so he can pull the chair back for you to sit. He’s decided to top the surprise by being the textbook definition of a gentleman, and you don’t miss the slight smile on his face when he sits down in front of you. “You would have thought I paid them, with how excited they were setting the lights up and everything.”

“What, you didn’t pay them? Kunhang helped you for free?”

“Yeah, something about loving love, or whatever,” he waves a hand in the air. “Lucas though, he still owed me for last week’s pizza.”

“You owe me for last week’s pizza, you punk!”

“I thought the kisses made up for it!”

The world stops when you begin laughing, time hanging from your mouth in a delicate thread that threatens to break if only disturbed ever so slightly. It’s almost like earth spins solely for and because of you, its rhythm finding and matching yours. He knows his world does, at least, and that’s all he cares about.

“I’m really grateful for this, you know?” You say. “For everything. For this, for you being there, for you feeling proud of me when I don’t even know what I’m doing half of the time. All I know is you’re there, next to me, and that’s anchoring enough… even when you join Kunhang’s TikTok recordings instead of actually helping me manage the café.”

“Baby, there will never be a day where I’m not feeling proud of you. Of everything you do and everything you are. I love my life here simply because I love you being in it.”

In that moment, standing on the colorful rooftop of the café, Johnny can’t help but notice everything around him, and remember some of the things that are not. Everything that make you and him, you and him. Your smile as you look up to the sky. The sound of water bubbling up inside the kettle. The feeling of your hand on his. The smell of freshly baked raspberry pastries. The weight of your head coming to rest over his shoulder.

The sound of his beating heart, thumping loudly against his chest the moment a smile breaks upon his face.

“And come on, deep down, you know you also want to join Kunhang’s TikTok recordings.”

There are a million things that Johnny loves about life on earth. On that list, you’re always number one.

[akumaalert]

not a request just sharing bc i couldn't stop thinking of just "what if lucky called heis good boy" like how he calls her good girl sometimes but like.. i'm pretty sure he would break

This was supposed to be a mini-fic....but...uh....it'll likely be the first chapter of "Divergence" instead LMAO But hope you enjoy!

Good Boy

Karl Heisenberg x Reader, Explicit

CW: Masturbation, Accidental Voyeurism, Voyeurism, Happy Ending, Virgin!Karl Heisenberg

An AU happening during chapter 19 of "Heavy Metal Lover" but can be read without reading the main story.

"Unfh..."

That had been the first noise from Lucky besides the scratch of a pencil against paper that he had heard in about an hour.

Stuck in his office with her as he searched for a misplaced - not lost, just misplaced! - core schematic, Heisenberg tried to ignore the nagging thought of how domestic the space had become. Lucky never moved his things - something he was infinitely grateful for. He could recall too well his ever boiling frustration at having his room "cleaned" when living in the castle. The maids were well-meaning, but always adjusting. The room he had held would have felt more his own had he been able to move his own furniture around without the chambermaids fawning over him.

"No, no, young Lord Heisenberg! This is all wrong...off you go...go play...we will fix this mess."

Now on his own and in his element of chaos, he felt comforted, even if secretly so, that Lucky never seemed to complain.

Comforted...but cautious.

The day at the stronghold seemed stamped into his memory...right in the front for all to see. It remained a wonder Lucky didn't see it on his face.

The knowledge.

The horrible, horrible knowledge.

Love.

Staring at an old newspaper clip-out that he had saved with a picture of a modern car on its faded pages, he absently pushed the glasses back up his nose.

It tired him - the constant need to flip back and forth between acknowledging his feelings and thrusting them as far down as he could manage. Drowning them out with that beautiful sound of cinching machinery. Allowing them to seep into him with every laugh from her lips.

Heisenberg was starting to fall in love with the woman. The woman he had failed to kill - the lucky one to survive his maze. The woman his mother expected him to impregnate in order for Miranda's mad vessel to be born and to be killed all in the name of misery.

Misery otherwise known as Eva.

Slowly but certainly, Lucky was driving him insane. Reminding him of things he could never, ever have. Teasing him over and over for days on end.

Heisenberg remembered all too well his reason for entering the office. He had nearly sliced his own arm clean off his shoulder when he lost himself to his situation. To the possibility that, despite his body being so ill-suited for the task, Lucky could have his child. Would want his child. His thoughts, as they so often did, snapped back to the need for freedom - for the need for the arms to come loose from his latest corpse to transform them into one of his many soldiers.

But the more he thought of freedom, the more she sat in the background of his mind.

The more she sat there, the more his tired musings began to stitch together.

The more freedom and Lucky - the two dreams of his world - became intertwined.

He had been thinking of her - of Lucky - beside him the day that he won freedom from the village.

Won freedom...and her.

"You did it, Heis! You did it!"

Lucky would never know how dear it was to him...the fact that her emotions ran so freely with her very being. Beaming. She would do nothing less than beam at him. Her eyes would glow and crinkle at their tails as they did when she gave him her most genuine smiles.

"You did it. You're free. Our...our family is free."

"...family?"

She would grab his hand. Just one. He needed the other steady on her cheek.

Lucky would bring that hand clasped in her own to her belly.

"Our family..."

"Our...another...another Heisenberg?"

In his dreams, she shyly escaped his gaze to nod.

"You...you haven't been alone. Not with me. Not with the start of our family. But now...now, Heis..." Her eyes popped back up all soft and sincere. "Now you'll never be alone again. Not with our baby Heisenberg on the way..."

The only break from his reverie was the slice to one of his favorite stained t-shirts. Only the fact that it was Heisenberg's powers directing the saw had it falling to the floor instead of through his tensed skin.

Heisenberg could only stand in shocked silence. The arm that had been spared from the violence came to grab his shoulder. Though no injury had occurred, he felt stabbed all the same.

Family...and joy?

Lucky...with him?

Another Heisenberg...alive?

A thought washed over him like ice entering his veins.

A boy or a girl...would we have a boy or a girl first?

First.

As if Lucky wished to be objected to more of his perverted and preposterous daydreams.

When he left the room, the metal was still shaking.

"Gotta get that fucking schematic...keep forgetting it...keep going to the office and...fuck...keep talking to her. Gotta stop fucking talking to her. Schematic. Get the fucking schematic."

Lucky had been asleep in bed when he first entered. A rushing relief to his soul. But as the search for the schematic went from flipping through one file to frantically reshuffling the wayward stack the paper should have been in, he knew it was only a matter of time before she would appear.

"Oh...ah!" Lucky yawned all cute and squeaky. "Good morning, Heis."

"Morning," he said flatly. "You...you move any of these lately?"

"No," she said sleepily. "I don't touch those...way above my pay grade. What are you looking for?"

"Core schematic," he grumbled. "Not fucking here...where the hell did I put it?"

Though Lucky made a very pointless questioning noise, she said nothing as she sat down and began her daily transcriptions. Hell, he had been grateful. She showed concern because she was simply a good person beneath all of the trauma and the terror she had reigned on his self-image. But she didn't pry or attempt to enter his space afterward where she would clearly only be in the way.

But that was before her second moan filled the office.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked, never looking up from his stack of papers.

A frustrated sigh and a grumble came from the desk chair.

"Think I slept on my neck funny last night," she said. "Doesn't help that my posture is shit. Just making it impossible to find a good angle to work in."

Growing agitated at his fruitless search, Heisenberg whipped around to look at her. "Want some help?"

"Mmn?"

"Want a massage or something?" he offered. "A...ha! You'll find this funny. Supersized one up in the castle? Used to love to make me massage her neck when I was a kid. Fucking manual labor when I was barely old enough to write. Had maids to do it - an assload at that - and forced me to instead."

Raising an eyebrow at him, Lucky frowned. "Was it...did she...did she hurt you? Like...if you didn't do it?"

"Ah nah," he said, taking careful steps over to Lucky. "Told you...when I was a kid, I was off limits. I whine about it now...but...well...I was a kid. Bitch loves kids. So I had to massage her back...but only part of this stupid salon thing we used to do together. It was nothing. Stupid. Just like her."

He did not know what to make of Lucky's face. Tilting her head, she steadied a look on him that could only be called curious.

"It's...it's a good memory? Of Alcina when you were small?"

Heisenberg scoffed.

"It's a memory," he said, standing behind Lucky with a wide stance and an even wider stare at her neck. "Not good or bad...just...there. Now...where's it hurt, kid?"

Raising a hand, Lucky placed her fingers on a section of her neck before swirling her touch.

"Ah...there...like just this one spot, but fanning out..."

"Okay...looks like your C7."

"My what now?"

Chuckling, Heisenberg moved her hand out of the way. "Your C7 vertebrae. Duck your chin down so I can get in here properly."

Doing as she was told, Lucky's head moved forward and Heisenberg placed his gloved hands against her neck. His thumbs encased the pained area and began to move in slow yet sturdy circles.

Lucky immediately began squirming.

"Can you maybe try without the gloves?" she asked. "Those are like...rough or something."

Casting off his gloves quickly, Heisenberg rolled his shoulders before trying again. "Wah, wah, wah...doing you a favor and you're out here complaining. That better, your highness?"

"Yes, actually," she said, relaxing. "And thank you. Asshole."

Puffing air out of his mouth, Heisenberg merely shook his head as he kneaded her skin.

"Mmn!"

Heisenberg tried to hide his stillness by immediately starting to massage her skin again.

But the noise could not be ignored.

"What was that?"

"Your hands...they're so warm. Fuck...feels good."

"Oh..." he said dumbly. Blinking down at her, he turned his head away as he kept his fingers in motion.

The fact that his cock had begun to waken in his pants was not lost on him.

"Are you using your electric powers? Is that why it feels so good?"

"Nah...really shouldn't do that on the living above the waist."

Above the waist...but below the waist...

"Ah," he continued, running his teeth over the scar on his lower lip. "Cause of the heart or whatever. Probably your brain too from this angle. Could fry both without meaning to. And I was working...earlier. Probably why they feel hot."

Lucky sighed as he continued to work her neck. His fingers were sweeping but slow. He had started off so intently and so rough. What had happened?

I felt her skin. Felt her beneath me. Felt her neck...for all she knows I could snap it right now and instead of being afraid she's welcoming me...she trusts me...trusts me enough to let me do this...

The next round of his fingers on her neck dipped into skin purposeful in their worship.

Her response was immediate.

"Oh...oh...good boy," she whispered.

To say he was lost for words was like calling water wet.

Though he kept his massage in a rhythmic round, his eyes were wide as they could possibly be behind his glasses. So wide that they hurt.

What the hell did she just do to me?

If he had to go off of physical injury, he would say she punched him in the stomach with all the force of a train running at full speed.

If he had to go off of an attack to his psyche, he would say she wormed her way into some long buried and forgotten wire that sent his entire brain into overdrive.

If he had to go off the erection now straining against his paints, he would say that he was royally fucked.

"You really are so good at this," she said, her voice still breathless. "Good boy...my good boy, Heis."

Heisenberg snatched his hands away as if Lucky were lava.

"Wait! No...what's wrong?" she asked, turning slightly to look at him.

If she looks down...if she sees...

"GOTTA TAKE A SHIT!" he exclaimed suddenly.

Lucky's mouth dropped open as she gaped at him.

Then she nodded with a laugh playing at her lips.

"Yeah. Go. Just come back and finish your massage."

Before he could finish blinking, he found himself storming down the hallway.

Well...intending to storm. His gait was impacted a bit by his dick standing at full mast and his hands hurriedly attempting to unbuckle the straps around his pants.

So FUCKING dumb. A shit? Really? he thought, visibly grimacing. It would have probably been less embarrassing to admit I was about to jack it to her calling me hers.

Hers...her good boy...good...I'm her good boy...hahaha...

What am I? A fucking dog?

...don't answer that.

Rushing into the break room, he considered the couch before catching sight of the bathroom. With a flick of one wrist as his other hand pulled his cock from his underwear and pants, Heisenberg slammed open the bathroom door.

He managed to slide his pants down his legs as he sat on the toilet and closed the door with the weakest of hand movements.

Finally free from judgment, Heisenberg hissed as he fumbled his glasses to the nearby counter and took himself into his hand.

"Good boy...her good boy...fuck...fuck yeah I am, baby..."

A groan and a grunt fell from his lips as he jerked his hand along his shaft.

All too often this act had been nothing but release from tension. An exploration so technical and so tedious as to be boring. But now with Lucky at his side and in his bed - however platonically she slept there - the images that plagued him seemed vibrantly real and tempting in their joyful teasing.

Imaginings - hopes and dreams and fantasies - that he could only cling onto in the moment.

The desk.

He would take her right on that same desk she was taking notes on.

"Oh, Karl," she would say, despite not knowing his first name. "Gonna be my good boy?"

"Yes," he said aloud, eyes closing and mind prickling with sights of her and waves of pleasure.

Lucky would be splayed on his desk - lying on her back and presenting herself to him as if she were a meal to be consumed instead of a darling treasure to worship.

"That's good...only good boys are allowed to fuck me. Isn't that what you want?"

"Yes...yes...god fucking damnit. YES." Huffing and hating the tremble in his thighs, Heisenberg bucked into his hand. "Yes...only me...wanna be your good boy. I'll be so good for you. Only you, Mein Schatz..."

A dirty laugh from her lips. The Lucky of his dreams becoming more and more defined as she palmed one breast and teased her clit with the fingers of her other hand.

"Mmm...know what you're saying you know...my treasure...that's so cute...been feeling the same way about you lately...thinking of you...dreaming of you...my good boy want to tell me what else he's been feeling? Mmn? Big boy wanna tell me before you put your cock inside of me?"

Lips loose along with his pleasure, Heisenberg found he could not build his voice to say the words aloud.

So he mouthed them instead. Mouthed them and stuttered in his quest for pleasure as his hand curled about his shaft at the "lah" tipping silently from his tongue.

"Oh, darling..." A smile. She'd smile. Genuine and sweet and sincere and all for him. "I love you too, Karl."

"Mmnnn....ah...fu-UCK!" With a panicked inhale, Heisenberg quickly pinched the head of his cock to prevent his end from coming too soon. "No, no, no...not yet...not yet...please..."

Though the pleasure was unlike anything he had previously experienced and his calves clenched in protest of a release delayed, his oncoming orgasm stalled and began to fade.

"Such a good boy," said Lucky, eyeing him in his fantasy like she would look at a drink of water on a hot day. "That's right. You don't come until I tell you to. Understand?"

A nod of his head.

"Good, good boy. My good boy. Good Karl. Come on...think it's time you got your treat...here...I'll help you..."

With her fingers moving to fully expose the inside of that wet and preciously pink pussy of hers, Lucky looked up at him with a lidded look.

Heisenberg had no experience with another person when it came to handling his physical pleasure. Hell, with any pleasure or positive feeling at all. Except maybe the triumph of victory over others, he had never had the chance to experience happiness - true happiness and trust and faith in another soul.

Until her.

And for her...for her he would indulge and give himself freely...if only locked away inside of his mind.

Inexperience taking a back seat to passion, he pictured himself guiding his cock into her waiting and welcoming body. Maybe he would steady himself with a hand on her hip or simply with a heated stare into her eyes.

He all but strangled his cock to try to mimic a feeling he had never known and had never thought to miss before her.

"Uh-huh," whined Lucky in his dreams. "Oh...you're so big...fill me up just right. So fucking thick..."

"Hah...ah...your good boy big enough for you?"

"Yes...oh yes...yes...so big...such a perfect dick...please...please Karl...Heis...please, baby, please...Heis?"

When he began to rut into his own hand with a purpose, he felt flames like that of standing directly beside the blaring crucible dancing across his cheeks. Though some of his daydream seemed vague and hard to read, he had enough to know that he could not delay the inevitable for much longer. Lucky - the real and actual Lucky - was still waiting for him back in the office. Waiting and none the wiser to his desperate need for her affection. It sickened him - the want for anything and everything to do with her.

Sickened him...and sent electric shocks of white pleasure down his spine.

"So fucking perfect...you're so fucking perfect for me, Lucky...oh..."

"Heis..."

"Huh...ah...already so close...so damn worked up...can't stand it...can't stand you looking like that..."

"Like what?"

Heaving and heatedly squirming where he sat, Heisenberg noticed for the first time that one of his boots jutted up and down on the floor beneath him. As if his entire body refused to be still.

"Most beautiful fucking thing I've ever seen," he bit out. "Please...please, Luck...I know it's soon...but please..."

A tilted head and a gentle grin. A pointer finger that danced around her clit and drew his eyes away only long enough for her to breathe out shallow and short. His eyes snapped back to hers immediately.

"Please what?"

"Please let me come...let me come inside you...wanna...wanna take you...claim you...don't want you with anyone else ever again."

Glinting eyes and lush eyelashes.

"You're gonna be all that to me, Heis? Well...in that case..."

Her lips finding his own. His very first kiss - albeit imaginary. Her lips soft but without taste. His own lips puckering even as they trembled from the need for more.

"In that case," she continued, taunting him in his ear. "Come, Heis. Be a good boy and come for me."

Hindsight would have him chastising himself for not thinking to grab some tissue. In the moment, however, he was too busy panting and watching his cum dot the floor in thick strips. Heisenberg growled...tried to hold on to the image of her with one eye still closed.

Reality settled in on him. Settled in even as his stomach quivered underneath his shirt and his orgasm began to relax into his bones. It was pleasant and his every nerve seemed to stand on edge. Tingles of pleasure radiated from his chest to his feet flat against the floor. Gulping in air, he knew he had never come so hard before in his life. It was good...great even.

But it was not her. It was not enough.

Clean up was a quick and tedious affair. Lucky could not know what he had done in her quarters. The tissues he found too late to wipe his seed from the floor were tossed and flushed away. He checked the room once and then again once his shades were back on his face.

Finishing the belt at the top of his pants, he cleared his throat before exiting.

The television in the break room still hummed though it sat completely dead in the meager light from the ceiling.

Shit...glad she wasn't in here. Never had anyone here to care about when I got down to business...no telling what my powers do with electronics...

The schematic. He had to find that damn schematic.

Trying to level his breathing as he stalked the hallway, Heisenberg considered the day before him. Lucky had not wished to attend a revitalization attempt with him yet. While he didn't intend to push her into seeing something that might scar her again, it might be worthwhile to have her eyes in the room at some point. She hadn't complained about the notes yet. Maybe he should offer? Make it sound like a small deal and let her in when it was near completion? Give her a taste before exposing her to more?

Fucking stupid...it's all so fucking stupid...what happened to me? If she were any assistant, I would just drag her ass there and have her record the whole thing. Fuck me with all this concerned shit.

But she's not just any assistant...

Entering the office, he stilled at the doorway when he saw Lucky facing him from her chair.

"Uh...hey," he said, licking his lips. "Sorry about that. Took...ah...let's just forget it."

"Actually," she began. "I need to be honest with you. Because of what happened before..."

Eyebrows shooting up, he stood in silence before she continued.

"Um...so...I was sitting here...sitting here and trying to rub my neck or whatever..."

"Yes?"

"Well...the radio came on and it freaked me out a little bit..." She paused, her fidgety look dropping to the floor. "But...the more I listened...the more I...recognized your voice."

"My...my voice?"

"Yes."

Heisenberg could not move. He shouldn't be looking at her, but he was afraid if he blinked that the tension would break and she would begin laughing or cursing or, worst of all, apologizing.

"Umm...it...I heard you. And I guess you were...I guess it was real time." A tent of her fingers and a swallow in her throat. "I heard your comment and responded and...I think...I think you could hear me too. Possibly? You seemed to...seemed to be replying to what I said directly."

Shame. Shame for a million years fell on his shoulders that had felt so light before.

"Where?" he managed to say. "Where did you come in? What comment did you respond to?"

How she looked at him, he had no idea. She was far braver than he could ever be. Heisenberg planned to face down Miranda without a single hesitation one day on that glorious battlefield where his freedom could be won.

But now? Faced with Lucky standing and walking toward him with the full weight of her eyes upon him?

He looked away.

"You said...you asked me if my good boy was big enough for me."

The purr in her voice. The sound of her steps growing closer. The burn in his throat.

"After that," she said. "I called your name...I...responded to you and you to me."

"That didn't...I..." He shook his head. "I...umm..."

"Can I hold your hand?"

Head shooting up, Heisenberg caught her heated look. The same heated look she had worn in his dreams.

He nodded. Nodded even though he barely registered it until she took his hand and steps to press herself flush against him.

When she spoke, it was hushed and low.

For him and him only.

"I'm going to go to the bathroom...freshen up. Since we know you can communicate from the radio to the television...I want you to tell me when it's okay to come back here. I'm giving you two options."

Heisenberg hung on her every word and looked at her as if she controlled his every movement.

"The first...you can leave. Can give me enough time to go there...find what you were looking for...then tell me you're off to do whatever. I won't mention this again. We won't mention it."

Silence fell between the two of you. A crackle of the radio to the side of the room.

"And the other option?" he asked, voice nearly breaking.

A shy look. A happy tilt of her lips.

"The other option...you can rest for a bit before I come back here and make whatever fantasy you were having come true."

A mouth drier than dry left his tongue feeling too large. Too large and too needed to swipe across his lips.

"You don't have to answer now-"

"The second one," he said. "Second one. Want that one. Screw the first one."

A bright and happy smile. A smile that crinkled the tail of her eyes and lit up her face.

She was beaming at him. Squeezing his hand before parting from him.

Not for long...not for damn long if he could help it.

"You give me the word then, good boy," she teased, walking out of the room.

Legs nearly buckling and sending him to the ground, Heisenberg took uneasy steps to his office chair before throwing himself on it. His entire body buzzed, though it seemed far less like electricity and far more like promise and hope. Not love on her end...not yet. But a maybe. Potential.

More.

Grinning stupidly and looking at the desk, he made quick work of clearing the area for the fun he planned on having from his daydream to come true.

As soon as he picked up the recorder Lucky used to transcribe his notes, Heisenberg saw it.

That damned schematic.

His last visit to this same room. A note on said schematic stating "DON'T FORGET" in large words. A note he carelessly put there before guiding Lucky to sit down to look at her transcriptions and laugh with her over the sixth stable boy in one week to die of drunken stupidity.

Quietly and contentedly, he opened the desk drawer to stuff the schematic inside.

"Mmn...don't think I'll need you for a while yet actually..." Eyeing the radio on the wall, Heisenberg tossed his glasses to the table and tried to slick and perfect the wiry hair about his head. "Oh, Lucky, honey...room is ready whenever you are...and so is your good boy."

[barcaavengers]

Weakness || Bucky Barnes Imagine || Pt.2

Note: It's hereee! First of all I want to thank all of you for the feedback on the first part. It means a lot to me since it has been quite a while since I've written something like this, plus Bucky is a complex character and I'm trying my best to make him justice. I came up with this random idea as I worked on part 1 so I hope you guys can give me some feedback on it. Again, thank you so much!

Disclaimer: Gif not mine. Credit belongs to the amazing@captain-james.

Tags: @hanakin-im-panakin, @evie-pr, @justinekomwriterkru, @felicityofbakerstreet, @maaaaryx, @ijustwantedplums, @winterberryfox, @ttatum14, @pastelbabygirl19, @love-buckybarnes, @forever-aimless, @izzlenizzlebizzle

You have to blink a few times for your eyelids to open, still feeling them heavy from whatever Karli and her crew had injected you with.

"Oh good, you are awake" you hear the girl's voice from a distance, you couldn't focus on anything specific with your gaze, it was all blurry.

"What the hell did you do?" You are surprised that your arms aren't tied when you lift your hand to your head.

"Nothing serious, relax" she says as she comes to your line of vision, your body felt like it was on fire. "We wanted to test something out, you were the best option."

"Why me?" You wince as you sit up, surprised again that they trusted you enough to leave you entirely untied, you wonder for a moment why.

"You are the best way to catch Sam's attention and that is accessible. Sam won't dismiss my calls if we have you. I still called Sarah, just to have him on the edge."

"Leave Sarah out of it" you snarl but your head felt heavy when you did. You have met Sam's sister a while back now, along with her kids. She was a nice, simple, humble woman, she didn't deserve to be brought into this mess.

"Like I said, it was just to leave him on edge" she shrugs. "I have already sent them a message to meet up."

"Karli, I don't know what you are up to but you can't keep doing this" you say. "We know that the Power Broker is after you because of the serum, you can't win the two battles."

"And that's why we need you for the message" she says. A man you hadn't noticed before was in the corner and he was giving Karli a look.

"You want us to help you with the Power Broker?"

"We need to get rid of Captain America first," she says.

"And I couldn't agree more" your arms extend in a gesture. "I told you, we hate the guy, but we don't want to kill him, we just want him out of that uniform and give us back the shield. He doesn't deserve it."

"I used to look up to you, when you first joined the Avengers" she starts. Now it made sense why you weren't tied up. "Then all of the Sokovia Accords happened and you picked a side. You took the side against the government. We are no different."

"We are not the same. You are hurting people! You killed innocent people at the GRC!"

"They wouldn't understand any other way!" Her voice raises as well and you relax your shoulders, you couldn't show her the same behavior.

"Karli, again. I'm asking you to give us a chance to find a way to help you. To help everyone…"

She ignores you as she looks at her phone and looks at the man behind her. They share a look before he leaves. "Come on, he is here for you," she says.

"Aren't you going to inject me with something? Tie me up so I don't run away?"

"I trust you enough to know you won't" she says before she starts walking away, you have no other choice but to follow, but then you notice another man walking behind you.

"So much for trust…" you roll your eyes as you are escorted up the stairs to a balcony. You try to walk further but the man stops you. "Got it. I'll stay here…" so you lean against the wall.

"Is this how things will play out?" You can hear Sam's voice in the distance.

"I wanted to understand you better," Karli says and you frown. "You didn't come alone." Your heart raced at the thought of Bucky being close as well.

"Where is Y/N?" Bucky's deep voice reaches you and the man motions you to move, so you do and stand a few feet away behind Karli. Bucky was staring harshly at Karli, but when you came into his vision his gaze softened in a beat.

Sam extends his hand out to you and you look at Karli who nods her head towards him. You rush to him, reaching for his hand and he pulls you behind him. “Are you okay?” Sam asks over his shoulder and you nod. His brown eyes shifted to look at the girl before you. "You have to end this now…"

"I don't wanna hurt you, either of you, Y/N knows that" she says and your eyes meet hers. "You are just tools in the regimes I want to destroy. You are not hiding behind a shield. If I were to kill you, I'd be meaningless" she explains.

Sam takes a moment and looks behind you, meeting your gaze. "She is after Walker, Sam" you just confirm what he already knows. His hand tightens and then you hear the faint sound of the earpiece in his ear going off. "The Power Broker is after her, Sam. We have to…" and there it is.

"It's Walker…" Sam looks at Bucky and the soldier is quick to jump the balcony, but Karli thinks the same way and jumps as well, pushing him out. Sam and you jump from the balcony, you land roughly, vibrations going up your legs but it doesn't hurt, the adrenaline soothed that impact apparently. Sam kicks Karli against a wall. "I'll send you the location. Go!" Sam instructs, Bucky and you share a look before running off.

"Did they hurt you?!" Bucky asks as you two run.

"Not really!" You say with a heavy breath as you run. "Or at least I don't feel hurt!" You run. "They only injected me with something to knock me out."

"Injected you?" He shouts as he runs, he barely sounded out of breath. "Left!" Bucky shouts and you take the next left. You jump over the back of a car, running down from it and jumping off the hood swiftly to catch up with Bucky. Once in, you two stand still to try to hear where everyone was. "Upstairs" Bucky calls and you two move quickly.

A soldier jumps down from the stairs and pushes you against a wall, you grunt before turning around only to see the man's fist almost on your face. You duck quickly, sneaking under his legs and kicking the back of his knees making him fall against the wall. You deliver a punch on his cheek as he turns around, before sending another one on his stomach making the man bend. You are quick to grab his face and push it against your knee and then back against the wall, knocking him unconscious.

Bucky was fighting another soldier and you went his way. He punches the guy and the man falls down the stairs, but is quick to get back on his feet. You go running to him, Bucky takes your arm and spins you so you can deliver a kick to the man's side, but he catches your leg, chuckling. Your eyes widened for a moment before you lifted your other leg, kicking his stomach and falling hard on the floor with a thud, it hurt, but you were sure that was supposed to hurt more. Bucky stands quickly in front of you, shielding you from the man before he kicks him, sending him flying against the wall and the concrete falling on him. "Stay there," Bucky says to the man who you were sure was unconscious before he moved to you. "Are you okay?" He asks as he offers you his hand, not the vibranium one, to lift you up.

"I have to practice that kick more often" you groan as you pull yourself up, and that's when you get close to him, almost chest to chest. "We should go help Sam."

"We should" his head nods before you two run up the stairs. As soon as you walk through the door you are met with more soldiers. One holds Walker from behind and you see Karli rushing to him with the knife.

"Karli!" You call out, Hoskins appears and tackles the girl.

Your instinct tells you to duck as you see Sam approaching you, his wings open and knock the guy away from you and you look at him. "You owe me" you two chuckle before Bucky appears and punches a man, sending him flying over to the other side of the room.

"You owe me" he mocks and you can't help but smirk. Then, it was like everything happened in slow motion.

Karli kicks Hoskins and sends him flying against a column and you hear the cracking of bones. The three of you turn together to find Battlestar unconscious and blood dripping from his lips. Karli takes off her mask, horror all over her face before she storms off, another male which was the one that was mostly around her, took after her as well. Walker is checking on his friend, calling onto him with no luck or sign of life.

You can't help but find it absolutely odd how the story repeats itself. Captain America losing their right hand man once again. First Steve with Bucky, now Walker with Hoskins.

Walker's expression turned dark, even bloodlust you would say. He wanted to make them pay for killing Lemar. He straps his shield and storms off, jumping off a window without taking a second glance back. "Let's go! Let's go!" You shout at your friends before you all start moving. Sam flies up through the ceiling while Bucky and you start running down the stairs. Your head thought of the good idea of jumping over the handrail and you do, landing smoothly before continuing down the stairs and outside.

"Aren't you hurt after that?" Bucky calls as you two run, letting him lead the way.

"Not really! Probably the adrenaline!" You didn't even have a second to think that that landing should have at least made you limp, you will later question it. Right now you had to find Walker before he found Karli and the two ended up hurting each other.

You approach a crowd of people in the plaza, everyone with their phones out. Sam lands on your side and you glance at each other in question before walking faster in front of the crowd. That's when you see Walker delivering the ultimate blow on a body, you can't tell, but the person was dressed exactly like the man that was with Karli a while back. You gasp at the scene before you, you could see the blood from your spot in the crowd, and then you saw it in the shield. "Oh God…"

The shield that was once used to protect innocents while in the hands of Steve Rogers, now was being used as a weapon against innocents by John Walker. The thought made your heart boil, and you knew the guys shared the sentiment when the three of you exchanged glances before turning to Walker and the crowd. That's when you spot Karli. You could see the tears in her eyes as she brought her hand to her mouth as she gasped. Things were about to get really ugly.

"I have to talk to her..." you say as you share a look with the redheaded.

"Don't...Give her space" Sam says as he holds your forearm.

"Sam, if Walker sees Karli...Things are going to get bad. Please..." the Falcon frowns at your words because you were right, but he knew as well that right now, both their heads were hot with rage and grief and there was no possible way to reason with them this soon.

"We will get to her, but let's take care of Walker first" his head nods at Walker who was now running away. "Let's keep a close eye on him before we engage…"

The three of you were walking, Bucky was eyeing your legs, you arch an eyebrow. He notices the gesture and looks away, "You should be limping at least…" he says and you get even more confused now.

"But I am not?" It sounded like a question, but you were just questioning why he was bringing it up. "What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing. Just…" your eyebrows raise in expectation for his next words. "Are you sure you are okay? Your back?"

"I am, Buck. Relax" you assure him.

"I'm starting to think this was a mistake. If I hadn't given up the shield…"

"There was no way to know this was going to happen, Sam. You did what you thought was right…"

"Too bad this had to happen for you to realize it" Bucky says harshly and you glare at him.

"Not the time to talk about that, Buck" you say.

"Yeah, let's talk about the way you fought those Super Soldiers."

"Give it a rest, Barnes" you roll your eyes in annoyance.

"What's going on between you two?" Sam intervenes.

"She jumped two stories of stairs like it was nothing. No limping afterwards. No time to recover. She also fell on her back and she is…"

"Sorry for not feeling hurt or weak by those things" you roll your eyes.

"It's not that, Y/N…"

"Hold on, you jumped from the balcony too with me. Since when do you do those leap of faiths?" Sam questions.

"Exactly!"

"Guys, I'm fine. You guys have seen me fight before and you know I can take hits, what's the difference of now?"

"That they were Super Soldiers with brute force and you put up a good fight with them" Bucky points out and you frown.

"Maybe they weren't at their full potential, or they took it easy on me. Guys, relax. I'm fine. I'm not hurt, I'm not in pain" you take a quick step in front of them and spin. "See?" You walk backwards, your arms extended.

"I'm still weirded out" Sam eyes Bucky and his gaze towards you was so…different. He was eyeing you like he was trying to find something. "I forgot to say, Walker must have taken a serum because that guy folded a metal pole right in front of me."

"What?!" Bucky exclaims, stopping in his tracks.

"If he took the serum we are screwed. There is no way to stop him."

"We have to find Walker. I'll make a call to Sharon, see if she can find anything" and with that he pats your back and walks inside Zemo's apartment.

"And Zemo, or we are taking over his place." you say as you follow him inside and then turn to Bucky. His arms are crossed against his chest, eyes staring almost into your soul, you sigh in annoyance. "What, Bucky? What?"

"Come here" he says and you eye him questioningly before he takes your hand and pulls you to him. He tilts your head to the side and runs his thumb on your neck, right where you remember being punctured.

"What the hell, James?" You push his hand away and he frowns.

"What did they inject you with?"

"I don't know, Sargeant. I couldn't ask since I was out like the light" you say to him.

"Y/N, can't you see it? You are doing things you wouldn't be doing in normal circumstances…"

"This isn't normal! I'm doing things to keep up with all of this! Ever heard of adrenaline rush? It makes you do these kinds of things" you snap and Bucky's gaze hardens at your tone.

"Guys, I'm trying to talk on the phone. What the hell is going on now?!" Sam asks as he looks between the two of you.

"Someone here can't accept that I can fight against Super Soldiers."

"I would be the last person to say that because we have fought, even when I wasn't me!"

"Then what the hell is wrong with today, James?!"

"There is something wrong with you!"

"I'm fine!"

"Guys, calm down.."

"Why are you questioning all of my moves?!" He stays silent and his eyes look away from you. "I am not helpless..." you say in a soft tone. Right now you felt...You didn't even know how you felt. You felt confused, couldn't choose an emotion to feel. "I'm going to go shower, I need to cool off" you run a hand through your hair as you walk to your room.

"I never said you were helpless, Y/N" Bucky calls from behind you but you ignore him and close the door with a loud thud.

-Bucky's POV-

He watched her walk away, and he couldn't find a reasonable explanation as to why you weren’t hurt from all these fights and moves. He knew enough to know that jumping two stories, for any normal human, would result in pain, a limp, a twisted ankle, but you didn't even flinch. Didn't take you a second to process the landing. No, he isn't saying you were weak because she is one of the strongest women he has met, but he just knew something was off about her.

"Can you tell me what the hell is going on with you?" Sam asked him, his whole expression screaming that he needed an explanation to this sudden argument.

"Something is wrong with her, Sam. I know you feel it too" he falls on the couch and throws his head back. "She has fought me before, I know she is tough and strong but everything she has been doing after we got her from Karli…" he couldn't find the words to end that sentence. He was worried, he needed to know.

"I'm sure you have a theory. Care to share it?" Sam takes the couch on the side of Bucky.

"I don't know anymore..." he pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance. He knows that it just couldn't be what he was thinking. It was too much of a long shot, yet a part of him, that instinct, told him that he was right.

"If this is your way to flirt you are doing a terrible job" Sam teases. "Your way of showing you care is strange, man" he chuckles.

"It's not like I had practice while in HYDRA's control" Bucky says with a shrug, completely sarcastic. "And I'm not flirting. I'm worried…"

"You two are driving me nuts along with Karli and Walker. Go up there, man" Sam says as he stands up and walks to the kitchen.

"Don't forget Zemo" Bucky says and he sighs. He looks after the direction you disappeared to, pondering on Sam's suggestion. What was he supposed to do? Apologize? Kiss you? He wasn't an expert in doing any of those. Kissing you the other day was like an instinct kicking in, and he wasn't even sure it was what you expected from him. Hopefully whatever had to happen once he went to you would be like that. Finally, he stands up from the couch, but not before stopping by Sam, taking the glass the man had just poured his whiskey in, and swallowing it up in one go. "Thanks" he pats the man's shoulder before going to your room.

Sam glares at the man as he pours another drink in the same glass, watching after Bucky.

Bucky makes his way to your room and knocks softly, "Y/N?" He calls from the door, waiting for an answer but there is none. He sighs and turns to leave but he holds back and turns back to the door. "Listen, I-" he trails off, searching for words. "I'm sorry, alright? I guess I overreacted with the whole thing…" he pauses and frowns. "I just...You are the closest person I got, okay? I don't want you to get hurt and I know, trust me, I know you can perfectly take care of yourself and you are strong and you know-" he hears a distant thud and his eyebrow raise. "Y/N, are you okay in there?" He remembers that you were showering so he holds back for a moment, but what if you fell in it? He turns the door knob and when it budges to the movement, he opens the door. No sign of you anywhere, so he walks quickly to the shower only to find that the sound had been the bottle of shampoo falling.

He returns to the bedroom area, and any normal person might have missed it, but he saw the few drops of water from the bathroom door to the mirror, and then to the window. The window was open. "Sam!" He rushes to the kitchen area where Sam was sipping on his drink. "She is gone!"

-Y/N POV-

"So you are asking to meet up now before kidnapping me?" You ask as you sense Karli behind you a few feet away. "My condolences about your friend… I'm sorry we couldn't stop Walker…" You say as you turn around.

"Thanks" her eyes soften for a moment at your words. "Just wanted to check on how you were doing" she says as she tilts her head to the side, eyeing you.

"Why are you worrying about me?" You question.

"You truly haven't noticed?" The redheaded let out a short laugh, if it was a different circumstance, you would find it cute. "Don't you feel different? More adrenaline running in your veins? Feeling like you are unstoppable?" She asks and takes a few steps to the side. "Honestly thought it was going to wear off already, but it seems it lasts longer…"

"What are you talking about?" Oh now you were getting worried. "What did you do to me, Karli?" You hiss taking a step forward.

"Dr. Nagel was working on it a while back, to get the Power Broker off my back with this trick" she explains, and the name of the man who was doing the replica of the Serum was enough to have your heart racing. "Same ingredients, but with a difference, it doesn't last much…Should wear off soon if he was right."

"Karli…" you call onto the girl.

"We injected you with a temporary Super Soldier Serum, Y/N.”