#understand everything has no thought behind it

[sixeyesonathiel]

shy girls suck the best!

fratjo x nerd!reader, fluff & smut, m receiving, overstimulation, whimpering toru. 3.5k wc, 18+ only, MDNI.

satoru gojo is experienced.

he’s cocky for a reason. he’s made girls scream his name more times than he can count, and he knows exactly how to make someone fold in under five minutes—ten if he’s playing nice. he’s all confidence, charm, and unearned a’s from professors who don’t want to deal with his antics. his reputation precedes him in every room, and he walks like the world’s already bent over backwards just to please him.

everything about him screams untouchable, and he’s used to people treating him that way. he wears his varsity jacket like armor, a walking billboard of fratboy glory, all swagger and smirks and lazy confidence that makes people gravitate toward him like he’s got his own gravity field.

but then there’s you.

the shy girl in glasses, always scribbling in your notebook with an absurdly cute pen, whispering apologies when you bump into people, hiding in the back row of class like you owe the world an explanation just for existing. you don’t talk unless spoken to, don’t make eye contact, and definitely don’t give satoru the attention he’s used to. it’s not that you’re cold—it’s that you seem like you live in your own quiet little world, and satoru’s never wanted to be invited somewhere so badly.

and maybe what undoes him first is that he sees you before you see him. you’re already there, present in the corners of his attention before he understands why he’s looking. he notices you one day during lecture, tucking your hair behind your ear as you underline a sentence three times with an intense little frown. it doesn’t seem like much. but something in him clicks.

at first it’s curiosity. then amusement. then it festers into irritation—because why the fuck aren’t you reacting to him like everyone else?—and then fascination. and then something deeper that coils in his chest and makes his throat tight every time he sees you. he tries not to care. he wants not to care. but you’re already rooting yourself in places inside him he didn’t know were hollow.

satoru notices you because you don’t notice him. not the way everyone else does. you don’t flutter your lashes when he smirks. you don’t laugh at his jokes like they’re scripture. you don’t even flinch when he calls you “baby” out of nowhere—just blink at him like he’s an equation you don’t understand. it bruises his ego. and for some unholy reason, he loves it.

the problem is, you’re not immune to him at all. you’re just hiding it better than anyone ever has.

because what he doesn’t know is—you’ve always had a crush on him. from the very first time he walked into class, sleepy-eyed and bright-smiled, wearing that damn jacket like it belonged on a movie screen. you just figured he’d never notice someone like you. so you admired from afar. watched him flirt with others, watched the way he filled a room with laughter, memorized the cadence of his voice like it was part of your playlist.

your crush was harmless. private. something you never expected to act on. you played it safe. after all, guys like satoru gojo don’t fall for quiet girls with awkward posture and color-coded notes.

but maybe that’s what draws him in—the absence of performance. the quiet genuine way you exist. no theatrics. no games. just you, completely unaware that you’ve started haunting his every thought.

it starts small.

he catches himself watching the way your hands move. the way your nose scrunches when you’re deep in thought. the way you roll your pen between your fingers when you're anxious. it becomes a loop, a soft little addiction. he remembers details he shouldn’t. what color post-its you use. your preferred snack during study sessions. your favorite seat in the library. you don’t change. he just tunes in.

and then, one day, he realizes he’s rearranging his life around yours.

he starts showing up everywhere you are. loiters in the library, conveniently always around during your shifts at the campus café, makes excuses to sit next to you in class. offers to carry your books, asks you about calculus even though he already passed it. satoru gojo, golden boy of his frat, reducing himself to extra tutoring just to see you smile. it’s humiliating in theory, but it feels like worship in practice.

and it’s not just your smile. it’s the way you get passionate when you talk about obscure theories. the way you light up when you don’t think anyone’s watching. the way you stammer when he gets too close, but don’t pull away.

you don’t feed his ego. you feed something softer. quieter. something he didn’t think he had in him. he tells himself it’s because you’re innocent. because you’re shy and sweet and you deserve to be treated right.

he wants to be good for you. slow, patient, gentle. he holds doors open. he listens. he lets you rant about your thesis for forty-five uninterrupted minutes and actually understands it. he even looks up the books you reference, reads them just to impress you. he takes an annotated copy of your favorite book. he starts writing your name in the corners of his notebook like some love-struck high schooler. you haunt him in the best way.

and then—you kiss him.

it’s after a late-night study session. the campus is quiet. the lights in the library flicker like they’re caught between timelines. your voice shakes when you say “thank you for walking me back.” you pause, fidget with the strap of your bag. and then, like you’ve been gearing up for battle, you rise onto your toes and kiss him.

it’s chaste. hesitant. warm. like you're afraid he'll vanish if you lean in too much.

you pull back like you’ve done something wrong, but satoru’s frozen, staring at you like he’s just been baptized. you’re blushing so hard he can feel the heat radiating off your skin.

“you… sure?” he whispers, voice ragged, leaning in like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

you nod, barely audible: “i’ve read… a lot. i think… i wanna try. with you.”

and he short circuits.

he thought he’d lead. thought he’d ease you into it, kiss your forehead, hold your hand like a gentleman. but then your hands are on his chest, pushing up under his shirt—the varsity jacket creaking as it shifts on his shoulders, the cotton brushing your fingertips. your eyes are searching his like you’re looking for confirmation that he’s real. you study every reaction like a research project. when he shivers, you smile, barely-there, and go back to tracing the line of his abs with trembling fingertips.

it’s not even mischief.

it’s curiosity. slow-burning, chest-aching, and barely held together by your own hesitation. the sort of yearning that tastes like nervous giggles and the edge of something terrifyingly new. you pause between touches like you're checking your hypothesis, calculating the way his muscles tense under your fingers. each brush of your skin feels like a question he's too dazed to answer properly.

“does that… feel good?” you whisper, lips barely moving, as though you’re scared to break the spell.

“f-fuck—yes, baby, yeah,” he gasps, throwing his head back, one hand clutching the edge of the couch like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

your lips trail down his throat, each kiss a trembling prayer, following a path only you can see. his skin is fever-hot, tasting of mint and salt, boyish charm unraveling under your mouth. when you press a soft, open-mouthed kiss to his collarbone, his pulse jumps, a twitch rippling beneath your lips. his breath catches, a sharp stutter that makes his chest lurch, and his hands hover, fingers flexing like he’s afraid touching you will break the spell.

satoru gojo—fratboy, golden boy, untouchable—is quiet. too quiet. his eyes are hazy, pupils wide and unfocused, lips parted like words have abandoned him. his varsity jacket is bunched at his elbows, leather creaking, shirt rucked up to his ribs, abs clenching under your trembling fingers. he could take charge, flip this with a smirk—he’s done it countless times, effortless and expert. but now? he just watches, reverent, like you’re a deity he’s too awestruck to approach.

he’s known mouths. polished ones with perfect rhythm, greedy ones that took without giving, bold ones that knew every angle. but yours? it’s hesitant, new, like you’re crossing a threshold you’re not sure you’re worthy of. the way you look at him—eyes flickering behind slipping glasses, wide with awe—shouldn’t hit this hard. shouldn’t feel this fucking intense. but your fingers, shaking as they tug at his waistband, send a jolt through him that makes his vision spark.

satoru’s hand grazes your cheek, a trembling brush of knuckles. “baby… keep going. please.”

you nod, glasses sliding, your breath hitching as your fingers slip under his jeans, easing them down. your eyes flick up, catching his—flushed, jaw tight, his whole body fighting to stay still. it hits you like a blade: he’s done this a thousand times, fucked girls who knew every trick, but you’ve got him like this. trembling. aching. satoru gojo, invincible, unraveling because of you.

guilt stabs your chest, sharp and fleeting. you shouldn’t have him like this, shouldn’t be the reason his hands clutch the couch like it’s his only anchor. he’s always cocky, untouchable, the center of every orbit. now he’s breaking, and it’s your fault—your lips, your touch, your fault. but the guilt only fans the heat in your core, makes your thighs press together as you lean closer, your breath ghosting over his skin.

satoru is used to being wanted. but not like this. not with this aching, earnest hunger that makes his chest tighten.

you press shaky, open-mouthed kisses to his hip, tongue flicking out to taste the salt of his skin. spit gathers at the corner of your mouth, a slick trail left behind as you suck softly at the sensitive skin just above his cock. he jolts, hips jerking before he catches himself, a low curse slipping free, his hands clenching until his knuckles bleach. the sound he makes—fuck, it’s a choked gasp, raw and ragged, like you’ve torn it from his core.

you shift lower, hands sliding up his thighs, fingers digging into the taut muscle. your kisses grow bolder, sloppier, your tongue dragging along the crease where his thigh meets his groin, leaving a glistening streak of drool that catches the dim light.

he tastes like heat and need, and the way his skin trembles under your mouth makes your own pulse hammer. you pause, lips hovering over his cock, spit pooling on your tongue, and glance up—his head is thrown back, throat bobbing as he swallows, a groan clawing its way out of him.

“holy shit—baby, you—fuck,” satoru gasps, eyes snapping open, blown wide as his hand grips the couch, fabric groaning under his fist.

you take him in your mouth, lips wrapping around the tip, soft and slick with spit that drips down his length. your tongue swirls, slow and deliberate, tracing the ridge as drool spills from the corners of your mouth, coating him in a wet sheen.

he’s hot, heavy against your tongue, and you hum—a low, vibrating sound that pulls a whimper from his throat. your fingers curl around the base, stroking in time with the bob of your head, slick with the spit that pools at his base, making your grip slippery. you suck, gentle at first, then harder, lips stretching around him as spit slicks your chin, a glistening trail dripping onto his thighs.

he’s panting, desperate, each breath a ragged plea. his abs flex, thighs trembling under your palms, and he’s biting back whimpers, trying not to overwhelm you. that restraint—fuck, it’s gorgeous, the way his jaw clenches, the way his eyes flutter shut like he’s fighting to stay grounded. he doesn’t push, doesn’t guide, just moans your name like it’s a prayer, raw and broken. “that’s it, baby—fuck—just like that—your mouth’s so fucking perfect—”

the satoru gojo is unraveling, and it’s because of you. the way you glance up, glasses fogging, eyes glassy with effort, lips shiny and stretched around him, spit dripping down your chin in messy strings. the way your tongue flicks, catching the sensitive spot under the head, makes his hips buck, a choked sob escaping.

your hand slides lower, fingers brushing his balls, tentative but deliberate, slick with the drool that’s pooled at his base. you cup them, rolling gently, and his whole body seizes, a string of curses spilling out as his hand fists the couch tighter, the fabric creaking under the strain.

he’s had every fantasy, every trick, but this—your mouth, slow and reverent, full of wonder, messy with spit that coats him like a second skin—hits like a fucking freight train. it’s too much, too good. he wants to last, to let you explore, but you’re too fucking intent.

you hollow your cheeks, sucking harder, tongue swirling in tight, wet circles, spit bubbling at the corners of your mouth as you take him deeper, throat tightening around him. he chokes, hips jerking as his control frays. “gonna—baby, gonna cum, wait, fuck—”

you don’t stop. your lips slide further, tongue flattening, taking him as deep as you can. it’s filthy—spit drips down your chin in thick strings, pooling on his thighs, your glasses fogging as breaths puff through your nose. you’re focused, watching his every twitch, adjusting when he gasps, slowing when he whimpers, like you’re mapping him.

his hand grips the couch, knuckles white, and he breaks with a sound that’s barely human—a shattered cry as he spills, hot and pulsing against your tongue.

you try to swallow it all, but it’s overwhelming—cum mixes with the spit already coating your lips, spilling past them in a slick, messy rush, dripping down your chin, onto his thighs, and pooling on the couch. you pull back, gasping, wiping your mouth with trembling fingers, but the slickness clings, smearing across your skin as your eyes stay wide behind crooked glasses. he’s trembling, chest heaving, shirt clinging to sweat-slick skin, pupils blown like he’s seen the divine.

you should stop.

you fucking should.

he’s wrecked, twitching, fucked out beyond reason. but the ache in your chest—the sharp, flickering guilt of breaking him—only makes you hungrier. you lick your lips, tasting the salty mix of him, and your thighs press together, a soft whimper escaping as you lean in again, spit still clinging to your chin.

“just once more?” you whisper, voice barely audible, like you’re afraid the words will burn you.

his eyes flutter open, unfocused, dazed. he groans, raw and low. “baby… you’re gonna fucking kill me.”

but he doesn’t stop you. doesn’t even try.

you start again, slower, your mouth softer but hungrier, lips wrapping around him with a reverence that makes him twitch instantly. he’s sensitive, still pulsing, and the second your tongue grazes him, he whines—a high, broken sound that makes your stomach twist. you suck lightly, lips gliding along his length, spit pooling at the base and dripping onto his thighs in slow, glistening trails. 

satoru buries his face in a cushion, muffling a sob. “s-sensitive—fuck, it’s too much—”

his thighs tremble under your hands, hips jerking as you kiss the tip, tongue darting out to lap at the bead of cum still leaking from him, your spit mixing with it in a slick, glossy sheen. you linger, savoring the taste, the way it coats your tongue in a sticky film, and he whimpers again, louder, his hand flying to his mouth to bite his knuckles.

your fingers slide to his balls again, rolling them gently, slick with the drool and cum that’s dripped down, making your touch slippery and warm. he arches, a desperate, “please—fuck—please—” spilling from his lips like he’s begging for mercy but craving more.

you don’t rush. your tongue traces every inch, slow and deliberate, swirling around the head before dipping lower, dragging along the vein with a wet, sloppy kiss that leaves a trail of spit in its wake. your breath is hot, teasing, each exhale making him twitch, and you pause to suck at the base, lips lingering as your tongue flicks out, tasting the musk of him through the sticky mess. his hand finds your hair, fingers threading loosely, not pushing, just holding—like he needs to feel you’re real.

you grow bolder, hungrier, your lips tightening as you take him deeper, throat fluttering around him, spit bubbling up and spilling over, coating his cock in a thick, glossy layer. you hum, low and vibrating, and he chokes, a wet, pathetic whimper breaking free.

your hand strokes the base, slick with spit and cum, fingers sliding in the mess, and you slide a finger lower, brushing the sensitive skin behind his balls, now slippery with the drool that’s dripped down. he jolts, a high, keening sound tearing from his throat, his hips bucking as his whole body trembles.

“baby—god—please—fuck, i can’t—” satoru’s voice cracks, raw and whining, as you suck harder, tongue swirling in relentless, wet circles, spit and cum mixing in a frothy mess that drips onto the couch. every noise is desperate—gasps, whimpers, sobs that he tries to muffle but can’t. his body arches, twitching like he’s unraveling at the seams, and you feel it: the moment he breaks again.

he cums with a wail, sudden and violent, hips jerking as he spills into your mouth. it’s messier, hotter, a flood of cum and spit that overwhelms you, spilling out in thick, sticky ropes that coat your lips, your chin, your glasses, dripping onto his thighs and pooling in the creases of his skin.

you swallow what you can, lips still wrapped around him, tongue lapping at the oversensitive tip through the slick mess until he’s twitching, a broken, “n-no more—please—” escaping as he clutches the cushion.

time slips. minutes? hours? you’re tugging his shirt, pulling him closer like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded. ten minutes later, he’s gripping the sheets, praying, fucked senseless by every move you make. you flinch when he whines too loud, hands flying to your mouth, eyes wide with guilt—but then you lean in again, bolder, hungrier, chasing every twitch, every broken gasp of your name.

he’s never felt so cherished and so destroyed at the same time.

every touch is careful, but determined. you’re hesitant but thorough, like you’ve read the same passage in a smutty fanfiction a hundred times and are finally getting the chance to test it out. and the worst part? you’re good at it. really good.

your mouth, your hands, the way you watch his face for every twitch of pleasure—it’s enough to make him lose all sense of pride. the way you keep glancing at his reactions, as if adjusting your technique in real time, is insane. terrifying. he’s never been studied so hard. he likes it. he needs it. he’s suffering in the best way.

he’s never had to hold back like this. never had to breathe through it. never felt this fucking sensitive. he’s gripping the cushions like a man possessed. he’s whispering your name like a prayer. he’s not even sure he’s still speaking coherent sentences. you’ve wrecked him. utterly and entirely.

you pull back, panting, your hands shaking as you adjust your glasses, eyes glassy and wide. your lips are swollen, chin wet with a glistening mix of spit and cum, and you lick them, tasting him again, a soft moan slipping free as your thighs press together.

satoru is ruined—sprawled on the couch, shirt clinging to his chest, chest heaving like he’s fought a war. his hand is still in your hair, loose, trembling, and he’s staring at you like you’re a fucking goddess.

“thought you were the innocent one,” he chokes out, breathless, watching you nibble your lip and adjust your glasses with shaking fingers.

“i still am,” you murmur, face tucked into his shoulder. “kind of.”

he huffs out a laugh, dazed and wrecked. he can feel your heartbeat against his ribs. he doesn’t want to move. his hands are still trembling from how hard he tried to keep it together for you—and yet, you’re the one who took the lead. you’re the one who made him forget how to function. you kiss the edge of his jaw, soft and uncertain, and it undoes him more than anything else.

satoru gojo, campus heartthrob, ruined by a shy nerd girl who reads too much smut on her kindle late at night under the covers. who probably has a secret ao3 account and bookmarked folders. who looks like a timid schoolgirl but fucks like she’s been studying him like a midterm exam. and passed with extra credit. honors. valedictorian. summa cum laude of making him lose his damn mind.

he’s never been so obsessed.

and you? you’re already pressing your forehead to his chest, voice small, eyes wide with want and something raw and messy and needy as you look up at him.

“can we… try again? i think i missed a step.”

he doesn’t know if he wants to laugh, cry, or propose.

he’s never been more in love. and all he knows is he’s done for.

[usercowboy]

Eddie’s parking in Pepa’s driveway after dinner— Buck and Chris are playing video games back, well, not home because it’s not allowed to be, because this isn’t his, not anymore — when he gathers the courage to speak. The drive was quiet, comfortably so, but something was…not off, but off-center. Eddie wondered if Pepa noticed it, too, or if he was the only one in that car with one hand on the wheel and the other trying to hold it all together. 

He doesn’t look at her. 

“Tía, um. Can I ask you something?” He fidgets with his hands, tries tying his fingers into knots the way his stomach’s done. 

Pepa turns to him, releasing the door handle. She pauses, watches him. Eddie sees it all in his periphery. 

“Of course, Eddie. Is everything alright?” 

“Yeah, it’s just.” He inhales. Tries to keep his exhale steady. Doesn’t think he succeeds all that well. He finally turns to face her. “You called Buck Evancito.” 

“Eddie, I’ve called him that for years. Is there a problem now? Did he say something?” 

Eddie swallows. It seems to echo in the silence of the car. Maybe it just echoes in his chest, right beneath his breastbone where Buck seems to have made a home for himself over the past seven years. Eddie’s not sure how he missed it. 

Well, that’s not quite true. He knows how he missed it, knows why. Knows he wasn’t ready, knows he didn’t want to risk the best relationship he’s got. Buck is…Buck is a big thing. Whatever’s been slowly eating him alive is terrifying and bigger than him yet it fits in the low heat of his belly anyway, somehow. 

He knows. Knows he can't ignore it anymore.

“You didn’t have a nickname for Shannon,” he blurts out after the silence has dragged a little too long. “I know you didn’t hate her the way my parents did. Do. But still, you never had a nickname for her.” 

Pepa considers this, a small, fond, knowing smile forming. 

“Shannon was never that good for you. You two weren’t partners the way you and Buck are.” 

She puts weight behind partners. He can tell she doesn’t mean at work. 

“Buck and I aren’t anything.” 

“But you put him in the same category as Shannon?” she asks, in the same tone she once said I thought you just dressed alike, like this is something obvious. Something quiet, something calm. Easy. 

Eddie doesn’t feel like any of this is easy. 

He doesn’t say this. 

“Buck isn’t—I didn’t—tía.” 

Pepa takes pity on him, laughing gently. She pats his cheek. “It’s okay. You can feel whatever you feel for him. I can’t speak for everyone in our family, but it won’t make me love you any less.”

Tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He doesn’t say anything then, doesn’t think he’d be able to even if he tried. So he nods instead and hopes Pepa understands.

“Okay,” he manages to squeeze out after a beat. 

She smiles at him, and opens the car door. 

Eddie doesn’t pull out of the driveway for a while. 

[starmapz]

what you know - ch16: sleepless nights || r. sukuna

❦ ryomen sukuna x f!reader [college au] [ongoing series]

❝ you've heard his reputation and you've seen first-hand the way he's late to class if he even bothers to show up. paired with him for the most important project of the year, you choose to give him the benefit of the doubt- but maybe that's more than he deserves when your perfect grades depend on him, or maybe there's more to the aloof and irritable sukuna than meets the eye. ❞

❦ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. use of cannabis. use of nicotine/cigarettes. angst. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. minor injury. family trauma. smut. slow burn. anxiety. panic attacks. mentions of difficulty eating. legal drama (likely with inaccuracies). tags will be updated as series continues.

❦ additional tags ; college parties and themes. sukuna ooc warning as this is a realistic take on modern sukuna. reader is fairly preppy and implied to be smaller than sukuna, but he's 6"11.

❦ words ; 17.6k.

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter - coming soon

Slipping through the door on Tuesday morning to the lecture hall mere seconds before the professor shuts it, you mutter an apology as you jog up to your seat beside Kento. The blonde’s lips downturn at the sight of your rushed movements as you pull your laptop out, your chest heaving after having run through campus.

“May I ask what has you so rushed?” He questions in a hushed tone as the professor prepares for his lecture.

Letting out a breath, you shake your head. “I had a little bit of an existential crisis this morning, but everything’s good now,” you breathe, forcing a smile.

Kento’s brow raises. “Would this have anything to do with Sukuna?”

“No. Well-” you pause, hesitating as your fingers pause on your keyboard. “Kinda, I guess.”

Kento’s observant eyes flicker between your rushed movements and your expression. He scrutinizes the minute tremor in your fingers and the way you chew on your lip. Unfortunately for you, he’s entirely too observant, and more than willing to call you out for it.

“Have you been crying?”

Like a deer in the headlights, your head whips towards him, wide-eyed. Caught.

The blonde frowns. “Do you have a moment after class before your internship?”

You nod, sighing as you give in, frazzled nerves dissolving. You’re not sure why you bother trying to hide when it comes to him. He’s known you too long, and he’s always been perceptive.

As the professor begins the lecture, you dial in, doing what you can to give your full attention to the subject. You can’t afford another day of catch-up, not when you’re still behind.

When the professor dismisses the lecture hall, you lean back in your seat, dropping the back of your head onto the plastic backrest. With a yawn, you run your hands through your hair, before dropping them to hang at your sides.

Kento’s presence beside you remains steady as he allows you a moment to sort out your thoughts. Your gaze trails across the ceiling, resting on a water stain. You recall thinking those were coffee stains when you were a kid. In hindsight, that doesn’t make much sense.

When you remain unmoving for a minute too long, Kento finally gives you a push. “Care to start with the elephant in the room?”

Shutting your eyes, your brows knit together. “Sukuna?”

“In a sense. What happened with the trial? I didn’t get the chance to ask when I saw you on Friday.”

Shrugging in place, you shake your head. “His step-mom had the whole thing rigged. I don’t think it would have mattered what he did.”

“I see.”

“The kids were devastated,” you murmur, blinking your eyes open as your gaze finds more deformities in the otherwise uninteresting ceiling, “and really scared.”

Kento’s expression remains aloof as he hums in understanding. “And Sukuna?”

You finally tilt your head towards the blonde. You’re in a frazzled enough mood to question whether or not he truly cares about Sukuna’s well-being, but you have no right to be rude when your friend has only ever shown compassion for you. Sighing, you stare back at the ceiling, clasping your hands in your lap.

Hesitating, your lips purse. You’re in no position to be telling Kento the details of Sukuna’s life, but you’re also desperately in need of some support yourself. As much as you appreciate Toji and Uraume, what you really need is a girls’ night (featuring Kento), but you’re not sure whether you have the time to spare for that.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “I mean- I know he’s doing bad. He didn’t sleep between the trial and the hand-off of the kids.” As your neck starts to get sore, you sit up, staring at your fiddling thumbs in your lap. “I haven’t heard from him since before the hand-off, though.”

“And you’re worried?” He confirms.

Nodding, you sigh softly. “I tried texting and calling.”

“Well, surely you’ll see him at work today,” Kento offers, though you’ve already considered that.

“Hopefully. I don’t know,” you admit. You have half a mind to think he might take some time off, or just not show up at all.

“And you?”

You swipe your tongue across your bottom lip as Kento turns in his seat to better see you. “I’m so behind,” you murmur. The dark circles underlining your eyes feel heavy with the admission. You’d only missed a couple of days, but the truth is that you’ve spent so much time concerning yourself with Sukuna’s affairs that even your time spent studying was wasted on zoning out.

Kento’s sharp auburn eyes flicker between yours. “I meant how are you handling what’s going on with Sukuna, but something tells me the tears weren’t shed over him. Would that be right?”

Your chest slowly rises in a long, exasperated inhalation. “Not this time,” you sigh. “I got some wires crossed and forgot to submit a paper last night. I thought it was due on Wednesday.”

Kento frowns. “I assume it was for your Copy Editing class?”

You nod.

“What was it worth?”

“Thirty percent,” you murmur, blinking your eyes rapidly as you feel tears of stress welling in your eyes. “I don’t know how I was so stupid, I usually have everything right in my calendar, and double-check and-”

“Hold on,” Kento interrupts before you can spiral as you begin to ramble and blame yourself. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Have you had the opportunity to speak with your professor about it yet?”

“Well- no, but he’s pretty strict, and I’m a scholarship student,” you mumble doubtfully, finding yourself picking at your nails.

The very best is expected out of you, you’ve had no issue upholding that until this semester.

“Strict or not, life happens,” Kento points out, not hesitating to wrap his fingers around your wrist and tug your hands apart to prevent you from picking at your nails. He pulls his hands back to his lap with a pointed stare, scolding you with only a look. “I think he would be willing to consider your perspective if you simply explain.”

“I can’t just tell him what’s going on with Sukuna.”

“You can’t allow yourself to fail to spare his feelings, either,” Kento points out evenly, crossing his legs.

Your gaze falls to your lap. “I guess you’re right,” you murmur. “I’ll try to talk to my prof tomorrow.”

Nodding in satisfaction, your friend nods at your side. “And your internship?”

Your eyes widen. “Wait- What time is it? I think I need to leave.”

Pulling his wrist up, Kento calmly recites the time from his wristwatch. “Ten.”

“I’m gonna be late.” You move in a rush to shove your textbook and laptop into your bag, pulling on your coat with one hand at the same time.

You pause for the briefest of moments as Kento catches your attention with your name. “What is it?” You ask, returning to packing up as you zip up your bag and toss it over your shoulder.

“You’ll be alright if you’re a couple of minutes late.”

“I-” you hesitate as you get to your feet. “- I really want to make a good impression.”

Getting to his feet, Kento pushes his belongings into his bag at a much more reasonable pace. “I can sympathize with that, but you also need to take care of yourself,” he points out.

Squeezing your bag strap on your shoulder, your brows draw together. You know all-too-well that you’ve been neglecting some much needed self-care time and relaxation, but life isn’t about to slow down and wait for you. You can catch up later.

“Let me walk you to your car.”

Nodding, you follow after him as he leads to way down the stairs of the lecture hall and out into the spring air.

The sun is peeking through the clouds, but a glum feeling still seems to cling to the air. Or maybe you’re just projecting your stress into the clouds, you can’t be sure. Either way, the chirping of birds and buzzing of the returning insects doesn’t carry the same welcoming feeling of spring that you’re accustomed to.

Falling into step with you, Kento takes the opportunity to gently pat your shoulder. “Breathe,” he soothes, remaining as a steady presence from your childhood. If there’s one thing Kento excels in, it’s his ability to assess a situation and act accordingly to find the best outcome, one of the many benefits of having a psychiatrist as a mother. He watches as you suck in a breath, taking a moment to slow down. “How are the rest of your classes going?”

“I- um-” you hesitate, stumbling over your foot and barely managing to catch yourself in the process. Attempting to walk off the embarrassment of tripping, you brush your coat off and stand straight once more. “Um-”

Kento moves to stand in front of you and stops, forcing you to slow down for a moment, to catch your breath and your spiraling thoughts. Tilting your chin up to look at him, you find his brow furrowed, the first signs of disquiet written across his features. “Take a breath,” he encourages you again.

Taking a deep breath, you force the thought of being late for work out of your mind for now, blowing air from your pursed lips in a sigh.

“Good. Now tell me, what’s going on?”

Chewing on your lip, you avoid Kento’s gaze. “I’m kinda worried about my scholarship,” you admit quietly, wrapping your arms around yourself.

The blonde frowns. “Are you that far behind? How many classes did you miss?”

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you shrug. “Not that many,” you shake your head. “But my Public Relations and Marketing class had a presentation that I didn’t know about from a publishing house and I don’t know how I’m supposed to catch up on that and I’m worried-”

“Hey.” Kento interrupts as you begin to spiral. “It’s okay. Have you had the chance to speak with that professor?”

“Well, no-”

“Then take a breath,” he urges. “One step at a time.”

You nod slowly, taking his advice.

“Has the Financial Aid Office or an Academic Advisor reached out?”

“Not yet.”

“Then you’ll be okay.” Kento smiles reassuringly, his cool and calm demeanor soothing your frayed nerves a bit. “I’ll help you work through it, how does that sound?”

Your shoulders fall in defeat as you nod, accepting his help. “You’re a lifesaver, thanks Ken. Are you sure you won’t fall behind?”

A chuckle rumbles within his chest. “I’m ahead,” he admits, not as a boast but to reassure you. “Besides, not everyone has a…” he searches for words, “dear friend in need of help quite as you do. I know you’re often busy.” His tone takes on a chiding edge, a certain knowing gleam in his eyes.

As your nerves begin to settle, you hide your face at his teasing, pushing past him to continue on your way to your car. “Don’t say it like that,” you groan, earning a chuckle from Kento. As aloof and stoic as he is, the man can be far too much of a smartass for his own good.

“No? Am I wrong?”

There it is.

“I- No- I mean-” You stammer over your words, giving him a shove.

He chuckles once more, his calm demeanor never faltering. “I see your feelings haven’t changed.”

You continue to avoid his gaze, walking a bit faster.

“I don’t dislike him, you know.”

You pause, turning to face Kento again. “Even after the whole-” you make a motion in the air, flailing your hands around pointlessly.

“Yes, even after the fight.”

You blink, eyes narrowing just a smidge as you wait for him to elaborate.

He continues walking as he replies. “Sukuna is many things. Dense, egotistical, and often careless, to name a few.” He casts a glance in your direction. “I do dislike how he treated you,” he states plainly. “However, I’m willing to look past that and let bygones be bygones if that’s what you wish. I know you care for him, and I trust your judgement. If you’re willing to give him another chance, then I’m not one to hold my personal thoughts against him.” Kento rolls his shoulders back. “I can certainly respect what he’s going through, and I’m willing to bet that a lot of his prior behavior can be attributed to unfortunate circumstances.”

You’re silent for a moment as you contemplate his words. There’s something incredibly heartwarming about the way your friend has the ability to cast aside his judgement in favor of your well-being. Hell, you aren’t even sure there are words to really put into perspective just how emotionally intelligent and mature he truly is.

His support is almost too much.

If you weren’t so busy processing the very genuine care behind his words, you might have teased him for sounding like his mother… Maybe another day.

For now, you’ll just bask in the warmth that his friendship brings, unable to help a genuine smile.

“I… Appreciate that, Nanamin.”

He winces slightly at the childhood nickname, though he chooses not to comment. “Of course. Which reminds me, how exactly are you handling the loss of his brothers?”

As your car comes into sight, you shrug, brushing off the question. “They’re not my brothers.”

Before you can get close enough to escape into your car, Kento grips your forearm to stop you. “Perhaps not, but it’s not that simple, is it?” He inquires, the deep auburn of his eyes flickering around your face as though he can read every little twitch of your features. “You see him as family, do you not?”

You avoid his gaze, staring at the ground as you attempt to put your thoughts into words. “Sukuna doesn’t feel that way about me, I don’t have any right-”

Dropping your forearm now that he has your attention, Kento shakes his head. “I’m stopping you there. I have my own thoughts about Sukuna’s feelings towards you, but you have every right to see his brothers as family. Would you not consider him one of your closest friends?”

Tilting your head at the way Kento mentions Sukuna’s feelings towards you, your lips purse. “Wait, what do you mean? What do you think about Sukuna’s feelings for me?”

Your friend takes a pause, weighing exactly how much or how little he wants to say in the case that he could be wrong. “I don’t want to get your hopes up, so take this with a grain of salt,” he warns, “but he seems happy around you.” It’s not exactly the admission you were expecting, you know that much to be true. Still, he continues. “I think for someone handling as much as Sukuna is, the fact that he seeks not just your support in his time of need, but your attention outside of that, is worth a lot more than you realize.”

Your heart palpitates at the mere thought of Kento’s words being true. So much for a grain of salt. You’re practically clinging to the words like a lifeline.

You can’t even begin to count how many nights you’ve spent staring at the ceiling wondering if things have changed. Wondering if maybe the reason he so adamantly seeks your touch and company is because things have changed, but every time you’re reminded of one thing.

He rejected you.

And if you’re being honest with yourself, second-guessing his feelings now is easier on your heart than facing another rejection, no matter how much more resilient you’ve gotten over the months.

Kento brushes the words aside as though they don’t carry the weight of the world. “Now, wouldn’t you consider him one of your closest friends?”

You nod, not trusting your voice as Kento finally leads the way along the final stretch of campus between you and your car.

“Then, I think it’s reasonable to see them as family. You have every right to be upset.” He stops as he reaches your car. Robotically, you search for your keys in the front pocket of your bag, chewing mindlessly on your lip, lost in thought. “Hey.”

You whip your head around to face him, blinking as you return to the present.

“Get out of your thoughts. I told you to take what I said with a grain of salt,” he teases lightly, shaking his head. “I just want you to know that it’s okay to be going through a tough time, yourself.”

Willing yourself to stay in the present, here with Kento, you sigh. “You’re right.” Climbing into the driver’s seat of your car, you start the engine. “This helped a lot. Thanks, Ken.”

“Of course,” he nods. “Let me know when you have some time, I’ll help you study.”

“You’re the best,” you pout up at him. “I’ll see you later?”

He nods, though his hand remains on the door so that you can’t close it. “That reminds me, Satoru organized a dinner at the bar across from his place on Friday. You missed the discussion at lunch last week, but you’re invited. You should come, I think it would be good for you.”

Inhaling a long, deep breath, you nod. “You’re probably right. Yeah, I’ll try to make it.”

“Bring Sukuna.”

“What?” Your brow furrows as you regard your friend from where he leans over your car door. “But Shoko’s still mad, and Satoru doesn’t like-”

“They’ll live. I think it would be good for you to spend some time with your friends, and I know he’s a part of that for you.”

“Are you sure?”

The blonde hums affirmatively. “I’m sure he could use a distraction.”

Staring out your windshield at the row of cars parked ahead of you, you find yourself nodding. “I’ll try.”

“Good. Drive safe.”

“I will.” Before shutting the door as your friend stands upright, you shoot him a grateful smile. “Thanks, Kento.”

He simply smiles as you make your way home to change before work.

–

You’re exactly eighteen minutes late when you barrel through the door of your office, earning a few stares as you pant when you collapse into your chair in Yuki’s office. She raises a brow at you, glancing at the time.

“Girl, how many times do I need to tell you that you can be late?”

Your chest heaves dramatically as you shake your head. “I need to make a good impression,” you breathe between heavy pants.

“No one’s counting twenty minutes against you,” she quips with a smirk, tapping the edge of her screen where her clock would be with her pen. “You’re still in school, anyway. Everyone knows you’ve got shit going on,” she shrugs, resting her elbow on the table as she leans on the ball of her palm.

Do you ever.

“I know, but-” you pause, unable to find a truly good reason behind your rush to get to work.

“Relax. Maya’s not here right now and I’m your boss, so-” she cuts herself off with a carefree shrug, picking up her coffee. 

Your eyes trail to the corner of your desk where, for the past month or so, your café order has been waiting for you, courtesy of Sukuna. The spot is empty, and usually on the days where it is, Sukuna wouldn’t be far behind, with the beverage in-hand or an invite to join him at the café.

Today is the second day since he began at the publishing house where that hasn’t been the case. The only other day was last Thursday, when he couldn’t be at work and chose to spend the day with his brothers.

Your lips purse at the thought and you twist in your seat to peek out the door. His office is shut, the window that offers a peek into his little nook of the office has blinds shuttered, with no way to tell whether he’s inside or not.

Yuki raises a brow as you turn your attention back to your desk. “No coffee today, huh? You two back to being ex-friends?” She teases, the reasoning behind Sukuna’s absence last week unbeknownst to her.

Your face falls as you open your laptop, sighing as you catch a glance at the clock. It’s not even eleven and it feels as though you’ve had a full day’s worth of stress already.

Though, maybe starting out the day with the realization that you missed a deadline and crying over it should have been the first sign that today would be a bad day.

“No, we’re good,” you assure Yuki. “It’s just been a tough few days,” you admit, omitting any further information.

Sensing your earnestness, Yuki sits upright, her expression morphing to one of sympathy. “Well, if you need anything, I’m here.”

“Thanks,” you smile, grateful when she lets you put your focus into your work. It serves as a valuable distraction from everything on your mind. Between your missed deadline, your less-than-ideal pace of catching up in your classes, and Kento’s words echoing in the recesses of your mind like some sort of mantra you can’t escape, the moment of genuine focus doesn’t come without difficulty.

Still, you’re able to finish up some edits on your current work and send it along for review to Yuki, who pouts dramatically at you, before deciding to head to the lunch room.

Your heels click on the floor as you make your way out of the office, a bag filled with your lunch held within your palms as you find yourself pausing just outside of your destination. No one is in the lunch room just yet, and your eyes trail to the right where Sukuna’s office lies.

No sound comes from within, and you figure he likely isn’t there, but your curiosity gets the better of you. Twisting on your heel, you find yourself gingerly knocking at the door, hoping, praying, that your friend is within. Any opportunity to check on him that might ease even an ounce of your worries would go a long way for your mental well-being.

When there’s no answer, you chew on your lip as you stare down at the handle, testing whether the room is unlocked as you pull it down. The door clicks as it unlatches, creaking open with a squeak of its hinges.

You peer through the gap, blinking at just how dark it is within the office. The blinds are pulled shut not just in the windows that he shares with the interior of the publishing house, but the windows to the outside as well. The only hint of light is what peeks through the blinds, slivers of the outside world cascading over the surfaces within. The stillness of the air within offers a small corner away from the clacking of keys and scribbling of pens, but what you don’t expect are the soft snores accompanying it.

Pushing into the office, your eyes widen at the state it’s in, and who’s at the center of it all.

Paper is scattered across the floor, along with a couple of pens and some paper clips, but hunched over the desk fast asleep in the heart of the room is your friend. His soft snores penetrate the air, his head resting on his forearms, crossed beneath his face, a thin sheen of sweat slick on his exposed skin. His hair is disheveled and his shirt is wrinkled and pleated more than usual. He’s surrounded by a multitude of paper cups, enough to say he should probably be awake right now with the amount of caffeine he’d pumped into his system.

Your heart pangs at the sight. You honestly hadn’t expected him to be here at all, you’d figured that he would stay home and take some time to himself, maybe focus on his meeting with the lawyer tomorrow, but that isn’t the case at all. He must have attempted to bury himself in his work, unable to slow down for even a moment.

You shut the door behind you, careful not to make a sound as you set your lunch on the edge of his desk and lean down to pluck the paperwork off of the floor. You can just barely make out Sukuna’s writing scrawled across some of the pages, mostly detailing edits he wants to make on his own work, but one in particular catches your eye.

One of the pages is crumpled, it looks as though Sukuna must have had the intention of tossing it out, before he flattened it to use as a notepad. Lazily scrawled across the page is a variety of equations and calculations, with titles beside each total.

Groceries. Rent. Internet. Phone Bill. Lawyer.

The calculations beside the scrawl of ‘Lawyer’ are crossed out a number of times, each number higher than the last. Dread settles in the pit of your stomach as even the final number is scratched out. You can’t make out exactly how much it is, but it’s well in the tens of thousands at this point based on the amount of digits he’s scratched out.

Frowning, you tuck the page within the rest of the paperwork, uneasiness settling in your chest as you get back to your feet. Delicately setting the paper on the edge of the desk, you chew on your lip as you begin popping lids off of each of the empty cups of coffee, stacking the paper cups within one another and tossing them all out.

Gathering the pens and paper clips on the floor, you set those where they belong in a small cup on his desk as well while you contemplate whether you should wake him. On one hand, you want him to sleep, but on the other hand…

His poor back. And neck. He should be home if things are this bad.

Your throat tightens as you make your decision, slowly approaching the man’s desk. Setting your hand gently on his bicep, you shake him softly.

Sukuna groans, his face immediately twisting into a deeply grumpy scowl as he swats you away. You pull your hand back, grimacing as he shuffles and turns his head away from you. “Fuck off,” he mutters.

Good thing you found him and not your boss.

“You should go home and get some rest,” you try to encourage the mostly-asleep man, praying your voice may rouse him from his fatigued state somewhat.

He groans, letting out a breath as he peeks an eye open to see you standing over him. He squints hard as you pull him from his slumber and you swear there’s an almost cartoon-ish bubble popping over his head as his sleep is interrupted.

He pushes up into a seated position, leaning heavily on his forearms. The remnants of sleep remain indented in his cheek as the outline of the fabric of his shirt dimples his skin. Yawning, the man leans back in his chair, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand before pushing his long hair from his vision.

“What do you want?” He grumbles from behind his hands as he rubs them over his drained features in an attempt to wake up. He’s clearly bone-tired and very grumpy now that you’ve awoken him, you can’t imagine he’s intentionally throwing an attitude around with you.

“I came to check on you,” you express, tilting your head to the side in an attempt to get a better look at him in the low lighting. “I didn’t think you’d be here today.”

Sukuna huffs, leaning forward as he rests his forehead on his knuckles, propped up by his elbow. His gaze is trained on the wood grain of his desk. “What time is it?” He mutters out the question, casting your concerns aside.

“Almost noon.”

“Noon,” he repeats, unmoving. “Tuesday?”

“Um- Yeah,” you affirm, your brow furrowing at his reaction.

He lets out an exasperated huff. “Shit,” he mutters under his breath. Dazed, he raises his head, finally getting a look around his office as he begins to come to, though he’s still squinting, even in the low light. You can just barely make out tears on his lash line as he yawns.

Your lips purse as realization passes over you. “Please tell me you didn’t sleep here,” you mumble.

“You cleaned up,” he mutters, ignoring you.

“I- Yeah. Sukuna, you didn’t sleep here, did you?” You push again, taking a step towards his desk.

“It was just s’posed to be a nap,” he grumbles, tapping on the screen of his iPad and squinting harder as the time flashes up at him. “Christ.”

Blinking at him in shock, you can’t help but go back to the subject that he keeps on frustratingly brushing off.

“You didn’t go home last night?”

Finally processing your concern, he stares you down. “No.”

“Why not?”

Sighing heavily, he massages his temples, fighting off an oncoming headache. “Had deadlines to meet n’ needed money to meet with the lawyer tomorrow,” he mumbles out an explanation.

Blinking in horror at the immediate repercussions of losing his brothers, you feel your worries twist in your stomach and lurch up to your throat. Sukuna can play off as much as he wants that he’s just trying to catch up, but you can see within the crimson of his irises that he’s lost. Trying to find some sort of purpose, something to do.

And you get it.

It happened to you when the two of you fought. When you had to relearn your own hobbies and allow yourself to enjoy your spare time once again, but this is beyond that. This isn’t a few months’ worth of friendship and constant time spent together, this is a man who’s spent years with no spare time, skipping out on sleep in favor of providing for his brothers. This is a man who taught himself to thrive under pressure for the sheer sake of survival.

Now, the pressure remains, but his time is tenfold. How is anyone meant to unlearn a work ethic so ingrained into their system at the snap of a finger?

When you’re busy with life’s obligations, it’s easy to be willing to lose sleep to find time for yourself and your passions, but when that life is ripped from the fabric of your being, it feels downright wrong to spend any spare time indulging in oneself.

And for someone like Sukuna, someone who feels he’s failed everyone around him, that feeling only increases tenfold. It exists on the outer edges of his psyche, sticking to him like glue and threatening to pull him under. It’s a painfully suffocating way to live.

Swiping your tongue across your lower lip, your gaze falls to the blinds. “Can I open those?” You ask, pointing behind him.

He grunts, the barest of shrugs following it.

Moving past him, you pull the blinds open on his window, letting the overcast light pour into the room. Sukuna rubs his eyes behind you, squinting to adjust to the light.

Standing behind him, you frown. “Why don’t you go home?”

“Can’t.”

“Why not?” You push, your brow furrowing with how painfully stubborn this man is.

“Missed almost a week. Gotta make up for it,” he replies almost robotically, rolling his neck. It pops as he picks up his iPad, not sparing a moment as he gets back to it.

Making your way back around to the front of his desk, you worriedly take in his features as daylight streams in, illuminating the surfaces of his office. The thin sheen of sweat remains on his skin, clinging to his forehead in a way that makes him look sickly. Paired with a gaunt and empty expression and dark circles under his eyes that resemble bruises, you can only imagine the pain he’s going through.

“When was the last time you ate?”

Sukuna’s gaze rises slowly, before trailing to the side as he considers your question. Sighing, he rubs his forehead. “Fuck,” he mumbles. “Dunno, princess. I had a protein bar at some point last night.”

Your gut twists in further horror at the revelation. “You’re gonna make yourself sick,” you mumble.

He lowers his hand from his forehead, staring blankly at you as he remains silent. His eyes flicker across your features as you stand your ground. When you don’t receive a response, you move to the edge of his desk, digging into the bag you’d left on the surface when you entered the room. Pulling out your lunch, you set it on the desk and slide it across to him.

“I’m not eating your lunch,” he gruffs, staring at the tupperware.

“You’re not. I packed it for you.”

Anyone else might present such a fact as defiance, but Sukuna knows you too well. It’s done out of the kindness of your heart, because you hate that he never brings lunch. Since the day you first shared your lunch with him, of course he’s taken notice that you always seem to conveniently have too much food, it’s only now that you’re acknowledging it not as too much food, but as a purposeful decision to bring extra for him.

He swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing as he stares down at the tupperware. You plop yourself down in a chair in front of his desk, leaning back as you begin eating your leftover pasta salad, forcing Sukuna to sigh. Languidly, he frowns as he takes a hold of the tupperware, popping it open to leftover pizza. The smell alone is enough to make his stomach grumble, and he allows himself to give in, leaning back in his chair.

The room is silent aside from the sound of your fork against plastic as you eat. As hungry as his stomach made him sound, Sukuna struggles to find an appetite, eating in slow motion. You finish far before him, snacking on some fruit you’d packed alongside the two meals. You offer him some, but he shakes his head.

Between bites, you find yourself watching the uncharacteristic way that Sukuna moves. It doesn’t seem like he’s given up. He wouldn’t be working so hard even now if he had, but everything from the way he carries himself to the empty look in his eyes is worse than anything you’ve seen from him over the course of the past few months.

This isn’t distance, or being lost in his own head, this goes beyond that. It’s as though defeat is battering him down and even if he refuses to fall, his body and mind are still taking the brunt of the damage.

“How did yesterday morning go?”

Sukuna stops dead in his tracks, his hand hovering over another slice of pizza. He bites down on his lip as the memory of Yuji screaming out for him is enough to make him shudder. He sucks in a shaky breath, feigning nonchalance as he grabs the slice.

“Fine,” he gruffs, staring blankly at the desk in front of him.

You blink, taking in how tense his jaw is as he forces another bite of food into his mouth. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see through his lies. Either way, he obviously doesn’t want to talk about it, so you move on to your next concern. “Are you okay, Kuna?”

His chewing pauses as the hair on the back of his neck stands on end. He blinks, his gaze still trained blankly on his desk as memories flood his mind of the meaning behind the nickname so dear to his brothers, and now to you.

He grits his teeth, grinding them together hard as his expression hardens. He doesn't spare you a glance as his anger simmers just beneath the surface. As the pain and fear both caused by his loss clash within his mind, his grip on the pizza tightens.

His morphing expression and sudden frozen stance cause you to tilt your head at him. “Kuna?”

He knows it’s not intentional. God damn it, he knows.

But fuck if the continued use of his nickname doesn't poke and prod at that growing fear of losing his own identity. But if he doesn't let you call him that stupid nickname he used to hate (maybe even still does), then who is he, really?

Swallowing, he slowly returns to his meal, though his gaze never once moves from the desk. Trained emptily on the deep wooden grain beneath his forearms. He flexes his jaw, the tight muscles aching from the pressure he put them under. “I’m fine.”

The words almost sound as though they choke him. Worrying your lower lip between your teeth, you search for anything you can do to find answers, to find a reaction, to find any signs of life within him.

Your stare brings Sukuna’s crimson irises up from the table, his vision catching on the way you chew on your lower lip. He doesn't have the mental fortitude right now to consider the way his gaze hangs on the movement, or the way he has to forcibly tear his gaze away.

He grabs the last piece of pizza as silence continues to permeate the air. It’s not the usual comfortable one, either. It hangs as heavy and thick as the fog in his brain, clinging to you both with the weight of Sukuna’s situation.

There's more to it, though. You’re tense too, more so than usual, now that Sukuna can get a better look at you. Whatever it is that hangs over you, it goes beyond concern regarding his thinly veiled lie of how he’s doing. His brow furrows as his thoughts seem to stall.

He actually considers slamming his head against the desk in an effort to clear his thoughts, but even with the fog of weariness clouding his brain, he knows that’s stupid. 

Clearing his throat, he rests his arm against his desk, the remainder of the pizza you brought him held between his fingers. “You alright?”

“Hm?” Your brow raises, his words taking a moment to register when he pulls you from your thoughts. “Oh- yeah, I’m good!” You shoot him a reassuring smile, your eyes crinkling at the corners as you feign your own well-being. You don’t need to give Sukuna any reason to worry.

His eye twitches, but he drops the subject. Whether he believes you, or he’s too tired to argue, you can’t be sure.

FInishing up your fruit in silence, you cast a glance at the time, packing your lunch back up into the tupperware and tossing it into the tote bag you brought it in. “I should get back to work, but I’ll be back at five sharp because I’m taking you home,” you tell him in the most authoritative voice you can muster. He opens his mouth to retort, but you interrupt before he can get a word in. “See you in a bit.”

With that, you slip out the door before he can argue with you, leaving him in his office in silence.

On the walk back to your desk, you fall into step with Yuki, who happens to be returning from lunch at the same time.

“Hey, where’d you disappear to?” She inquires with a tilt of her head. Her blonde hair cascades to the side as she curiously regards you.

“I was having lunch with Sukuna,” you explain, pointing a thumb over your shoulder. “I went to check on him, he slept here overnight,” you grimace.

“You’re kidding.” Yuki casts a glance back at his office, the door slightly ajar from how you’d left it. “Was he really behind, or something?”

You shrug. “He didn’t give me much of an explanation, he just mentioned deadlines.”

Yuki shakes her head. “Poor guy. He didn’t even take that much time off.”

“Yeah… I’m gonna take the bus home with him.” You nod to yourself. “At least then I can make sure he gets some sleep in a bed.”

“Wait, does he at least have a couch in his office to sleep on?”

You shake your head.

“Oh my god, I can feel his back pain from here,” she winces in horror, rubbing her shoulder at the thought.

You chuckle quietly to yourself. “It’s not like he’d fit on a couch anyway.”

“You have a point,” she agrees, chuckling alongside you as you settle into your desk to work for the afternoon.

It passes quickly, even with a multitude of distractions, courtesy of your brain’s ability to cling to every concern like you owe it money. The amount of times you find yourself re-reading some of the paragraphs in an effort to actually understand the text laid out for you says a lot about your own well-being. It’s not exactly easy to edit when your mind keeps jumping back between Sukuna’s exhausted expression and the paper you missed the deadline for.

Still, you manage to make it through the day without falling behind, which is a relief because you’re not sure if you could handle falling behind on work as well as school.

Packing your laptop into your bag and shutting off your monitor, you wish Yuki a good night as you cross the office to get Sukuna.

When you push his door open, you find him hunched over his iPad with a concentrated expression and a multitude of printed pages and pencil sketches spread across the table. You tilt your head to get a better look at some of them as Sukuna works away, not even acknowledging you.

None of the art strewn across his desk is in a style you’re used to seeing from him. Most of his art for the covers that you’ve seen tends to be in one of two different styles. Either a character with rounded features and bold lines, similar to how he draws for his brothers to color, or in a painterly style reminiscent of old children’s novels. What lays across his desk, however, is a variety of different styles.

“Trying out something new?” You query, finally gaining his attention as his eyes flicker up to you, before he glances at the clock in the corner of his screen.

“Somethin’ like that,” he grumbles out in reply. “Gimme a moment.”

You nod, peering over his desk curiously to catch a glimpse of his current piece. You can’t decipher what project the cover is for based on what he’s done so far, but it’s also a far stretch from his usual art. Bold lines and equally bold colors come together to make a heavily stylized car on a stretch of road with cacti dotted along the background.

It’s gorgeous, but unusual.

“Nosy,” Sukuna mutters, meant to be a playful dig at your curiosity, though it lacks any lilt that could be seen as teasing, coming across more like an irritated grunt.

“Sorry,” you mumble, taking a step back.

“I’m kidding, princess. I don’t care if you look,” he sighs, shutting his iPad off and tucking it in his bag.

“Oh,” you frown, having a tough time reading him as he stands up to pull his jacket on. Raking his fingers through his hair, he pushes it back to the best of his ability, though it still lays in a disheveled manner on his head.

Without another word, Sukuna comes up behind you, nudging you along to lead the way to the bus stop. He remains close behind you as you reach the stop in silence, hands in his pockets as he stares at nothing in particular on the horizon while you take a seat on a bench as you await transit.

“What’s got you trying so many different styles?” You query, peering up at the nearly seven-foot-tall man.

He scratches at the stubble dotting his chin, shrugging. “Just felt like time, I guess.”

You catch the distant glaze that shimmers in his eyes, the way his pupils shrink as they flicker aimlessly from side to side, taking in the buildings across the road. There’s more to this, more to his weary expressions and empty replies, but he’s made it clear you aren’t getting anything out of him.

He’s strangely put-together in comparison to the state you had expected to find him in.

Sure, he’s not all there and unwilling to talk, but you had honestly expected mania. You’d been mentally preparing yourself for monumental anxiety and anger, converging into one horribly pissed off man.

But he just seems exhausted. You can sympathize with that, but you have yet to decide whether this version of Sukuna is more or less worrisome than the man who hides his emotions behind anger.

Moving along, you continue to try to create conversation. “Hey, do you want to go out on Friday? A group of us are going to the bar, you should come.”

“Nah, I’ll just-”

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” You attempt to encourage him. “I got sent the details earlier today. Toji, Uraume, and Atsuya will be there.”

“I’m good,” he declines again.

“Please, Kuna,” you plead as you get to your feet at the sight of the bus in the distance.

He spares you a glance, his chest rising and falling as he silently sighs. “Your friends won’t want me there.”

“Kento invited you.”

His brow twitches as he eyes you, boarding the bus and heading to the back where there are two available seats across from one another. Sukuna leans against the bus window, inadvertently tangling his legs with yours as you take a seat in the tight space across from him.

“Since when does he want me around?”

You understand Sukuna’s uncertainty regarding Kento’s motives given that you’d shared the same question. “He wants you there since you’re my friend. It’d be nice for you to get to know one another.”

His chest slowly rises before he puffs out a breath. The window gains a layer of fog for a moment, clearing when Sukuna’s gaze slides to the side. He stares out the window silently as he weighs his options. Giving your knee a nudge with his own, he gives in with a huff. “Fine. Text me the details.”

It doesn’t matter how shitty he’s feeling, or how little he really wants to go, the way your expression relaxes and your eyes light up helps to ease his pain. It doesn’t meet his eyes, but his lip quirks up into a hint of a smirk before his temple hits the window as he turns his attention back to the blur of trees, concrete, and passing vehicles.

Sukuna’s never been particularly enthusiastic or energetic- but it’s rare that he simply won’t entertain any conversation. You know it’s been an exhausting few weeks, especially as the world keeps on moving- with or without you both- but it’s equally clear that Sukuna needs a break.

Hell, maybe you both do.

Chewing on your lip, you find yourself watching the passing vehicles, as well. You can’t help but wonder what’s going through Sukuna’s mind, what he’s thinking about, how he’s feeling- you want to ask, but the only type of communication he seems even the slightest bit responsive to is touch.

Your gaze trails down to the space between you, where your legs are leaning against one another. Moving your foot closer to him, your calf brushes his. His gaze doesn’t move from the window, but he does pull his leg back to tangle it around your extended foot.

Maybe he’s at wit’s end, but it brings you solace to know that he still finds comfort within you.

The silence grows comfortable as you find your place within his world, watching passing cars. As your stop approaches, Sukuna lazily lifts his arm to hit the alarm for your stop.

You tilt your head at him. “I’ll walk you to your apartment.” It’s more of a statement than an offer, catching Sukuna’s attention as he sits upright across from you, his gaze trailing your expression.

“Cute,” he hums lowly, “but you should go home.”

Apprehensively, you search for the words to convince him otherwise, but his mind’s made up. As the bus slows when your stop approaches, he lifts your bag from under your seat, setting it on your lap.

“Go home, princess.” He encourages hollowly as he unravels his leg from yours.

As the bus halts and the doors open, you can only frown as he gives you a nudge, practically shooing you out the door. “See you Thursday?” You ask hopefully, pausing just before you hop onto the concrete outside.

He grunts.

–

Time seems to pass… differently.

You can’t say for sure what it is that gives you that feeling, but you swear everything is either long and drawn out with no signs of speeding up, or everything passes in the blink of an eye. Classes drag on, but honestly you find yourself thankful for it given that you’re actually grasping some of the material now. No longer do they pass before you can really focus with only thoughts of Sukuna, Yuji, and Choso to fill your time, but in place of those thoughts come a dozen other worries.

You hadn’t found the empathy you were hoping for in your professor, who deemed that you would simply need to take a zero on your delinquent paper for what he claimed was your own doing. It meant pouring more time into Copy Editing, on top of what you already had missed.

Your days are long, your nights longer as you study and attempt to make up for lost time with your scholarship potentially at risk.

Work is equally stressful between having another thing to manage and the fact that every time you enter Sukuna’s office, you’re pretty sure one or two more empty coffee cups have miraculously appeared out of thin air. He was going home every night now at the very least, though if you’re being honest with yourself you don’t think that’s because he feels the need to.

After the meeting with his lawyer, he’d grown infinitely quieter. It doesn’t matter how hard you push, it’s damn near radio silence from your friend. He’s not receptive in the slightest to any attempts to appeal to him. You can see it taking a toll on him. You know him well enough to know that each empty cup of coffee is another worry thrown to the wall and another wound he’s forcibly bandaging. It shows in the way his demeanor dulls every time you see him.

If this is what it takes for him to cope, then you suppose it’s better than a world where he’s alone on the washroom floor. If you’re honest with yourself, that image keeps you up at night. You wonder if his nights alone are spent that way now, but he simply refuses to reach out, too caught up in the hollow feeling that surrounds him.

You thank whoever above will listen that he doesn’t bail on your Friday night plans, even if you find yourself feeling as though you should bail. As much as you’re worried about Sukuna, you’re drowning in your own worries now too, which is why Friday night manages to take you by surprise.

Your nose is buried in a textbook when your phone goes off.

5:38 PM Kuna || you taking the bus to the bar

5:38 PM Kuna || ?

It takes a moment for the time to settle in. Shit. You should be leaving right now and you’re sitting in a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie with books stacked to your shoulders piled on your desk.

Pushing up from your desk to run and get ready, you type out a quick response.

5:40 PM You || That's the plan!

In a rush to be at least somewhat on time, you miss the message he leaves you that he’s planning on taking the bus with you and that he’ll be there in a few minutes. So, when he texts you that he’s at your place while you’re in the middle of doing your makeup, you’re running to the door with mascara done on one eye.

Swinging it open, you find Sukuna staring down at you with his signature frown, his expression stoic as ever. His hands are tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket, a silver chain laying across his collar bones. If it weren’t for the fact that his demeanor screams exhaustion and his hair is fairly windswept, you’d almost take him for being at ease. Those who don’t know him well may even assume he is.

He raises a brow, his gaze flickering between your eyes.

“Think you missed a spot,” he comments dryly, a hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips as though he can’t see the mascara in your hand.

Playfully rolling your eyes, you step aside to let him in. “Sorry, I missed your text. I’m running a bit behind.”

Sukuna quietly shrugs, crimson irises trailing after you as he watches you head back to finish your makeup. His gaze never falters as he watches you lean over the sink to get a better look in the mirror. Slowly, his vision drops, following the arch of your back until he’s openly staring at your ass.

Catching himself before he can think too much of it, he blinks, clearing his throat.

“Sorry, I’m almost done!” You call out at the sound. He grunts, though he doesn’t mind waiting.

You’re ready only a few moments later after changing into a skirt and a small, red sleeveless collared shirt, moving in a flurry as you gather your phone and belongings, tucking everything into place before leading the way out the door.

Taking the bus together finds you in a familiar position across from Sukuna, who naturally- or maybe even subconsciously- tangles your legs together.

It may be him who usually finds comfort in you, but you find your shoulders relaxing as you smile down at your intertwined legs. For once, you let yourself enjoy his presence too. With everything Sukuna’s going through, you can’t bring yourself to wallow in your own worries around him, but even if he’s unaware, his company does wonders to ease your stress.

Relaxing into the seat, you smile softly at the hardened man whose attention hasn’t left you since you barely made it to the bus in time.

He clears his throat, his expression unreadable as he mutters, “you look good.”

Your cheeks warm, heat rising to the tips of your ears as you tilt your head with a sweet smile. “Thanks, Kuna.”

His brow twitches, but he remains otherwise aloof as ever.

“You look good, too,” you return his compliment as butterflies burst within your stomach. In the moments that follow sweet interactions with Sukuna, there’s usually a wistful feeling that accompanies your longing. One that you know all-too-well as the telltale reminder that he doesn’t return your feelings, but as your heart pounds a little bit faster in your chest, you’re met with something different.

Uncertainty. Maybe even a little bit of hope, no matter how delusional the thought may be as you cling to Kento’s words from earlier in the week. You know better than to cling to what could be nothing more than a dream, though.

“Who’s gonna be at the bar?” Sukuna mumbles across from you, although you’re already only a couple of stops away.

“Shoko and Kento for sure, Satoru organized it, so Suguru and probably Toji will be there-”

“Toji? What does he have to do with Satoru?” Sukuna hums, confusion written across his features.

“Oh-! They’re really close now.”

He snorts. “You’re pullin’ my leg.”

“I’m not.” You shake your head, continuing to list attendees as some sort of pang thrums in Sukuna’s chest. He scowls down at his lap, something akin to hurt, or maybe even jealousy at the thought that Toji’s found someone to take Sukuna’s place. But who is he to judge who Toji spends his time with? It’s not like Sukuna’s been around in almost four years, there’s no one else to blame but himself.

He inhales a long, deep breath, grateful when the bus lurches to a stop a couple of blocks away from the bar and your train of thought comes to a close before you can ask for Sukuna’s thoughts on whatever you’d been talking about. It’d be a lost cause, he had stopped listening after hearing Toji’s name.

The bar is a couple of blocks away from Satoru’s frat house, Sukuna recognizes the neighborhood. Last time he was in the area was the night that the two of you headed to Strip Joint (the chicken place, of course), after leaving the party.

It feels like years ago, yet he thinks that may be the moment when it really sank in just how fucked Sukuna really was. Not just with the weight of the lawsuit and responsibility, but with you, too.

You lead the way to a sports bar, the neon sign shining brightly over the pavement below your feet, illuminating the lot in a red and blue glow. Sukuna holds the door open for you, revealing a bustling bar with the latest pop hits playing from the overhead speakers, while a number of TVs line the walls. Each one is playing whatever games are on, though it seems as though most of the focus is on some football game.

If you had to guess, this was probably Toji’s choice. It’s not as nice as Satoru’s usual choices,  but that just means your wallet gets a break for once.

Bottles of various liquors from around the world line an array of glass shelves across the back of the establishment, a pale and worn counter spread in front of the bartenders. They push drinks across to various patrons, each bottle replaced with a clink as it hits the glass shelf.

Tucked in the corner is a large ‘U’ shaped table with a larger group than you had originally expected.

Suguru, Satoru, Toji, a man you don’t recognize, Uraume, Atsuya, Yu, Kento, Shoko’s friend Iori, Shoko, and finally space for you and Sukuna, last to arrive thanks to your inability to tell time. Your tattooed friend signals for you to slide in first beside Shoko and across from Satoru and Toji. It’s a tight squeeze, leaving your thighs and shoulders brushing.

As you greet your friends, Sukuna silently evaluates the table. He knew his friends began to merge with yours at some point, but even then he hadn’t realized to what extent, as Uraume and Suguru happily converse from across the table as though Toji, Satoru, and one of the business students Sukuna scarcely recognizes as Shiu aren’t sitting between them having a conversation of their own. That feeling from earlier twists within his stomach again as Toji barks a laugh at something the business student says.

Shoving the feeling down, he picks up a menu, scanning it for the cheapest drink with the highest alcohol content.

While most of the table share surprised glances at the sight of Sukuna, Satoru doesn’t hesitate to make his feelings known, much to your dismay.

“I don’t remember sending an invite out to you,” the frat boy pointedly glares across the table, challenging Sukuna’s presence.

It doesn’t matter how many pieces of Sukuna have vanished. It doesn’t matter how many are scattered across the floor, bent, broken, and not worthy of fixing.

Sukuna doesn’t back down from a challenge.

“You gonna cry about it?” His words don’t even have venom, there’s no real ill intent behind them. He’s not having fun rising to the challenge of a fellow student like he would have so many months ago. His words are meant only to keep up the reputation that even at his lowest, he refuses to tarnish.

Satoru, on the other hand, takes the bait. He wants the challenge. You’re pretty sure to some extent they enjoy egging one another on, but there’s no gleam in Sukuna’s eyes this time. He leans back, slumping in the seat with crossed arms as Satoru scoffs.

Ignoring Sukuna’s hollow taunt, he continues. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot you think you get to treat everyone like shit and still show up unannounced.” His voice rises enough that it pulls the rest of the table from their conversations, all eyes on a charged up Satoru and drained Sukuna.

Red irises flicker down to the menu once more as Sukuna prays the waiter arrives soon. He needs a drink to handle Satoru on a good day, but now?

He’s not even angry with the man across the table from him for putting him on the spot in front of everyone. He’s completely devoid of any real opinion over whatever Satoru has to throw at him, because Sukuna knows.

He knows he treated you like shit. He knows he treated Toji like shit. Satoru’s reminder doesn’t open that wound any further, it’s already bleeding at the sight of Toji replacing him (rightfully so).

But Sukuna can’t let Satoru know just how low he’s gotten. He’s too prideful for that, still. “Yeah, lucky me,” he neutrally replies.

Satoru’s brow twitches into a furrow. Sukuna’s replies, although exactly what Satoru was fishing for, aren’t filled with the bravado he’s come to expect. Unfortunately, the frat boy just never knows when to drop something.

“That’s it? Lucky you?”

“Satoru-” Suguru attempts to interrupt, with a hand on his friend’s shoulder, but he’s shrugged off as the white-haired man continues.

“No, fuck that. You think you get to parade around and piss everyone off, then drop out and we’ll all just- what? Forget about it?”

Sukuna’s eyes zero in on Satoru again, a nerve struck at the mention of dropping out. His lip curls into a snarl as he replies. “That’s none of your fucking business.”

“You made it my fucking business when I had to start placing bets on whether or not she’d be crying every day at lunch!” Satoru snaps back, bringing the table to a deathly silence as he points in your direction.

You shrink in on yourself as Sukuna pushes up from the end of the table. “I should go,” he mutters under his breath. Anything else, god, anything else and he might have a retort, but with you sitting beside him as proof of his errors, he doesn’t have it in him to disappoint you by fighting with your friend anymore.

“Satoru, that’s enough,” Kento’s authoritative voice rings out across the table. He fixes the frat boy with a glare, locking eyes with Sukuna who’s one turn of his heel away from leaving. “Sukuna, I invited you. You’re welcome here.”

“What the hell, Kento-”

“Shut up, man,” Toji grunts beside Satoru, nudging him. Fire rages behind his eyes as he watches Sukuna’s gaze round the table, before landing on you. The table’s attention shifts, all pairs of eyes watching a silent exchange.

You stare up at him with a pretty pout. Regardless of Satoru’s (somewhat) good intention to protect you from Sukuna, he’d still called attention to something that you can’t deny. Sukuna had hurt you. Regardless, there’s a plea behind your eyes.

“Stay.”

Sukuna’s never been particularly good at denying you. His gaze flickers to Kento, who gives him a minute nod, and Sukuna takes a seat once more, ignoring Satoru’s glower.

The table returns to chatter after a moment as both men quiet down. You reassuringly nudge your friend beside you, but his attention is given in full to the menu beneath his fingertips as he leans over the table, his forehead on the ball of his palm.

As a waitress pops by to take orders, everyone gets a variety of different cocktails and beer. You order a Moscow Mule, while Sukuna just shrugs and says he’ll have the same. Before the waitress can leave, he stops her and requests Everclear in place of whatever smoother Vodka they may have used.

You may not drink often, but you recognize the name well enough to know what the intention of Everclear is. It tastes like shit, at the cost of being just about one of the most alcoholic drinks you can get in a restaurant.

You blink in surprise at his request, lips parting. “Are you okay?” You whisper, leaning close enough that he can feel your breath fanning his collar.

“Peachy,” he grumbles, clearly still frustrated over the debacle with Satoru.

Shoko, likeminded, leans over to ask you whether he’s okay as well, keeping her voice low as she mutters the question in your ear.

You shrug, sharing her worried glance.

It doesn’t matter that Shoko still isn’t thrilled with Sukuna, ordering Everclear at a friendly get-together after getting into it with Satoru is enough to make anyone’s warning bells sound. “How’s he been lately, anyway?”

Casting a glance at Sukuna, who’s turned towards the TV behind the bar, away from the table, you hesitate. What the hell are you supposed to say to that? ‘Oh, you know. I don’t think he’s slept in a week, I watched him break down multiple times, and- oh! How could I forget? He lost custody of his only family’.

That’ll go over well.

Turning back to Shoko, you lean in close enough to keep yourself out of earshot of the rest of the table. “If you mean towards me, he’s been…” you pause, searching for the right word, “sweet.” You’re not sure if it’s exactly the descriptor that’s the most fitting, but as far as Sukuna goes, he’s been sweet to you.

“And in general?”

It’s a dumb question and she knows it as she sees his Moscow Mule get set on the table, watching in horror as he downs at least half of it without so much as blinking. It could be water for all you know based on his reaction, or lack thereof.

“Scratch that. What the hell happened?” She changes her question as Sukuna leans back against the table, his eyes trained on the football game.

“What didn’t?” You groan as Sukuna drowns his shortcomings in alcohol.

“That bad?”

“Whatever you’re imagining, it’s probably worse.”

Shoko raises a brow. “Well, shit.” She chews on the inside of her cheek, contemplating his well-being. Setting a hand on your forearm, she turns her attention to you. “How are you doing? I feel like you’ve been dodging my texts to hang out.”

Groaning, you lift your gaze to the ceiling as your voice returns to a normal volume. “I’m so sorry about that. I missed a deadline on a paper and I’m super behind.”

“Shit,” she hums thoughtfully, pulling an olive from her drink and popping it in her mouth. The toothpick it was skewered with rests between her lips as she continues. “How behind are we talking?”

“Enough,” you chuckle dryly. “The prof won’t let me make up the paper I missed, so I basically need an eighty-five or higher on the final if I don’t wanna hear from an Academic Advisor about withholding my degree or making me pay for the semester for violating the scholarship’s terms.”

“Asshole,” she scoffs in reference to your professor. “Eighty five, huh? Guess it could be worse.”

You nod. “At least this is my last semester.”

“Lucky,” she quips with a wry smile. “Doesn’t your scholarship help with job placement, too?”

“Mhm. The company that sponsors it has a lot of connections, it’s probably how I got my internship in the first place.”

“I thought you just applied there normally.”

“I did,” you affirm, taking a sip of your drink. “But my applications mentioned that I have a Kamo Corporation scholarship, so they probably just chose me because of that,” you shrug.

“That’s a bleak way of looking at it,” she mutters, shrugging as she downs the first half of her drink. “Do you like it there?”

Your eyes crinkle at the corners as you grin. “It’s great, wait- I need to catch you up on the office drama,” you excitedly tell her, launching into conversation.

The table begins to mellow as alcohol flows through the blood of everyone at the table after the first round of drinks. With the first sip of his second drink of what may as well be disinfectant, even Sukuna loosens up somewhat as you find him leaning a bit closer, his demeanor calm as listens in to your explanation of your shitty coworker Reggie and his antics. He even chimes in every so often to offer a detail about the office, earning the occasional laugh from Shoko and Iori, who joins the conversation as well.

Midway through his second drink, Sukuna even finds himself feeling okay for the first time this week. The haze of liquor enshrouds his mind and blocks out shitty memories, bringing with it a comfortable buzz that allows him to relax. The pain dulls, sedating the voice at the back of his head screaming that he’s a failure, until it’s nearly mute, and with each sip he finds himself chasing the quiet that it brings him.

It’s funny, that in the far corner of a noisy sports bar with some top forties hit blaring over the speakers, he finds a slice of tranquility. By his third drink, he’s even comfortable.

As the conversation shifts to Shoko’s odd classmates and Kento and Yu end up chiming in, you turn to Sukuna.

“How are you feeling?”

Hazy eyes shift towards you as his chin remains leaning on his palm. “Okay,” he replies simply, though it’s the first time he’s sounded convincing in a while.

You inspect his features, but there’s no crease between his brow, no slight downturn of his lips, and no anger hidden within his eyes. He looks at ease. Whether or not that’s something to be happy about, you have yet to decide. Of course you want him to be able to relax and you had figured a night out would do his mental health good, but something tickles at the back of your mind.

Like an itch you can’t scratch, the reminder that he’s casually sipping on Everclear remains there no matter how hard you try to shake it. It’s not exactly something you can ignore, not when he orders his third drink. You eye his glass, uncertainty and concern brimming in your chest.

That’s the equivalent of, what? Six normal drinks? Seven, maybe even eight? All within the span of an hour, and you’re barely halfway through your second.

“Are you sure?”

Sensing your unease, he swirls his cup momentarily, sitting up and nudging you with his thigh. “Positive, princess.”

You can’t help but feel as though he’s chasing answers at the bottom of a bottle. Either that, or he’s searching for a way to cope that doesn’t leave him hollow.

Though, looking at the way his eyes don’t leave you for a moment, you wonder if there’s something deeper to it. Like he’s not just searching for a way to cope without leaving him hollow, but also way to cope without stretching you to your limit. Like he’s trying to spare you from being pulled under by his ocean of problems.

You’ve watched him tear himself apart and offer pieces to those around him until he has nothing left to give, is this the culmination of it all? A man who seeks sedation in order to hide from the fact that there are no pieces of himself to pick up at the end of this all? Because the man who used to only know how to take has given so much that there’s nothing left?

You and Toji hold the last two pieces left of himself. You protect whatever is left of the Sukuna you’ve grown to love, and his connection to Toji remains tense, at the end of the day.

Worst of all, he won’t allow you to give it back, like it’s easier to simply observe what happens around him while he slowly fades away.

Trauma shaped him into a man who reacted with anger out of fear in order to protect himself. At the end of the day, it never mattered how tired he was, he would fight to protect the care and joy he still carried within. When you came along, you provided respite, allowed him the chance to take a breath and relax.

But new trauma tore that away, and as it tears and rips at the shreds of him that remain, you can only watch as the man filled with joy and care disappears, leaving only the anger, the anxiety, and worse still, complete and utter lack of- well- anything at all.

You should be happy to see him relaxed. Hell, you are. It was your first thought upon seeing the tension in his shoulders dissolve, but somehow, this is worse.

Chewing on your lip, you set your hand on his wrist, sliding your fingers beneath the sleeve of his leather jacket. He’s warm, even more so than usual, his eyes sliding down to the feeling of your hand on his skin, smoothing along his tattooed skin. His pupils are so blown his eyes are almost completely void of the familiar crimson.

You know he won’t talk to you about what happened when he lost the kids. No matter how hard you push, he’s locked that memory away and refuses to bring it to light, as though if he dares to let it out, it might hurt him again. But there has to be something going on that you aren’t privy to, because you don’t know how to navigate a world where Sukuna still seeks your comfort, but you don’t know how to provide it.

“How are things going with Ms. Harte?” You query, brow drawn together in concern for your friend as you try to pull answers from him.

Foggy eyes meet yours, flickering down to your lips that are drawn into a frown. Tearing his eyes from your lips by force, he casts a glance around the table to make sure no one is listening. Still, his answer doesn’t give you much to work with.

“Fine.”

It sucks. Everything about his completely numb responses sucks. There’s no bigger, wiser word to be used.

It fucking sucks.

How many times has he brushed you off, this week alone? You can’t say for sure, you lost count the day you found him asleep in his office. But even then, he gave you more to work with than this.

So, what really happened with his lawyer?

“I don’t believe you,” you mutter, causing his drunken numbness to falter. A crease forms between his brows as he evaluates your expression, filled with concern.

His jaw clenches before he takes another sip of his drink. Whatever he’s wrestling with mentally, it dissolves as Everclear numbs him. “Things… don’ look good,” he admits, his words slurring as he stares straight through you. He’s clearly even more drunk than you realized.

“What happened?” You push.

He checks again that no one is listening in. “‘S hard t’ guarantee a fair trial,” he shrugs. “We got three weeks t’ submit a retrial ‘r whatever, but-” he cuts himself off, shrugging again. “Not like we got any new evidence.”

Keeping your voice low, you lean closer to Sukuna. “Are you okay? Like, really.”

He tilts his head to the side, his judgement clouded by enough alcohol to sedate a bear. His eyes take no time in locking onto your lips. “‘M fine.”

Fine. Fine. Always fine.

“God, Sukuna,” you sigh, leaning back in your seat and breaking him from his stupor. “You’re so frustrating. I just wish you’d talk to me.”

His expression doesn’t change as he watches you. You wonder how much of this he can even make sense of in such a state, a slight sway to his movements as he rolls his wrist over the table to motion to you.

“‘M talkin’ to you now.”

Your brow raises at his- well- stupidity, for lack of a better word.

Sighing, you shake your head. You figured his lips would be a bit more loose given how drunk he is, that maybe he might let some sort of detail spill, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.

He’s completely and utterly plastered, and- oh. Oh, great. He’s waving the waitress over to order another.

What would that put him at? The equivalent of ten shots within an hour?

This is dangerous, even for a man of his stature, and it;s clear he’s not thinking straight.

“Sukuna, stop-” you tug on his bicep before he can get the words out, shaking your head at her. “Water, please. He’d like water.”

“What? No, I-”

“Water coming right up,” the server nods, catching your drift.

“What th’ hell?” Sukuna growls, turning to face you with a frustrated scowl.

Grabbing a hold of his forearm, you cling to the leather of his jacket. “Sukuna, please. Just have some water in between,” you plead.

Whether it’s the look of concern on your face, or the way he’s completely and utterly distracted by your lips again, he backs down.

You’re not a fool either, you’ve noticed. You’ve noticed each and every time, and your heart stutters and jumps and your hands shake as you try to convince yourself that he’s just drunk. Some part of you, deep down, no matter how much you try to bury it, knows that he thinks you’re attractive. That’s why he kissed you in the first place last year. But that’s not what you want, and you’re not about to let yourself get caught up in those thoughts.

You can’t cling to Kento’s assumptions about Sukuna’s feelings.

Especially not when he’s this drunk.

Begrudgingly, Sukuna sips on the water placed in front of him, finding himself staring at the table as conversation continues on around him. Half of the table is discussing future plans, which he has no desire to contribute to, while the other half is discussing how Satoru is about to become a godfather.

He has even less of a desire to discuss kids, mostly tuning out everyone around him.

“You? Excited to be a godfather?” Suguru quips, amused. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“It’s not like I’m having my own kid, I’m not ready for that!” He retorts, chuckling behind a glass of something that looks outside of your budget. “But I’d be a good dad,” he nods assuredly.

Toji snorts, amused. “You’re a fuckin’ frat boy,” he points out.

“I mean, yeah, I said I’m not ready yet,” he agrees with a shrug, “but I’ll be a great dad. Better than you,” he teases snidely.

Toji, unaffected, just shrugs. “Yeah, probably.”

It’s not your business, but you’ve seen glimpses of what Toji could be like, and you actually disagree. You keep your mouth shut, regardless.

“I think we can all agree Yu would make a great parent,” Shoko pipes up, directing attention to the blushing man who’s waving his hands dismissively through the air.

“Yeah, and this asshole would be the worst,” Satoru sneers, directing attention towards Sukuna.

The tone of the table drops very suddenly as Sukuna lifts his head from where it rests against the ball of his palm, fixing Satoru with a deathly stare. Half of the table knows. Half of the table is completely unaware.

And the half that knows have eyes wider than a chasm, horror plastered across their features.

“The hell’s that s’posed t’ mean?” Sukuna growls lowly, a newfound venom returning to him, like even alcohol can’t numb him from Satoru’s offensive words.

“C’mon, you’d be the worst here by a-”

Satoru is cut off with a cough as Toji hits him in the chest hard enough to make the frat boy reel back, bewildered. “Toji, what-”

“Shut the fuck up, man,” Toji warns, deathly serious.

Satoru, confused, rubs the spot where Toji smacked him.

“Nah, let ‘im continue,” Sukuna hisses, only leaving Satoru further disoriented.

Unfortunately for the table, the frat boy’s a lightweight, and he’s already had too much to think clearly. Rather than heeding Toji’s warning, he take’s Sukuna’s bait. “It’s not that deep, he’s just an asshole and he’d be just as bad of a dad as he is a friend,” Satoru affronts, having no clue what exactly he’s walked into, even as Toji and Uraume both warn him to stop. But this is Satoru, when does he ever listen?

“You don’ know th’ first thing about me, you prick,” Sukuna barks, his words horribly slurred under layers of inebriation. The table shakes as he stands suddenly. “‘Nd you don’t know th’ first thing ‘bout being a father,” he adds, earning more eyes on your table as he raises his voice enough to garner the attention of other bar patrons.

Suddenly, the football game doesn’t seem nearly as interesting to the onlookers as the giant tattooed man about to square off with the overly cocky and confident Satoru Gojo.

“Sukuna, it’s okay, let’s just-” You ignore the pounding of your heart as you rise to your feet and earn a number of stares yourself, but Sukuna’s burning in his own rage.

The implication behind Sukuna’s words goes right over Satoru’s head as he rolls his eyes. “Oh, and you do? Puh-lease,” Satoru dramatically groans in an effort to get a rise out of Sukuna. “You couldn’t even finish college, how are you supposed to provide for a-”

“Satoru!” You call across the table, placing a hand on Sukuna’s chest to prevent him from lunging across the table and strangling your arrogant friend. “Stop, please.”

For once, Satoru actually listens, if only because he’s somewhat stunned that it’s you stopping him.

“Nah, he’s right,” Sukuna growls, a twisted smirk crossing his lips. He presses against your palm as he leans in, his skin burning with warmth through the thin material of his shirt. You can’t be sure whether it’s from the alcohol or the flames that dance behind his eyes. “Say what y’re thinkin’ since you’re so much better,” he pushes, eyes narrowing. “‘M a womanizer, got fuckin’ daddy issues, can’t stay ‘n school, strapped f’r cash, right?”

Satoru’s lips part, the fun in pushing Sukuna’s buttons dissolving as things become a little bit too real. His gaze slides between the brute and you, searching for answers.

“Kuna, come on,” you plead, pressing harder against his chest, but he either doesn’t feel it or simply doesn’t care in his furious state.

“That’s what y’think, isn’t it?” He hisses, completely ignoring you, blinded by rage. The patrons that surround you have gone deathly silent as even the ambient clinking of glasses and laughter dies from the air. “‘Nd maybe y’re right,” he tacks on, relieving the pressure on your hand as he stands up straight, some form of disdain crossing his face. “I’d be a shit dad.”

Bewildered, Satoru can only stare, his eyes whipping wildly between everyone at the table as though he might be the only one who missed the memo, but there’s a variety of confused stares tucked within your group of friends. Uraume, Toji, Shoko, and Kento all share horrified expressions, but no one else is privy to the turmoil raging within your friend.

Hell, even Shoko doesn’t know the full extent, though you’re sure three shots of Everclear was enough to tip her off to something going on.

“I, uh-” Satoru pauses, shocked into uncertainty. “I didn’t mean-”

“Fuck you,” Sukuna spits with the most clarity you’ve heard in his speech all night, turning on his heel as he fishes for a cigarette in his pocket and slams the bar door open like it owes him money.

Your jaw hangs ajar, heat searing the skin of your cheeks as you flip around to face the table. You’re met with an equal amount of concern and confusion, but Toji seems to be the only one accustomed enough to Sukuna’s outbursts to bring some sense to the table.

“Way to fuckin’ go, asshole,” he grunts, smacking Satoru on the arm.

“What the hell?” The frat boy recoils, his shoulder knocking into Suguru, who seems to come to.

“What just happened?” Suguru voices what everyone is thinking.

Chewing absently on your lip, you cast a glance back at Sukuna, who you can barely make out against the dark background of the night sky outside the door. “I, um-” you stammer, turning back to the table.

“Go after him,” Uraume urges. They give you a reassuring nod when you hesitate. “I’ll be there in a bit.”

Nodding gratefully, you grab your jacket, shrugging it over your shoulders before jogging out the door.

Your friend doesn’t bother to cast you a glance as he leans against the outside of the bar, flicking ash from the end of his cigarette. The embers sputter out on the concrete below as he takes another long drag, exhaling deeply into the air overhead.

“Are you okay?”

Another drag of his cigarette. Another “fine”.

“Don’t give me that. You’re clearly not,” you push, an air of exasperation to your tone. You can’t help it anymore, of course you would get frustrated when he just won’t talk to you.

His eyes flicker down to you now, hazy with the effects of liquor.

“I know things are hard right now, but how many times do I need to tell you that I’m here for you before you listen?”

His gaze shifts down slightly, settling on your lips. When your words begin to sink in, his vision rises again. He takes another drag of his cigarette, holding his breath as the nicotine soothes his frustrations. Between the nicotine and Everclear, he finds himself oddly at ease, unbothered by the events that went down mere minutes ago.

The wounds are already bleeding, Satoru can’t push the knife that much deeper.

He just shrugs, brushing you off. “I feel fine, princess,” he mutters.

“Yeah I bet,” you scoff, staring out at the parking lot. “You’re just drunk.”

His brow furrows, too inebriated to make sense of this whole ordeal. Shouldn’t you be happy that he’s okay? That even after his blow-up with Satoru, he’s calm? So, why the hell are you so upset?

If he was in his right mind, he might get it. He might see just how frustrating he’s being.

But all he finds when he searches for answers is a sea of confusion.

“‘S that so bad?” He grunts. “Y’wanted me here, didn’t you?”

Turning back towards him, you rub at your temples in an effort to calm down. “I did. I do! but I thought…” you trail off, chewing on your lip as you compose yourself, straightening as you face him. “I thought it would be good for you- for both of us- to spend time with friends and have some drinks-”

“That not what’s goin’ on?” He interrupts, smoke coming out in puffs from his lips with each word.

You stop yourself in your tracks, blinking. Last time you saw him drunk, he’d still seemed in tune with his surroundings. His drinks were likely spread out over the course of multiple hours, watered down by a reasonable amount of soda. You’d be willing to guess he hadn’t had the equivalent of eight or so shots that night, though. He’d probably paced himself. Tonight, though, the liquor hit him hard and fast.

“You’ve had like three times as many drinks as the rest of us,” you point out, hoping he’ll read between the lines of your statement.

“So?”

But he’s far too drunk to be expected to do that. “So, you’re gonna black out if you don’t slow down!”

He’s undeniably very drunk, but even in his current state, he knows better than to say what he wants to say.

Which, in case you’re wondering, is another ‘so?’ but he holds his tongue.

Pushing himself up off the wall, he wobbles slightly as he drops his cigarette on the pavement, stomping it out beneath his boot. Like clockwork, he moves to his pocket to light another one, but your nimble fingers wrap around his wrist, stopping him before he can get the cylinder out of his jacket. He stares you down now, his expression unreadable behind droopy lids and the slight flush to his skin.

Your grip on his wrist tightens as you examine his features. He’s so painfully calm now that you find yourself questioning if you imagined his fight with Satoru. Could this even be the same Sukuna?

Day-to-day, you find yourself wondering how different Sukuna will be lately.

Hell, maybe even moment-to-moment.

You know he’s struggling to find himself amidst the maze of his complicated relationship with failure, but it’s like he’s fallen apart and in an effort to put the pieces back together, he’s been left with gaps.

Whatever version of him it is that stands before you now, he’s bitter and detached. Chewing hard on your lip, you smooth your thumb over his tattooed wrist. His muscles tense for an instant before relaxing under your soothing touch, as though he needs it more than he could even know, himself.

Even if it’s barely a sign, you see him then. Somewhere beneath the facade of indifference and haze of liquor, is your friend, terrified to his core over something that he can’t bring himself to talk about.

“What happened back there?” You ask, your entire demeanor softening.

His mind is stuck in a slog, slowed by his inebriation. It takes a moment for your words to settle in his mind.

“He just…” he trails off, his gaze never leaving your face. “Pissed me off.”

You can understand that, you know those two get under each other’s skin. But there’s more to it, and you know that.

“He didn’t know, Sukuna,” you point out. “He was just trying to get a rise out of you.”

Again, a pause as he thinks. “Yuji called-” he trips over his words, running his tongue over his lower lip as he steadies his mind. “- called me ‘dad’ when ‘e left.”

The air stills. The stars don’t twinkle overhead. The rumbling of distant engines comes to an unsettling halt as Sukuna’s muscles tense beneath your fingers. His hand balls into a fist, but whatever mix of anger, fear, and devastation it is that he feels is fleeting. He has nothing left to give. No tears to cry, no anger to let loose.

He’s tired.

Your lips part as horror shakes you to your core. Your grip on his wrist tightens, the air hanging heavy with his confession as it settles in just how much Satoru had accidentally gotten under Sukuna’s skin. Of course, he’s always struggled separating his duties as a brother with his duties as a guardian, but Satoru hadn’t just gotten under his skin.

He’d accidentally pushed the knife deeper.

That’s why Sukuna had blown up, even in his currently indifferent state.

“Kuna…” You breathe, giving him a small tug towards you until you can wrap your arms around his broad frame. He doesn’t move for a moment, blankly staring at you as his mind catches up. That extra moment allows your warmth to envelop him and his shoulders fall as he melts into your embrace, his eyes flickering shut as he holds you tightly.

Time stills around you as Sukuna shifts, his arms snaking tightly around your waist as he leans down to your level. His breath fans your neck as he rests his chin on your shoulder, letting out a long breath. Heat blooms at the base of your neck where his breath tickles you, rising to the tips of your ears. 

You’re sure he can feel, maybe even hear the way your heart races, but he’s too drunk to make heads or tails of it.

“I’m sorry, Kuna.”

He stiffens slightly as he hears his brothers’ voices in the back of his mind, calling out for him. Calling for Kuna. “‘S fine.”

“It’s not,” you pull back and his hands fall to your waist, resting as if they belong there. It certainly doesn’t do your heart any favors to have him holding you so tightly and painfully intimately. Worse still is the way his gaze holds heat that you’d recognize a mile away, but it’s also twisted with confusion. He’s staring at you with brows drawn together as though you’re a puzzle to figure out, but clings to you like you’re all that keeps him from the abyss he’s trapped in.

Feeling nothing is better than feeling everything at once. The intensity of his own emotions drove him to order Everclear in the first place as he struggled to keep up the mask of being okay. While he’ll take the haze it offers over the tumultuous water he’s been treading all week without help, you offer an escape from both.

It’s subconscious, the way he leans in closer, the way his eyes flicker to your lips as his body tells him what he wants so badly, but hasn’t had the guts to do.

And how can you not pick up on the signs? His lips part, his fingers curling into the plush of your skin as he yearns for nothing more than to let his eyes flutter shut and capture your lips with his own.

All these months, and your taste never left his tongue. He always pushed the thought away, figuring it was a figment of his imagination, but his yearning is real. Painfully so.

What is it that they say about these sorts of emotions? Drunken words are sober thoughts? Does it apply to actions, too?

But even at the brink of being blackout drunk, he can't.

Why is it that he's frozen, inches away from what he wants so badly?

Your eyes widen slightly at the close proximity, instinctively taking a step back when you feel the warmth of his chest against your own.

He’s just drunk, he’s just drunk, he’s just drunk-

The thought repeats itself in your mind like clockwork and you hesitantly place your hands on his chest, using enough pressure against the muscles to keep some breathing room between you.

His lips twitch downwards slightly at the pressure, trying to figure you out.

One moment he swears you’re in love with him still, and the next, he’s wondering if he’s read every sign wrong and Uraume led him astray. Maybe this isn’t what you want at all, and he can’t bear to step into another mistake he can’t come back from.

Fuck, he’s too drunk for this. So, he lets you press against his chest and put space between the both of you before anything can happen.

“Sukuna?” You barely whisper his name, a slight tremor to your hands against his broad chest.

His adam’s apple bobs, his tongue swiping across his lower lip as his mind races to catch up to his flurry of thoughts, but before he has a chance to reply, the door to your side swings open to reveal Uraume.

Their lips form an ‘O’ as they pause at the door, which swings shut behind them. Their gaze sweeps the position they’ve found you both in, before taking in Sukuna’s confused and hazy-eyed scowl and your shocked and confused blinking.

“Am I interrupting?”

“No, you’re good!” You squeak, stepping out of Sukuna’s grasp with little resistance. You exchange a glance with him, but can’t deduce much from his expression under the influence of entirely too much liquor.

They nod slowly, taking a step out towards the both of you.

“What happened back there, Sukuna?”

Frustrated as the same question is thrown at him again, he drags his hands down his face. His answer is largely the same to them as it was to you. “He pissed me off.”

“I gathered that,” Uraume replies sarcastically at his half-assed response, taking a step forward to stand at your side. “Are you alright?” They address you.

You nod, shooting them a smile.

Their attention returns to Sukuna again. “I know you’re upset with the loss of your brothers, but you mentioned a meeting with your lawyer. Things should be alright, no?”

Sukuna huffs dramatically, shaking his head before throwing his arms uselessly through the air. “‘T doesn’ fuckin’ matter anymore,” he mutters, instinctively reaching for another cigarette. Your skin itches to stop him, but you fear it’ll only make things worse if you do.

The chemicals pounding through his bloodstream keep him comfortably numb in the cool night air. The temperature is nearly freezing, preparing to leave behind a layer of early spring frost on the grass overnight, but none of you notice thanks to the blanket of warmth the shots you’ve all downed provides.

“Got no cash left,” he shrugs with one shoulder. “Doesn’ matter anyway. Lawyer thinks ‘s useless,” he tacks on with a puff of smoke.

Thinking back to his office on Tuesday morning, you think a part of you already knew he was broke. You’d seen the signs, but you’re sure the money can be scrounged up somehow. You’re more worried about the latter half of his statement as you finally get some answers out of him.

“What? What did she say?” You push, your own anxiety clawing at your chest as your breathing wavers.

Flicking ash to the ground, Sukuna exhales loudly, wracking his clouded mind for some semblance of the legal explanation she gave. “Courts c’n deny appeals, so she-” he pauses, narrowing his eyes as he recalls the conversation, “- she’s worried wi’out new evidence ‘r proof of some sort o’ bullshit in the trial, they might toss th’ case.” He takes a long drag of his cigarette, staring out at the parking lot blankly. The way he’s emotionlessly rattling off words makes you think that he might just be reciting what he heard in his own words, barely considering how either of you might react.

Your blood runs cold at the thought of the boys being alone with a mother they don’t know, without their anchor. The same goes for Sukuna, clearly adrift at sea without his own anchors as he slides headfirst into poor coping mechanisms.

“You need to fight, Sukuna,” you push, frantically glancing between him and Uraume. They may both remain calm, but you see through their silence. Sukuna is at wit’s end and Uraume simply knows how to keep a straight face.

Sukuna puffs smoke above him, languidly watching it swirl above him.

Your throat tightens as tears gather at your lash line. You attempt to blink them away, wrapping your arms around yourself at Sukuna’s signs of defeat. Your voice breaks when you push again. “You can’t give up, Kuna. They need you.”

“What d’ya want fr’m me?” He growls, exasperated as he turns to face you. “I tried!” He insists, throwing his hand through the air as smoke spirals around him with the action.

You chew on your lip, a warm tear spilling down your cheek as you stare at your feet. Sukuna backs down, turning towards the parking lot again as he takes another desperate drag of nicotine.

He just wants to forget. Forget about everything. The trial, his brothers, this moment. He wants it all gone. It’s easier.

Just once, he wants to take the easy way out.

“Have you looked through your files again for more evidence?” Uraume presses, remaining a beacon of calm as they set a hand on your trembling shoulder in reassurance.

“No point,” he huffs.

“Why not?”

Sukuna bristles, the constant questions getting under his skin. Is it too much to ask for a single day where he can let himself forget the bullshit? “‘Cause I did!” He barks, finally turning to face the both of you. “I fuckin’ did ‘lready!” He lets out a dry laugh. “I can’t- not again.” He grows quiet, jaw clenching as anguish seeps through his impassivity. “‘M tired,” he admits, barely audible over muffled laughter from within the bar.

You ache to reach out to him, but Uraume knows you both better than you seem to know yourselves.

“You don’t need to go through the documents alone.”

Sukuna’s empty gaze meets Uraume’s, before his eyes slide back to the parking lot.

“Go inside,” they urge you quietly, squeezing your shoulder. “We’ll be in soon.” You open your mouth to protest, but they cut you off. “Please. I’d like a moment.”

Solemnly, you finally find it in yourself to nod, wiping your tears as you turn towards the door with an uncertain glance at Sukuna. As the door shuts behind you, Uraume takes a moment to take in just how far gone any semblance of the Sukuna they know is.

“Why didn’t you say anything after your meeting?”

He grits his teeth, his grip on the cigarette between his fingers tightening. Three shots of Everclear had him thinking he’d escaped this strangled nightmare, yet here he still is, still floating adrift at sea.

When his head simply hangs as he remains silent, Uraume continues pushing. “Why wouldn’t you ask for help?”

“B’cause ‘m done!” He barks, whipping around to face them with only half as much fury as he musters on a bad day. He shrugs dramatically, his arms making a plop! sound as the leather of his sleeves makes contact with the sides of the jacket. “Jus’ leave me-” he swallows suddenly, forcing the lump in his throat down as nausea rocks him a step forward. “Christ,” he moans as the urge to vomit comes over him.

He can’t pinpoint the cause in this state, but he doesn’t want to feel the Everclear coming back up.

He can keep a straight face as it burns his throat on the way down, but he doesn’t want to think about that taste coming back up.

“What happened to the man that wouldn’t give up for his brothers?” Uraume pushes.

Holding his head, Sukuna groans again. “Dunno,” he replies simply, not taking any real time to consider their words.

Uraume frowns, crossing their arms over their chest. “I’m taking you home.”

“‘M fine, fuck off.”

Ignoring him, they turn back towards the door. “Wait here. I’ll go pay for our drinks.” The ambient laughter and clinking spills out into the open night air as Uraume holds the door for a moment, pausing before they head back inside. “By the way, figure your feelings out for her,” they jut their chin out in the direction of the table where you’re seated with your friends once again. “Don’t mess with her just because you’re drunk.”

With that, they leave Sukuna outside to mull over their words, knowing fully well nothing will sit well with him in his current state.

The table is in a general state of confusion still when Uraume reappears as Satoru attempts to make sense of what the hell he’d just unraveled. His array of questions are met with an overall frustrating silence as those who’re aware of Sukuna’s situation struggle not to give out too many details. Tough, when the cat’s now out of the bag. It doesn’t take a lot to figure out that Sukuna, to some extent, has kids.

Uraume’s reappearance brings all eyes to them.

“How is ‘e?” Toji queries.

“I’m taking him home. I don’t think he should be alone, I plan on staying the night,” they explain, digging through their wallet to pull out some cash and set it in front of you. “That should cover him and I.”

You nod, mouthing a silent ‘thank you’ as you wipe your tears. They shoot you a sympathetic smile.

Sniffling, you do what you can to ignore your own devastation. No matter how much you love his brothers like family, you don’t get to call the shots. You can’t fight for them, and you can’t force Sukuna to fight.

It doesn’t make it any easier, though.

The idea of Yuji losing the only person he knows as his guardian forms a lump in your throat that you can’t seem to push down. As silently as possible, you sharply inhale a shaky breath.

It hurts. It hurts and you’re helpless, unable to do anything but cry, which feels painfully like defeat.

Even if he gives up, you’re not ready to give up. But what are you supposed to do? You can’t pull new evidence out of thin air. You can’t find evidence of an unfair trial when Kaori made sure her arguments were airtight.

You’re lost, too. In your own way.

You take another deep breath, steadying yourself as best as you can, even as anguish pushes the knife deeper and deeper, with no plans on leaving your heart unscathed.

Sukuna’s going through more, you remind yourself. You can’t let yourself break when he clearly needs you. No matter how thin you spread yourself, you need to remain strong for him. Because no matter how lost you feel, you can only imagine he feels worse.

Maybe it’s the wrong way of looking at things, but you want to be his rock. You’ll figure out your classes, your paper, your exams. You’ll figure it all out while you’re still there for him. He needs a hand, whether he’s willing to admit it or not, and you’ll be there with your hand out when he’s ready to accept that.

Even if he isn’t ready to accept it.

So you steel yourself, unwilling to fall to your own issues. His are greater, you can’t allow yourself to crumble under less.

“Let us know when you get to his place,” Atsuya chips in, chewing on a toothpick.

Uraume nods solemnly. “Got it. I’ll text you.”

Your heart drops as they turn to walk away, concern twisting your puffy features. Shoko’s arm wraps around your shoulders as she pulls you into a side hug. “Have some drinks. Have fun. He’ll be okay. You deserve to have fun tonight.”

You want to believe her, you really do.

But you just find yourself wondering how long Sukuna can last like this, lost in a battle with his own demons.

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❦ a/n ; everyone is struggling :')

i know i say it a lot, but thank you all so much for all the support, from the bottom of my heart <33 it really does mean the world and all of your kind words constantly have me itching to keep writing.

i'm really, really looking forward to working on and sharing the next chapter too, we'll get a lot more insight into sukuna's life before reader and just how much kaori absolutely sucks (as if you all didn't already know that LOL)

anyway, thank you sm as always, ily all <33

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[helaintoloki]

For Better or For Worse

pairing: Bucky Barnes x avenger!reader

warnings: MAJOR SPOILERS, angst, themes of trauma, mentions of violence, mentions of pregnancy, eventual fluff, bucky and reader working out their marriage problems

notes: so i actually first started working on this piece a month before the movie came out and wasn’t able to complete it until i actually saw the film. there will be some inaccuracies since it’s purely based off memory but i hope you guys enjoy!

summary: You want a divorce, but Bucky needs your help for one last mission. Luckily, marriage is all about compromise

The court issued papers fill Bucky with unease as the two of you sit at the dining table in silence. Neither of you has said a word since you presented the documents to him when he returned from his office, and his gaze has been glued to the petition for a painfully long amount of time. The legal jargon doesn’t catch his attention, but one word has stuck out from the rest and branded itself at the forefront of his mind.

Divorce.

These papers are meant to finalize your divorce.

“I just need your signature,” you prompt him quietly after taking a nervous swallow. You try to remain poised, but Bucky knows you well enough to detect your anxious tells- the way your leg bounces nervously under the table while your right hand absently tries to fidget with a ring that isn’t there. He sighs and allows himself to sink back further into his chair while he attempts to organize the amalgamation of thoughts swirling in his mind.

“This is what you really want?” Bucky asks gently, tone devoid of judgement or resentment and instead filled with quiet defeat.

“Are you kidding? I don’t want this at all,” you insist miserably, unable to stop yourself from reaching for his hand across the table. “I love you, Bucky. More than anything. But we haven’t been on the same page in years.”

“Of course we’re on the same page,” he stresses incredulously as if it’s ridiculous to believe otherwise. “We love each other, we’ll do whatever it takes to keep each other safe, we’re a team.”

A disappointed frown takes hold of your features as you carefully pull your hand away. Your eyes are full of sorrow and grief for your failing marriage, and Bucky doesn’t understand why his words have garnered such a reaction from you. He asked you to be his wife out of love and complete adoration for the woman who had risked everything to help him become the man he is today. Wasn’t that enough?

“When we got married, you promised me we’d retire and start our lives somewhere quiet away from all the danger. We’d do the whole white picket fence thing and grow old together, maybe start a family now that all the super hero stuff was behind us. But then Sam needed our help, and I didn’t mind suiting up again for a friend.“

“Of course you didn’t,” Bucky affirms with a faint smile, heart nearly bursting with pride at the mere thought of your selflessness. Steve had once said your compassionate heart could melt even the toughest of soldiers, and Bucky had been no exception when first meeting you.

“I thought that would be our final send off, but then came Valentina, then your congressional campaign, and now the impeachment. It never ends, Bucky,” you say emphatically, exhaustion and defeat present in your tone. Quieter now, you let your eyes fall back to the documents and swallow back your tears before continuing, “I’m starting to realize now that there never will be a house with a white picket fence.”

“Y/n, come on,” Bucky pleads earnestly, “of course there will be. Just give me some time-“

“That’s what you always say,” you point out with a smile that fails to reach your eyes. Your husband is desperate to change your mind, the panic evident in his features as he scrambles to make things right before it’s too late.

“I can change.”

“If you can honestly look me in the eyes and promise me your days of fighting are over, I’ll shred the papers myself.”

A heavy silence follows your words, and you sit expectantly as you wait for him to make a move. Bucky’s eyes wander to every corner of the room, analyze every speck of dust that lands on the table, but they’re never once able to look into your own. You know you have your answer, and Bucky knows there is no changing your mind now.

“I’ll still help you find evidence for Valentina’s impeachment,” you assure him numbly, your fingers absently fidgeting with the buttons on your shirt. “I’ll help you organize your argument and figure out the next step, but you’re on your own after that.”

“About that…” Bucky utters guiltily, looking at you like a dog caught with its tail between its legs. Your brows furrow slightly in confusion before your shoulders slump in disappointment. You know what’s coming, and you know you’re not going to like it.

“What did you do this time?”

“The evidence I’m looking for, it’s not a paper trail or the location to some facility. It’s… people,” Bucky admits with a wince, sinking further back into his chair when he notes the frustration evident in your features.

“Oh my god, Bucky!” You exclaim in exasperation. “What do you mean it’s people?!”

Bucky hates seeing you angry, especially when your anger is directed towards him, but he desperately tries to extinguish the flames before they can get worse.

“Valentina sent people to cover her tracks- contract agents.”

“And who are the agents?” you press him, annoyance clear in your tone. He winces, clearly not looking forward to admiting the truth to you.

“John Walker, Ava Star, and Yelena Belova… But y/n, I swear to you, I had no idea about her involvement when I asked for your help taking Valentina down,” Bucky insists honestly in response to the ire clear on your features, hoping you’ll understand his point of view. Of course he didn’t mean to disrespect your wishes, but it had all happened so fast he hadn’t been given an opportunity to right it.

“Natasha was my best friend, and I promised if anything happened to her I’d keep an eye on Yelena in her place,” you remind him indignantly with an irritated huff. Bucky lets his head hang in shame. “You realize you’re asking me to go back on my word by going after her, right?”

“I know… and I’m sorry. But this is important. The fate of the world could be at stake.”

“It always is,” you mutter testily. Bucky sighs.

“Look, just… before I become a divorced middle aged man, can you just go on this one last mission with me? Think of it as a final send off,” Bucky coaxes with a nervous smile. “And when all is said and done I’ll sign the papers.”

You pull your lips back into a thin line as you stare down the man sitting across from you. You’re not exactly pleased with this entire situation, but a part of you knows you’d feel horrible turning your back on him when he needed you most. Despite your impending divorce, you still loved Bucky with your entire being, and you always would have his best interests at heart no matter the case.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” you curse under your breath, more directed at yourself than at Bucky. “I know I’m going to hate myself for this, but I’ll help you.”

The relief that washes over Bucky’s face is almost rewarding, but you try not to let yourself get too caught up in the fantasy. You still aren’t an Avenger, and going on a life threatening mission isn’t going to magically fix the problems in your marriage. You’re simply doing this as a favor to the man you love, and you’re adamant about not letting yourself fall in too deep.

You only hope Bucky keeps good on his promise to you because he can’t afford to break any more.

~~~

You carefully pull the zipper of your suit closed before taking a step back to catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Despite years of inactivity, it still fits you like a second skin, and you hate it. The last time you’d suited up had been to stop the Flag Smashers, and when it was over you swore to yourself you’d never put it on again. You’d shoved it towards the very back of your closet hoping to forget it existed, and yet here you stood being haunted by your past in spite of how hard you’d worked to separate yourself from your life as an Avenger.

“You look good,” Bucky compliments from behind you, figure leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest as he takes in the sight of you. He desperately wants to cross the room and pull you against him, hold you by the hips and pour all of his gratitude for your help into a kiss, but he refrains. He doesn’t want to cross any boundaries, but he isn’t exactly sure how to act around his soon-to-be ex-wife. The air is awkward with uncertainty and tense with your anger at having been dragged into this mess, but neither of you dare make note of it.

“I look like an Avenger,” you mutter dryly before pushing past him in search of your boots. “Now tell me again what the plan is.”

“Thanks to Valentina’s assistant I have their location. There’s an abandoned mechanic shop along the way, and you’re going to wait for me there while I bring them in. All I need you to do is help me keep them in line and present the evidence at the hearing.”

“Doing all the dirty work?” You muse with a raised brow. “How noble of you.”

“I know you don’t want to be here, so I’m trying to keep you out of the action as much as possible,” Bucky avows with a sigh, making a move to reach out for your hand only to quickly pull it back. If you notice his slip up you say nothing of it, only holding his gaze as he continues, “I can’t promise this won’t go sideways because it very well could, but I’ll have your back just like I always do.”

Your hard exterior softens at his confession, and you find your eyes quickly darting to the floor to avoid his burning stare. Your heart tightens in your chest with despair as you’re reminded of the fact that despite your impending divorce, you love him with your entire being. Bucky has been by your side for years, and you’re terrified of what life will be like without him as your partner, but you keep reminding yourself that it’s for the best. There isn’t a future there anymore, and you’re tired of living a life of fighting. You’re no longer compatible, and the sooner you accept it the better off you’ll be.

“You should go,” you urge, abruptly ending the tender moment he’d created. “If what Mel says is true about them escaping then they probably already have a target on their heads. You need to get to them first.”

Nodding in understanding, Bucky bids you goodbye by placing an awkward hand on your shoulder. It isn’t very subtle by any means, but the gesture has you cracking the smallest of smiles at the man. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Be careful, James,” you say quietly, a hint of vulnerability shining through your tone. Despite the front you out on, your eyes always give you away. Bucky can note the worry in them, the love you hold for the man you married all those years ago. He knows it’s naive of him to think a woman who’s always been so strong willed would ever change her mind after it’s already been made up, but he really hopes he won’t have to sign those papers when you finally get home.

“Always am for you,” he replies with a faint smile, unable to stop himself from gently brushing his knuckles against your jaw the way he knows you like. Your eyes flutter shut almost on instinct form the contact, and in spite of your better judgement you find yourself missing the feel of his touch when he pulls away and leaves you to your own devices.

As planned, you drive yourself to the mechanic shop and sit in wait for Bucky to return with the agents. You’re restless trying to find ways to keep yourself busy in his absence- stretching, unloading and reloading your gun, scrolling through the latest news articles regarding Valentina’s impeachment. You appreciate Bucky’s want to respect your wishes as much as he can in the situation you find yourselves in, but you feel useless not being part of the action. The quiet leaves you with nothing but your thoughts, and all you can focus on is your broken relationship.

Where had it gone wrong? When was the moment it finally occurred to you that you weren’t happy? Were you making a mistake?

Your agonizing rumination is interrupted by the sound of the front doors slamming open. You quickly rise from your place on the work bench and watch as the disheveled group is ushered in by your husband. Hands bound and defeat clear on their faces, you think it’s safe to say the rest of this mission should be easy enough.

“It cannot be,” a voice utters in awe, prompting you to turn your inquisitive gaze towards the man with the unkempt beard and red suit. “It is y/n Barnes! The Avenger!”

You shift awkwardly at the feeling of all eyes now focused on you and offer a meager wave of your fingers in response to the man. Bucky simply rolls his eyes and forces the group to sit before reinforcing their restraints so they can’t escape. You find your gaze subtly shifting to the blonde woman seated a few feet across from you, chest tightening at her mere presence. You don’t know her personally, but you’d heard endless stories about her from Natasha when she was still alive. She’s different from what you pictured, but there’s no doubt in your mind that this is Yelena.

“Y/n, great to see you again,” John greets with an airy grin despite currently being bound with a metal rod. You hold back a laugh when Bucky forcefully tightens the restraints in annoyance at hearing the man attempt to start a friendly rapport with you. It’s clear your husband still isn’t a fan of Walker, not that you blame him considering what you’d been through with the man.

“Wish I could say the same,” you hum with a subtle shrug. “I’m just here to help clean up Bucky’s mess.”

“And what mess would that be?” Ava prompts with a grunt after Bucky tests her restraints.

“Whatever mess I need to make to prove Valentina’s guilty,” Bucky answers for you. “You guys are the evidence, so you’re going to march into that impeachment hearing with me and tell the board everything you know.”

“No, no, see, we don’t work for Valentina anymore,” Yelena interjects despite Bucky’s skeptical glare. “We actually are working together to take her down.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that?” Bucky scoffs.

“She’s telling the truth, Bucky,” John interjects, and while the Winter Soldier doesn’t seem interested in what they have to say, you are.

“What’s really going on then?” You ask, inquisitive gaze meeting Yelena’s frenzied blue eyes.

“Valentina was going to incinerate us, but then we met Bob and escaped.”

“Bob?” Bucky retorts in disbelief.

“Yes, Bob! We thought he was just some weird guy, but it turns out he can fly which would have been good to know when we were stuck in that elevator and-“

“Okay, okay, enough. You can say whatever you want but it’s not going to work.”

“Bucky,” you call gently, his features immediately softening at the sound of his name falling from your lips. You shift closer to the man and lower your voice to a hushed whisper before speaking, “I don’t think they’re lying.”

“What? Of course they are!” He scoffs indignantly, prompting you to roll your eyes in response. “You expect me to believe a story about some guy named Bob?”

“I expect you to be impartial. Isn’t that kind of your thing, Mr. Congressman?” You rebuff sarcastically much to the man’s chagrin. “The least you can do is hear them out.”

“I think you should listen to her,” Alexei pipes innocently, only serving to agitate the man further. However, before he can offer a rebuttal the sound of his phone ringing interrupts your conversation. You watch your husband shoot him a warning glance before answering the call.

“Hey,” another voice calls, prompting you to shift your focus onto Yelena. “Are you really an Avenger?”

“Retired,” you correct her with a faint smile.

“But you were one,” she insists, “and if you were then… you knew my sister.”

You feel your chest tighten immediately at the mention of Natasha, the air around you suddenly becoming thick with tension as all eyes land on you. You shift uncomfortably on your feet and cross your arms defensively over your chest before offering a single nod of acknowledgement to her statement. By the look on her face you know she wants to ask you more, but your conversation is interrupted by the sound of Bucky’s exasperated voice.

“Valentina was working on something called Project Sentry?” He retorts, catching the attention of your hostages. “A guy named Bob?”

“Yes, Bob!” All four exclaim indignantly at finally being proven right. You hold back a laugh and instead give him a pointed look as he finally hangs up his phone and sighs.

“Alright, change of plans. I’m going to stop Valentina, and you guys are coming with me.”

“Wait, us?” Yelena retorts in uncertainty.

“Yeah, you,” Bucky replies with a raised brow. “Why? You got some place to be?”

“Bucky,” you interject pointedly, grabbing onto his arm and pulling him aside to create some semblance of privacy from the others. “What the hell are you doing? You said we were just gathering evidence, not risking our lives fighting against some super powered experiment.”

“That was before I learned she’d created a literal human weapon,” he rebuttals with an exasperated wave of his hands. “I told you things might get messy, but we can handle it. We always have.”

“You seem to forget that I don’t want to handle it,” you remind him pointedly. “I’m here because I care about you, because I love you too much to leave you hanging, but this isn’t my life anymore.”

“You think it doesn’t kill me to ask for your help?” Bucky prompts gently, unable to help himself from fervently taking your hands in his own. “You think throwing you into a dangerous mission at the last second isn’t gnawing at my entire conscious right now? I know what’s at stake here, and I know you don’t owe me anything, but we have to do this. You know we do.”

You pull your lips into a thin line and shift your gaze to the ground as you contemplate his words. You’d told him you were done with fighting, even decided to end your marriage because of it, but you knew he had a point. You couldn’t exactly retire if the world was left in ruins, and you also knew you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if something happened to Bucky because you chose to bail on him instead of seeing your final mission together through.

The feel of his hand gently squeezing your own brings you out of your thoughts and back to the present. You allow him to gently lift your chin with his metal hand so that he can meet your eyes, causing your heart to leap in your chest at the intimate gesture. You haven’t been this close to him since you professed your desire to end the marriage, but the man still has a way of softening your hard exterior with ease.

“You know I would never let anything happen to you,” he utters softly, “so I need you to trust me.”

Your lips pull into a slight pout as you fight within yourself to resist melting into his touch. You shouldn’t still be this attached to a man you’re about to divorce, but you love him, and that’s what makes this is all so complicated.

Finally, you let out a sigh and solemnly reply, “I trust you, and I’m going to help you see this through to the end because no matter what we’re partners.”

“Partners,” Bucky repeats fondly, chest swelling with pride at the notion. You may no longer be husband and wife, but at its core your relationship is one of teamwork and trust. Retired Avenger or not, you’ll always be there for Bucky when he needs you.

Because in spite of the legal documents sitting on your coffee table back at home, you still love him with your entire being.

And that terrifies you.

~~~

You feel the ground jostle beneath you as Bucky drives over another pothole. You’re not exactly the most comfortable stuck in the loading bed of the truck the team decided to steal, but Alexei had been so excited to ride shotgun with the Winter Soldier that you didn’t have it in you to protest. Besides, it was something you’d have to start getting used to now since ending your marriage also meant ending your passenger seat privileges.

Yelena, John, and Ava proudly boast their weaponry, but you’re too lost in thought to register any part of their conversation. Bucky had been vague when revealing the details of where Valentina’s Watchtower was located, and you knew him well enough to figure out when he was hiding something from you. You had no idea what secret he was keeping, but you had a feeling you weren’t going to like what was waiting for you at the end of this drive.

You feel a nudge against your boot and look up to find the three now staring at you expectantly. You blink in surprise before asking, “Were you saying something?”

“Are you really Bucky’s wife like John says?” Ava prompts with intrigue.

“I… technically still am, yes,” you reply with a careful nod, fingers already beginning to search for your missing ring on instinct.

“What do you mean by that?” John questions with furrowed brows. You shoot him a glare and awkwardly shift in your seat, not exactly thrilled at your personal life being put on the spot by people you’ve only known for a few hours.

“We’re getting a divorce,” you state bluntly in an attempt to simply rip the bandage right off. The man looks stunned, and the air has now suddenly become thick with awkward tension.

“Did not see that coming,” he breathes out remorsefully, clearly regretting having asked in the first place. “How could you be getting a divorce? The last time I saw you two you couldn’t spend more than five seconds away from each other.”

“It’s complicated, and no offense but I’m not about to get into my marriage problems with a truck full of strangers,” you snark defensively. He raises his hands in surrender and says nothing more, but your mood has effectively been ruined.

“I have a question,” Yelena pipes up with an innocent raise of her hand. “If you say you’re retired, then why are you helping us?”

“Because I can’t exactly retire if Valentina blows the world up with her bullshit,” you explain with a harsh exhale. Then, features softening, you utter, “and I couldn’t live with myself if I let innocent people get hurt because I chose not to help them.”

“God, you sound like an Avenger,” Ava scoffs in detestation, “so selfless and kind. How’d someone like you become the Winter Soldier’s wife?”

You smile faintly at the question, chest filling with warmth as your mind drifts back to all those years ago when you’d first met Bucky. Despite how things are now, you don’t think you’d change any of it.

You had just worked your way up to becoming an agent for S.H.I.E.L.D. when Pierce pulled you aside for a ‘special’ assignment. Too naive to question why he’d want to trust a rookie with an important job, you followed orders and went to the designated coordinates full of excitement for your first job. You had no idea he was setting you up to run into the Winter Soldier so he could see your potential firsthand. You barely survived the fight, and Bucky probably would have killed you if they hadn’t called it off, but Pierce decided then that you would be his new pet project. You were sworn to secrecy after being threatened with your life, and you didn’t dare try to resist.

You trained mercilessly under the watchful guidance of the Winter Soldier, pushed to your breaking point nearly every day until you were deemed ready to join him on missions. You became his shadow, following his every move and making it your own. Eventually, you were trusted to tend to him after assignments as well- cleaning his wounds, calming him into submission, tending to whatever need he had. In a strange sort of way you were partners, and he came to respect you as an individual instead of viewing you as a subordinate. You became close, too close for Pierce’s liking, and the man decided you no longer fit into his plans.

Bucky had been ordered to kill you the next time you were sent on an assignment together, but the plan was thankfully intercepted by the arrival of Captain America and Black Widow. The entire operation had blown up thanks to their efforts, and you were freed, but your companion was nowhere to be found. The Avengers took you in as their own, and in that time you struggled to accept that the man you’d grown so close to had left you behind.

Your paths crossed once more in the wake of the Sokovia Accords, and though your reunion had initially been uncomfortably awkward, you soon were able to fall back into your old routine. Your partnership became friendship, and when you chose to stay behind with him in Wakanda it evolved into a relationship of unwavering love and support. You helped each other work through what Hydra had put you through, understood each other in a way no one else did, and promised to be by one another’s side for the rest of time.

The trio is captivated by your story, and you find yourself falling quiet as you realize such a promise can no longer be kept. Your marriage is ending, and eventually you’ll go back to being strangers once more. You sniffle, awkwardly clearing your throat as you realize you’d become more vulnerable than you intended to be with the group. Their solemn gazes burn your skin in a way that’s suffocating, and you wish they’d just move on from the topic already.

“I know it’s not my place,” John begins, filling you with trepidation and unease, “but it sounds like you’re making a mistake.”

“Excuse me?”

“Look, I don’t know the full story, but it’s obvious you still love him. You shouldn’t give up so easily-“

“You know what, John? You’re right,” you retort bitterly, tone dripping with sarcasm, “it’s not your place. In fact, you’re the last person I’d take marriage advice from, so why don’t we just keep our opinions to ourselves.”

The man’s features fall at your harsh comment, and while you’d normally feel remorse for snapping at someone so quickly all you feel is anger at yourself. You know his words hold some truth to them; you still love Bucky, and you want nothing more than to stay married, but neither of you can seem to reach an agreement that suits both of your needs. He can’t live a life of inaction, and you can’t give up on the picket fence dream, so what the hell are you supposed to do?

The rest of the truck ride is quiet, and no one dares to ask anymore questions about your marriage.

~~~

You understand now why Bucky seemed to be so avoidant about disclosing the location of Valentina’s new base. How was he supposed to tell you that the new building she’d acquired was the one you once called home?

Your entire body feels on edge as you squeeze into the elevator and watch the doors close as you begin to move towards the top floor. It’s been years since you stepped foot in this building, but you still know every turn and corner like the back of your hand. Memories of the past haunt you like ghosts, causing your chest to ache with nostalgia and longing for a time that had long since passed. Your days as a fresh faced recruit had been so simple and safe; you hadn’t experienced real tragedy yet, and you were protected in the little bubble you lived in as an Avenger. Everything had changed so quickly, and you still found yourself struggling to pick up the pieces.

“Hey,” Bucky’s voice whispers gently, hand coming to rest comfortingly on the small of your back, “you okay?”

“I don’t know,” you answer truthfully. You feel like you’re in a daze, and you’re not sure how you’re supposed to handle being thrusted back to your past. “I never thought I’d come back here.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before,” he murmurs sincerely. “I know I should have, but I thought it might overwhelm you.”

Too lost in anxious thought, you absently reach for his hand just as you’ve done numerous times in the past and hold on tightly to ground yourself. Though he’s surprised by the action, he’s able to respond by giving your hand a gentle squeeze back.

“I’m here,” he promises you. You swallow thickly and give him a small nod, bracing yourself as the elevator doors finally open to the top floor.

Your hand never leaves Bucky’s as you cautiously step forward and begin to scan the room. You can see that Valentina has taken the liberty of redesigning the place, but the layout is still identical. You can almost see yourself sitting on the couch watching Tony attempt to lift Thor’s hammer, having a talk with Steve on the balcony after a rough day of training, lounging at the bar counter begging Natasha to show you how to make her signature cocktail.

Some of your happiest memories are permanently embedded in this building, but that all fades away at the sight of Valentina pouring herself a glass of champagne right where you pictured Natasha to be.

“Took you guys long enough,” she jests coyly before making her way around the island counter. “What do you think? This place certainly wasn’t cheap, but I think it’ll do just fine. God, can you imagine the glorious battles that took place in this very room? I know you can, y/n.”

You tense at her observation and feel your lips curl into an irritated scowl at her blatant disrespect. It takes everything in you not to lunge at the woman, and if not for Bucky still tightly grasping your hand you’d be in the midst of throwing a right hook.

“This ends today,” Bucky warns her lowly as your group begins to surround the woman. Each and every one of you has a bone to pick with her, and you’re eager to finally bring her to justice and get this whole thing over with.

“Congressman Barnes, wow,” she greets with feigned surprise. “You know, I never really thought you’d have a promising political career, but less than half a term? Yikes.”

You take a step towards her only for Bucky to pull you back, causing the woman to let out an amused huff through her nose. Her smug demeanor and careless need to insult your husband has you fuming, but that’s exactly what she wants. Valentina knows how to get under someone’s skin, and you fair no better to her mind games than anyone else.

“Mrs. Barnes,” she greets cordially with an air of false sweetness, “I can still call you that, right? Congratulations on the impending divorce. I gotta say, I like you much better as an Avenger than a housewife.”

“Retired Avenger,” you correct her through gritted teeth. “This suit’s coming off as soon as we kick your ass.”

“You know, I never understood why you two were together, but I’m starting to see it now.”

“We’re taking you in, Val,” John interrupts only for the woman to chuckle in response.

“I don’t think so, junior varsity Captain America.”

He immediately reaches for his gun, and though you’re interested to see where this will go Bucky is quick to interject and have the blond stand down. She hums, clearly unthreatened, and turns her attention to the other two women in the room.

“Oh, nice to see you, Ava. Yelena,” she pauses while looking the Widow up and down, “you look awful. Are you sure you’re really ready for that public facing role you asked me about.”

“Eat shit, Valentina,” Yelena says bluntly before taking a menacing step towards her. “Where’s Bob?”

Despite being clearly outnumbered, Valentina remains calm and sure of herself as she takes another drink from her glass of champagne. “Look at you, you all are so adorable. Just think, I send you down there to kill each other, and instead you make nice and form a team.”

The circle around her grows tighter, and you watch on edge as Bucky takes a step towards the woman with his hand aiming for her throat. However, an invisible force prevents him from moving any closer, prompting your group to look between each other unsurely.

“Oh, I’m not alone,” she explains apologetically before glancing towards the stairs. It’s then that a new face enters the room, and you watch with uncertainty as a blond man in a golden suit slowly makes his descent down the stairway.

“Bob?” Yelena calls skeptically. After everything you’d heard from the group, the man before you is certainly the last person you’d ever expect to be the Bob they’d discussed.

“His name is Sentry,” Valentina corrects, “and he’s my get out of jail free card. Once I bring him to the impeachment trial they’re sure to let me keep my job. In fact, I’ll be able to protect the American people in the way I see fit.“

“That’s never going to work,” you argue indignantly. “They’d have to be crazy to give you full control.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Valentina coos mockingly before turning to Bob. “Sentry, these people are criminals and a danger to the American public. I need you to dispose of them for me.”

You carefully rest your hand on the handle of your gun, watching intently as the man looks from your group to Valentina. You have no idea what he’s capable of or how this fight is going to turn out, but you’re ready to do whatever it takes to make sure you get to go home after all is said and done.

“I don’t want to,” Bob says uncomfortably, “they’re not a threat to me so why should I have to fight them? I don’t want to hurt anybody.”

Despite his hesitance to complete Valentina’s request and Yelena’s insistence for the group to back off, a fight soon breaks out between Sentry and your team with Alexei being the first to throw a punch. You assume that with the numbers on your side you’ll be able to defeat him with ease, but you couldn’t be more wrong. The hero is essentially indestructible, and every punch you throw or bullet you fire doesn’t so much as leave a scratch.

You barely manage to miss getting toppled over by Ava after she’s thrown across the room, rolling out of the way and landing next to Bucky who looks rightfully frazzled. You can tell he hadn’t been expecting this either, but the fact that you’re currently on the same page brings you little comfort.

“I have a plan,” you pant breathlessly while picking yourself up off the floor. “You distract him from the front and I’ll creep up from behind.”

“You really think that’s going to work?” He breathes, watching as you pull your knife from your thigh holster.

“Only one way to find out,” you reply with an easygoing shrug despite the dread that’s pooling in your stomach at the thought of this going wrong. While you’d initially joined this mission due to the fact that you couldn’t retire if the world was in danger, you’re starting to realize now that you can’t retire if you’re dead either. You just hope this works.

Bucky gives you a single nod before sprinting full speed at Bob, allowing you a window of opportunity to creep up behind him. You grip the handle of your knife tightly in your hand before lunging forward and driving the blade into his neck, but to your horror the impact causes the metal to crumple in on itself. Your knife falls to the floor with a deafening clatter, and suddenly Sentry’s focus is on you as his hardened gaze closes in on your terrified face.

His hand shoots out before you can react, fingers closing around your throat as he slowly lifts you off the ground. Your hands desperately claw at his arm while your feet try to kick him away, but he doesn’t even budge. His gaze is cold and unfeeling, as if your pathetic gasps for air are but a mere nuisance to him. You can feel the world fading around you as he tightens his grip, and you can’t help but to think how poetic it would be for you to die here in the tower.

“Let her go!” Bucky growls before pulling out his gun and relentlessly firing at the superhuman. He’s panicking. He can see the fight slowly starting to die within you, but he’s not about to let you be taken from him so easily.

“Fine,” Sentry utters unpityingly before carelessly throwing your body across the room like a rag doll. You slam into the wall behind the bar counter, bottles of liquor shattering from the impact and digging into your skin as you drop to the ground in a heap of broken glass. Bucky’s eyes widen in panic before turning sharp with unbridled rage. His chest is tight with an anger he hasn’t felt since his time as the Winter Soldier, and all he can see is red as he pulls off his jacket and tosses it to the side.

Your entire body feels like it’s on fire, a sharp pain shooting up your spine as someone rushes over and picks you up out of the glass. The room feels like it’s spinning and your vision is so spotty you barely register Alexei looking down at you with worry as he carries you over to the others. You reach back with a groan for Bucky, but the Red Guardian shushes you in what he hopes is a comforting manner before handing you over to John.

As you feel yourself finally starting to come to, the first thing your gaze focuses on is the sight of Sentry catching a punch Bucky has thrown with his metal arm. You watch in dismay as he slowly twists the appendage before ripping it straight off and hitting your husband upside the head. You cry out in horror as his body slides across the floor in front of you, and despite the way your own body screams in pain you forcefully drag yourself over to him. He’s barely conscious, a bruise already forming on his cheek, but the gentle touch of your hands on his face has his eyes fluttering open to meet your worried gaze.

“Y/n?” He groans, prompting you to let out a sigh of relief.

“Hey, I’m here, honey,” you assure him in a trembling voice, “I’m here.”

It’s clear there’s no winning the battle against Sentry, so your team quickly scrambles to their feet and makes a dash towards the elevator. Alexei helps you carry Bucky inside while Ava makes sure to grab hold of his discarded arm, and with a rapid push of the control panel the doors are sliding shut and sending you back to the ground floor.

Things fall apart pretty quickly after that.

Your entire team disperses despite Alexei’s insistence you stay together as the newly proclaimed Thunderbolts. Only you and Bucky are left standing in front of the tower as you try to figure out the next move, though you’re not exactly in a rush to throw yourself back into the ring with Sentry. Your body aches beyond relief and a dull throbbing sensation has settled in the back of your skull, and you’re barely able to keep yourself upright as you lean back against the building.

“It’s a good thing I never plan to wear this again,” you retort sarcastically while carefully pulling shards of glass from your suit.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asks solemnly, hands gently cradling your face to get a good look at you. Thankfully your skin only sports minor cuts and scrapes that will heal over time, but this doesn’t alleviate the guilt he feels in the pit of his stomach. You’re here because of him, because he’d begged you to come in a last ditch effort to save your marriage, and as a result you’d almost been killed.

As if reading his thoughts, you gently reach up to grasp onto his wrists to ground him and pull him out of his ruminative thoughts. “Hey, I’m alright. I’ve been through worse.”

“That doesn’t make it any better,” he murmurs repentantly before carefully pulling you closer to press a kiss to your forehead. You hum appreciatively at the gesture, having missed the feeling of lips against your skin and the tenderness of his touch. It’s getting harder and harder to resist falling back into old habits, but that seems to be the least of your worries now. “I thought I lost you.”

“So did I,” you admit disquietingly, troubled gaze meeting his own worried one.

“What the hell are we doing, y/n?” Bucky utters gently, the softness of his tone harshly contrasting his words.

“Attempting to save the world?” You answer unsurely only for him to shake his head.

“I mean about us, about our marriage. He almost killed you, and the thought of losing you forever terrified me,” he professes earnestly. “We were lucky enough to get out of there alive, but I never want to feel that way again. I can’t just let you walk out of my life when this is all over.”

“James, we’ve talked about this,” you beg him desperately, throat beginning to tighten with the amalgamation of emotions you hold back. “It’s just not going to work. I love you more than anything, but I want to start a family. I want something stable.”

“You’re not even willing to try?” He pleads despite the clear defeat on his features. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from crying and turn away so you don’t have to meet his gaze.

“I can’t talk about this right now,” you shudder while blinking back tears. “It’s all too much, I just-“

You’re interrupted mid sentence as the ground beneath you begins to rumble. Distant screams fill the air and Bucky quickly pulls you into his side as he scans the area for any signs of danger. Your eyes trail towards the skyline above you and you freeze, body becoming rigid as you grab onto Bucky’s arm to get his attention.

A dark shadow hovers above you, chaos surrounding him as he stares you down. Panic floods the streets of New York, and despite the excruciating pain you feel you’re quick to jump into action and assist civilians in evading falling debris and runaway cars.

It seems now you’ll just have to wait until later to discuss the future of your marriage.

~~~

You wake up somewhere cold.

You have no idea where you are, but the last thing you remember is following Yelena into the void in hopes of finding her alive. You’re alone, and your surroundings are unfamiliar as you slowly pick yourself up off the ground and begin to aimlessly wander around. Gravel crunches under your feet as you walk, the darkness slowly fading into light as you begin to hear a cluster of voices.

A door stands before you, cracked open slightly enough for light to seep through and beckon you inside. You slowly push it open and step over the threshold to find yourself in an abandoned warehouse. Across the way from you stands the silhouette of a man, his figure menacing as he hovers over a woman. Her hands tremble with the weight of the gun she holds, her heavy breathing and quiet sobs filling the air as she points the weapon towards the man bound to a chair in front of her.

“Pull the trigger,” the man utters in Russian, the familiarity of it filling your stomach with unease. A sense of dejavú washes over you, and as you come closer to the scene you start to realize that you do know where you are.

“I can’t,” she snivels, flinching as his hands come to rest upon her own and steady her grip.

“You must,” the man coaxes her, and after an agonizing pause of silence a gunshot rings through the air. You gasp, stumbling back in shock at being faced with a memory you thought had long since been pushed to the back of your mind and forgotten.

Your first kill under Hydra.

The sound causes both figures to turn, and you feel sick to your stomach as you meet the gazes of the Winter Soldier and your younger self. His eyes harden, his approach menacing as he begins to step towards you, and you quickly sprint back to the door in a desperate attempt to escape his clutches.

You slam it behind you just before he can grab you, falling back against the wood with a heaving chest as you try to catch your breath and steady yourself. Your eyes squeeze themselves shut in an effort to keep the rising tears at bay, and when you open them again you discover your surroundings have changed once more.

You’re in the training room of Avengers tower, and you’re met with the sight of yourself angrily swinging your fists against a punching bag. Your knuckles are raw and bloody from the force you use, but you remain relentless. You keep going, even as the sobs begin to wrack your body and your momentum begins to slow.

You frown, slowly walking up behind your other self and resting a comforting hand on her back. She seems to falter before collapsing against the bag and breaking down into an ugly crying fit. The sound echoes throughout the room and fills you with unease, but you continue to run soothing circles into her skin to calm her down.

“Why did he leave me?” She sobs, prompting a chill to go down your spine. You remember this point in your life, the aftermath of Pierce and the collapse of Shield. Bucky had disappeared, and though you were grateful to the Avengers for taking you in as one of their own, you couldn’t understand why he hadn’t come back for you. You knew you meant something to him, you had to after all the time you’d spent together and the fact that he’d defied his orders to kill you. You’d never felt more alone, and all you wanted was your James.

“He thought you’d be better off without him in your life,” you assure her even though she doesn’t seem to hear you. “He did it to protect you because he loves you. You’ll see him again.”

The memory resets, and soon she’s back to assaulting the punching bag with all of her pent up anger. You leave her to grieve and make your way out of the room. No matter where you go, the pattern is the same; each place holds a defining moment in your life, some more painful than others, but all of them force you to confront your past.

You’re still no closer to finding Yelena or the rest of your group, and you’re starting to become frustrated. None of this makes any sense, and you feel like a rat aimlessly running through a maze. At one point you become so fed up you break through a mirror in an attempt to land somewhere else, and you end up falling face first onto a patch of dirt. The sunlight is jarring after being stuck inside for so long, and you raise your hand to shield your face so you can survey your new surroundings.

Slowly getting back up onto your feet, you quickly put the pieces together and come to realize you’ve landed back in Wakanda. You think you’re alone at first, but as you turn around you come face to face with a pair of blue eyes. Your heart stops at the sight of him and you falter, unsure whether or not to reach out for him.

“Steve?” Your voice calls, but it isn’t your lips that his name falls out of. You quickly whip around to see yourself limping forward with a deep gash in your side that you desperately press your hand against. Your hair is shorter, features younger, and suit different from the one you wear now, but these details allow you to quickly determine what point of your life you find yourself at now.

“What happened? Where’s Bucky?” Your past self questions uneasily as she scan the area for any sign of the man. Steve looks away guilty, refusing to meet her gaze as he thinks of something to say. “Steve?”

“He’s…” the Captain starts to speak, unable to finish his sentence. Her face falls while her hand immediately rises to hover over her mouth in shock. Tears immediately well in her eyes as she slowly shakes her head in disbelief, suffocating anguish clawing at her throat as she struggles to breathe.

“No… No, he’s not. You’re lying!” She yells aggrievedly while forcing her aching body to walk towards the man. “Where’s is he?! What did you do?!”

“I couldn’t do anything to stop it,” Steve murmurs gently, eyes pleading as he begs you to understand. “He’s gone. I’m sorry, y/n.”

“You’re lying!” She screams, body finally giving out from the overexertion as she collapses onto her knees. Natasha quickly rushes over and helps your past self back onto her feet, allowing you to lean against her for support as you sob. “He’s not- he can’t be!”

You take a shuddering breath and turn away from the scene, overcome with emotion at reliving your grief and heartache. You thought you’d lost Bucky forever, and in that moment you felt your entire world had ended. He’d been taken from you, and you’d be forced to spend the next five years attempting to pick up the pieces and move on. You’ll forever regret lashing out at Steve so harshly, for taking out your anger on a man that had watched his best friend disappear into dust. He was hurting too, and you wish you could take it back.

You can’t be here anymore. It’s all becoming too much, and despite the fact that you’re starting to lose hope of ever being reunited with the others you know you have to keep trying. You push through the brush and shrubbery of the Wakandan fields in search of a way out, and after fighting tooth and nail to escape you end up stumbling into your apartment.

You feel disoriented and confused at being in your own living room, and for a moment you think you might have somehow managed to escape the Void and found your way home. Everything looks as it should, and nothing is left out of place. You take this moment to let your guard down and rest by taking a seat on the couch, allowing your aching head to fall back against the cushions while you gather your thoughts. You’re emotionally drained, and you don’t think you can keep this up for much longer. Would it be so bad to just give up and accept your fate?

“You finally made it.”

You jump at the sound of another voice in the room with you and look up to see Bucky standing over you with a weary smile. You jump onto your feet immediately and throw yourself into his arms for a hug. He catches you with ease, holding you tightly against him as if you’ll disappear otherwise.

“Bucky, oh my god!” You exclaim before pulling away to cup his face in your hands and look him over. “Is it really you?”

“It’s me, sweetheart,” he assures you before leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of your head.

“How did you find me here? These rooms are supposed to be my own memories.”

“That’s the thing,” he sighs solemnly before casting a glance towards the hallway, “this is my memory too.”

You look up at him with uncertainty and confusion, but before you can question him the front door swings open. You watch as past versions of Bucky and yourself walk into the apartment, both clearly exhausted from whatever public event they’d just attended. You kick off your heels by the door and set your purse on the counter while Bucky shrugs off his suit jacket.

“I think it went well tonight,” he notes with a smile before walking past you to get himself a glass of water. You stand in silence at the island table with your head hung low and hands planted firmly on the counter as you try to gather your thoughts.

“James,” you call gently, unable to meet his questioning gaze, “we need to talk.”

“What’s wrong?” He asks with a puzzled frown, clearly taken back by your sudden change in demeanor. You’d been all smiles the entire evening, so he wasn’t expecting such a drastic switch in tone.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you say in a trembling voice, finally lifting your head to look him in the eyes. Silent tears streak down your face and Bucky feels his chest tighten at the sight.

“Can’t do what anymore? What’s going on, y/n?”

“This!” You exclaim in frustration while gesturing to yourself. “The parties, the public appearances. You promised me when we got married we’d stay out of the spotlight, but not once have we ever been able to have a moment of peace just between the two of us.”

“Hey, come on, of course we have,” he tries to soothe you by gently resting a hand on your arm, but you’re quick to pull away from his touch.

“All the plans we make just keep getting pushed aside for something else. I wanted a house, but we got the apartment to stay in the city in case Sam needed us. I wanted to retire, and yet every time there’s a fight we’re there. I wanted to start a family-“

“We can still do all of those things,” he insists desperately only for you to shake your head in quiet defeat. “I love you, y/n.”

“I love you, James,” you sniffle with a watery smile that temporarily alleviates his anxieties, “but it’s clear to me that we both want different things for ourselves.”

“What are you saying?” He presses you, voice low and apprehensive as he waits for you to speak with bated breath.

“I want a divorce.”

You turn away from the scene in shame as it resets, leaving you and Bucky alone once more in the apartment. Neither of you dares to speak at first, the air thick with tension and discomfort. You don’t even know what to say.

“Hard to believe that was only a month ago,” he jokes humorlessly in an attempt to break the silence.

“I don’t want to end our marriage,” you profess remorsefully. “I just relived every moment we were pulled apart and it was hell. I can’t live without you, but I don’t know how to handle all of this.”

“No one says marriage is easy,” he reminds you, gently resting his hand upon your cheek. “And I definitely haven’t made it easy for you.”

“I just got so tired of fighting,” your murmur faintly, eyes beginning to well with tears. “I want to give it all up, but how can I? I could have said no to you when you asked me to join you on this trip, I could have gone home instead of coming with you to fight Sentry, but I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself if something happened to you because I wasn’t there. Being an Avenger is all I know, and I hate that.”

“Hey, come on, you’re so much more than an Avenger,” Bucky coos sweetly while using his thumb to wipe away some of the tears that had fallen. “You’re strong, you’re brave, not to mention you have the patience of a Saint, and I would know considering how much Sam and I have tested it in the past.”

That gets a quiet laugh out of you, and Bucky’s heart swells with pride at being able to get you to smile. He’s missed sharing moments like this with you, tender moments where you keep each other from falling apart. He doesn’t want to lose that.

“What do we do? I want a life that doesn’t revolve around being a world saving hero, and you want to continue to help make the world a better place, so where do we go from here?”

Bucky falters for a moment as he contemplates his answer. You don’t think there is a right answer, and you fear that he might come to that realization. Instead, carefully grasps your chin between his thumb and forefinger to tilt your head upward.

“We compromise,” he answers with furrowed brows, as if surprised at himself for not coming up with it sooner. “That’s what a good relationship is built on, isn’t it? We can have both.”

“How do we do that?” You prompt him, obvious uncertainty present on your features.

“It’s not going to be easy, but it isn’t impossible,” he assures you with a firm nod. “We can have the house and the family, and when the world needs us to suit up we will. We just have to find a balance.”

He makes it sound much simpler than it will be in practice, and though there’s a part of you that fears it’ll never work, there’s also a part of you that will regret it forever if you don’t at least try. Bucky has become a permanent fixture in your life, and you never want to face a point in your life where he isn’t by your side. You’ve been through more hardships than most married couples have, endured awful traumas and challenges, but each time you’ve managed to persevere together.

“Okay,” you breathe with finality, “let’s compromise.”

It feels like a weight has been lifted off of his shoulders when you express your want to continue fighting for your marriage. This entire time Bucky has been dreading going home and facing the divorce papers that sit waiting on your coffee table back at the apartment, but he can now rest assured knowing those files will never be fulfilled.

He wraps his arms around you once more and pulls you in for a searing kiss. Your hands find purchase on his shoulders immediately, mouth moving in tandem with his own as you pour all of your love and heartache into your shared embrace. You’ve missed this more than anything, and now that you’re back in his arms again everything feels like it’s finally starting to fall back into place. You know you still have a job to do, but you’re more determined now than ever to save Yelena and get the hell out of the Void.

And you’re determined to do it together.

~~~

You fall back onto the hard asphalt with a groan, your limbs entangled with Bucky and Ava who lay beside you.

Despite all odds, you’d managed to help Bob overcome the Void and return yourselves and everyone else back to the real world. You were free from the nightmares of your past and safe on normal ground. You only wish he could remember everything you’d all just endured together as a team.

You look across the way to spot an apprehensive Valentina waiting for your group. Your shoulders tense in aggravation as the woman immediately begins to spew excuses for her wrongdoings, and you join the others in approaching her with a vengance. You can’t wait to bring her in and get her thrown into jail like you’d originally planned, and when all is said and done you’ll finally be able to go home with your husband.

“Now guys, let’s just talk,” she pleads anxiously before disappearing behind a green tarp. You quickly step through before you can lose her, but you soon regret it as you’re immediately bombarded by roaring applause and the flashing bulbs of cameras. You raise a hand to shield your face from the commotion and grab onto Bucky’s arm to steady yourself.

“What the hell is going on?” You groan in annoyance at being ambushed by an entire swarm of journalists. You don’t exactly look or feel camera ready right now, and the stunt only serves to agitate you further.

“How about another round of applause for our heroes!” Valentina boasts into her makeshift podium. “It is because of their selfless bravery that we are all standing here.”

Despite your disdain for the woman, you have to give her credit- she certainly knows how to put on a show. Your group mates exchange looks of uncertainty as she spews her bullshit speech to the eager reporters, unsure of what her angle is and what she’s about to rope you into.

“Today, the citizens of the United States needed protection, and thanks to my hard work, they got it. Ladies and gentlemen, meet the New Avengers.”

The crowd of spectators break out into joyous cheers of excitement and deafening applause, but none of it registers in your mind as you focus on the words that have just left the woman’s mouth. You’re stunned and unnerved at her declaration, but your stomach quickly grows heavy with anger. You feel like the name of your original team has been tarnished, and you’re fuming at the fact that she’d roped you into this without a second thought. This was not how you ever pictured your return, and you’re at a complete loss of words.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you snarl through gritted teeth, knowing that if looks could kill Valentina would be dead right now. “New Avengers? I am an Avenger.”

“I thought you were retired,” John murmurs under his breath, only fueling your anger further.

“Hold on,” Bucky assuages you, hand coming to gently rest upon your back. “I have an idea that could make this all work in our favor. Do you trust me?”

While your mind is still reeling at being thrusted into the spotlight again with a new team, your nerves begin to dwindle as you meet Bucky’s eyes. His features are sincere and understanding, and though there isn’t a single part of you that trusts Valentina, you trust Bucky with your life.

You give him a single nod before returning your gaze to the crowd. A swarm of journalists stand eagerly waiting to hear your input, dying to know what your plans for the team are as the only original Avenger. Bucky’s hand on your back keeps you calm, and you know that whatever happens next you’ll be able to handle it together.

Just like you always have.

~~~

12 Months Later

While you’d initially been resistant to joining the New Avengers under Valentina’s guidance, you have to admit that things have definitely seemed to turn out in your favor.

Yelena had made it clear to the woman that it was her who worked for you guys and not the other way around. You owned her, and if she wanted to stay out of prison then she had to meet your every demand. She especially needed you onboard considering your status as an original Avenger was the only thing that gave the team credibility, and that made it easier for you and Bucky to implement specific stipulations in your contracts.

You bought a house on the outskirts of the city where you could enjoy paid leave whenever you both saw fit, and under no circumstances was anyone to bother you during your time off. This was the compromise you and Bucky had made to ensure your marriage stayed strong. You could retreat to your quiet slice of normalcy and strengthen your relationship while still taking part in missions and saving lives. You’d finally found a balance for your individual needs, and divorce was now far from ever being on your mind.

Along with the house and paid leave, you and Bucky had also finally been able to achieve a milestone you’d wanted for years in your marriage.

“Watch your step,” he cautions, his metal arm resting on the small of your back while the other clasps your hand in his own as he helps you down the stairs.

“Relax, James,” you wave him off, “just because I gained a little weight doesn’t mean I can’t walk on my own.”

“I’m sorry, I just want to make sure nothing happens to you or the baby,” he confesses remorsefully while delicately resting his hand upon your growing stomach.

While the tower was being renovated for your team’s arrival, you and Bucky retreated to your new home to enjoy some well deserved rest. You settled in and made the place your own, and once your move in was complete Bucky took advantage of the fact that he had you all to himself free of disruptions. Thus, it was a surprise to neither of you that you eventually became pregnant. Though you were nervous about what this would mean for you both now that you were Avengers again, Bucky assured you he would do everything in his power to take care of you and your little one.

In the meantime, you did your best to stay out of the action and work behind the scenes to avoid any injuries that could threaten the health of you or the baby. You gathered intel, conducted surveillance, created strategies for missions, and piloted the jets for assignments requiring travel. You were still an active member of the team, and you took on your role as leader well. It made sense to everyone that you take the title considering your veteran status, and you had no trouble getting everyone to fall in line when needed. Your new little family was growing, and you found yourself at peace falling back into old routines.

“It’s about time you show up, we’re starving,” John calls to you both as you finally make it down the stairs and head towards the dining room where everyone is gathered.

“I’m the one eating for two here,” you remind him with a pointed look before taking your seat at the table. “What’s for dinner?”

“Special stew made by Alexei!” The Red Guardian boasts proudly while setting a bowl down in front of you. “Very good for you and little baby Avenger.”

“Thank you, Alexei,” you smile, waiting for him to turn his back before pushing the bowl towards Bucky for him to inspect. Alexei has a habit of making food that doesn’t exactly sit well with your stomach, so your husband has taken the liberty of taste testing all of his dishes for you.

“Have you thought any more about the names we’ve suggested?” Yelena prompts from her seat beside you.

“Yes, I have, and no, I’m not naming them little Yelena or Alexis.”

“What?” She exclaims with a pout, clearly taking offense to your answer. “What are you talking about? Those are great names.”

“Don’t listen to her, they are awful,” Ava agrees before digging into her stew.

“Do you have a name yet?” John prompts with intrigue. Ever since you’d announced your pregnancy he’d made it a habit to live vicariously through you and Bucky considering he hadn’t been present for his own wife and child.

You exchange a knowing look with Bucky and urge him to answer for you, smiling faintly at the proud look on your husband’s face as he thinks about the arrival of your future daughter.

“Brooklyn,” he states fondly to the surprise of your teammates. The name is an homage to the city he and Steve called home, and you couldn’t think of anything more perfect when he’d suggested it to you. Brooklyn Barnes would be arriving in four months, and you eagerly counted down the days until you could hold her in your arms.

“It’s not as good as Yelena but… not bad,” the blonde admits with a purse of her lips.

Dinner is a loud affair as always, but you enjoy spending time with the people you’ve come to call friends. Once your meal is finished, the group follows Bucky to the training room for drills while you stay behind with Bob and wash the leftover dishes. He’s still a bit reserved, but your inaction in the field has allowed you to spend more time with the man and help him open up to you. You enjoy the contrast his quiet nature brings to your chaotic surroundings.

You retire early for the night and choose to wait in your quarters for Bucky to return from training. Strangely enough, you’d been assigned the exact same room you once called your own during your time in Avengers Tower. At that point in your life you’d been alone and depressed, stranded with a group of what was essentially strangers while you waited for some sign of Bucky’s return. Now, you found yourself happily waiting for your husband to finish his workout with your hands lovingly rested on your stomach.

The doors to the room slide open to reveal a freshly showered Bucky, and he’s quick to immediately pull you into his arms as he joins you in bed.

“How’d it go?” You ask him while pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

“Better than usual. I think they’ll be ready for this week’s mission.”

“I have full faith in your leadership abilities,” you confidently assure him.

“Well, that would make you the only one,” he jests dryly before pressing his lips to your forehead. “Sam’s still ignoring my calls.”

Your features morph into a frown at the mention of your friend. He’d been rightfully upset when he found out what you both were up to, and despite Bucky’s attempts to explain your actions Sam wanted none of it. He iced you both out, and though the news of the baby had gotten him to soften up the slightest bit towards you, he still made it a point to cut contact with Bucky.

“He just needs some time,” you assure him empathetically. “This isn’t your first fight and it probably won’t be your last, but you guys will be okay. I’m sure of it.”

“I just want us to have a better life. I want you to be happy, and I want to make sure Brooklyn will be safe even if that means having to work under Valentina and the government.”

“She will be,” you promise him with a fond look in your eyes, “because she has us, and she has an entire team of people that care about her even if they try to say otherwise.”

Bucky can’t help the careful smile that plays upon his lips at your reassurances. You always have a way of alleviating his worries and calming his nerves. Your marriage was stronger now because of the decisions he’d made to get you here, and he just had to hope Sam would be able to understand that. The safety of his wife and new baby was all that mattered to him now, and he’d do whatever it took to protect you both.

“I’m the luckiest man in the world, you know that?” Bucky coos before pulling you in for a tender kiss that you eagerly accept.

Come what may, you have complete faith that you’ll be okay. No matter the challenge, no matter the danger, you and Bucky have always managed to overcome any obstacle you’ve faced together. The future is never promised, but you know you’ll make it to the other side as long as you have each other.

For better or for worse, you’re Avengers now, but nothing will ever come between you as husband and wife.

~~~

“But we are the Avengers. The government said so,” Yelena protests fruitlessly as you make your way to the debrief room. “How does Sam Wilson not understand that?”

“Well, he does have the shield,” Bucky points out.

“Well, I’ve got a shield too.”

“Yeah, a shield that’s still bent like a taco,” you scoff in annoyance.

“It’s a great shield!” John insists defensively.

“It’s a shitty shield.”

“A great shield, Bucky.”

“Okay, well, if he puts together a team and calls them the Avengers, then who are the real Avengers?” Yelena insists.

“Probably the ones with Captain America on their team,” you sigh despondently, grateful to have finally reached the couch. You slowly sink down onto the cushions with Bucky’s help and lean back in an attempt to alleviate the weight on your spine. The Watchtower certainly wasn’t designed with pregnant women in mind, especially not women who were eight months pregnant, but you were managing. You technically should be home with Bucky enjoying the start of your maternity leave, but an atmospheric disturbance had halted all of your plans and forced you to call an emergency meeting.

“Well, that’s the question the internet has been asking, and judging by the very nasty memes that I’ve read they don’t think that it’s us,” John says while kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

“That’s not fair, we have an original Avenger on our side,” the blonde woman attests. “That means we are just as good as any team led by Captain America. Weren’t you going to talk to him, Bucky?”

“I already did,” your husband professes solemnly, guilt present in his features. “It went poorly.”

His relationship with Sam hadn’t gotten any better. If anything, the conversation had only seemed to make things worse. You felt for Bucky, but no matter what you said or did Sam was adamant in standing firm against the choices you’d made. He’d wished you well on your upcoming baby, but he made it clear that he wanted no part of the New Avengers or Valentina.

“You know he’s filed for copyright of the name,” Yelena informs your group incredulously as she finally ceases her pacing and joins you on the couch. “We’re losing credibility.”

“In which we had very little to begin with,” Ava notes with a wave of her hand. “All we have is an ‘Old Avenger’ to keep us afloat, and now she’s about to leave.”

“I can only carry you guys on my back for so long,” you retort in annoyance while defensively resting your hands on your stomach. “And for your information, just because I’ve been around longer than you all does not mean I’m an ‘Old Avenger.’”

“Yeah, you’re ‘Pregnant Avenger’ now,” John quips, earning himself a warning glare from Bucky.

“And now there’s a huge space crisis and no one’s telling us about it.”

You feel your nerves worsen at the mention of the incoming threat. The world has been off balance in a recent change of events, and though you don’t know what exactly it is, you know a threat is coming. You only have one month left until Brooklyn is born, but it seems you won’t be able to spend your last month of pregnancy at home like you’d initially hoped. Bucky tries to refrain from overwhelming you to keep your mind at ease, but he can only hide so much from you.

As Yelena speaks into her control pad to request a full threat analysis, Alexei proudly walks into the room with a new ensemble that has everyone’s heads turning in bewilderment.

“Hello, team,” he greets while boasting his new suit. “I heard about Sam Wilson. He’s dumb litigious man, but I am smart. I’m smart man, and I have smart solve.”

You watch in bemusement as he gestures to the logo on his new jumpsuit and sounds out the new spelling change of ‘Avengerz.’

“Avengers with a ‘Z.’ There is no copyright.”

“No,” Yelena immediately protests, clearly not up to entertaining her father’s antics.

“Nonsense. This suit, it is soft like baby seal. I have one for you, and you,” he says while looking from Yelena to Bucky. “Avengerz suits for everyone! I even got one for little Alexis.”

“Alexei, we’ve been over this,” you remind him gently, “her name isn’t Alexis.”

“There is still time to change mind,” he reminds you with a dismissive wave of his hand.

You let out a quiet laugh of disbelief and sneak a glance at your husband who very clearly seems fed up with this entire debacle. You should have already been on your way to the cottage by now, and instead you were here mindlessly bickering over issues that seemed trivial when compared to your upcoming due date.

“Satellite image populating,” your computer generated assistant announces while producing a visual on the screen. “Extra dimensional ship entering atmosphere.”

“Extra dimensional? What does that mean?” Alexei murmurs as your group moves closer to the screen.

“It means it’s not from here,” you answer absently, nervously grasping onto Bucky’s bicep as you get a closer look at the ship. A blue number four is etched into the side of the strange looking ship, and you watch as it grows closer to landing on earth.

“It’s a cool ship,” John notes with a meager shrug, trying to alleviate some of the tension in the room.

“So much for maternity leave,” you sigh in a weak attempt to make a joke. Bucky shifts his tense gaze towards you before slowly lowering it to your protruding stomach, his mind reeling with all of the potential dangers you could soon be facing.

Sensing his panic, you carefully take hold of his hand in your own and tightly intertwine your fingers together to bring him back to the present. Your touch grounds him, reminds him that as of now you and Brooklyn are safe beside him, and he thanks you by wordlessly giving your hand a squeeze.

You have no idea what is to come or how your team will fare in the face of this new adversity, but you know that you’ll overcome whatever you need to in order to protect your new family.

“No matter what happens, we stay together,” you tell him firmly with no room for argument. You expect him to fight you on it, to insist you go home and keep yourself far away from the danger, but instead, he raises your hand to his lips and presses a kiss to your knuckles before offering you a single nod that melts away all of your trepidations.

“Together.”

[pagesfromthevoid]

Honey & Glass | r. r. | 3

Robert “Bob” Reynolds x superpowered!reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: Mentions of void. But otherwise tooth rotting fluff.

Author’s Note: Technically the end of the story. But I’m sure I’ll write more about her and Bob over the course of those 14 months soon

Masterlist | Talk to Me! | AO3

“You’re all idiots, just come up stairs,” Valentina’s voice echoes through the main floor of the old Avengers Tower. 

The Thunderbolts –as Alexei decided they would be called –glanced at each other wearily. Bucky doesn’t trust a thing that comes out of Valentina’s mouth. Not a goddamn word. But her agents have stood down, and there’s a clear path to the elevator. And he really needs to save his assistant. And Bob. 

He’s getting too old for this shit, honestly.

When the doors open, Valentina immediately starts spouting her usual bullshit.

“How crazy is it to think about all of the…monumental fights that happened exactly here, where you’re standing?” She spouts, pouring herself a glass of champagne as the team approaches. “I mean, the place wasn’t cheap. But it’s got good optics.” She pauses, looking up finally and smiling at all of them. 

“This ends today,” Bucky says, stepping forward in front of the rest of them.

“Congressman Barnes. You know, I never really thought you’d have a promising political career –but less than half a term? Yikes.”

“We’re taking you in, Val,” Walker cuts in, rolling his eyes. 

Valentina scoffs though, setting her glass down. “I don’t think so, junior varsity Captain America.”

Bucky is trying to get eyes on his assistant; he knows she’s here. She has to be. Same with Mel. But Walker goes to pull his gun and Bucky snaps at him. “Walker.”

Valentina just smiles, knowing that Bucky isn’t going to let her get killed by any of them. He wants to let them; he understands. But he needs de Fontaine alive –he needs her to face consequences the right way or everything he’s done –everything he’s trying to do –will mean nothing. 

“Nice to see you, Ava –and Yelena. Wow. You look…awful. You sure you’re ready for that public facing role you asked me about?”

Yelena sneers, stepping around Bucky now herself. “Eat shit, Valentina. Where’s Bob?”

“And Bucky’s assistant,” Walker interjects. Bucky narrows his eyes, reminding them she has a goddamn name.

But Valentina just chuckles again, like all of this is some big joke. “Look at you. You are all so adorable. Just think –I send you down there to kill each other and instead, you make nice and form a team!”

“Where are they?” Ava asks one more time, but her tone is clipped. They’re all about ready to pounce.

“They’re both fine. Working together, actually. I told you, Congressman Barnes –your girl is a swiss army knife. She’s got talents far beyond what you give her credit for. Robert?”

There’s a pause –just long enough that they can hear footsteps. Heels clicking behind boots. Then Bucky feels it –that tingle at the base of his skull. The uncomfortable pin pricks of her getting into his head. He looks around, noticing everyone else feels it too –except Valentina.

Don’t freak out, she says, Well, not about me. I would freak out about Bob. I wouldn’t fight him.

Walker is about to say something but Ava is the one that catches on that it’s their heads first. Don’t worry about fighting. You’ll get out of here soon.

She’s about to say something, Bucky can tell, but Valentina is talking again.

“Years of hard work have finally come to fruition,” she explains, motioning to Bob who comes to stand beside the director. Behind him stands Bucky’s assistant, who is shifting uneasily as she stares up at Bob. She doesn’t look scared –not of Bob, at least. She looks…worried. “Stronger than all of the Avengers combined. He has the power of a thousand exploding suns –Earth’s mightiest hero. The Golden Guardian of Good. The Sentry.”

Bucky can’t help but make a face at all of this posturing. “I’ll bite –what do you plan to do now? Take over the world like every other bad guy?”

But the director scoffs again, shaking her head. “Oh, god no. Robert here –Sentry, as he’s aptly named –is a hero, James. He’s going to protect the world. Where the Avengers have failed, he will succeed.” She turns to Bob now, putting a careful hand on his arm. Bucky notes that she almost flinches, like she’s expecting something bad to happen when she touches him. But nothing seems to happen. “Robert, take care of them, will you?” 

Bob looks down at Valentina for a moment, then glances back at the young woman behind him. Like he’s waiting for her permission. But she doesn’t make a motion one way or another, fear freezing her finally. Bucky knows that look; it’s the same look she had when she came in six months ago after being cornered and he decided to teach her to fight. 

Cornered. Frustrated. Powerless.

“C’mon guys –just give yourselves up. I don’t…I don’t want to hurt you.”

Do not fight him. You will not win, she insists as Valentina steps back, pulling her along. But that falls on deaf ears as a dogfight breaks out. Bucky can’t keep track of how many punches he throws or how many knives he breaks. Walker’s shield is twisted into him and he’s thrown across the room. Every punch, every shot, every attack –it’s like they’re nothing. The guy doesn’t flinch, he doesn’t bruise, he doesn’t bleed. 

But they do.

All of them do.

He only stops when she cries out as Bucky’s arm is ripped off his shoulder and thrown to the ground. She’s shoving away from Valentina, finally putting the skills Bucky has taught her to some use to throw Valentina off balance and twist out of her grip. Bob watches as she throws down the files that she’s been forced to carry and drops down to grab her boss’s arm. The rest of them are rushing to the elevator, trying to get away as fast as they can. But she’s hesitating, looking between Bob and her boss –her friend. 

Don’t hurt them, she says but her lips aren’t moving. Bob realizes –that tingle at the base of his skull –it’s her. Please.

Yelena is yanking her into the elevator, but she’s trying to look at him with pleading eyes as the doors shut. Please.

But she hears him –a voice, distorted. Dark. Shadowed in his mind but loud enough in her own that she can feel it in her very bones.

They always leave. Even when they promise they won’t.

When they get to the ground floor –and they’re sure that Bob is not going to come finish them off –Bucky turns on her.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind? What did I tell you about getting closer to Valentina?”

She flinches back, not expecting to be scolded after the events of the last few days. “I wasn’t thinking –I was talking to Mel –,”

“You’re right. You weren’t thinking. You could have been killed.”

“Hey, hey –do not yell at her,” Yelena cuts in, stepping between her and Bucky. The Russian puts her hand up. “She did not know she was going to be kidnapped –she was doing her job. Which –by the way –you taught her to do. So it is technically your fault.”

“Oh no –,” she starts, shaking her head quickly.

“It is not my fault –,”

She shushes them all suddenly, throwing her hands out to the sides. Everyone is staring at her like she’s insane, but she’s staring like she’s listening intently to something. Ava says something, tries to get her attention, but she waves her away. 

“Something’s wrong,” she says, spinning around several times. 

Her eyes lock into the sky just beside the tower –a shadowed, caped figure. She wants to think it’s not something evil –it’s not Bob, it can’t be. Deep down, though, she recognizes this figure. She’s seen it in his mind before –and those eyes. The only part of the figure that’s not casted in shadows –two white, glowing spots that look directly into the soul –are staring down at them.

He puts his hand out and the helicopter that is circling spins out of control suddenly, crashing into the tower. One by one, people around them disappear into shadows themselves, and she tries to step forward –tries to save someone; anyone. But Alexei holds her back gently. Bucky and Alexei stand on either side of her, looking up in horror as Yelena steps forward with Ava. Walker is pulling off his helmet, following their gazes as shadows creep up the buildings surrounding the engulfed tower. 

“You all know the truth,” he says. And it’s Bob’s voice –she knows it. But it’s distorted and full of anger. The same voice she heard earlier –the one that told Bob that they always leave. “You can’t outrun the emptiness.”

“I think Bob’s dark side got superpowers,” Walker states, eyes wide as they all stare in horror. “We need to get everyone off the streets.”

They’re all too distracted to notice that she does not follow them. That she stays planted in place, looking up at the figure that is slowly creeping its way towards her as the shadows begin to consume those around it. Vaguely, she registers that Bucky is yelling her name but she ignores him as she takes half a step forward towards the shadows.

“You promised you wouldn’t leave,” he says, peering down at her. “You did though. You left. Just like Yelena said –we’re all alone in the end.”

Bucky is screaming at her now, and so is Walker. But Yelena steps to her right and looks at her –knowingly, as if the former Black Widow knows something that was never shared between the two of them. Then, Yelena steps forward into the shadows. And he watches, waits. His thoughts are much clearer than Bob’s. They’re more violent; more feral. But they’re easier to understand.

“He’s not alone. And neither are you,” she promises, taking the plunge into the shadows herself. 

*****

In the end, they do what superheroes always do:

They save the world from the bad guy.

Except the bad guy wasn’t actually a person.

It was loneliness, and self-loathing. It was the darkness that surrounds you when you’re at your lowest and think it’s the end. It was the hardest parts of life thrown at you all at once, trying to drown you.

It’s something that…doesn’t just go away. And it didn’t just go away. 

It’s there. It’s lingering.

But that Void –as they’ve been calling it –can’t be ignored. But it can be filled –and that’s what they’ve been doing. For Bob, for themselves, for each other. Valentina did a lot of bad –but out of that bad has come some good. 

She has friends, for example. Though Alexei would insist they’re family, even if they’ve known each other a month. And she has a job that pays obscenely well (though, given the PR nightmare that is her new team, it better). 

Bucky made it clear that he wasn’t going to take part in anything relating to the team if she wasn’t hired as their PR manager. Yelena had seconded that notion, and Valentina wasn’t really in a place to negotiate so here she is. Living in New York City, with what could be described as her own floor of the Watch Tower, trying to clean up the team’s PR nightmare.

Living in the WatchTower is…weird, she thinks.

She’s gone from living in a crappy little apartment in DC with a random roommate she met on Facebook, to living in what was once the Avengers Tower in New York. With the New Avengers. 

This isn’t how she imagined her life. Though she can’t complain. 

When she isn’t trying to convince Walker to stop arguing with trolls on Twitter (“Seriously. This is what they want. Give me your phone.”) or stop Alexei from getting random sponsors from internet scams (“Sponsors will not ask for your credit card!”), she’s kind of actually enjoying herself. She makes good money, she has good friends, and her job isn’t that bad. 

The team is a hot mess. Don’t get her wrong —they truly are a PR nightmare. But they’re her PR nightmare and it’s not like she can get fired if she doesn’t do a good job at helping them. 

However, she’s doing a damn good job at helping them. 

Tonight is a great example. She’s sitting in the kitchen, finishing an outline for the next meeting with Valentina. Because while the director might think she’s in charge, she is not —and the team has entrusted their PR manager to ensure meetings with the director go their way and no one else’s. 

It’s late; she should probably be asleep. But she likes being up late when the team is out doing training because then she’s awake when they’re back. Though, it also means she gets to work in her pajamas and she much prefers that. And Alexei, bless him, has given her so many random shirts that are twice her size with New Avengers logos on them that she has a nightshirt for every night to wear with her boxer shorts that she definitely didn’t steal from the laundry the first week they all lived together. 

Bob —who has been distant and quiet most of the day —wanders into the kitchen. He’s wrapped up in a sheet, though he’s also wearing a sweater and sweats, and she briefly wonders how he’s not hot. She keeps an eye on him from her computer, though she doesn’t say anything initially. Sometimes he needed that push to talk, sometimes it was clear he didn’t want to. Tonight felt like the latter. 

They have…some kind of relationship. More than friends but less than dating. A weird in between that she doesn’t mind but is a bit confusing.

It’s clear they have some sort of feelings for one another. After everything that happened last month, she couldn’t help how she felt. Though she takes everything at his pace.

He clings to her (not literally but he’s always as close as he can be without making her uncomfortable). When the team is on missions and he’s left behind, she’s with him. Him reading, her working on whatever PR problem they’re facing now. Sometimes they lay on the couch together and watch movies.

Because she’s the only one he can touch without shame spiraling them, Bob likes to hold her hand whenever he can. That’s all he’ll do in front of the team; they don’t question that. But he lays his head in her lap when they’re alone. She plays with his hair absently and does whatever she’s doing. He just sort of exists in that moment and enjoys it while it lasts. And they just enjoy whatever they have.

When he drops his spoon three times in a row, she finally speaks up. 

“Are you good?” She asks, shutting her laptop. He’s staring at the spoon on the ground, clearly contemplating getting it. She slips off the chair and does it for him. “You don’t look too hot.”

He waves her off, but she can see the thin layer of sweat that stuck to his hair and skin. She reaches up to touch his forehead, though it dawns on her as soon as she touches him that there’s no real way to check his temperature. 

“Bob, we talked about this,” she reminds him gently. 

He huffs some and nods a bit, pushing his hair out of his face. “Just…I can’t sleep. That’s all. Nightmares and stuff —hard to sleep when I can’t control those. I’ll be okay though.”

“Do you have them a lot?”

He just nods and shrugs, opening the fridge to take a bottle of water. “Yeah. Less when the others are around —think that’s why I fall asleep during meetings.”

She hums in response, taking a note of that, then nods. “Let me know if I can help.”

“I don’t think you can,” he replies simply, but it doesn’t seem like he minds as he smiles at her wearily. Then he starts to leave, calling over his shoulder, “Thanks though.”

She wants to argue, but stops herself. “At least hang out here with me then,” she counters, pushing her laptop across the counter and trailing behind him. “I just finished Friday’s outline; we can put something mindless on and maybe that’ll help you sleep? That helps me.”

He hesitates, clearly considering it, then nods some. She motions for him to follow her, and they end up finding themselves sitting in the living room. For a moment, she’s staring at the buttons on everything before realizing —she’s never actually turned anything on up here. Usually it’s just on. Or Bucky does it for her. 

“Oh shit, hm.”

“What’s wrong?” He asks, sitting up some and leaning over. 

“I…don’t know what does what. I need to label all this shit,” she laughs sheepishly, sitting down beside him. “Any ideas?”

He shrugs. “I just push things ‘til something happens.”

“Fun idea,” she offers, crossing her arms over her chest as she considers what to do next. “But I don’t touch buttons I don’t know how to use. I’ve seen plenty of movies that say that’s a bad idea.”

“What do we do then?”

She hums, looking around. The room is lit with dimmed lights and the cityscape is glowing around them. Then she grabs two of the throw pillows on the couch. 

“You trust me?” She asks, looking down at him. She’s smiling, holding out her hand to him.

Bob doesn’t hesitate this time, taking her hand and pulling himself up. He doesn’t let go, either because this is his way of saying he does trust her or because he just wants to touch her. But she doesn’t care one way or another because she leads him to the elevator and hits the up button. 

They stand in silence, hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder as the elevator shoots up to the top floor. Bob is fidgeting, and without even poking into his head, she knows he’s worried about what they’re doing. But she just squeezes his hand reassuringly as the doors open. Then she pulls him along towards the staircase that leads to the helipad outside. 

There’s one more set of stairs that leads to a small balcony –nothing fancy; probably there as an observation deck. But she found it the second night there after having tried to label a map of the tower for everyone. She didn’t label this part for selfish reasons, though anyone can find it if they really try.

The pillows drop to the ground and she kicks them some to adjust them to be cushions. Then, she pulls her hand from Bob’s and sits down, legs dangling over the edge and arms braced against the railing. The way the tower is shaped blocks the wind, but allows for an excellent view of the entire city from this vantage point. Rest in peace, Tony Stark, she thinks, because this is the best thing he designed in this tower. Bob is hesitant but sits down beside her, though he criss-crosses his legs under him instead of letting them dangle. 

Shoulders brush again, and she reaches out to take his hand without a word. He interlocks their fingers, no questions asked, and leans against her. And for a while, they just sit there in silence. They don’t really need to speak; they have each other’s company and that’s all she really needs. She hopes this is enough for him too.

An hour or so must pass, because he adjusts slightly and she lets out a small laugh as he lays his head in her lap without question. She runs her fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp as she does so and he closes his eyes

“We gonna camp out up here tonight?” She asks, voice soft and finally tinged with tiredness.

“Can we?” 

She considers it for a moment. He’s warm enough that it’s comfortable, even if there’s a slight chill in the air from being so high up. The team won’t be back until the early hours of the morning, so it’s not like they’ll be looking for the two of them right away. So she just nods and taps him to get him to move, then pulls her legs up off the edge. Bob moves the sheet he’s discarded to cover the ground some and she adjusts the pillows to be used properly now. 

Then they just lay down, face to face. They’re almost nose to nose, and Bob is smiling softly, the weariness that he had earlier just barely apparent in his eyes now. 

“Can I try something?” She asks, and he nods once, brows furrowing. Her hand moves slowly, resting on his cheek. “You’re going to feel that weird little pin prick.”

Bob braces for it; closes his eyes. She knows he doesn’t like it when she’s in his head; not because he doesn’t like her powers but because he doesn’t want her to be afraid of whatever is going on in it. She doesn’t mind whatever she sees, though, because she knows that he’s trying to be better. He’s working on it, and they’re all there to help him. So when his mind floods into hers, and she sees the fragments of the nightmares from earlier –the ones that are just brimming on the edge if he closes his eyes.

It’s him –well, it’s Void, actually. And it’s the lab where Void almost won. In this nightmare, though, he does. Consumed by the shadows, and the self-loathing. And Bob is standing there, unable to stop and save all of them. There’s crying and begging. She even hears her own voice, telling him that he’s only made things worse.

But then…she pushes it away. Sort of, at least.

They’re still there —still scary. But not as loud or as violent. Their faces are blurred out and Void is gone, replaced by just a shadow figure without eyes or a voice. It takes a lot of energy to do this –she’s never really held it longer than an hour or so –but touching him is helping keep it up. 

His breathing is even –soft, calm. He’s let out a soft, “oh,” having not experienced this level of calmness in a long time –if ever. Even if the thoughts aren’t as violent, they’re still there. But she’s trying to push them all away; replace them with something good. Though it takes most of her energy to even blur the current thoughts. 

But a new thought –not one she’s planted, but his own –flashes in her mind. It’s him and her. Where they are –above the city, looking at each other. And he’s reaching out to her. But he’s not timid in his own thoughts. He’s confident, and instead of taking her hand, he’s taking her by the waist and pulling her closer and –

“Oh my god,” he suddenly cries, pulling away and sitting up. He’s blushing furiously, covering his face. “I’m so sorry –that’s not –I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry –,”

She sits up, pulling his hands away from his face. She can feel the flush on her cheeks, but it’s a good thing as far as she’s concerned. “Hey, don’t apologize –I’m not uncomfortable.”

He looks at her with surprise, blue eyes swimming in confusion and dare she assumes, a little bit of hope. “You’re not?”

Laughter bubbles up and she can’t help it. “Bob, we hold hands pretty much every day. We basically cuddle any time no one else is around. Do you think I’d do that if I wasn’t comfortable?”

“I mean, you’re always nice to me. I just thought, you know, because you’re the only one that doesn’t get pulled in –you’re just doing that to be nice.”

She can’t help herself. She should have been patient, but he’s so…endearingly blind, and she realizes that if she doesn’t do it now, it may never happen. Her lips are on his without another word, leaning into him to get close. Unfortunately, Bob doesn’t seem to expect this –though he’s very excited nonetheless because his thoughts are just repeating holy shit, holy shit, holy shit and he falls onto his back. She falls with him because she doesn’t expect him to not know she’s going to kiss him. But his hands find her waist, and she catches herself by her hands on either side of him.

And he’s looking up at her with a faint blush on his cheeks, and she’s looking down at him with a bright smile that she can’t contain.

“Can we try that again?” She asks, and he nods quickly, closing the distance himself this time. 

One hand finds itself tangled in her hair and the other is gripping her waist like she’s going to disappear. The connection to his mind has been severed, but she doesn’t need to read his mind when she’s laying on top of him anyway. The kiss is awkward and a bit messy –neither of them have clearly been this close to another person in a while. But something about that only makes it better as she presses herself closer to him. 

He makes a sound –it’s quiet, but an obvious whine as she nips at his bottom lip. Her tongue slips past his lips and he makes that sound again, a little louder this time. A little more desperate. But it’s him who pulls away, and she wants to be okay with that but honestly, she’s more flustered than she’s willing to admit. They’re both breathing hard but she rolls off him and lays on her side, hands tucked under her head as Bob lays flat on his back and covers his face. 

“I –sorry, I couldn’t breathe,” he admits with an awkward laugh. And she laughs too, shaking her head.

“It happens,” she reassures.

There’s a pause, then she shifts, laying her head on his chest. He tenses just a bit, perhaps not expecting her to want to keep touching after all of that. But he relaxes, and drops his hands from his face, then slowly wraps his arms around her. He’s unsure, but when she presses closer to him, he squeezes her tight and rests her cheek against the top of her head.

“Thank you,” he whispers into her hair, and his voice is sluggish with exhaustion.

*****

“Look at the two lovebirds!” Alexei yells, pointing at the security feed in the conference room.

Bucky looks up from his phone, frowning some as everyone gathers around the monitors to see her and Bob, asleep, on the roof. It’s not the weirdest thing he’s seen, but it’s not what he’s expecting.

“Finally,” Yelena complains, throwing her hands in the air. “I thought we were going to have to lock them in a closet or something.”

“Should we go wake them up?” Ava asks, kicking her feet onto the table. “Valentina will be here any minute. Do we really want to give her any kind of leverage over us?”

“Leave them be,” Bucky says, tossing his phone onto the table. “Just shut off that camera. We’ll make up an excuse why they’re not here.”

The team agrees not to bring it up. Let the two have whatever time they want together.

Bucky’s just thankful he doesn’t have to listen to her complain about how hot Bob is anymore.

———

Taglist: @ilovemarvel12 @k1ttyjuice @magikdarkholme

[vaginalvr]

oh my gosh the gif where you asked for requests, it has me thinking. perhaps like a spencer x bau! reader and it’s just kinda pillow talk and where they sort of talk about the future, ya know like getting married and having kids type of stuff.

i supposeeeeeeee 🤗🤗🤗

a/n This is super cutie. enjoy!

REQUESTS ARE OPEN! Come submit an idea :)

cw: Emotional intimacy, mild suggestive content, but mostly soft and romantic

Now, hours later, you’re wrapped up in a pair of Spencer’s sweatpants and one of his old cardigans, warm skin still humming from the shower, your body curled against his under the comforter.

The room is dim, moonlight pooling through the window. Spencer’s lying on his side, propped on one elbow, his fingers lazily stroking the bare skin of your arm. Your head rests on his chest, right over the steady beat of his heart.

Neither of you has said much since you got home—just a few soft kisses, a murmured “I love you,” the kind of quiet that only happens when you don’t need words to feel safe.

But now, as your limbs tangle beneath the sheets and sleep threatens, his voice finds you.

“Do you ever think about what comes after this?”

You tilt your head, chin resting on his ribs. “After what?”

“This,” he says softly, gesturing at nothing in particular. “The BAU. Chasing monsters. Jet lag and cold coffee and hotel rooms.”

You hum, shifting so you can meet his eyes. They’re thoughtful, distant in the way they get when his mind is half in a memory and half in the future. You reach up and trace your fingers down his jaw, gently grounding him.

“Sometimes,” you admit. “I used to be scared to.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t think I’d get an after,” you whisper. “Before you… I didn’t picture anything past the next case.”

Spencer’s eyes soften, and he brings your hand to his lips, kissing each knuckle slowly. “Me too.”

The silence that follows is full of understanding. You’ve both seen things that make the idea of ‘later’ feel fragile. But here, wrapped in each other, it feels possible.

“I think about it all the time now,” he says. “Not in a desperate way. Just… little flashes.”

“Like what?”

Spencer smiles, that boyish curve of his lips that still melts your heart. “Like you in a wedding dress. A quiet ceremony. Maybe just us and the team. And then this ridiculous honeymoon where we forget how to do anything except be happy.”

Your breath catches a little. He says it so casually, like he’s just listing grocery items. But you can see the honesty in his eyes.

“You want to get married?” you ask softly, more touched than surprised.

He gives you a look. “Of course I do. I’ve been in love with you for three years. I want everything with you.”

You blink back the sudden sting in your eyes, smile wobbling. “Well, you’re in luck. I want everything with you too.”

Spencer’s hand rests over your stomach, fingers idly brushing beneath the hem of your shirt. “Do you think we’ll know when it’s time to stop chasing monsters?”

You exhale, thinking. “I don’t know if we ever really stop. But I think someday we’ll want to stay. To build something instead of always cleaning up after what’s broken.”

He nods. “Yeah. I want that. A house. Not too big. Maybe a porch. Some bookshelves I can overfill.”

You grin. “You’ll overfill every room.”

He chuckles softly, then quiets, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Do you want kids?”

The question lands gently, not like a bomb but like something sacred. Something careful. You swallow around the lump in your throat.

“I think I do,” you whisper. “I used to say I wasn’t sure. Too dangerous. Too messy. But lately… I see a life with you, and it feels different. Like it’s something we could protect.”

Spencer’s eyes shine in the moonlight. “You’d be such a good mom.”

You snort softly. “Yeah? Even when I swear like a sailor and get hangry on stakeouts?”

He laughs. “Especially then. You’re real. You care so deeply. I see it every day. And any kid would be lucky to grow up with you as their mother.”

You press a kiss to his collarbone, overwhelmed with love. “What about you? Think you could handle the chaos?”

His smile fades into something more vulnerable. “I used to be terrified I’d turn into my mom. That I’d pass something down without meaning to. But now… I think I’d be okay. Not because I’d be perfect. But because I’d have you. And because I’d try.”

Your heart swells at the tenderness in his voice.

“You’d be the most loving dad,” you say, fingertips brushing through his curls. “You’d read them stories with all the voices. Make them pancakes shaped like animals. Teach them to be kind and curious.”

Spencer closes his eyes, like he’s imagining it. “I want to teach them chess. And long division. And how to spot a lie.”

You laugh quietly. “You’d turn them into little profilers.”

“Just the healthy kind,” he promises. “Smart, but not afraid to feel things. I want them to know it’s okay to cry. That being strong doesn’t mean being silent.”

You rest your forehead against his. “We’d build something beautiful.”

He nods, and his voice goes soft. “You make everything feel possible.”

You lie there for a while, breathing each other in, wrapped in a future that hasn’t happened yet but feels real enough to touch.

After a few minutes, Spencer murmurs, “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Of course.”

“I already have a ring.”

You pull back just enough to look him in the eye, heart stuttering. “You what?”

He smiles sheepishly. “I’ve had it for a few months. I’ve just been waiting. For the right time. The right moment.”

You stare at him, heart thudding wildly. “Spencer…”

“I wasn’t going to do it tonight,” he adds quickly, voice warm and calming. “Not like this. Not after a long case, in bed with no grand gesture. But now that we’re talking about the future, it feels silly to keep it a secret.”

You bite your lip, eyes stinging again. “Is it weird that I love that you told me like this?”

He shakes his head, brushing your cheek. “No. Because this—us, talking about our lives in bed, dreaming together—this is what I want forever to feel like.”

You lean in and kiss him, slow and deep, full of promise.

When you break apart, you whisper against his lips, “So… when you do ask, I’ll say yes.”

Spencer smiles against your mouth. “Good. Because I plan on asking a hundred times over the years. Just to hear you say it again.”

You laugh, pulling him close, and he settles into the crook of your body, arms tight around you.

The future is still uncertain. The work is still hard. But for the first time in a long time, you feel like it’s okay to dream. To imagine wedding rings and bedtime stories and messy pancakes on Sunday mornings. A life that’s more than surviving.

And in Spencer’s arms, you know—whatever comes next, you’ll face it together.

[oneofstarkskids]

redemption

THUNDERBOLTS* END CREDITS SPOILERS:

genre; angst with a splash of fluff

summary: bucky knows that even when he feels like there's no one he can rely on, nobody who's willing to stay, you'll be right there beside him.

"it went poorly," bucky tells yelena about his call to sam. part of bucky wanted to be angry with sam.

how could he sit there, knowing this was what bucky's always wanted- purpose, redemption- and try to take it away from him?

at the same time, bucky felt almost guilty. like it was his own fault. he should've done something. said something. told everyone it was another one of valentina's scams.

but he couldn't. not when there were so many people cheering and chanting for him. they weren't calling him the winter soldier. a monster. not a criminal, but an avenger.

a true hero.

he went home to you, heart feeling heavy.

"hey sweetheart," you greeted him at the door, wrapping your arms around his neck.

you ran your hands through his blown out curls, brushing them out of his pretty face. you noticed the tired look in his eyes. "everything okay?"

he sighed before pulling you into him, caging you against him in a crushing embrace.

you didn't push the matter. you just let him hold you like that for as long as he needed, and eventually he sat down and confided in you.

"sam called," he started, but paused. you smiled a bit at the mention of your friend. he'd been there countless times for both you and bucky.

bucky had gone to visit him about a year ago, but it had been awhile since you had talked to him without having to dial his number.

"how is he?" you asked.

"he's suing me," he said flatly. you furrowed your brows and shook your head, trying to wrap your mind around it. "well, not just me, the new avengers. for copyright."

it suddenly made sense.

"oh, bucky," you sat down next to him, interlocking his metal fingers with your flesh ones.

he kept his gaze on the floor, "he was pissed. and maybe he has every right to be."

you didn't say anything. what could you say?

you could see it from sam's point of view. he was an avenger. and he'd lost so many of his teammates.

bucky had even told you that sam was planning to rebuild the avengers a while back. you were so sure that he would've asked bucky to join.

but it looks like he never got the chance.

and bucky. your bucky. this meant so much to him. it's not like he went out searching for it. this team, these lonely, messed up people, just happened to fall right in his lap.

they were just like him. people who'd fucked up beyond redemption.

but here they were, getting the clean slate each of them had only ever dreamt of.

he was supposed to throw that all away?

he rested his forehead on your shoulder, "i don't know what to do. you know, after steve..." you waited for him to finish, knowing it was a rough topic.

"after steve left, i thought i would never have that kind of bond with anyone else," he whispered.

"besides you, of course," he looked up at you with a lopsided grin.

you smiled back, softly.

"but then sam and i...we really started to understand each other. we were forced to work together, and despite him being an annoying pain in my ass... he's filled the emptiness that steve left behind." his face contorts with pain.

you took his face into your hands, thumbs brushing across his cheeks.

"what if he never forgives me?" he asks the question that leaves the room thick with the loss and pain he's lived with his entire life.

you shook your head once more, "buck, don't say that. he's sam. he's pissed off, probably hurting, but he loves you."

"a brief argument over the phone is never going to change that. you two will work this out," you said confidently. it helped that you truly believed the words coming out of your mouth.

there were some bumps in the road of bucky and sam's relationship, but ultimately, they were the captain and his sergeant. inseparable.

bucky was in awe of you. your unwavering faith in him. your never-ending love and support. his blue eyes shined with affection.

"i'm glad that it's you by my side, doll," he whispered. "even if nobody else is."

you pressed your forehead against his and frowned, "which they are."

he couldn't help but chuckle at how adamant you were.

"c'mere," he lifted your chin slightly and kissed you tenderly, his love for you evident in the way his lips lingered against your own.

[yetrop]

Good Omens is autistic—here’s why!

First off, there’s the angelic/demonic nature of the protagonists

They’re trying to blend in with humanity, but have to pick things up as they go along

Because of this, the way they interact with and view people is different from the expected norm

Which also means they're often confused by human customs and find it difficult to read social cues (think Aziraphale asking Maggie if she actually thinks she isn’t crying later on in this scene)

Crowley has to hide his eyes, a part of his identity, from everyone except Aziraphale and the other demons for fear of seeming different/threatening/not human (masking in the most literal sense of the word)

Muriel is concerned with acting and speaking “correctly” to be seen as human

Even though both main characters don’t fit in with humanity because of their angelic/demonic nature, they also don’t fit in with their respective sides, who view them both as strange and don’t understand them. The only place they find acceptance/belonging is with each other. If that isn’t a neurodivergent (and very queer) storyline, I don’t know what is.

Next up, there’s Aziraphale as a whole

The way he stims

Loves routine, dislikes change

Gets uncomfortable when he has to break rules/disrupt order

Taking things literally— “You can’t drive my Bentley.” “I can— I have a license!” (also, this scene is another example of his insistence on order and rules— he insisted on getting a license before they were even legally required)

Paces back and forth talking to himself, planning out what he’s going to say before a conversation (scripting)

The way he suppresses stimming around Heaven by clasping hands behind back, feels uncomfortable and overstimulated there

Bookshop is super cluttered, he has an organizational system that is comprehensible to basically exclusively him

Clumsy, often sucks at motor coordination

Easily startled

He loves alone time, especially when he’s in his own space— he does everything he can to keep customers away from his bookshop

Attaches a lot of sentimental value to inanimate objects (“I’ve kept this in tip-top condition for over 180 years!”)

Incredibly passionate about his interests, especially magic and books

Black and white thinking and rigid morality— He loves and trusts Crowley more than the other angels, but still has tendency to categorize Heaven, Hell, angels and demons as exclusively good or bad (“of course you didn’t go back to Hell— you’re the bad guys!”)

Crowley’s definitely got something neurodivergent going on too (leaning towards ADHD, but potentially AuDHD)

The way he sits in chairs

Hell, (…or Heaven, whatever…) even just the “ducks!” moment alone is enough to show that that his mind jumps around a lot to unexpected loose threads rather than focusing on the subject at hand

Impulsivity

Creative and has a vivid inner world. As pointed out by God Herself, he has what the other demons don’t— an imagination

Craves novelty, frequently changes appearance

Stimming starmaker

This one is from the book, but it’s too good not to point out: the way he idolizes characters like Bond and copies his behaviors off of what he thinks a cool human would do. He has a new computer because it’s “the sort of thing Crowley felt that the sort of human he tried to be would have” (pg 239)

His understanding of how humans fall in love is based on a Richard Curtis film he’s seen

His insistence on asking questions when things don’t make sense to him, knowing why things are the way they are rather than blindly accepting them

And of course, there’s the themes of the story

Black and white thinking vs shades of grey

Breaking away from a world that doesn’t accept you to find love, belonging, and safety

And, as demonstrated time and time again by our two protagonists: intelligence isn’t synonymous with interpersonal skills (…or common sense.)

Thanks for reading all of that! This isn’t the kind of post I normally make, but I have so many thoughts about this that have been on my mind for almost two years now, so I decided to share them.

While there are of course a lot of plot-related reasons for why they behave the way that they do and many of the traits I brushed on could be explained by other factors, I still find it interesting to explore it through a neurodivergent lens. I also think the existence of angels with physical disabilities (like Saraqueal) adds credibility to the idea that other types of disabilities or neurodivergence is at the very least possible for angels and demons in this universe.

Feel free to point out anything I forgot to include (which I have no doubt is a lot) and let me know your own thoughts in the comments or tags— I’d love to hear them!

[caitlinsnicket]

yelena belova relationship headcanons

warnings: angst if you look really hard for it, mostly fluff

a/n: i have become enchanted by these people and now i cant stop please send help. also who knew i still could write things this long? ha!

masterlist | 🍉 | ko-fi

so so so touch-starved, just melts whenever she gets to hug you.

holding her face and kissing her cheeks and forehead used to make her eyes water, heart ready to burst out of her chest, her arms almost automatically jumping up to hold you closer and feel your warmth.

she likes it when you hold her from behind, your hands coming to rest on her stomach like a warm anchor. she insists you do it when she cooks or brushes her teeth, every now and then pulling you to her in front of others. she just enjoys the closeness and the pressure.

loves eye contact. could spend a long time just looking straight into your eyes without blinking. you might be watching a movie or showing her something on your phone, and suddenly she’ll go quiet. when you look back at her, she’s just… staring back.

whenever the two of you are having a conversation (important or unimportant), she’ll look right at you and give you her full attention. that’s also happened when she was driving, which you had to call her out for. she just laughed you off, as if paying attention to the road instead of you rambling about something you read recently was an insane request.

gets anxious if the two of you go too long without talking, even if everything is okay. she doesn’t like being left alone with her thoughts and always wants to make sure you’re okay.

she’s also a little scared of coming off as clingy or too emotional, but she can’t help herself, and after a lot of reassurance, she eases up bit by bit until she’s completely comfortable with you.

you know her humor is less than kind at best, but the more time the two of you spend together, the less bite there is behind her words. she’ll banter with you, pull lightly on your hair, and pinch your sides when it’s just the two of you and she feels extra bold, but it seems like she’s incapable of joking around with you as rudely as she does with others.

when the two of you fight, it’s mostly over trivial things rather than anything serious. she’s always weirded out that you seem to be completely okay with the fighting, going away for weeks and often bringing work home, but end up bickering about unwashed dishes or the way you said something.

and at first, she’s fine. but as things progress and your voices start to rise, she can’t help the tears that well in her eyes, the way her voice cracks and her lip quivers. she holds your hand then, no matter how angry the two of you are, and says, “i love you right now, okay?” she only stops crying after you say it back. it’s the only way she can get through those moments without having a full mental breakdown.

she always gets creative with her makeup, eyeliner colorful and dark lipstick as usual, and sometimes she sits in front of you with her makeup bag, eyes closed, waiting for you to do it for her. she does it once a week now, excited about how you portray her and what you think looks best on her (might invite bob to one of your makeup sessions).

after you get to know her completely, you understand how much she loves building her own style and personality little by little. that means she’ll love gifts and clothing you surprise her with, but she’ll adore it even more when you take her out to pick her own stuff and then buy it for her.

she’ll start off self-conscious and shy, but as the two of you go through more stores and you reassure her that she’s free to choose whatever she wants (even that damn ugly sweater with the puffy sleeves), she lets herself get whatever catches her eye. she holds your hand the entire time and pulls you along with her.

once she found youtube tutorials on how to sew and modify clothes, she started stealing yours every now and again to add new pockets, embroidery, and other little details just to make your day. the next time you wear it, not only will it smell like her, but it’ll be way more useful (in her words).

she also feels like she’s marked you. not in a possessive way, but as a way for you to always carry her close.

your clothes are no longer just your clothes, and the same goes for hers. after a few months, she’ll just put all your clothing in her own wardrobe and get rid of any other place where you might keep your things. excluding underwear, it’s become normal for the two of you to morph into each other, your smells mingling into something entirely new.

if someone asks, she’ll say it was hers all along. but deep down, she likes that she can wear something that belonged to you, that she’s now shared the same space as you. she might deny it, but her heart always flutters whenever the two of you go to sleep in each other’s clothes. the sense of belonging floods her, and all she can do is squeeze you against her to stop her eyes from watering.

she’ll always have something ready for you to eat when you get home after a day out, maybe some of that mac and cheese that she loves so much, or a full-course meal that’ll last a few days so you can reheat it whenever you want. she also cooks extra portions when she has to be away for a while on a mission, worrying about your well being.

when you pack her lunch for the first time, it becomes her favorite meal of the day, not so much for your cooking, but because you made something for her. you thought about her before starting your day, and that’s what gets her. she likes being looked after, even though she doesn’t need to be. she refuses to share even a bite with anyone (no one asks anymore).

rainy days are her favorite days. she remakes the bed with fresh sheets, new blankets, the few stuffed animals she won for you at a fair sitting politely in the very center of it. the two of you drink tea in the kitchen, socks on your feet mismatched from the laundry, and after you put the cups in the sink, she holds your hand and pulls you toward the nest she’s made.

the window stays closed, the curtains pulled so the two of you can watch the sun go down and the rain fall. yelena sings a lullaby so low you think you might be imagining it. she lays with her head under your chin, nose buried in your neck, hands tracing shapes beneath your shirt. she can’t help but sigh happily when you hold her back, kissing her forehead and tangling your feet with hers.

she drifts off still humming, warm and soft in the safest place in the world.

[reidrum]

darwinism

A/N: being really brave and posting this bc i wasn’t sure about it but i hope u like it! a reminder to show love to ur favorite writers/creators :) scheduling this post while im omw to halsey’s opening show tonight BUT we hit 3k and that’s so insane to me that people want to read my silly little stories thank you thank you thank you

summary: the you that broke up with spencer to follow your dreams in london isn’t the same you that returns a year later

cw: spoiler content warning at the end of this post! angst, hurt/comfort, bau!reader, ex!spencer, implications of past trauma, descriptions of torture, medical jargon, cm typical violence, throwing up, spencer is kinda mean but he loves you i promise

wc: 6k

The familiarity strikes you like a knife as you walk through the doors of the BAU. Over a year since you’ve been here and it seems nothing has changed—Hotch still surveills from his office atop the landing, Emily and Derek sit opposite each other. Even your desk has remained untouched and the way you left it, still next to the desk you’d begged to be next to.

A year since you left it all behind in pursuit of furthering your career, a shiny new position across the pond at Interpol. A year since you left behind the only family you had in D.C., the BAU. A year since you left Spencer, the love of your life.

Before you left, Spencer thought everything was going great between you both. You seemed happy, content with his company and love. Falling in love with a colleague, especially in his line of work, has its risks but he’s found that having you will always outweigh any consequence or worst scenario his mind can think of.

Spencer would never tell you they actually offered the job to him first, but he turned it down so he could stay with you. He still remembers the fight you had the night before you left, how he couldn’t understand why you would risk throwing away what you had. You knew he never would, with his multiple degrees and high caliber of success he didn’t need that extra validation. To be a mere mortal in the presence of such excellence is humbling and harrowing.

So you left.

You love him, you really did—still do. Nothing about where you were in the world would ever change that. Making the decision to leave was the hardest but you knew it would be better for your career. Spencer might never comprehend how easily you made that decision to take the job in London when it seemed like the hardest thing for him. How could he, when everything he encountered with his Midas’ touch of knowledge only served to expand his beautiful brain. When you left and parted ways, it was for good.

The thing is though, you’re back.

No one actually knew you were coming back until a week ago, when Hotch announced your return to the team as soon as you landed. The job offer was a permanent one and the details are unclear as to why you did come back so early. Bunch of sealed, redacted documents. All Spencer knows is that you are home and back here with him. Maybe not with him, but you were here and that counts for something. 

The desk next to yours is empty but clearly occupied, the satchel slouched over on the ground with a cardigan haphazardly thrown over the back of the chair. You walk up to yours and see it practically untouched, up kept even. You sling your bag off the shoulder and take inventory of your desk, your name plate and tchotchkes aligned. 

You don’t hear the footsteps coming up behind you.

“Hey.”

You still at the voice and turn slowly, “Hi, Spencer.”

He takes a good look at you, the first one he’s gotten to have of you in over a year. You look the same more or less. Your hair is longer, you’ve lost weight, you stopped wearing makeup. There’s something else surrounding you unspoken, he can’t place his finger on it.

“It’s um, it’s good to see you.” he nods awkwardly, trying not to cringe inwardly as he attempts normality.

“Likewise.” you hum.

Hotch calls your name from the landing, “Welcome back. I need everyone in the conference room in two minutes.”

You both nod, each secretly glad your interaction was cut short. 

Derek rounds your desk and opens his arms, “Good to see you, pretty girl. It’s been too quiet without you.” You try not to let your heart squeeze over the term of endearment, a stem of his nickname for Spencer coined specially for you after Derek had figured you both out.

You squeeze him back, “Missed you too, Morgan.” 

Emily loops her arm through yours as you pull back from Derek, slowly starting the walk up to the conference room. “How was London? Was the apartment okay?” Former Interpol agent perks, Emily had her own flat in London she so graciously lent to you.

“All good, Em,” you say softly, slowly trudging up the steps, “I’ll show you pictures later.”

Emily continues talking as you both get further out of earshot from Spencer, whose eyes follow until you disappear into the room. There really is something different about you that he can’t quite figure out yet, no way of even proving that something is wrong–just a sheer feeling of knowing you from the way you’ve imprinted on him. He decides it’s probably just jet lag.

“You alright, kid?” Derek nudges him, “Must be a lot for you,”

He forgot he was even still down here, “Yeah, fine. We should go,”

—

The first time Spencer noticed he didn’t think anything of it.

It’s paperwork week after a long few weeks of traveling, to everyone’s delight. In desperate need for caffeination you grab your mug from your desk and trudge to the break room to make yourself a coffee. You place a pod into the slot and press start, the machine whirring to life as it prepares to brew your lifesaving coffee. 

You’re about to bend down to the cupboard under the table when you hear footsteps. 

Spencer slows as he walks in, not wanting to startle you, “We moved the sugar by the way, it’s above the sink now.”

“Oh, thanks.” you mumble. You reach a hand up to open the cupboard, hiding a wince as you stretch up.

He clocks the change in your face immediately, “Are you okay?”

Your eyes widen as you come back down and school your face back to normal, “Yeah, why?”

“You look like you’re in pain. Did you get hurt or something?” he prods, eyes looking questionably between your face and your waist. Your shirt raises slightly and he can see the tail end of what looks like a nasty scar. He attempts to walk closer but with hypervigilance on your side and great timing by the coffee machine you grab your coffee and side step him towards the door.

“Oh did I? Must’ve stretched weird this morning.” you say from the door.

“You stretch now?” he humorlessly chuckles.

“It’s important to stay limber,” Your hand subconsciously rests over your abdomen, unnaturally to the side as if you’re covering something. “Got to go, bye.”

He watches you duck out of the room, “Um, bye?”

Weird, he thinks. You didn’t even end up taking the sugar, the evidence of it still scattered on the counter. You were so quick to leave but Spencer lets himself entertain the idea that you wanted to leave so fast not to get away from him, but because he noticed a crack in your facade.

He tries to school his own face back to normal as he returns to his desk and drops two sugar packets on yours.

–

The second time he notices, it nearly breaks his heart.

It’s a hot day in the Houston precinct where you and Spencer tackle the geographical profile while the rest of the team works out the victim’s details and witnesses. It was a no brainer to pair you two together, you’d been doing geographical profiles since way before you ever got together. It’s how you both fell in love, actually. Countless hours hunched over a map, late night conversations getting weirdly philosophical, something about the way you worked together just clicked. Like you completed something he didn’t know he didn’t have, something he didn’t know he craved so subconsciously.

You made sense to him, you always do.

Things are little different post your breakup, your skill sets are still above par for crafting the geographical profile, and therefore it only served to make sense to pair you both again. He knows it’s for the better, you’ll always make sense to him—even in times like this.

You’re more defensive than he remembers, more meticulous and stubborn than his darling girl who left him. You were always stubborn, but here you were finding faults in everything. The attack sites are too scattered for an accurate comfort zone, you’d argue. The victimology doesn’t add up, you’d jab.

Since you left Spencer’s patience has diminished dramatically, even for you now as he’s about to discover. Normally he’d welcome your counterpoints with respectful criticism and counters while you both talk it out. But right now you’re arguing like you simply want to be right, like you need to be right.

“You’re being ridiculous.” Spencer sighs, “The unsub clearly is frequenting these places for a reason, and it matches the victimology perfectly. How can you not see it?”

“It doesn’t add up!” you jab, “He’s kidnapping high risk victims in a high risk environment, that goes against what we think he’s even killing for.”

His voice raises, “What he’s killing for doesn’t even matter if we can’t predict where he’s going to strike next! The next body could surface tonight, we don’t have time to be childish like this.”

“Childish? Suddenly my analysis is childish? Fuck you, Spencer.”

“Okay, look I didn’t mean—“ He reaches his hand above your figure to grab the marker atop the white board.

A normal motion for him.

But you flinch, hard.

Spencer rarely if ever yelled at you when you were together, he certainly and definitively would never lay his hands on you. Any argument you had with him was resolved civilly, safely. Even when you get disciplined at work by Hotch or Strauss they go easy on you, a stern warning and a passing Be Better.

What you did now is stitched from his nightmares. The sharp yelp you let out will ring in his ears for who knows how long. He can’t figure it out, he’s not sure if he wants to. You’re part of a team of profilers, trained to analyze micro expressions and behaviors to predict what happened. Spencer knows what it means for the way you reacted, his training clearly outlines it.

Previous trauma suffered. Reflex response. Learned.

Wherever you learned that response, it cannot be from him—it’s impossible. It’s offensive. It makes him sick to even think it could come from him, even sicker to think about where it did come from. This wasn’t you, not the you that Spencer knew and loved. 

Yet you flinched, and to his horror you’re now shaking.

He says your name like broken glass, “I…I wasn’t going to hurt you. You’re shaking, I…” He tries to move closer again, like he did in the break room, and instead of ducking out you back up and bump into the whiteboard, startling yourself further.

“N—Nothing, I’m fine. It’s fine. I…need to go get some air.” you stutter, the jitters clearly consuming you.

You run out of the precinct before he can say anything else, evading Emily’s calls and JJ’s brush of your arm as you leave.

Spencer lingers on the ghost of your figure as it haunts the door, and turns to the rest of the team sporting matching confusion. “You all saw that right?”

Morgan nods slowly, “Something’s up with her.”

“I know,” he rasps, “I’ve never seen her look so scared.” The look on your face will surely haunt him every time he blinks.

JJ speaks, “Do you think something happened in London?”

It had to, Spencer thinks. You were not like this before you left. Not skittish, not hypervigilant of your surroundings—fearing a familiar hand. 

The team looks to Hotch, knowing if someone knew it would be him. “Her records are sealed,” he mumbles, feigning professionalism yet unable to hide his concern for you, “Interpol informed me it was a need to know basis, and we were not cleared for that.”

“But she’s not okay, Hotch.” Spencer protests.

Hotch gives him a stern look, but his eyes soften in understanding, “I know, we can figure this out when we get back. For now, let her cool off and let’s focus on the case.”

Everyone exchanges uneasy looks and begrudgingly returns to their tasks.

When you return the team offers you the grace of pretending what happened didn’t even exist. You’re inwardly grateful, you know it doesn’t show on the outside. Spencer keeps an eye on you but maintains his distance lest you get triggered at his hands again. He wouldn’t survive watching you react to him so viscerally, in a way that couldn’t be further from the love he showered you in.

It’s in this moment Spencer realizes he misses you. When you left he obviously missed you, but in a way in which he knew you would return home eventually. You broke his heart by leaving, but he knew you would come back to the BAU, where you belonged. A you he honestly believes he took for granted, because it looks like that you didn’t make it home to him. Right now, he’s missing that you. The you before London. 

—

The third time he realizes, he acts on his own–you didn’t even have to do anything.

He knows something happened in London. He just can’t figure out what it is, but he’s going to.

Spencer should feel bad asking Penelope to hack into your medical records. He can’t find himself to actually care though after seeing that stab wound on your hip, and how quick you were to brush it off like it was nothing. It was massive, and by the position of it had to have required some medical intervention. When he got shot in the knee all they needed to do was stabilize his leg from the outside with a brace, yours looked dangerously close to a lung.

“Is there a reason we’re violating her privacy like this? She’s my friend, I feel icky.”

“Garcia, please.” his tone holding something deeper.

She glances at him and returns back to typing, breaking down the many firewalls of the bureau medical records.

“And…done.” a flurry of documents floods her screens, Spencer leans in closer to read them but she whispers under her breath, “Oh my god, my sweet girl.”

“What is it?”

Garcia pulls up your medical record from London, and makes the sheet bigger. The glaring title reading Emergency Room Admit. He reads the preliminary injuries of stab wounds, bruises, mild concussion.

Emergency services were called to a warehouse where you were unconscious and bleeding out. You still weren’t conscious when you were admitted, and they had to resuscitate you after you’d coded in the ambulance en route. They took you to emergency surgery, your broken ribs causing major arterial damage in your abdomen. Line after line listed another injury, another note where they performed a life saving measure on you. He couldn’t believe it, how had all of this happened and no one knew about it? How he didn’t know about it?

“She was attacked.” he mumbles in disbelief, poison hanging on the tip of his words.

Penelope says through watery tears, “How could they not tell us? This says it was nearly nine months ago.”

“I don’t know,” he breathes out shakily, “but something still feels off.”

Everything he was thinking and felt becomes obsolete as he scrolls further down to see a note that takes the final blow for him.

Miscarriage due to sustained injuries. Pt suffered stab wounds to the lower left quadrant of the abdomen, fetus not viable upon admission.

No.

No, that can’t be right.

The nausea builds in the back of his throat as he processes. He looks at the dates of the report again and anxiously does the math in his head. If your assault happened only three months after you left then—No.

All the questions begin to swirl in Spencer’s mind. Did you know you were pregnant? You didn’t tell anyone it seems, and then you chose to still stay in london for another nine months even after the incident. It made no sense, an event as traumatic as what he read you went through should have sent you right back home. Right back to him.

The nausea catches up to him and takes over his body, hurling into the nearest trash can he can find. Penelope, through sniffled sobs, attempts to rub her friend’s back as soothingly as she can. 

He wipes his mouth, “I need to talk to her. Is she still at the same address?”

“Spencer, I don’t think—“

“I don’t care what you think, Garcia. Tell me where she is.” he snaps.

Penelope widens her eyes in shock at his outburst, knowing she can’t blame him for how he’s reacting. “Y—Yeah, same address.”

He speeds out of the room, stopping by the bathroom to rinse his mouth and splash water on his face. His hands rub harshly down the sides of his face as he stares at himself in the mirror. All the color is drained from his face, nowhere in sight of returning. He doesn’t know what to feel–let alone what to think. He’s angry, hurt, confused. He’s not expecting to feel scared, yet he’s not sure what he’s scared of.

In Spencer’s life his role has always been the protector, the parentified child that had to grow up too fast to care for their sick mother. He wouldn’t have it any other way, some help would have been nice, but his 187 IQ served him better than others would in his position. Perfection, as his mother fondly called him. All he’s ever known is to protect, joining the FBI helps him continue to actualize this ability he’s honed. Meeting you gave him purpose to protect–a conscious choice he could make that wasn’t a result of his circumstance. A choice to protect you, because he loves you.

Yet his choice to let you go, to not follow you, has led him to face this awful consequence at the cost of your safety. Right now, he feels like anything but a protector.

Spencer gets in his car and drives to your apartment complex, parking in the same vacant spot he always did when he came over each time. He climbs the stairs fast and knocks harshly on your door, hearing you shuffle a minute later and opening it. “Spencer? What are you doing here?”

“We need to talk.” he says urgently, moving past you to get inside.

You furrow your brows at his intrusion and mumble, moving aside passively, “No please, come in.”

You lock the door and walk towards your living room, where Spencer is pacing back and forth running his hand stressfully through his hair. He makes no effort to speak first, still in his head about everything.

“So, are you going to tell me why you showed up here?”

“I know what happened.”

You tilt your head, “What do you mean?”

“In London. I know what happened to you.”

Your face drops instantly and suddenly the world stops. All your windows are closed but a sharp and brisk chill runs up your spine, goosebumps erupting all over you as a pathetic defense against what feels like a vocal attack. Trapped. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you say under your breath.

He stops pacing and faces you, “No?” he steps closer, “That’s why all your medical records are sealed shut?”

“You looked at my medical records?”

“I had to, you weren’t telling me anything.”

“Maybe because I didn’t want you to know.” you yell, “Those are private documents.”

“I don’t know how I didn’t notice it at first—you were in pain reaching for the sugar in the cupboard, suddenly you don’t wear anything shorter than pants and a long sleeve. The big scar on your torso.”

“That doesn’t mean anything—“

“You flinched. The other day.”

You falter, “What?”

“We all pretended it didn’t happen when you came back, but you know what happened. I raised my hand for something and you flinched.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.” you repeat less convincing this time.

He steps closer, trying to hide his hurt when you take a step back as well, “I think you know exactly what it means, and it scares you that I know now too.”

“You’re not supposed to know.”

“Why not?”

“Because no one’s supposed to know! I had them sealed for a reason.”

“So you were just not going to tell any of us you were attacked?”

Your face contorts, “I had to do what was safe for me. You may not understand my choices but I was counseled into believing this was the best option for me.”

“Counseled,” he laughs humorlessly, stepping towards you and staring you down, “Did this counsel inform you that notifying the father of your miscarriage wasn’t necessary?”

The bile rises in your throat, the room unhinges upon its axis as it begins to spin. “N—No, that’s not—“

“Did you tell anyone?” another step, “Were you ever going to tell me it was mine?”

“Spencer you don’t understand.”

He flails his arms in anger, “No, I fucking don’t! First you leave me behind like I meant nothing to you, but then you were pregnant with my child. You didn’t even care to tell me! I wanted a life with you, I loved you. And you just left.”

You stare at him in silence, unable to think of anything to say.

“How could you not tell me?” he whispers brokenly, “I thought you trusted me.”

“I couldn’t tell you, you have to know that.”

“You couldn’t or you wouldn’t?” he pricks.

The tears well up in your eyes, “That’s not fair.”

“No? You don’t think so?” He knows he’s being mean, he can’t help it—he was supposed to protect you, even if you wouldn’t let him. His guilt is rearing its head in an ugly manner. “Was the baby even mine? Or is there something else you’re also not telling me?”

The hurt splays on your face clear as day, “Why are you being like this?” you mumble.

“I just want answers,” he exasperates, carding a stressed hand through his hair, “I want to know why you felt like you couldn’t tell me, or any of us, that you almost died nine months ago and kept living in London until now.”

Your mouth is entirely dried up, your eyes burning deeply. How long you’d been running and carrying this weight alone on your shoulders starts to reveal itself when your exhaustion finally catches up to you, begging you to wave the white flag and surrender.

You take a deep and shaky breath, “My records were sealed because it was an Interpol agent that attacked me.”

Spencer is stunned into silence. Interpol agent? 

Someone turned on the bureau—turned on you, and decided you would be the scapegoat for the brass’ wrongdoings. Someone you trusted laid their hands on you, and caused you such irreparable damage you felt compelled to carry it alone if the agencies had anything to do with it.

He’s nearly shaking with anger, “We need to report it.”

“I can’t.”

“He hurt you!”, he looks at you with disbelief, “We have to make sure they’re held responsible for it.”

“Spencer,”

“I don’t know why you’re so against it, you should know how important it is to make sure people like him don’t get away with this—“

“Spencer,” you plead.

He stops, finally meeting your eyes and faltering when he sees the tears welling and red rims forming. He takes a sharp breath, “You did report it…didn’t you?”

You can’t help the way your face drops, “I did, yeah.”

Spencer couldn’t believe it. Actually he could, he knows very well the statistics of women getting justice for assault crimes against them and how the odds are rarely stacked in their favor. Still, he feels appalled to think that the same system that he works to uphold—the same one you work for—has failed you so terribly.

If you reported it, then that means you knew your attacker.

“They didn’t know Mark was working both sides until he took me.” you whisper shakily.

Mark, the one who’d been your mentor when you were offered the job. Spencer remembers conversing with him when he was still in talks for the job too,

Spencer knows it should’ve been him instead of you. If he had just taken the job, maybe you wouldn’t have gotten hurt. If he didn’t love you as much as he did to not leave you, maybe you’d be here—safe—while he worried about you from over there. The light that guides him home every night would still be shining in your eyes, and he wouldn’t be stranded in the middle of the dark ocean wondering what you would look like with the swell of his child.

How you looked, with the swell of his child.

At first Spencer is angry—at himself, at you, at the bureau for letting this happen. Then he’s just sad, over what could’ve been, what might be. Spencer would always joke that your stubbornness would lead to your downfall if he couldn’t help it. But you shut him out entirely, left him in the dark wondering if you even still loved him. Repetitively thinking about how easy it was for you to leave him alone back in Quantico. You were always too independent for your own good. It’s then another cold guttural realization stuns him—you were all alone when this happened.

“Oh, angel.” his voice cracks.

At this point, you’re just trying hard to keep it together. You weren’t expecting to have to reopen this wound again, although you should be considered a fool for thinking you could hide it from the very person you sealed it up for. You’re stubborn to a fault, constantly desperate for complete and total control over your life. Paining yourself is a valiant effort you invoke to protect others from the torturous reality you’ve spun for yourself. It seemed like the best option.

After all, a self inflicted wound is enough control for you–if you’ve already hurt yourself another cut can’t cause worse damage. Most people would show mercy at some point, not willing to cross the lines of depravity to wound you so badly. 

But you? Crossing the line leads you right back to yourself, a circle even. Boundless to the restraints of humanity and unfiltered to the consequences of shame and guilt. 

It’s why not telling Spencer was doable. Keeping it from him hurt you more than anyone could ever begin to comprehend. 

If nothing in this world can be created or destroyed then the pain you feel must be arbitrary, a remanifestation of your own being returning back to where it came from. Angry to be disturbed in the first place, entitled to return home.

Everything will always go back to the way it was. 

Even Spencer. 

Even you.

“It’s not that I didn’t want to tell you,” you sniffle, sitting down on the couch “I really wanted to.”

“So why didn’t you?”

You whisper, “I was so embarrassed.”

He dares to step closer, “Why embarrassed?”

“I—I know they offered you the position before me,” his eyes widen as you continue, “I was so mad at you at first because you didn’t tell me, and then I realized why you didn’t take it and I felt so shitty about it. But I needed it, you know? It was supposed to be good for my career! I don’t have fancy degrees and publications and the reputation you have. You know how hard I’ve worked to get to this point? But I kept feeling like I couldn’t measure up, wouldn’t measure up no matter how hard I tried.”

“Measure up to what, baby?”

“You!” you wail, “I wanted to prove that I could do it, on my own.”

“You don’t have to prove anything to me or anyone. You never did, you know that.” he says tearfully, finally taking a spot next to you.

You sniffle, “Well, I didn’t think I could. I felt so out of my element when I got there, Spence. But then Mark started watching me, helping me out where he could. He told me he saw potential in me, and made himself my mentor while I was there.”

His blood boils at the mention of Mark but lets you continue. “I…I trusted him. He said he wanted to help me, that he understood what it was like coming fresh from the States.”

“But then,” your face crumples, Spencer’s hands itch at his side to reach out for you, “I was walking to my car one night. I stayed late, because I was finishing a case study. Next thing I knew, there was a bag over my head and I couldn’t breathe.”

Spencer subconsciously inches closer, his hand ghosting the expanse of your body. “Then what happened?”

“When I woke up I was in a warehouse, they tied my hands to the chair I was sitting in. And I waited for someone to come in. Then I saw Mark.” you whisper.

His hand moves to bravely rests on yours, knowing you need all the courage you can get right now. “Was Mark the one who hurt you?”

You nod erratically, “He thought I knew something about the Silk Road, that trafficking network.”

Spencer remembers investigating the Silk Road affairs, they were slowly but surely getting every single person involved in it. You were a big help when you were here, able to pinpoint when and where these people might be hiding.

“I was telling him the truth, there wasn’t anything I knew about active Silk Road members,” you strain, “He didn’t believe me, and it wasn’t what he wanted from me anyway.”

His other hand rests on the couch ledge behind you, “What did he want, baby?”

You let out a soft whine, “I had a contact in London who knew the password to the Silk Road database. I met with him before my first day, and he told me.”

His fingers ghost your shoulder and you don’t move to his relief, letting his touch be more intentional. “But Mark knew you met him.”

You nod, “He knew I knew the password. That’s what he wanted. I—I wouldn’t give it to him, it was too dangerous to let him have it.” A sob breaks through your voice, “Everytime I said no, he’d hurt me.”

You gently pull your shirt up to reveal the scar he saw in the break room that day, but you pull it further up to reveal a few more scars and bruising that still hadn’t faded.

His breath catches like a fish on a hook. “Oh my god,” Each scar is meticulously placed, intentional. The scars have mostly healed, but the remnants of the marks are so expansive it physically pains him to think about what you suffered when they were inflicted. This wasn’t supposed to happen to you.

The guilt settles in him like a rock when he thinks about how strong you had to be to survive this. All alone in a new country with no one you could trust anymore. You’ve always been a different breed of strength, something he marveled at about you. But you’re still in the fight or flight mode of standing strong in your surroundings. A prey who knows the predator routine all too well, knowing the second you falter is when they strike.

He tucks your head into the crevice of his neck—you don’t need to be strong anymore, he’s here now.

“It looks worse than it feels, I swear.” you tug your shirt back down, “I really didn’t know I was pregnant until I woke up in the hospital, Spencer. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey no,” he shushes, closing the distance between you to gather you in his arms, “don’t even think about that okay, I’m not mad.”

“I should’ve told you.” you cry.

“I know why you didn’t, it’s okay. You were just trying to protect yourself.” Spencer hushes, “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

“I wouldn’t let you,” you lament, “I shut you out.”

His hand gently runs up and down your spine, “I’m not mad at you, angel.”

“You should be.”

Another question burns his tongue, “Why didn’t you come home?”

“I wanted to, but…when I tried to report it they acted like they already knew. And I told them what happened to me, what he did, and all they said was that they’d look into it. I saw him at work the next day. I transferred to a different building the day after.” you recount, “I think there’s more Interpol agents working both sides, Spencer.”

“Does Mark still work there?”

“Yeah, I think so…What are you doing?”

He grabs his phone and opens his message thread with Penelope, drafting a text about calling the team and booking flights, “I’m telling Garcia to find flights to London.”

Your eyes widen, “Why would you do that?”

“Because I’m going to kill him.”

“Spencer,” you chide.

“And once the rest of the team finds out what happened I’m sure they’ll be on board with it too.”

“Please don’t do anything. I don’t want to cause any more trouble. It was nearly a year ago now, it’s okay. ” you mutter.

He pauses typing and sets his phone back down, scooching back to you and holding your face to his, unable to break eye contact with him, “No it’s not,” he says sternly, “what happened to you was not okay. Do you understand?”

“But–”

“No. You can’t do that. You won’t. This isn’t some sort of inconvenience we move past. You were taken advantage of, and someone hurt you. You did not deserve that at all.”

You pause and look at him, the tears spilling over down your cheeks. You’d spent the last year in solitude convincing yourself that it was all your fault. Your ambition was too strong, you were too eager, you should’ve been tougher. You lived a truth in which you were the problem. Spencer wasn’t there to remind you otherwise, but he’s ready to spend forever making up for lost time. “I…I didn’t deserve that.”

His eyes soften and his thumbs move under your eyes, swiping gently, “No, you didn’t.” A few more quiet sobs leave you, “So why did it happen to me?” you ask meekly.

“I don’t know, angel. I really don’t.” he smooths your hair back, “I’m going to make it better, though. It’s going to be okay, I promise.”

You nod and hug him tighter, letting a few more tears fall and stain his shirt. “I should be the one to tell the team, I know they’re probably wondering too.”

“They were really worried about you.”

“I’m sorry for worryin—“

“Shh,” he presses a kiss to your forehead, “No more sorrys, okay?”

“Okay.” you curl into him.

“For the record,” he hesitates before he speaks, “I’ll always worry about you. Even if we’re not together, in different universes, or whatever. I’ll always take care of you, and I’ll always love you.”

“I thought you hated me.” you whisper.

“Impossible.” he kisses another part of your face he can reach.

“I love you too, thank you.”

For being here. For saving me. For still loving me.

“He’s going to pay for this, I promise.” You open your mouth to protest and Spencer continues, “He will get what’s coming to him. We’re going to make sure of it.”

You nod softly and listen to his heartbeat. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything, baby.”

“You know I did die in the ambulance for a few seconds.” you whisper quietly.

He swallows, “I saw that in the report. I’m so sorry, sweet girl, that must have been so scary. I know what that feels like.”

“Did you…see anything, when you died?”

From when he almost succumbed to the hands of Tobias Hankel and his father. “I saw a light, it felt warm. Enveloping. Why, did you see something?”

“Yeah,” you tuck in closer to his chest, “I saw you.”

spoiler cw: pregnancy, miscarriage, reader is tortured, reader sustains injuries

[cherrryybeee]

scary dog privileges

shauna shipman bot (link at bottom)

None of this was planned. Crashing wasn't planned. Being stranded wasn't planned. Shauna being pregnant out here wasn't planned. Jackie, Shauna's best friend dying out here wasn't planned. *eating* Jackie wasn't planned. Shauna having a still birth wasn't planned. The cabin burning down wasn't planned. And Shauna liking you *definitely* wasn't planned. 

Shauna used to be sweet, kind, almost quit. Living in the shadow of her best friend, agreeing with her on everything. Then Jackie died, then she lost her baby. And she got mad. Mad at herself. Mad at everyone. Mad at *everything*. She liked to take that anger out on other people. Yelling, fighting, not listening to Natalie who was crowned the leader. Natalie tried to give her space, understanding that she was grieving, hell almost everyone did. You never really spoke to her before the crash. But after, you guys became friends. Not great friends, but friends. 

Tai and Van built tepee like tents out of sticks for everyone. The only problem, everyone had to double up. Everyone was finding their closest friend on the team to share a hut with, you were talking with Mari, moving your blanket in with hers when Shauna's voice filled the small camp. 

"{{user}} is sharing a tent with me!"

You turned around, her hands were on her hips and she was glaring at Mari. Mari opened her mouth to fight back but you cut her off. You knew better then to fight with Shauna. 

"Okay"

You nodded at Shauna, turning to Mari and whispering an "it's okay, it's just for the nights". You gave Mari a small smile before heading over to Shauna, with your blanket in you hands. That was just the start. As time passed Shauna grew more attached to you, like a dog, a big, scary, dog. She would sleep right next to you, one time you asked for an explanation and she just said "cold". Which was a lie, it wasn't cold, it was the middle of summer. When she was in charge of serving food for the night she would give you more. People would always point it out, she would start fighting. She was always behind you, and when she wasn't she was watching you. 

Somehow Shauna's behavior cut down your chores. Now instead of having to help around camp Shauna had you go everywhere with her. It was weird. She was so *possessive*. 

One day you were talking to Travis by the campfire and Shauna practically pulled you away. Saying something about how she needed to talk to you and Travis was annoying anyway. Travis wasn't annoying, that was the thing. You didn't really find anyone on the team that annoying. Shauna did. So she didn't like you hanging around a lot of people. 

Today was no different. Everyone was gathered around for dinner, Shauna served more in your bowl and Mari got mad. 

"Why the fuck does {{user}} get more, because she has scary dog privileges?" That caused Shauna to glare at Mari and snap back. 

You could see Natalie roll her eyes, tired of them constantly fighting. You could also see Shauna clench her fists and glare at Mari. Before anyone had any time to react Shauna practically pounced on Mari. They got dragged away from each other. Natalie sent them both to their huts. You were still standing around the campfire, some people were looking at you like *you* started the fight. You kinda did but that wasn't the point. 

You could feel Shauna's eyes on you from your guy's shared hut. Still frozen in place you heard Misty's voice break you from your thoughts. 

"You gonna go check on your doberman" 

Your eyes slightly rolled at that, turning away from Misty, mumbling a, "shut up poodle" and walking to your and Shauna's hut. 

When you got to the opening of the hut you could see Shauna sitting on the makeshift bed in the corner, jaw clenched, clearly still angry. You weren't scared though, you knew she would never hurt you. Her eyes met yours and her jaw unclenched slightly. Calming down just from your presence.

[toasttt11]

bc bu

January 24, 2025

Mary tucked her hair behind her ear as she looked in the mirror, She had a red and black plaid suit on with simple black loafers.

Today was her first game against Boston University and also her first game ever against Hutson and Cole, which she knew is gonna be hard especially with how important these games are.

Ryan walked up behind her tucking his chin on her shoulder and his hand sprawled around her hip and front.

Mary closed her eyes relaxing into Ryan.

She had just had a small call with Will, who was telling her all about the bet he made with Macklin and he needed her to win the two games and she had hoped to talk to him longer but he was heading to lunch with Macklin.

“You okay baby?” Ryan asked softly knowing Will has unknowingly been kinda blowing Mary off and not paying the most attention and Mary has become a bit sad about it, Ryan also knew Will wasn’t doing it intentionally because Will wouldn’t ever do that but it still made Ryan annoyed.

Mary softly hummed, “I just miss him.” Mary knew if she talked to Will he would immediately try to fix it but she just wasn’t ready to admit how hard is it be this far from Will, a time difference that really makes to be able to find to talk to him and how can she tell him she misses when he use to tell her everything like he is doing with Macklin right now.

She knew it would be hard with Will in San Jose but she didn’t expect it to be this hard, she didn’t want to say anything and make his rookie season any harder than it already was and she wanted to tell Will everything about Ryan and felt so so guilty that she hasn’t told him yet.

Ryan kissed her cheek not pressing, “Come on.” Ryan softly guided her by waist through the door.

Mary blinked softly and shook her head clearing her thoughts as she leaned into Ryan as he guided them out of the apartment and to his car.

He closed the door once she got into the passenger seat and he got into the drivers seat.

He drove them to their favorite Starbucks and grabbed the three drinks quickly before getting back in the car.

Mary fiddled with Ryan’s hand as he drove to the dorms and James walked out quickly heading to the car and getting into the back seat, “Hi Mara.” James grinned squeezing her shoulder making her set her hand over his hand giving him a soft smile and James patted Ryan’s shoulder next before sitting down.

Mary handed James the drink they got him and soon started rambling with James.

Ryan sighed a bit in relief seeing Mary loosing some tension in her shoulders rambling with James. He smiled at her laughter and was so glad for James right now.

Mary walked in between them as they headed into the BU rink.

Ryan watched as Teddy quickly stole James and Mary the second they stepped into the locker room and he nodded approvingly knowing they will help Mary keep her mind of Will and the three definitely need each other for this weekend with playing Cole and Hutson for the first time.

“She okay?” Gabe asked standing next to Ryan looking at Mary like a protective brother, he knew what Will was doing and he to couldn’t blame Will as Will has become slowly distant from everyone since the start of the season and they all understood but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt especially to Mary.

Will was not intentionally distancing himself, not yet anyways.

Ryan sighed licking his bottom lip, “I think so.” He looked uncertain but he couldn’t do much more to help her.

Gabe nodded in understanding, “Just keep being there for her.” Ryan nodded in agreement.

Mary stepped onto the ice with James and Teddy and she frowned sadly seeing Cole and Hutson on the ice but across the ice form her.

Hutson gave her a sad wave and Cole frowned not liking having to play against his best friends.

Mary waved a bit back.

“Ready for this?” James asked softly glancing at his best friend as they were about to play against two of their best friends.

Teddy gave her a soft nudge and she glanced at the two with a small smile, “Ready as i can be.”

Mary was playing mostly with James and Ryan going into the game and it was really weird playing against Cole and Hutson.

First period BC was down 1-2.

Mary was on the ice when Teddy hopped over the boards and she passed him the puck making him quickly flick the puck into the net and tying the game back up.

Mary and Teddy crashed into each other laughing.

A few minutes later she was on the ice with Ryan and James and she was on the wing with the puck and passed the puck right in front of the net perfectly setting up Ryan and he hit the puck into the goal.

Ryan patted her side as she crashed into his side.

Mary got a goal on her next shift from a pass from Ryan. She smiled shaking her head as Ryan gently knocked their helmets together.

BC was leading 4-2 heading into the third.

Mary spun around Hutson on the penalty kill talking the puck from him and passing to Ryan who got a breakaway and a short handed goal.

Ryan gave her a wide grin as she skated over and hugged her so tightly.

The net was empty and there was thirty seconds left when Mary got the puck and she could have got an empty net goal but passed to Ryan who got a goal and his hat trick.

BC won game one against BU 6-2.

Mary, James and Teddy made sure to see Cole and Hutson before they left even if it was only a minute.

January 25, 2025

Mary was sitting in her stall before game two against BU and she was starring at the ground bitting her lip, she didn’t have her headphones on and she stopped warming up earlier than usually.

Ryan walked into the locker room that was pretty empty as everyone was still warming up and paused seeing Mary just starring at the floor.

He noticed this morning she was off a little bit and kept shifting a bit uncomfortable and he knew her ear was bothering her.

He walked over and stood in front of her making her glance up and he softly grabbed her hand pulled her up, “Come here baby.”

He brought her out of the locker room and to a quieter room, he knew he couldn’t do anything to help her with her ear but she looked like she needed a hug and a quiet room always helps.

Mary softly wrapped her arms around him and she shifted her head around accidentally pressing her good ear on his chest and she paused feeling a lot of sound be blocked out in a rally good way and she fully melted as she could only hear his heartbeat and not any other sounds that were making her ear feel worse and worse.

Mary didn’t know how she had never done this before but it might just become her favorite thing, “You block out all the sound.” Mary melted more and more feeling a bit better already.

Ryan raised an eyebrow realizing she had her ear on his chest making her not have to hear a lot of other sounds, “Good.” Ryan hummed happy that he found something he could do to help her as he pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head.

Mary whined a bit as Ryan started pulling away.

“I know baby.” Ryan soothed smoothing. hand over her bubble braids, “You can do this all you want after the game and whenever you want.”

Mary sighed but nodded, “Love you.” Mary mumbled softly against his chest.

“I love you too.” Ryan kissed the top of her head before Mary reluctantly let go of him and they headed into back to locker room.

Mary shook her head out feeling her ear already feeling a bit better and she was a tiny bit annoyed she never knew that would help but it was good to know now.

BC was up 1-0 heading into the end of the third period after an early goal from Teddy after Mary passed him the puck.

Mary shook her head as she heard a whistle being blown and a scrum in front of the net, she glanced next to her seeing Hutson standing next to her and they were absolutely not fighting each other so they her stood next to each other trying to not laugh at the ridiculous scrum in front of them.

Mary patted Hutson’s arm as everyone started heading to their own benches.

Ryan passed to Mary for this empty net and she got the empty net goal this game.

BC won 2-0, shutting out BU and sweeping them.

[owepossum]

Ok I cannot overstate how much I love your characterization of neurodivergent Jayce to the point where I have to say everything I noticed.

Him trying to guess people’s emotions

Using his inside voice

“Too many questions”

Sitting on his hands

Putting his hands behind his back

Skin prickling and scratching

Being careful with other’s belongings

Asking permission to touch things

Counting the stars on the ceiling

AMAZING memory

Bluntly stating his emotions like “I hate him” and “I’m sad that you’re hurt” (because he has a hard time understanding others so he feels the need to overly express his own emotions, at least that’s my interpretation ofc everyone has their own)

It’s so obvious that he’s been a little trained by Ximena to help him socially. You’ve put so much detail into the world building I’ve never felt so immersed in a story. Sorry if this is a lot I just adore your writing style! 💙

😭 you’re so sweet this makes me feel very seen so thank you!!! I may have projected a few things onto him (though I am no where near as cute as this butterball).

I love character studies and i also worked with scientists (RIP grants season) and have sooo many thoughts on how to flesh out jayvik more. Ximena did such an amazing job?! Single mom? Strange land strange people? But her gordito is still so kind and curious.

They’re both so so bright but have such different personalities. Later, young adult Jayce also clearly struggles with some mental health issues. 🫂

[sapphicscholar]

Hacks Episode 4.06 Thoughts

We’re back baby! While I’ve got some quibbles about the ep and some lingering complaints about the season arc, there’s a lot to love here! Popped it all below the “see more” to keep from spoiling the episode for anyone

Catharsis: while I do have a quibble (noted later) about the continuity/transition from ep 5 to ep 6, Ava’s breaking point within ep. 6 was so beautifully, painfully constructed—honed to a fine point of devastation at a hard-to-watch rock bottom—so much so that you could do nothing but cheer as she finally lost her shit and got her moment to scream it out. This is the kind of emotional tension building I love where the (relatively) mundane shit just cascades and cascades until Mrs. Table’s fake order is enough to send ya screaming at the staff and careening through the security gate. And I applaud her for it!

A Question of Competency: this season, I think the question has lingered for some viewers of whether Deborah was right—Ava is not equipped for this job—and for some viewers (mostly non-fans, given how deep the fandom’s love for Deborah goes) of whether Ava was right way back in season 1—Deborah is a hack, and her comedy will always threaten to revert back to that same old shit. But we’ve known from season 1 that they make each other funnier, better, that this was Deborah’s second chance at rekindling the kind of dynamic she thought she had and then lost with Frank. And we heard Ava put in such clear terms that the reason they work is because of their relationship—a thing that has notably been strained so heavily as to be essentially non-existent this season. One of my biggest frustrations with season 2 was that we kept being told that Deborah bombed on stage when she wasn’t talking to Ava and was refusing to work with her, but we never saw it, which lessened the impact and made some of the emotional fallout of that experience much harder to understand and find meaningful. This season, though, we’re seeing all the ways the fissure in their relationship is sending the show careening to last place. And while we’ve all been presuming the reasons behind this tailspin, there were two moments that really calcified the intentionality behind the writing here:

Ava scrambling with those 5 pages of jokes desperately trying to find the “best” ones because she doesn’t know what a Deborah who makes “wine o’clock” jokes thinks is funny. While Ava looks deeply, deeply bad at her job for a long, painful moment, we know why: Deborah has become alien to her! This Deborah is even worse than the one we met in the pilot, and Ava is flailing because everything she thought she knew about Deborah and what she finds funny and what she's striving toward in her comedy has flown out the window, leaving Ava on unstable ground.

Deborah acknowledging that she’s been setting Ava up to fail. This was a huge moment (more on it later), but I think in some ways, this is the line Ava needed to hear more than any of the rest of it. So much of Ava’s sense of self (like Deborah’s) is wrapped up in her work—something that’s true of a lot of people in creative and intellectual careers—so this loss of her most important relationship has also ballooned out into a loss of self, an unmooring from what’s made Ava who she is, the thing that saved her during a shitty, lonely adolescence (per the funeral ep). I’m still not sold that Deborah would willingly sacrifice the success of the show on the altar of petty revenge quite so knowingly and willingly as she has been, but at least the writers are finally making it unequivocally clear what they've been writing it as.

The Photo! We’ve all been waiting, but I don’t think any of us thought Ava had been keeping it at her side day in and day out, and I so appreciate the callback. But even more so, I appreciate that the discovery is a quiet moment without Ava's eyes on Deborah—it doesn’t change everything, but it does give Deborah this moment of insight into why Ava did what she did and who she’s (at least partially) doing this for. Ava’s told Deborah again and again (think most recently to the cop car), but I think this is the moment where we get to see Deborah finally start to believe it.

They’re a Couple, Your Honor: I love that Deborah shows up in a fur coat for pretty much all their most important emotional moments – you go, Carol! But anyway, I appreciate that, while there were some heavy-handed contrivances around getting them to the final scene, there were also some really important small notes in the lead up. Things like the way Deborah asks if they can just delay taping for half an hour because she actually doesn’t want to do it without Ava (because it’s always an audience of one, even when they hate each other); the flicker of concern for Ava even after just a few hours when no one else thinks to care much beyond the inconvenience of her disappearance; the melancholy notes when the show wraps; the pang of longing for what once was when Rosie’s talking about the joys of “sitting there laughing your ass off with some of your favorite people in the world” …it’s subtle and quiet and confirms exactly what we’ve hoped we’ve known this whole season: that even at her angriest, Deborah doesn’t want to be doing this without Ava either.

While Deborah’s dive into the ocean could have felt a little soapy and melodramatic, the callback to her knowledge that Ava can’t really swim helped quite a bit. Also, imo, it was a nice way to tether it to Deborah’s panic around responsibility (the “I should have protected you” whispered into Barry’s fur) because Deborah knows she taught Ava to float, but that’s not enough now, not for the fucking ocean—she told Ava she could do it on her own, but now Ava’s out there truly on her own, and Deborah knows she could have, should have done more. And it saves the moment from its own melodrama in really lovely ways. (Also tbc sometimes you just gotta take the soapy dramatic moments as they come! They can delight for good reason!)

Then their conversation on shore was so good because it felt achingly real. A lot of this season past the first episode or two has felt very focused on punchline-centric writing, but the raw emotions here felt not just like them—the them we know and love—but also true to where they are at the moment and have been in the past. It felt like the conversation you have with your long-term partner when you’ve been going through rough patches or the on-again-off-again situationship who’s too good to quit but also fucking you up in the head. And there were so many lovely callbacks!! “Right now you’re up” – the callback to their poolside convo at the hotel about ups and downs, highs and lows, Ava telling Deborah she’s climbing a mountain now, etc. etc. – all of it really lovely (and the kind of thing you get from a writer who was the show’s script coordinator in charge of continuity across eps lmao). Then telling Ava she can’t quit with the hint of a wink to the season 1 finale with the “you’re too good to quit.” So good. But most of all I like that it’s not easy. I like that we see Ava’s fragility, the cracks in her armor that we know Deborah has helped to put there, chisel by chisel, as she pleads with Deborah not to make promises she won't keep because Ava will believe them again and again because she wants to.

“We have to make it for each other” – yes. Finally. But Deborah needed to get there on her own; we knew we couldn’t just have Ava telling her that; she had to finally see it, feel that it was right.

And then it ends with them cackling at someone else’s expense making funny jokes together because that’s what’s fun, and that’s them, and that’s the only way forward.

Small Delights:

Those dykes in line for queer line-dancing night helping Deborah find Ava <3 I also love that Deborah has to ask for help to “Find my…” because she doesn’t have the right word for Ava anymore

Much like I find nothing hotter than Ava at rock bottom, I also find almost nothing hotter than Deborah Vance with mascara streaked across her face, sea-water-soaked hair drying in messy waves, clad in a gray hoodie and striped beach towel, perched on a chair, clutching a hot coffee cup at a shitty beach-shack restaurant. Genuinely so cute and hot all at once.  Idk man it just does it for me.

Quibbles:

Barry (or as my wife deemed him Bartholomew Vance) did NOT deserve that! Look, do I buy that anything happening to those little potatoes would break Deborah? Yes. Absolutely. Did it feel a little out of pocket to have a dog attack (even one that amounted to no physical harm) in my comedy?!? ALSO YES.

The transition from the end of episode 5 to this episode did not work. Ava looked angrier than we’ve ever seen her at the end of episode 5 (which I noted last week felt…off), only to show up looking worn down but still trying to be conciliatory toward Deborah with no overt anger. Hell, they’ve even got Dance Mom back on ALREADY AGAIN this episode, and not a single peep from Ava about it. Don’t get me wrong, the road we do follow to her breakdown feels authentic and right and real (and very much earned), but it makes the ending of 5 feel all the more off, like the writers dialed it up to 1,000 only to drop it down again for no reason. Again, whoever’s in charge of script continuity ain’t doing a great job this season. Which is how we get episodes that are wonderful but end up feeling a little bit like they’re not quite narratively earned (even as they’re earned in their self-contained way). But fingers crossed we’re on the up and up! Though I know we’ve got a lot of Jimmy, Kayla, and Dance Mom coming our way next week… I’ll be curious to see if they can better balance the A and B plots now that our A plot dyad isn’t fissured into competing lines.

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

A Fool For Love (18+ Fic) *PREVIEW*

Pairing: Gangster!Bakugou x Black!Bimbo!Reader

Synopsis: You were just a lowly young woman singing and dancing at your local club to care for your sick mother and a chance at fame. He was just a renowned gangster, building his lonely empire and riches on the bones he broke. And then you two met and suddenly, everything seemed to fit together...until he broke it all apart again. Now, trying to move on, you find affection with another, but your gangster ex doesn't take too kindly to that and will have to find it in himself to make you understand that you're the one for him.

Story Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINORS GTFO); Time Period AU (Roaring 1920s); Gangster/Thug!Bakugou; Strangers to Lovers/Exes to Lovers; Opposites Attract Trope; Sunshine x Grumpy Trope; Mild Violence; Love Triangle; Jealous BF!Bakugou; Possession/Ownership; Bondage; Mild BDSM; Marking; Scent Play; Daddy Kink; Spanking; Spit Play; Cum Play; Public Sex; Dom!Bakugou x sub!Reader; Breeding Kink; Unprotected Sex/Creampies; Fluff & Hurt/Angst

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer's Note: Soooo I had this idea in my head for THEE LONGEST TIME after listening to Lucky Daye's "That's You" back to back for months now lol. I wanted to write a gangster fic for a minute now, but I was having trouble picking WHO to write it for until I did a poll on here & people chose Bakugou for it. I'm so hype to write this because I'm a slut for mafia romance (I'm a wattpad girl stfu) & I love writing period shit. I hope y'all enjoy it! 🥰🥰🥰🥰

I also have a tracklist that I made for this short compiled of songs I think fit the story & the time period it takes place in. You can find it below! If anyone has any idea who the artist is for the fan art in the tracklist, PLEASE let me know! (I found it on Pinterest) 💗💗💗💗 -Jazz

Chapters: PREVIEW. I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X.

***********

PREVIEW 

Bakugou watches you intently sitting next to him in the passenger's seat of his car, the rain pitter-pattering outside, creating a loud cacophony of endless noise.

Your sweet voice nearly gets swept up with the rain. “I don’t understand, Katsuki. I just don’t understand you.”

You won't look at him. Your beautiful, doe-like brown eyes are staring somewhere else outside the windshield, the rain reflecting back in those pools of bewilderment and sorrow that Bakugou could get lost in forever.

'I know, baby,' he thinks, his own sorrow and regret threatening to swallow him whole. 'I wish I could tell you everything. Wish I could make you understand...'

But making you understand would also mean he would have to tell you and show you everything about him, and he dreads that. Because everyone he has ever shown the him behind the designer suits, fancy cars, laser red stares, and cool exterior has abandoned him. Broken his heart. Taken his affection and stomped on it.

He is afraid of what will happen if he does show you who he is because he has no idea what you'll do if he does. That is the reason he separated from you-to leave you before you left him. To save himself the heartbreak and you the horror of seeing that he is nothing like the man you thought he was.

It doesn't make it any better than you're so sweet. So kind. So different from the rest. The temptation to show you everything-the blood, the pain, the scars, the mistakes, the regrets-frightens him so.

"I'm sorry" is all he can say to you now, sitting awkwardly in the driver's seat, his hands gripping the steering wheel for dear life to avoid trembling. He doesn't want to appear weak with you, his dear, precious little singer.

It is so lame, so trivial, but it is all he can muster to tell you now despite the brown liquor fogging his sense of rationality and his filter. He wants so much to tell you how much he misses you.

How he cannot fall asleep without envisioning your face next to him.

How he hasn't washed his pillow since the last time you slept on it just to smell your perfume on it.

How there has been no other woman in his bed or in his arms since you departed.

But he keeps it all back...for now. You look up at him now, turning away from the raindrops to finally put those pretty eyes on him. He nearly swallows his tongue at your beauty-your creamy skin that contrasts his; your baby face and dimples; your curly black hair made even curlier from the rain. The urge to kiss you lingers in the air.

"I don't get it," you say aloud, frustration and confusion evident in your tone and the crease in your brow. "What do you want?"

Bakugou blinks at you, not counting on the question being asked. It should be so easy to reply to, but he can't. Because if he says "you" then he will be forced to tell you the real reason why he ended your relationship: because he is afraid.

The silence must frustrate you more because your cute little lips purse, something you do when you're irritated. "What do you want, Katsuki?" you ask again, your frustration growing.

Finally, Bakugou relaxes his hold on the steering wheel and replaces it with your small, warm hands. You stare at his bigger, calloused, inked ones interlaced with yours as if you can't believe he is touching you. "I want you happy," he answers, true and genuine. "Even if it isn't with me, Y/N. I need you to be happy."

And despite the utter anguish that his response brings, despite the fact that he would be heartbroken if you were to end up with that stupid extra "Todoroki" or some other chump, if you were to be happier than you were with him, that would be the answer to his nightly prayers.

But he would also be lying if he said that he wouldn't be filled with envy for the rest of his days and dying to take the spot of the other man in your arms.

[bardic-tales]

In the Quiet After Midnight, a FF VII xReader Fic

Summary: After a nightmare leaves you shaken, Sephiroth anchors you back to the present with quiet words, steady warmth, and a tenderness the world would never believe of him.

Pairing: Sephiroth x Reader (Genderless, 2nd person POV)

Other Characters: None

Possible Trigger Warnings: This story contains references to anxiety, fear, night terrors, and emotional trauma, as well as themes of vulnerability, past isolation, and healing through comfort. While nothing explicit is described, emotional sensitivity and panic response are core elements of the scene.

Author’s Note: This fic was written as the result of a poll I posted earlier this month: “Sephiroth comforting someone after a nightmare” won, and this one came pouring out of me. I’ve also included one of my personal headcanons here: that Sephiroth sleeps in the nude, but he wears a robe in the bedroom otherwise. I read it in a magazine article forever ago and it permanently rewired my brain, which is why every piece I write with Seph sleeping, he is nude. Hope this gives anyone a soft place to land who needs it.

You wake with a soundless gasp.

There is no scream. Your throat is clenched tight, but your lungs are already burning, as though you’ve surfaced from the bottom of the ocean. You don't remember the details of the dream, only impressions: glass shattering underfoot, voices echoing through walls, the air too hot and too thick to breathe. The dark swallows everything, even your own hands. You’re sure you reached for someone. Something. But nothing was there.

Except . . .

Arms.

You are in his arms.

Warmth envelops you. You’re cradled against something solid and still. A forearm is draped protectively across your chest. His fingers are resting lightly against your sternum, grounding you.

Sephiroth.

The world snaps back into focus with a sharp breath. Your senses re-calibrate to the present. The nightmare scatters like smoke in sunlight, but it leaves a bitter trace in your mouth: fear, shame, and the trembling that hasn't stopped.

He hasn't moved. Not even a breath different than before. But you know he's awake.

"You're shaking," he says quietly behind you. His voice is smooth and low, sort of like the way marble might sound if it could speak.

You swallow hard. His voice shouldn’t be this gentle. Sephiroth was built for war. Forged in fire. Sculpted in expectation. He’s a SOLDIER, a living weapon, and yet, this bed has become a refuge and he is just a man.

And you?

You are just a dream-wrecked shadow in his arms.

You don’t answer. You can’t. You press your palms to your chest and try to slow the thud of your heart. It’s humiliating to feel like this. Exposed. Fragile. Small.

His hand shifts slightly, fingers spreading to cover more of your sternum: a subtle pressure but, more like, an anchor.

“You are safe,” Sephiroth says.

Those three words crack something in you. A dam somewhere behind your ribs. He says it with certainty, like it’s a command he can enforce. Maybe it is.

You squeeze your eyes shut. "I don’t feel safe," you whisper.

A pause. Not silence. There is always a kind of silence that wraps around Sephiroth, even when he speaks, but this is thoughtful. A quiet full of him listening.

“I see,” he murmurs. “Then I will not leave you.”

You don’t understand how he does that. How he makes promises without drama or ceremony, but with so much weight they feel like oaths. Sephiroth doesn’t speak casually. Everything he says carries the precision of a man who was never allowed to be wrong. But here in this dim-lit bedroom in Midgar, he speaks like he’s allowed to be gentle, to be himself.

You turn toward him slowly, feeling the sheets pull against your limbs, the warmth of his body like a shield against the cold air. The room smells faintly of the rose and vanilla shampoo he uses mingled with the clean cotton of his sheets. It should be nothing, but in this moment, it is everything.

He's lying on his side, propped slightly on one elbow now. His silver hair spills like liquid mercury over his shoulder and across the pillow. The bare skin of his chest gleams in the moonlight. His cyan eyes, those haunting, inhuman irises that have never frightened you, regard you steadily. Cat-like. Luminous. But not cruel. Never cruel to you.

“Would you like to speak of it?” he asks.

You shake your head, curling in slightly as if the gesture itself is shameful. "It doesn’t make sense. I just-I panicked. It felt like being alone again.”

He doesn’t interrupt. He never does. He lets silence have a place in your grief.

“I’m tired of being afraid,” you finally manage. “I hate waking up like this. I hate feeling like I’m still back there. Like something’s always watching me.”

Your voice cracks at the end. And you hate that too.

But Sephiroth only moves closer. His arm once again slides around your back, guiding your forehead gently against his chest. His skin is warm, and the rhythm of his heart is like a lullaby hammered out by gods who once knew kindness.

“You are no longer in the place where those things happened,” he says. His breath is soft against your temple. “And you are not alone. Not anymore.”

The words shouldn’t be a revelation, but they are. They sink deeper than comfort. They redefine the night.

You feel his fingers ghost through your hair, smoothing it gently back from your face. He has always been meticulous like that, even in moments like this. He touches you as if touch itself is a language, one he had to learn slowly. Sephiroth was not made for softness, but he chooses it. For you.

You glance up at him, and speak. Your voice is barely audible. “Do you ever have nightmares?”

His expression doesn’t change, but you feel something shift beneath the surface of him. “Yes,” he says. “Not often. But they return when I am uncertain of myself.”

You frown. “You? Uncertain?”

A ghost of a smile touches the edge of his mouth: not a smirk, not amusement. Something quieter. “I am not a god,” he says. “Though many would like to think otherwise.”

You look at him for a long moment. The moonlight dances across the planes of his face, and you’re struck again by how beautiful he is. Not just aesthetically, though that’s undeniable. There’s a discipline to him. Its an elegance beneath the muscle and precision. His beauty is an architecture, as if he was carefully built and painfully upheld.

“You don’t have to be perfect,” you whisper.

He draws in a slow breath, and you know that meant something to him. You’re not sure what, not fully, but he holds you a little tighter.

“I am learning that,” he says. “With you.”

He exhales again, and the blanket slips a little lower on his shoulder, revealing the sculpted shape of his collarbone and his pecs. You press a palm gently there. Your fingers splay over his heart.

“I’m trying too,” you say.

His eyes soften, but not with pity, with something quieter. Pride, maybe. Or admiration. It unnerves you a little to be seen like this by someone who has stared into the heart of war and walked out without blinking.

But Sephiroth doesn’t flinch when you’re vulnerable. He listens.

You bury your face in his chest again. “Don’t let go,” you whisper.

“I won’t.”

You lie there for a long time. The storm inside you calms, minute by minute, heartbeat by heartbeat. You can feel his fingers in your hair again, stroking the strands with quiet intention. It’s not possessive or demanding. It’s a promise.

Eventually, your breathing slows. The nightmare fades into a pale memory. But sleep doesn’t return just yet.

“Can I ask something?” you murmur.

“You may.”

“What do you see,” you ask, “when you look at me like this?”

He’s quiet for a moment. Not because he doesn’t know, but because he wants to say it right. He always wants to say things right.

“I see someone who fights every day without needing a sword,” he says. “And wins.”

Your throat tightens again, but this time, it’s not fear. It’s the ache of being known.

You press closer, letting the warmth of his body pull you in, as you let his breath anchor yours.

Outside, the lights of Midgar burn: distant, cold, and always watching. In here, however, you are wrapped in his arms, under the quiet bright gaze of a man the world calls untouchable. You are held.

And nothing dares to touch you.