#like why have they not cracked this code. and don’t tell me nothing like ‘you’re supposed to drink it when it’s cold’ idc

[merevide]

they should make a carbonated drink that doesn’t taste like straight acid when it’s warm. imo.

[pomegranatelifethis]

Why doesn't anyone see me?

Warnings before you start There are disturbing elements, self-harm, eating disorders, and implicit mentions of harassment.

The grand hallways of Wayne Manor looked magnificent from the outside, but to you, they were nothing more than cold stone. You were sixteen, and in this house, in this family, you had always been just a shadow. The man you called your father — Bruce Wayne — had left you to drown in his darkness. The marks on your body, on your arms, back, legs... each was a silent scream. Each one reminded you how a world you once trusted had torn you apart. And the worst part? The one who did this wasn’t a stranger. It was someone who had existed in the background of your life, like a ghost.

You tried to speak up once. That night, you opened the door to his study. Bruce sat at his desk, surrounded by files and glowing monitors. His Batman suit hung in the corner — as if that costume was his real face.

“Dad,” you said, your voice trembling. “I need to talk.”

He looked up, his blue eyes tired, distant. “What is it?” he asked, but there was no real curiosity in his tone.

You took a deep breath, trying to ease the tightness in your chest. “I... Something happened. A while ago. And it still…” The words got stuck in your throat. You didn’t want to show him the scars — but maybe, just maybe, he would understand. Maybe he’d see you.

But Bruce lowered his head back to his files. “Now’s not the time,” he said, voice flat. “A lot’s going on in the city. We’ll talk later.”

Later. Always later.

You closed the door behind you, and tears began to slide down your cheeks. Batman could save Gotham — but he didn’t even try to save you.

The next day, you turned to Jason. The rebel of the family, a soul forged in his own pain. Maybe he’d understand.

You found him in the garage, working on his motorcycle.

“Jason,” you said, stepping closer. “I need to ask you something.”

He looked at you, wiping his hands with a grease-stained rag. “What do you want, princess?” he said with a mocking lilt.

You swallowed hard, gathering your courage. “Something happened to me. Something bad. And no one’s listening. I have scars—here,” you said, pulling up your sleeve slightly to show a faded mark.

Jason fell silent for a moment — then laughed.

“Everyone’s got issues, little lady. Go outside, see what I’ve seen. Then come back and cry.”

His words hit like a blade.

“But this is serious!” you cried, your voice cracking.

“Serious?” he snapped, standing and getting close. “You mean your little princess trauma? Grow up.”

Under his sneer, you felt yourself shrink. He didn’t see you either. He left you, too.

You decided to try Damian. Despite his young age, he had a sharp mind. Maybe he had noticed something.

You found him in the training room, practicing with a sword.

“Damian,” you said from the doorway. “Do you have a minute?”

He turned to you, green eyes cold and calculating.

“What do you want?” he asked, stabbing the blade into the floor.

“I… Something happened to me. And it’s hard to carry,” you said, choosing your words carefully.

He frowned, then smirked. “You’re weak,” he said, flatly.

“What?” was all you could manage.

“If you can’t carry it, then you don’t belong in this family. I know pain — but all you do is complain.”

His words were poison. His scorn felt worse than Jason’s mockery. Because Damian saw you as a burden. And in that moment, you felt the final thread tying you to this family snap.

You found Tim in the library, headphones in, eyes on his laptop.

“Tim,” you said, sitting beside him.

He pulled out one earbud. “Yeah?” he replied, eyes still on the screen.

“I need to ask you something. It’s important.”

“One sec, let me finish this line of code,” he mumbled.

Minutes passed. You sat there, waiting.

Eventually, he said, “Just tell me later,” and put his headphones back in.

He hadn’t even heard you.

Dick seemed different — or so you thought.

You found him in the lounge, laughing, mid-conversation.

“Dick, can we talk?” you asked, voice faint.

He turned to you with his bright smile. “Of course, little one! What’s up?”

But before you could say more than “I…” his phone rang.

“Hold that thought — I gotta take this,” he said, walking away.

He never came back.

That night, in your room, you stood before the mirror. You looked at the scars — each one a story no one wanted to hear. Tears wouldn’t stop. This house, this family, was a prison. Bruce didn’t see you. Jason mocked you. Damian belittled you. Tim and Dick didn’t even notice you were there. You might have been Batman’s daughter, but in this place, you were nothing.

You walked to the window and looked out at the lights of Gotham. Maybe it was time to leave. Maybe you couldn’t escape your family, but you could escape this silence. You packed a small bag — a hoodie, some money, a long-sleeve shirt to cover the marks. At the door, you paused. Maybe someone would notice. Maybe someone would stop you.

But the hallway was quiet. No one came.

As you stepped into the street, the cold air slapped your face. Were you free? Or just stepping into a different kind of shadow? You didn’t know. But at least now… now, you were trying to find your own voice.

Gotham’s streets swallowed you whole. You had escaped Wayne Manor, but the darkness inside you came along for the ride. What you thought was freedom was just another kind of prison — this time, one built within your own mind. With your bag slung over your shoulder, you walked under the flickering streetlights. The cold concrete beneath your feet was a warning: No one here is coming to save you. But you weren’t expecting to be saved anyway. Your family had never seen you; maybe you really were invisible.

Days passed. You holed up in a cheap motel, using the credit card your father once gave you. You knew the money would run out — but you didn’t care. Under the dim lights of the room, you stared into the mirror. The scars were still there — on your arms, your back, your legs. Each one whispered that you were something filthy, something ruined. You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms.

“Why me?” you murmured.

No answer.

The reflection staring back filled you with disgust. This body, these scars… it was all your fault, wasn’t it? If you had been stronger, if you had spoken louder, maybe your family would have heard you. But you hadn’t. You were weak. Damian was right.

---________________________________________---

Days blurred into weeks. Gotham’s gray sky felt like a mirror to your soul. In the motel’s small bathroom, you sat with a cheap razor in your hand. You stared at your scars… and added new ones. Thin lines of blood appeared — but they didn’t bring relief. Pain couldn’t fill the emptiness. Every cut echoed the rejection you’d endured. Bruce’s cold “Not now.” Jason’s mocking laugh. Damian’s “You’re weak.” Tim and Dick’s silence. It all etched itself into your skin.

Every time you looked in the mirror, the hate grew.

“This is my fault,” you whispered.

Your eyes were swollen. Hair tangled. You’d stopped eating — your stomach turned at the thought of food. Sleep brought nightmares. Again and again, you relived the trauma — shadows, hands, the silence of your unheard screams.

When you woke, clutching your pillow, all you felt was emptiness.

Your family hadn’t called. Maybe they didn’t notice. Maybe they didn’t care.

Batman saved Gotham.

But not his own daughter.

Depression wrapped itself around you like a blanket — cold and heavy. Hurting yourself became a routine. Your arms were covered in cuts, but even that wasn’t enough.

“I’m worthless,” you said one night, your voice breaking.

“No one wants me. Not even me.”

You punched the mirror. Glass cracked. Your knuckles bled.

Still, you felt nothing.

Then, one day, everything stopped.

You lay on the stained motel bed, razor in hand again. Sirens wailed outside, but your world was quiet. You looked at your scars one last time.

“It’s over,” you said.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

Tears slid down your cheeks as you thought of your family — Bruce buried in files, Jason fixing his bike, Damian swinging a sword, Tim staring into his screen, Dick laughing…

None of them had seen you.

None of them had heard you.

This time, you used the blade one last time.

There would be no coming back.

The blood soaked the sheets — slow and silent.

You stared at the ceiling. Through the window, Gotham’s gray sky watched over you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, though you weren’t sure to whom.

Your breathing slowed.

Darkness closed in.

The sirens faded.

Bruce Wayne’s daughter vanished into the shadows.

---________________________________________---

The next day, the motel worker knocked, but there was no answer.

They opened the door — and found you.

The police report was brief:

“Female, aged …, suicide.”

When the call reached Wayne Manor, Bruce finally put his files down.

Jason went quiet.

Damian dropped his sword.

Tim turned off his screen.

Dick’s smile faded.

But it was too late.

They hadn’t seen you.

They hadn’t heard you.

And now… they never would.

---________________________________________---

[knowledgeableknitter]

It's Just Labor

Please read the trigger warnings if you're squeamish about medical stuff or needles or labor. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x you (Afab pregnant reader)

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: You begin experiencing early labor while Bucky unravels in a mix of panic and protectiveness. Your quiet strength and composure grounds him, and he returns the favor, grounding you when you need it. Once your child is born, Bucky holds the baby, overwhelmed with love. After the birth, you take a quiet moment for yourself while Bucky stands in absolute awe of you. 

Trigger warnings: Nothing graphic! labor, hospital setting, epidural/needles, IV mentioned, blood pressure cuff, birth, non-sexual showering and nudity, blood/bleeding, holding a newborn

Author's Note: This is fairly… autobiographical. I decided to write it after the birth of my second kid, tho it’s more a combination of both my labor and deliveries. 

Masterlist

You were sitting on the couch, legs curled beneath you, the late morning light soft and warm through the living room windows. A granola bar was in one hand, your phone in the other, open to an article you’d read twice without really absorbing it.

Then the next contraction hit.

Not painful, exactly. It was more like a wave of pressure rolling from your spine through your abdomen, commanding stillness for just a few breaths. And it was stronger than the last one.

You set the granola bar on the coffee table and took a slow breath in through your nose. The couch cushion shifted beneath you as you adjusted, glancing at your watch. Seven minutes since the last one.

Across the room, Bucky, surrounded by the contents of your hospital bag, looked up like he’d just heard the tick-tick-tick of a bomb.

“That was one. That was definitely one, right?”

You nodded, calm. “Yep.”

He shot to his feet so fast his knees cracked. “Do we need to call someone? The hospital? Sam?”

You gave him a look. “Why would we call Sam?”

“I don’t know! For backup!”

Your hand instinctively moved to the round of your belly as you exhaled, long and steady. “Still breathing. Still pregnant. We’ve got time.”

He was already halfway to the hallway closet, rummaging through the shelves like it was a tactical gear locker. “Where’s the charger? We need your charger. And snacks. And—shit, where are my keys?”

You breathed in through your nose again, held for a count of three, then out.

“Bucky. Breathe. It’s just labor. Not HYDRA.”

He froze, one hand gripping a packet of gum, eyes blinking rapidly like you’d just slapped him with a wet newspaper.

“Right. Labor. You’re—wait, ‘just’ labor?!”

You met his wide-eyed stare with a calm, reassuring smile. “Women have been doing this for millennia, babe. We’re gonna be fine.”

He blinked. Then again. And again.

“You say that like you didn’t just tell me a human being is going to exit your body.”

You shrugged, casual. “She’s gotta come out somehow. We’ve trained for this.”

“We?”

“I read the books. You took notes.”

He ran both hands through his hair, muttering, “I didn’t take enough notes.”

You almost laughed, but another small wave passed through you, like an internal countdown.

Ten minutes later, the go-bag was zipped and standing by the door. Bucky was lacing up your sneakers, and you paused momentarily before standing to breathe through another contraction. You leaned against the back cushion, rolling your neck slowly as the tension peaked and faded.

Bucky started pacing a trail into the hardwood. His movements were sharp, precise, like muscle memory from every field operation he’d ever done, except now his objective was a birthing center and his enemy was time.

You glanced over at him, mild amusement lifting your brow. “Six minutes.”

He nearly dropped his wallet. “Oh my god, they’re closer.”

“They’re supposed to get closer.”

“I know! I know that.” He stopped mid-pace, squinting at you like you were some uncrackable code. “Why are you so calm?”

You smiled as you grabbed your water bottle and leaned one hip into the counter. “Because I’m having a baby, not a crisis.”

He stared at you like you’d just manifested divine serenity out of thin air.

“I married a goddess,” he muttered, stunned.

“Damn straight,” you said, brushing past him with your hoodie in hand. “Now grab the keys and let’s go.”

The car was already running when you eased into the passenger seat. You leaned your head back against the headrest, closed your eyes, and let another contraction ride its course. You counted softly under your breath until the tightness faded, leaving only warmth behind.

Bucky glanced over, gripping the wheel like he might snap it in half. “That another one?”

You nodded. “Shorter. We’re still fine.”

He tapped the steering wheel. “You want me to speed?”

You opened one eye. “And get pulled over while I’m in labor?”

He blanched. “Right. Okay. Controlled urgency.” He adjusted his grip, his knuckles white. 

You watched him for a few seconds, lips twitching. “Do you need me to drive?”

He blinked at you. “What?”

“Breathe, babe. In, two, three. Out, two, three.”

He huffed a breath that turned into a half-laugh. “I’m the soldier. You’re supposed to be the one panicking.”

“I’ve had cramps worse than this in traffic,” you muttered, unbothered.

“...That’s terrifying.”

“Mm-hmm.”

You reached for his hand across the console and gave it a steady squeeze. “I’m fine. And you’re doing great.”

He didn’t speak for a second, just looked over at you like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing—like he’d trained his whole life to protect people in crisis and suddenly found himself in awe of someone who didn’t need protecting.

Another contraction hit, and you closed your eyes to focus through it, your breath slow and measured.

“You okay?” he asked quickly, voice tight.

“Yep. Just picturing the epidural.”

He nodded solemnly, like you’d said you were planning to infiltrate a secure facility.

By the time you pulled into the hospital loop, the sky was overcast, gray and silver like brushed steel. Bucky parked with all the care of a man who wanted to break every speed law but knew better.

He vaulted out, circled to your side, and opened the door before you could unbuckle yourself.

“You good?” he asked, hands already there to help.

You nodded, fixing your jacket collar. “I’m not gonna shatter, Buck.”

But he helped you out anyway, hands firm at your waist, eyes scanning you like a threat might drop from the sky. Every movement screamed restraint. His fingers clung just tightly enough to keep steady, though he wasn’t sure if it was to steady you or himself.

*****

The hospital room was dim and cool, tucked into a corner of the labor and delivery floor. The lights had been lowered to a comfortable hush, soft lamplight warming the pale walls. The only sounds were the rhythmic beep of the monitor tracking the baby’s heartbeat, the low hum of machinery, and the whoosh of your blood pressure cuff inflating again, squeezing tight around your arm.

You sat upright on the bed, your back supported by pillows, knees bent slightly, hands resting on your belly. The IV line tugged gently at your wrist as you shifted. The next contraction built like a slow tide, cresting into a band of tightness that made your breath catch.

You exhaled slowly through your nose, focusing on the ceiling tile above the fluorescent light panel.

Bucky stood just beside the bed, practically vibrating with contained energy. His flesh hand gripped the railing. His jaw was set, eyes darting between your monitor and your face, his body tense as a wire.

Then the nurse entered, clipboard in hand and calm professionalism radiating from her.

“Pain level now?” she asked, her tone light but practiced.

You gave her a casual shrug. “Six. Still cursing internally, though. We’re okay.”

The nurse smiled knowingly. “Epidural?”

“Yes, please,” you answered instantly, then added with a grin, “In fact, I’ll take two. One for me, one for my husband.”

Bucky managed a chuckle, but his eyes narrowed. He could see how your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. How your fingers tapped the blanket in a restless rhythm. That laugh, lighter than usual, wasn’t from humor.

He stepped closer, hand landing gently over yours to still them. “Hey. That’s your nervous laugh.”

You gave him a sheepish look. “I’m about to get a needle in my spine, babe. Let me have my moment.”

“Have as many moments as you need,” he said softly, squeezing your hand. “You don’t have to do it alone.”

The anesthesiologist entered, exuding calm authority. He explained the procedure as you nodded, trying to stay composed. Bucky listened too, but his attention stayed on you: your shoulders, your breathing, your hands.

When the nurse helped you lean forward over the tray table, Bucky didn’t just hover. He knelt beside you, one hand on your shoulder, the other hand gripping yours.

“I’m right here,” he murmured, eyes locked to yours, face inches in front of you. “Just like we planned. You breathe, I count.”

You gripped his hand hard as the antiseptic hit your skin. Your spine prickled. You leaned forward, trying not to shiver.

“Okay,” the anesthesiologist said gently. “You’re going to feel a little sting here, like a bee sting. Then some pressure.”

You nodded once, and then yelp-talked, “Bee sting—AH nope, that’s a real sting, holy hell, okay!”

You tensed, fingers clenching around Bucky’s like a vice. Your breath stuttered, your composure faltered.

Bucky tightened his hold without flinching. “You’ve got this. In, two, three. Out. You’re doing amazing.”

His voice was low. When your body locked, he forced himself steady, to be your rock.

“All done,” the anesthesiologist said quietly.

You slumped, exhaling hard. Bucky exhaled with you, forehead briefly pressed to your temple.

“Hooo…” you exhaled, “Okay. I’m okay. You okay?” you asked, already finding your center again.

He sat back on his heels, blinking like he’d just surfaced from underwater. “You yelped,” he said, voice soft. “You never yelp.”

“Yep. Got stabbed in the spine. I’m allowed a yelp.”

He kissed your knuckles without a word.

Fifteen minutes later, you were a completely different person.

“I can feel and move my legs,” you told the nurse as she adjusted your IV again, “but like… with a little lag? It’s hard to describe.”

“You’re in the sweet spot,” she said with a smile. “Let us know if it gets too heavy.”

You gave a lazy thumbs-up, then turned toward the anesthesiologist, who was packing up his tray. “You’re a magician. Absolute wizard. I’d tip you if I could.”

He chuckled. “No need. Good luck, you two.”

“Thanks. If I could bottle this feeling, I’d start an empire.”

You were glowing now, relaxed, euphoric, your confidence fully restored.

Bucky, meanwhile, sat in the corner chair looking like someone who’d survived a building collapse.

“You’re... fine?” he asked slowly.

“Better than fine,” you said, chewing ice chips. “I would like three more of those, one for every future migraine.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on your face.

“You were shaking,” he said softly.

You shrugged, brushing your fingers across your belly. “Briefly.”

“I didn’t like seeing you scared,” he admitted.

You turned your head toward him, your expression soft. “I panicked, then I didn’t. Happens to the best of us.”

The blood pressure cuff inflated again, biting tight into your upper arm, making you wince.

The nurse glanced over. “That’ll check you every 20 minutes now. Keep it on your arm, okay? We monitor for drops.”

You nodded, though your eyes cut toward the cuff like it had insulted you personally.

Five minutes later, once the nurse stepped out, you peeled the Velcro apart and dropped the cuff onto the rolling tray with casual precision.

Bucky looked up like you’d just pulled the pin on a grenade. “What are you doing?!”

“Taking a break,” you said sweetly.

“That’s medical equipment!”

“And it’s my arm,” you countered. “I needed a break.”

He stood, pointing at the monitor like it might back him up. “They said every 20 minutes!”

“I’ll put it back on in fifteen,” you said smoothly. “They’ll never know.”

“You are an actual menace.”

“I’m incubating a child. I’m allowed to be inconvenient.”

Five minutes later, true to your word, you quietly slid the cuff back on, Velcroing it into place as if nothing had happened.

Bucky crossed the room, leaned over, and kissed your temple. “Thank you.”

You reached up and squeezed his hand, thumb brushing the inside of his wrist.

“You’ve been more panicked than I have almost this whole time, you know” you murmured.

“That’s because you’re my world,” he said, brushing a knuckle gently across your cheek.

You smiled. “Your world is about to grow by one.”

*****

The room had quieted.

The storm had passed, its roar of commands, bright overhead lights, the rushed clatter of tools and footsteps was now replaced by a sacred hush. The monitors still hummed softly, but even they seemed gentler now, as if reverent of the moment. Outside the window, the sky was beginning to blush with sunrise, casting the walls in warm amber tones that made everything inside feel softer.

The scent of antiseptic lingered faintly beneath the sharper edge of sweat, cotton, and something sweeter, newborn skin, warm and clean. The air had that stillness hospitals sometimes managed after chaos, like a held breath finally exhaled.

You were propped up against a stack of stiff but forgiving pillows, your body still heavy with exhaustion, but light in a way you hadn’t expected. Your gown clung damply to one shoulder, your hair curling slightly at your temples. You felt raw, like you’d been hollowed out and created anew. 

Your daughter, impossibly small, impossibly perfect, was swaddled tightly and sleeping against your chest, her face tucked beneath your chin, her breathing quiet and even.

Bucky sat beside you, close but still somehow on edge.

He hadn’t spoken since the last nurse left. His shoulders were rounded forward, hands resting awkwardly, one around your wrist, the other hovering like he didn’t know what it was supposed to do now that the mission was complete.

But his eyes never left her. They were wide and searching, brimming with something just shy of disbelief.

“She’s okay,” you whispered, your voice barely louder than the monitor’s beep. “We’re okay.”

He swallowed hard, the sound loud in the quiet. Still, he didn’t speak. His jaw worked silently, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.

You reached out and ran your thumb across his knuckles.

“Are you ready to hold her?”

His gaze flicked up to yours. The fear there was visible, not fear of the baby, per se. It was closer to a fear of breaking the moment. Or of being unworthy of its perfection.

He blinked. Then again, slower. “I—” His throat bobbed. “Are you sure?”

“She’s yours too,” you said softly. You gave him a look, tired but unshaken, and something in him folded at the edges.

He nodded, hesitantly, and shifted forward. His movements were precise, like he was handling an explosive. You guided her into his arms, hands steady, watching his expression the entire time.

She was so light it startled him.

Her tiny form barely filled the crook of his elbow. Her head lolled until he cupped it instinctively, his palm supporting the delicate weight with trembling care.

He didn’t speak, didn’t move. 

At first, he barely breathed.

She made a small sound, something between a sigh and a hum, and shifted in his arms, her face squishing slightly against the fabric of his shirt.

Bucky’s breath caught.

He looked down at her as if she’d been carved from something holy.

His metal hand hovered, uncertain, near her blanket. Then slowly—so slowly—he brought it closer, letting the cool vibranium knuckle brush over the soft fold of her blanket, then the downy edge of her hair.

“She’s so small,” he said finally, voice nearly lost in the hush.

“Our itty bitty little girl,” you whispered, the warmth of pride blooming beneath your fatigue.

He glanced up, eyes wide and shining. Then he looked down again, and you saw the shift. The slow surrender from fear to wonder.

You saw the shimmer in his expression, the awe creeping in like sunlight over the edge of a dark sky.

A tear tracked down his cheek, silent and unchecked.

“I didn’t think…” His voice cracked. He stopped, breathed, shook his head. “I didn’t think I’d ever get to do this.”

“You do,” you said gently. “You’re here. She’s yours.”

He stared at her, his daughter, as though afraid that blinking might break the spell. Another tear followed the first. And then another.

He bent forward slightly, pressing a kiss to her temple. The motion was reverent, slow.

She squirmed once, then sighed again, perfectly content, tucked into his arms.

“No one’s ever gonna hurt you,” he whispered. “Not while I’m breathing.”

You watched him, watched his walls drop, his posture ease. His body softened around her as he adjusted, drawing her in a little closer. His arms no longer quite so stiff. 

He looked at you again, and you barely recognized the expression on his face.

It was worship.

“She’s perfect,” he said softly.

You smiled through the ache in your chest. “Just like her dad.”

He leaned forward until his forehead touched yours, “Just like her mom.”

She shifted again, a tiny fist pressing into his chest like she already knew he was hers.

He closed his eyes, smiling now, the edges of him finally relaxing into something whole.

And for the first time since you’d arrived at the hospital, Bucky let himself breathe all the way out.

*****

The room had gone quiet save for the small steady breaths of your newborn dozing in the clear hospital bassinet beside your bed.

Your body was still aching, but your voice was calm when you finally broke the silence.

“Okay,” you murmured. “She’s good. I’m ready to clean off.”

Bucky looked up from where he was sitting beside the bed, cradling your hand like it was the only tether holding him together.

“Clean off?” he echoed.

“Shower,” you clarified, blinking up at the ceiling like you were mentally walking through a to-do list.

He blinked at you.

“You’re gonna STAND?” he whisper-shouted.

The nurse stepped in right on cue, already snapping on fresh gloves. “Yep, shower’s prepped. We’ll help her in, don’t worry.”

Bucky turned to her, then to you again, like he wasn’t quite sure whether this was medically advisable or outright witchcraft.

“You literally just gave birth.”

“And because of that I’m covered in sweat, blood, and whatever else,” you said matter-of-factly. “I need to clean off. What do you want me to do, lie here and marinate?”

He made a soft noise that might’ve been a laugh, or disbelief.

The nurse came to your side with a clean patient’s gown folded over her arm and a pair of non-slip socks in hand. “Let’s get you up slowly, okay Mama?”

You nodded, shifting with controlled, deliberate effort. You winced once, sucked in a slow breath, but never complained. Bucky rose without thinking, gently lifting your elbow and bracing his other hand at your back.

“Easy,” he murmured.

“I’m steady,” you agreed.

He helped ease you upright, and for a moment, you just sat at the edge of the bed, catching your breath. Then, with both Bucky and the nurse flanking you, you stood.

He kept expecting you to fold, to sway, to even just look a little fragile, but you didn’t. You were upright and moving. 

You walked toward the bathroom slowly, holding your gown closed behind you with one hand, bare feet padding against the tile.

The nurse pushed back the curtain around the tub and turned on the warm water, adjusting the pressure.

“You good?” Bucky asked, eyes scanning every inch of you like he still expected something to go wrong.

“Feels like I ran five miles,” you admitted, “but I’ll feel better after rinsing off.”

You stepped inside the tub, and the nurse offered to help with the gown. You nodded, and together, you untied the back and lowered the fabric from your shoulders.

You caught Bucky looking, not at your body, but at your face. And the look on his face made you pause.

You furrowed your eyebrows slightly. “What’s wrong?”

“I just…” He swallowed. “You’re standing there like it’s nothing.”

You gave him a faint smile. “It’s not nothing. I’m just doing what’s necessary.”

He didn’t respond, just kept holding your gaze like he’d never seen anything like you before.

The warm water hit your skin, and you exhaled slowly, letting it wash over you. The nurse stepped out to give you a little privacy while Bucky lingered just inside the threshold, eyes respectfully on your face, your hands, your posture.

You caught sight of a faint red trickle running down your thigh, and you groaned lightly.

“Ugh. Still bleeding.”

The nurse’s voice called from just outside the curtain, not missing a beat. “That’ll last a few days. Or weeks, sometimes.”

“Ugh,” you said again, dragging a hand through your damp hair. “So annoying.”

Bucky’s eyes widened slightly. “You just went through all that… and it keeps going?”

You looked at him. “That a problem?”

“No,” he said quickly. “It’s just… I didn’t know. I didn’t know any of this.”

“Well, now you do.”

He stepped forward, hands open, unsure whether to hold the towel or just keep standing there like he needed a role to fill.

“You’re okay?” he asked, softer now.

You reached for the towel and nodded. “I’m okay.”

He helped drape it around your shoulders, careful and quiet, like you were made of something both breakable and invincible.

The nurse returned, helped guide you back toward the bed, and got you settled into a clean gown with practiced, efficient movements. You combed your damp hair back from your face. Your cheeks were flushed, but your eyes were clear.

You let out a quiet sigh as you sat down again. “That’s much better.”

Bucky stood a step back, looking at you like he’d just witnessed something holy. 

“You really are indestructible,” he said softly.

You tilted your head. “Only when I’ve showered.”

He let out a quiet laugh, then stepped closer and kissed your temple. The baby stirred softly in her bassinet, and both of your heads turned, like magnets pulled toward that tiny sound.

You rested your hand against your stomach, now hollow, now healing.

“I’m starting to feel human again,” you said with a sigh.

Bucky looked at you like he always had, but now with something more, not just love, but reverence.

“I don’t know how you’re doing this,” he murmured. “Any of it.”

You smiled faintly. “Just one thing at a time.”

Tag list: @lovely-seb @calwitch @its-in-the-woods 

[aajjks]

nowhere (m)

synopsis. breaking up with him is not possible- ever.

warning: yändèrè bèhâvïöür, töxïc rèlätïönshïp dynämïc, töxïc!bf!köö, nön-cön kïssïng, sêxïst bf, cräzy bêhävïöür, ünhëälthy rèlätïônshïp.

disclaimer: this fic contains really triggering dark themes which can be triggering for a lot of people and honestly if you have a significant other that’s like him in the fic then please I’m begging you to leave. This is not something you should have to endure. Please leave. Also reminder that this is completely fictional and this doesn’t represent jungkook at all. This is just a toxic character that’s not him.

How do you tell your, frankly, crazy boyfriend that you want to break up?

You don’t know why you got with him in the first place maybe it was because he was really charming and soft? Respectful and patient? So how did everything change?

Why did he change? It’s like being with him now it’s suffocating you. he’s really clingy and he doesn’t know how to take a no. He does what he wants and you cannot bring it in you to deny him.

Because then the guilt tripping starts.

You don’t understand how a grown man can like him can manage to cry within seconds. You’re tired, it’s been two years- he’s a changed man and you don’t like it at all.

And now you want to break up with him. But you’re not sure on how to go about it. He’s going to be home soon, so you’re feeling really anxious.

Jeon Jungkook is a really sensitive man when it comes to you and your relationship with him, he clearly loves you but his love feels really toxic now.

You love him too but you just can’t ignore the obvious cracks in your relationship- you have to leave before it’s too late. Just as you are pacing around your shared homes living room, you hear someone entering the home code and you’re not surprised because you know who it is.

Ask the door unlocked and he answers you stop pacing around the large room, and before you can even greet him or look at him with focus, he’s calling out your name.

“Yn!!!! my love I missed you so so much!!”

There is the man you’ve been waiting for, and you don’t feel excited to see him, but rather you feel a burden on your heart. Jungkook looks good, he’s always looked good. He’s really particular about his fashion and how he looks.

Something you used to like him but now it’s kind of annoying. Maybe it’s because of the fact that he always wants you to praise him.

You force yourself to smile as he walks closer to you, before dropping his car keys at the nearest table. You wait for him to come to you because that’s how it always is.

He loves it when you welcome him, Jungkook immediately wrapped his arms around your body, his favorite part of your body is definitely your waist. His hands are always resting on it. His grip is definitely possessive..

When he leans in closer to kiss you, you actually manage to dodge it, you can’t help it you don’t want to be with him anymore and what is the point in beating the bush around..? The fear will just keep on fucking with your mind at this point.

Jungkooks gaze changes from affectionate to anger and a small glare is sent your way. You sigh, looking at him.. “jungkook..” you don’t even call him kook or kookie like you used to, and he notices that because he’s tilting his head like he’s confused.

“Yn.. what is going on with you? Why would you refuse my kiss?” Before you can speak. He asks you a question instead, he likes his lips looking like he is genuinely confused and clueless.

He knows how to play dumb.

So before you reply to him, you try to get his hands off your waist, you are actually not sure if you’re going on the right track by doing this but it’s now or never.

“Listen to me.” You look straight into his eyes, but you fail to get his arms off of you. “Jungkook I want to break up.”

You blurt the words out, your heart is beating like crazy right now, because he’s so close to you and his reactions are always over-the-top and unpredictable.

Nothing is the same anymore and it hurts.

“I don’t think we are right for each other and it took me some time to realize that but I’ve given this a lot of thought and I think that this is the best thing for us.” You breathe out when he doesn’t respond. He’s just staring at you with a blank expression.

His eyes are suddenly empty, and his lips are pressed in a thin line, his hands are tightly wrapped around you, it’s like he froze.

“Ugh… I’m so sorry to do this so suddenly, but I cannot be with you anymore” you feel a little bad that you’re being so rude about this but you have to be really blunt because if you’re not, he’s gonna think that you’re just joking.

Because he doesn’t want to take things that he doesn’t like to hear, seriously.

You have to be blunt with him, because he’s always gonna find a reason to dodge your questions or completely avoid what you’re saying.

“can you let me go please? I have to go pack my stuff up… I didn’t do it because I just wanted to tell you first.”

He is still not speaking and it’s getting even more awkward and intense because it’s like you’re talking to yourself, you try again to break out of his grip, but it’s futile.

When you give him a weird look, Jungkook begins to laugh, taking you by surprise. It’s your turn to be confused.

Your soon to be ex-boyfriend, laughing like you just told him a great joke. And it’s starting to piss you off because this is not a joke.

You want to be free.

“Jungkook!” You call out his name, and he just leans more close to you if that’s even possible and all you can smell is expensive perfume, and the scent of cigarette coming from him.

Jungkook doesn’t reply to you and you actually feel like you’ll go insane. If he doesn’t want to reply to you that’s fine why doesn’t he just let you go?

Your questions aren’t answered, but he takes you by surprise once again by pulling you in for a kiss- he immediately shoved his tongue in and you let him because you’re so shocked to even comprehend what just happened.

What the fuck is he doing?

You just broke up with him and he’s kissing you, like his life, depends on it. He’s rough, running his hands all over your back, sloppily kissing you, swallowing your breath away.

You try to push him off of you, but then you just give up when he doesn’t budge, maybe he just wants to kiss you for the last time?

So you let him.

His touch is really familiar and you’re definitely going to miss it. You won’t even lie about that but.. you remind yourself that this is for the better and you shouldn’t melt.

After what feels like hours, he finally pulls away when you try to push him away once again, because he’s forgotten that he hast to stop.

You feel like you’ll actually suffocate, because you are unable to breathe at all, “o-oh my God.” You pant out, finally managing to push him away because he’s also panting, so take the opportunity to remove his hands from you, and you immediately start to back away.

“ what the fuck is wrong with you? I just broke up with you and that’s what you do? You are not allowed to do this anymore… and I’m going away.”

You’re gonna stay with your friend for a while because you don’t have an apartment of your own because you have been living with your ex-boyfriend for the past two years.

This relationship was rushed. You did things with him way too fast. And now you’re regretting every single decision.

“what the fuck are you talking about? Yn… are you fucking stupid? Ha.” he suddenly takes your attention, and you watch him wipe the corner of his lips.

“we’re not breaking up. What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you think this is funny because it’s not- I just came back from a long day work, and this is what you do to me?” He stalks towards your direction.

You back away, and he takes a step closer to you.

“you don’t hold the reins of this relationship- I do.” he scoffs, looking at you, like you’ve grown two heads. “you cannot leave me.” he runs his hands through his long curly locks, looking all frustrated.

“Now shut the fuck up” he smirks, trapping you in. “ do you want me to punish you?” The wall feels so cold, and you actually feel terrified of him.

The look in his eyes right now is animalistic. He looks murderous.

“don’t piss me off- the only way you can break up with me is by dying and I won’t let you die so easily.” do you want to speak but no words come out of your mouth.

Not when he speaks in that authoritive tone, but it’s pissing you off because you’re not a child and he is speaking to you like you you’re one misbehaving child, and you deserve to be scolded.

He’s toxic.

“you don’t own me. I’ve had enough.” You try to argue back but it’s no use really because your words are falling on deaf ears.

He doesn’t even deem you important enough to listen to what you’re saying. “Shut up. You’re really asking for it.” He looks like you with a sickly, sweet smile.

“now… I am hungry, so serve me food. I had a very stressful day and don’t make it even more stressful by talking bullshit.”

you want to scoff but what is the use? There is really no way out of this relationship.- you want to cry right now… this is not the man you fell in love with.

Right now you see a monster standing in front of you, who has got you trapped between him and the wall.

There is really no way out.

“there is no way out yn. Make your stupid little brain understand that. Before I make you.”

[dioslesbianwife]

Hello hello may I request the p3 characters (kakyoin, jotaro, joseph, polnareff, and avdol) with a reader that has a stand that only protects them? It doesn't attack but the defense is perfect basically. But the reader self-doubts their ability because the stand can't fight so they think that it can't help

(Platonic pls!! Like familial or smt?)

hi hi totally- thankyou for requesting!! i hope you enjoy <3

Your stand is incredible, nothing can harm you while it’s active. Bullets? Useless. Stand attacks? Blocked. Even time-stopping abilities or reality warping? Your stand nullifies anything before it can touch you.

The only problem? It can’t attack. And because of that, you feel like you’re not helping the team.

Kakyoin

He’s the first to notice how much you doubt yourself. You don’t say it outright, but he can tell from the way you hesitate in fights, the way you stand back when the others rush in.

He sits down with you one night and really talks to you about it.

“You know, just because your stand doesn’t attack doesn’t mean it’s not powerful.”

“But I can’t help anyone. I just stand there while you guys fight.”

“That’s not true. Do you know how many times you’ve saved us without even realizing it?”

He explains that your stand is a game-changer in battle- there’s nothing more valuable than a teammate who can’t be hurt.

Whenever you feel down, he reminds you of all the times your ability kept the group alive.

Jotaro

He doesn’t talk about it much, but you can tell he respects your stand a lot.

Any time you say something self-deprecating, he just gives you a look.

“You think your stand’s useless? That’s dumb.”

He might not say a lot, but he shows that he trusts you. If you’re standing in front of someone, he knows they’re safe. If he needs to protect someone, he moves them behind you.

And if anyone dares to insult your stand, he just cracks his knuckles. “Say that again.”

The first time you really take a hit for him, and it completely nullifies the damage, he just tips his hat. “Not bad.” And from him? That’s basically a speech.

Joseph

“WHAT?! YOU THINK YOUR STAND IS USELESS?! ARE YOU OUTTA YOUR MIND?!”

Joseph immediately starts listing all the ways your ability is insanely valuable.

“You could walk through gunfire and not get a scratch!”

“You can shield people while we fight!”

“DIO would kill to have a defense like yours!”

If you still doubt yourself, he forces you into a test- having the group throw everything they’ve got at you while your stand is active. When you come out without a single injury, he just gestures wildly.

“SEE?! You’re a walking, talking cheat code!”

If you’re ever feeling down, he just slings an arm around your shoulder and reminds you that even he had moments where he doubted his abilities- but a good team needs all kinds of strengths.

Polnareff

He’s one of the first to openly praise you in fights.

“Nice one, (Y/N)! You’re making this way easier on us!”

Any time you take a hit for someone else, he immediately hypes you up.

“I don’t care if your stand doesn’t attack, that was badass!”

When you confess that you feel useless, he’s genuinely upset on your behalf.

“Why would you ever think that? You’re the reason half of us are still alive!”

He insists on making sure you realize your value. You’re training with the team whether you like it or not, because he wants you to see firsthand how essential you are.

And if that doesn’t work? You’re getting a big brother-level pep talk, complete with dramatic gestures and a lot of heartfelt words.

Avdol

He’s one of the most understanding. He listens carefully when you express your self-doubt, nodding before responding.

“I see. But tell me- who else among us can do what you do?”

He reminds you that every stand has its purpose. And yours? Is to endure.

“A warrior who cannot be felled is far more terrifying than one who can fight.”

He trusts you completely. If he ever needs to make a risky move, he’ll look at you first.

“Stand by me, and I will have no fear.”

When he sees you start to believe in your own worth, he nods with quiet pride.

[hannahluvsbillie]

the only one

casual part 3.

(but can be read as a one shot)

part one

✫ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ~ you thought billie had moved on, seeing her post like it was nothing, she was fine. maybe it was just casual to her.

★ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ~ billie eilish x reader

★ 𝐜𝐰! ~ mentions of panic attack, angst, nightmares (?)

ᡣ𐭩 a/n ~ hi! thank you all sm for waiting for part 3!! this one has a little time-skip, i’m thinking maybe 1-2 months since casual part 2. let me know if you like it, hopefully it lived up to your expectations 🥺

it’s been a few months since that last meet up billie and you had. the one where she belittled you and your feelings.

you blocked her the morning after, it wasn’t easy blocking her. someone you fell in love with, but you realized that it was one sided the day she told you it was just causal.

maybe you wanted her to spill her feelings on how she loved you, and didn’t just want you for a quick hook up to relive some steam. but deep down you knew that’d never be the case.

to say you’ve been doing good is a lie, you’ve been.. okay. dating felt pointless as of now, you knew your heart would always belong to billie, even if you two weren’t serious, it didn’t mean you loved her any less.

billie on the other hand, looked like she was doing great. i mean- it wasn’t like you’ve checked up on her, you were non contact. but on her instagram she looked like she was doing great. she’s on tour, her album is still doing good, she has good friends. it was bittersweet to see her now, it still made you cry some nights.

you were laying in your bed, staring up at the ceiling. you had just woke up from your sleep, a dream waking you up. the dream was a recurring one you’ve gotten for the past few months since you ended it with billie.

the dream went something like this: you were in bed and when you turned over, you see billie, sleeping peacefully. you just observe her for however long until your brain wakes you up.

it never went father then that, it was just a constant reminder of her. maybe that’s why you couldn’t get over her.

suddenly your phone starts ringing, waking you from your daze. you shake your head a little and roll over, grabbing your phone off of the nightstand and rubbing your eyes to see who’s calling.

who would call you at 3 am?

you read the number, you don’t recognize it. it’s your area code, but that’s all you recognize. god- they’ve called you 12 times.

you just decide to pick up, hoping they’d stop after that.

“hel-“ you clear your throat, trying to make it sound like you weren’t just asleep. “hello?” you say weakly.

“y/n?” the other person says.

your heart drops, how could you not recognize that voice? the voice that used to sing praises to you, who used to speak to you in the softest voice, the voice you fell in love with.

“billie? what the fuck?” you say, blinking repeatedly. you blocked her, how was she calling you? you pinch yourself once to make sure you aren’t still dreaming, only to be met with pain. okay, so this was real.

“i know im sorry- i just- i really need you right now, i have no one else to call and i don’t know what to do.” billie speaks, immediately apologizing. you can already tell she was in the middle of a

panic attack. her voice cracking when she speaks. you feel that same pang in your chest hearing her like that.

you take a deep breath, running a hand through your hair. “okay- bills- billie, calm down. breathe for a minute” you say. you regret answering, it just made everything come back.

you hear her take a breathe and go silent for a moment, before speaking again. “i’m really sorry- i know you blocked me and we aren’t supposed to be talking, but i just- i dont know what to do. you’re the only one that knows how to deal with me when im like- when im like this.” she speaks softly, her voice still shaky.

you go silent for a second, zoning out looking at the floor. inviting her over would be horrible for you, ruining all of the progress you’ve made. but fuck, you can’t just leave her alone, you can’t help but care about her.

“okay- fuck, do you want to come-“

“yeah.”

“okay.”

your eyes widen when she speaks. that was quick. as soon as she says yes you hang up, putting your phone down. what did you just do?

a few minutes later you’re pacing though the kitchen, waiting for the doorbell to ring. the gravity of what you just did sinks in, you shouldn’t of offered.

but as soon as the doorbell rings and you rush over to open the door- maybe a bit too quickly, and you see a disheveled billie, all of it disappears. god you just wanted to protect her from everything.

her hair sticks to her forehead, the same hair that you used to play with, her eyes were red and looked up at you with so

much guilt. it’s obvious she feels horrible

about coming here. maybe she wasn’t as good as it seemed on her instagram. it looks like she’s back in that place she was in when you first met her.

“oh, baby…” you coo, gently putting a hand on her shoulder and leading her inside. when you close the door and look back at her, she looks like a lost puppy, her eyes still swollen.

“i’m- sorry-“ billie chokes out, starting to cry again. you immediately pull her into a hug, gently cradling her head in your hand, the other hand gently rubbing her back.

“it’s okay billie.” you say, gently kissing her head.

you felt so many things, you let her into your house even when she broke your heart, you truely could never deny her, especially when she’s crying in your arms like this.

you’re fucked now.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 18 - Don't Let It Out

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Bucky going full protector mode. My king.

Chapter Title from Use Somebody by Kings of Leon

Word Count: 8k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You, Sam, and Bucky have a talk, and progress is made. Extra warning on physical abuse in this chapter. Make the best call for yourself.

Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff

Chapter 17 - Chapter 19

Read on A03!

Bucky’s told you what to say.

Before anyone found you in the closet—before the world caught back up with you and you had to deal with the fall out—Bucky made you rehearse the story, and given you a tight nod of approval when you got it right.

And he hasn’t run.

Hasn’t looked at you in fear or disgust or hate. Blamed you for hiding this from him.

And he’s still holding you, right in his lap. An arm wrapped around your body to keep you upright, his attention focused purely on your words and face as you practice, and the wings in your ribcage threatening to beat out of your chest. 

He’s seen all of you, and he’s still here. Still on your side.

Staying.

Letting you keep him, even when you both know how this ends. 

Not happily. It doesn’t matter how many dreams you have of an easy, happy life with Bucky, this isn’t going to be a happy ending. Miles has a leash around your throat—and Bucky wants you to have a choice, and you adore him for it but that’s just not how this works—and there are people biting at your ankles for reasons you don’t understand. 

Hydra was one thing. But Bucky says that the other woman—Belova, he’d called Her, making Mist grow spiked and hot up your spine—works for the Government, and you can’t begin to imagine why they’d want you. Sure you’ve sued them a lot, but no more than any other foundation. You’ve donated a lot of money to Government programs, too. You pay your taxes. When you’d been called for jury duty, you’d gone.

But they’re still after you.

And Bucky is still trying to protect you from it, even when you’ve given him every reason not to. Even when he’s always been able to see right through you, but now you’ve showed off all the ugliest, gnashing and bloodied parts of you, and he won’t just leave.

You don’t want him to leave.

You might need him to stay. Need him to tell you it’s going to be okay, and hold you, and maybe kiss you this time. When his breath is spreading tiny, pleasant little shivers over your skin, and his arm around your stomach feels like a comfortable, weighted promise of keeping you. Right against him like you’re something he doesn’t want to break, and would put back together if he did. As if he’d care if you hurt, and wants to make you feel good. 

Not like a doll. Bucky holds you like you’re something that’s alive, and it’s not wrong or undeserved, and you never want to stop needing him to hold you. You never want to leave this closet. To face the roaring crowd and curtain drops, when you could just stop playing the Show and stay in Bucky’s arms. 

It’s not how this works. It’s not how the Show ends, because it doesn’t end. 

And you want it to. 

But it’s never mattered what you want, so the Show has to keep going. Bucky gave you the lines. 

You just have to sell them.

“What the hell.” Sam hisses, pushing into the closet, somehow barely blinking at how Bucky’s holding you, and you’re leaning into his body. “You tell me that you two dumbasses have been going behind my back when I was very clear when I said not to, we got the press and fire department outside, and you’re hidin’ in the closet-“

“Close the door.” Bucky grunts, and Sam frowns, but listens. 

“You got a lot of explaining to do, Buck-“

“Then let me talk.” Bucky adjusts you in his arms, your hands flying to hold his arm. “She cracked the code.”

Sam blinks at you. “The Hydra code-“

“Only code there is.” Bucky says, tone dry. “She got it, alone. When you needed a whole team to do nothing-“

“Hey-“

“-And it’s just a lot of damn numbers. We met with Zemo a few weeks ago,” Bucky rubs his face, keeping his voice raised over Sam’s. “His name was in there too, but it was his dad. He said he’d met that Leviathan you’d been chasing. That I had, too. And I don’t remember it, but some of the numbers were dates for my Hydra missions-“

“The Starks.” You mumble. “Right now, we just know it’s the Starks.”

Bucky gives you a flat look, and you shrug. For a second, his gaze softens while his jaw clenches, and he blinks at you twice. 

That Look is something good, even if you don’t quite know what. And he’s giving it to you in the dark, so right now—under Bucky’s attention—there’s a mirage of safety. That this isn’t just a moment in a glass bubble you know is going to pop—it always pops—and the light, floating feeling of the Mist will last. 

It doesn’t.

It always sours, and turns in to pull you apart. 

“You guys didn’t think this was important to tell me?” Sam says, his tone coated in disbelief, and you give him a weak smile. 

Bucky doesn’t seem to feel any sort of guilt, though. He just shrugs, and nods. “Not really. More important shit-“

Sam scoffs. “Like what’ “We had a Widow here.” Bucky grunts, and Sam’s eyes widen. “Yelena Belova. And I heard she’s been working for the Government-“

“She has.” Sam says, a deep frown on his face. “I recognize that name, saw it in a briefing, think Nat mentioned it before-“ His jaw twitches slightly, and he shakes his head. “Yeah. Belova’s been contracted by the CIA. But far as I know, Hydra doesn’t have any roots in there.”

“I think they’re working separately. That whatever Hydra wants-“

“De Fontaine might want it too.” Sam sighs your name. “You got anything to add, or are we just fighting off book again.”

You shake your head, and let the lines Bucky fed you flow out with a nervous ease. “Bucky said the Leviathan was a doomsday device, and if- I don’t know, maybe Tony had some sort of technology they needed for it, and they’re going through me.”

Bucky nods, squeezing your hip in silent praise, and that shouldn’t make your knees feel weak. “Zemo talking about it wasn’t a coincidence. We need to look into what the CIA has on the Leviathan. Try and find it first.”

Sam frowns. “What about-“

“Bucky will keep watching me,” you shrug. “I’ll be safe, and we can keep working on the codes while you look for something. We’ll only look into something if you can’t.”

“You’re not allowed to work the field,” Sam gives you a firm look, and you roll your eyes.

“You’re not my dad, Sam.”

“Maybe, but I can sure as shit ground you-“

“I’d like to see you try.” You stick your tongue out at him. “I’ll kick you in the nuts-“

“No, you won’t.” Bucky hauls you back, and you scoff. Sam knows you weren’t actually going to do it, but now you’re just melting into Bucky’s arms and he’s going to make fun of you for a million years. “I’ll watch her, Sam. And,” he nods to the closet. “I don’t think any press is good right now-“

“They think it was a fire.” Sam mutters, frowning between you and Bucky with an odd expression. “Nobody knows it’s Hydra, or- I guess the fuckin’ government. We’re safe.”

But you’re not. 

Sam says you’re safe, but you know you’re not. Bucky must somehow know as well, because his grip on you tightens right before the door opens. You both know you’re going to have to split up, but he doesn’t let you go. 

“I’ll see you Monday.” You mumble, and he frowns down at you. 

“I can give you drive back-“

“Miles is here.” 

Bucky face drops into a sour expression, and he glances up to Sam before dropping down to your ear, his breath brushing softly over your skin. “Just come with me, Butterfly. I’ve got guns, and an arm that’ll knock him into the sun.”

You give him a small, sad smile, and you shouldn’t have told him about Miles holding the bond. 

It makes the possibility that he’s going to try and save you—help you claw out of this pit while asking for nothing in return—all the more likely. 

“I’m not joking-“

“I know you’re not.” You turn away, raising your chin but not trying to move away from his hold. The Show has to begin, but you’re not ready for this—a single, safe moment where Bucky doesn’t sees you, and you’re safe—to end. “But I can’t, Buck. I’ll be fine.”

Bucky’s hand flexes slightly, and you know he sees right through you, but this isn’t another assassin or kidnapper. He’s not going to make you stay, or keep next to him, or let him hold you longer than time allows. 

You wish you could freeze it. Slow it down. Anything but let it rush past you, the crowd too loud, the cameras too bright, Miles’ grip far too tight as he yanks you away from Sam and sneers in your ear that you’re going home. 

Sam doesn’t lunge for you, either. But Sam just hates Miles. You’re too good at the Show, and you survived too long on your own to allow weakness to show. There’s no real proof that Bucky knows, outside of you telling him about the bond. 

Bucky might know. He always seems to know, because he sees everything. Watches everything. Remembers all the things you say and do, to the point that you’ve seen him double back to grab something you forgot. 

And you’re not fine without him. Not fine alone. There’s no way out of this storm, and you don’t have anyone to weather it with because you told Bucky to go home.

It not as if he could do anything, if you let him come with you. It would only end with all of this worse than it already is. It wouldn’t just be Miles’ hand bruising on your wrist, and your legs stumbling as you try to keep up with his pace. There would be more than just the hot, impossibly painful feeling of the Mist trying to rip up your spine, paired with the poison feeling running through your blood.

Because Sam said that nobody knows that this was an attack on you. He’d even muttered in your ear—right before Miles found you—that he’s selling a story about a decoy bomb, planted just to interrupt the event. 

But it’s not working. The press bought it—all the questions shouted at you were about who did this and how does the Stark Foundation react to such a threat—but you don’t care. Maybe if you told them about Hydra, it would be hiding in plain sight, all the eyes on you making Hydra and the Government slower to move. 

It’s never been the press or the public that needs to believe nothing is wrong. 

Miles. 

It’s always been Miles. 

But he knows. There’s no way to say how, or exactly what he knows, but he knows. You can feel it, in an iron rope that’s coiling around your lungs. He knows. He’s not looking at you, and though he rarely does, this is different. There’s a cold feeling in the air like the dead of winter, despite it being the rising, wet heat of a summer night. There’s no music for the car ride, and it’s getting too loud in your head—a buzzing sort of ring, starting to rattle around your skull—but you can hear every one of your own breaths, and you have to count to make sure they last. Miles’ grip on the wheel isn’t tight, but horrible relaxed. Just like his hand, resting softly on your thigh. No pressure, no pain.

Just a reminder. 

He doesn’t have to hold you tight for him to keep you. 

You have no way to leave. 

There’s not enough air, in the garage. Every click of your heels on the ground echoes off the walls, and the sound is going to swallow you whole. The elevator is worse, with Miles grabbing you and pressing you right against his chest. It’s not the comforting, blanketed warmth of Bucky. It’s a cage. A threat. 

A promise. 

“Sit.” He grunts in your ear, the second the apartment door opens. 

You nod, leaning down to take off your shoes, and Miles yanks you right back up.

“I said sit.”

This is easier if you don’t fight him. He gets bored faster, and you have a higher likelihood of walking out the other side instead of crawling. So you nod, glancing between the stool in at the kitchen island and the couch in front of the TV. Miles shoves you to the couch, and you manage to regain your balance before you fall to the ground, but when your eyes dart up the stairs, you can see the golden-green eyes glowing in the dark. 

You swipe your hand casually to the side, and the eyes vanish. You’ve never remember training the Boy to do that, but he always does. Always listens, then slinks out of the shadows to keep you company after. 

It’s for the best. You know what’s about to happen, and you don’t need a trip to the vet as well. 

“Tell me,” Miles towers over you as he hisses your name, and you keep your eyes trained on his ugly, polished shoes. “Exactly what the fuck you’ve been lying to me about.”

You swallow, keeping your voice soft. “I- I don’t-“

“And don’t fucking lie, you little bitch. Or do you just not understand what you did wrong? Are you that fucking stupid?”

Better not to answer. Better to just stare at his shoes and let him answer himself. 

“You are, aren’t you. Doesn’t matter how well I train you or what I tell you, you’re just the same dumb little whore who got on her knees for anyone.” Miles laughs, and you don’t look up. Tears are starting to sting at your eyes, and you can’t afford any weakness. “Let me explain what you fucked this time, honey.” He leans down, and the light shining off his shoes shifts, right as bile rises up your throat. “You already lied to me. I’m guessing for months. You’ve been working with Wilson’s little off-brand Captain America, playing fucking superhero, and you’ve been talking to Barnes.”

He doesn’t know. Not about Hydra. Not yet. It’s a tiny, useless victory, but it’s better than nothing at all. 

“You been fucking him too?” Miles sneers, you shake your head, and he scoffs your name. “You’re such a shit fucking liar, I know you’re bending over for that old asshole. You know he’s a fucking war criminal, and you’re still giving him head-“

“He was brainwashed.” You mumble, because you’re an idiot who can’t just shut the fuck up. “And I’m not fucking him, Miles-“

The blow isn’t the worst you’ve have. Just a sharp sting across that your face. 

The kicks always hurt more. Right into your ribs, not cracking anything, but make all the pain already in your body spike and threaten to pull you under. 

You can’t fight back. It lasts twice as long if you fight back, and this one is already lasting too long. More often than not it’s for speaking out turn or some random suit that he thinks you’re fucking. This time he has evidence, and grounds, and you spoke out of turn. To defend Bucky. 

It’s impossible to tell what parts of you aren’t in pain, when Miles is done. There’s the cool of the floor below you, and the iron tang of blood in your mouth, but you probably just bit your tongue again. And if you didn’t, it will have to be something you deal with in the morning. 

The morning will come. It always comes. The light breaks and the darkness moves away, and it falls again but the morning always comes.

You just have to survive until the morning comes. 

“Tell me the future.” Miles’ voice is cold in your ear as he says your name, and he doesn’t bother to make you look at him. He doesn’t care to see you anyway. “Come on, show me that you’re worth keeping around.”

You nod weakly, coughing and choking on bile as you look for the dulled, thin thread. It takes too long to find it. Longer than usual—it’s tangled and shrunken away, faded so far you wouldn’t think it was possible if it wasn’t the only way this story ends—and you make a pathetic sound as another blow lands to your gut. 

“Fucking tell me.”

“We’re together and happy.” You whisper, and you let off the thread. It doesn’t matter if you can see it or not. It just matters that it’s what Miles wants to hear. “Everyone knows your name, and I’m yours. You’re beloved, and powerful, and they say your name until the world ends and I’m just as beautiful as when you found me.”

“And who do you belong to.” He hisses in your ear, and you swallow. 

“You.”

“That’s right.” He laughs, and you strangle yourself on another cough. “Not Barnes, fucking me. Get that through your fucking head, now, before I make you show Barnes exactly what kind of bitch you actually are.” Miles lips brush over your ear, and your blood curls. “I bet I can make him the Soldat again. Make him jump off a cliff, or kill Sam, or try to kill you. Think you’d survive, honey? Or are you so fucking pathetic you’d let him kill you.”

You don’t answer, and Miles scoffs. 

“Yeah, that’s what I fucking thought.” You hear him rising up, his voice moving further away, and you stay on the ground. “I don’t give a shit what you do for the rest of the night, but I don’t want to see your whore fucking face. I’m leaving tomorrow morning, and if I get back to you still sucking Barnes’ dick, you know what has to happen.”

You do. 

The exact thing you’ve been afraid of, as Miles walks away and you slowly sit up. 

There won’t be anything you can do about it, if Miles tells you to go into Bucky’s head and erase his memories. Of you. Of himself. Or just going in and ripping his mind to shreds, until he’s just a shell again. And he’d never forgive you, if he somehow came back. No one ever has, but Bucky could. He’s immovable. Strong. He’d somehow recover, and he’d finally see you as the horrid, vile beast that you are, and you’d be alone again. 

The right thing to do would be cut your losses. Vanish. Beg Miles to leave the city tonight, sell the apartment from across the world, and hope that Bucky doesn’t care enough to look for you. 

But he would.

You don’t know why, but Bucky keeps choosing to keep near you. If you weren’t so selfish, if you could dream about anything because his hands on your skin and his voice near your ear, you’d try and scream that he should leave. You’d go back to the start, and all your ugly and crude attempts to make him leave. 

But he’s never left. He won’t leave. And that shouldn’t be a relief, shouldn’t feel like a better high than any drug could offer, but it is. 

And you can’t stay here right now, but you have nowhere to go. In the past—on nights this bad, where Miles can’t even stand to look at you, which you understand—you’d sit on the floor with the Boy purring in your lap until you could move. Either from finally having enough breath to stand, or from pure fucking fear forcing you into movement, born from the sound of Miles upstairs. Then you’d go to your office, and wait out the night there. 

Bucky will know if you go to the office. Or Happy will, and he’ll tell Sam, and Sam will send Bucky. 

You’re going to hurt him. This only ends with you alone and caving in on yourself once more, and Bucky finally understanding that you’re not worth any of this. 

But you can’t think of anything else. You don’t really have anyone else. And right now, you don’t need anyone else.So you kiss the Boy on the top of his head, grab your keys between your knuckles, and close the door quietly behind you. You’re wearing an expensive looking dress and heels, so you can’t just wander around. You could go back to the subway, but your phone is almost dead, so it would just be you, the dead of night, and the sound of the tracks rumbling off-time with your breath. 

Bucky would find you anyway. 

And you’re so fucking alone, and it hurts, and he’s the safest place to be. 

He’ll see. What Miles does to you. What you’ve spent so fucking long, been so fucking careful to hide from everyone. And you’d be putting him in a danger he won’t be able to understand. 

But you’re going to fall. And you need him to catch you. 

When he picks up after the second ring, any words die in your throat. Bucky mutters your name, then repeats it—his tone growing urgent, almost desperate, and you really feel fucking sick—and you take a shaking, unsteady breath.

Bucky sighs, his voice impossible smooth, and it starts to be sort of numbing.

You can’t really feel the pain, when he’s talking. It’s there, and it’s making everything a labor, but the beat of your heart is comfortable. And you’re going to make it through the night. 

Bucky’s going to catch you. 

“Are you-“

“I need you,” you whisper, before you can really think, and he falls silent. “Bucky, I- I can’t- I’m not- I need you-“

“Butterfly, I need you to slow down-“

“Miles.” Your voice is barely an exhale, and you’d think Bucky didn’t hear if the silence on the lines didn’t cleave your chest in half. “We got in a fight. And I need- I need you. Please.”

You expect hesitation. Questions. Maybe a grunt of what did you do, or why the hell are you calling me.

But that’s not Bucky. He wouldn’t do that to you. Ever. 

“Where are you.” He grunts, and you can hear shuffling around in the background, as well as the slam of something like a door. 

He’s coming. You’re going to have to a safe place to fall. “I- I don’t know-“

“Landmarks. Street name. I need somethin’ to work with, sweetheart-“

“Um,” you glance around, your eyes landing on a sign, and you repeat the street name for Bucky. 

“Alright, you heading north or south?”

“Bucky, I don’t know how to tell that-“

“What’s the next cross street.”

You tell him, giving a passing woman an awkward smile, and Bucky grunts an acknowledgment. 

“Keep walkin’ that way, okay? Get as far away from where you are, don’t take any turns, and I’ll get you.” He pauses, the rumble of an engine sounding on his end, then adds- “You gotta stay on the line for me, Butterfly. Can you do that?”

You nod, Bucky says your name with that same, smooth tone, and your voice is still so weak. “Yeah. I can. Bucky?”

He says your name in return, and you take a long breath, starting in your ordered direction. 

“Thank you.”

He sighs. “You’re welcome. But I’m not doin’ it for thanks, sweetheart. Anything. Anytime.” He pauses and the Mist is offering a strange, numbing high in your body. “You walkin’?”

You swallow, but nod. “Yeah.”

There’s a second of silence, and it’s hard to walk but you’ve survived worse, and Bucky clears his throat. “Tell me something.”

You frown at the air. “Like what?”

“Anything. Just- Don’t stop talking.”

“Bucky-“

“Please.” He sighs your name, and the wings pound in your chest. “Whatever you want, Butterfly, just talk.”

Whatever you want. 

The world gets a little blurry, and there’s a lump forming in your throat, but you push through. You can talk, if he wants to hear it. You can do maybe anything Bucky wants you to do. 

Except make things easy.

You can never make things easy. 

“I- I have a lot of damage control to do,” you mumble. “People are either going to donate more from sympathy, or get mad because the event was interrupted.”

Bucky hums. “You want me to shoot them for you?”

You let out a soft laugh, wincing slightly at the pain. “What happens if I say yes?”

“I shoot them.”

“Aw, you’d shoot someone for me?”

“I told you,” he drawls your name, and that can be the only sound in the world. Not the blood in your ears. Just Bucky’s voice. “Anything.”

You smile into the dark, and your lip must have split or something, but you don’t stop. “What if I asked you to eat a bug?”

“You giving me seasoning?”

“What seasoning would you put on a bug, James?”

“Salt. Cayenne. Maybe a sauce.

“Ranch?”

He scoffs. “You sound insane.”

“Because of ranch-“

“On a bug? Yes.”

You’re still smiling. You glance over your shoulder, just to make sure Miles isn’t behind you, but you’re still smiling. “Okay, Sargent. What sauce is acceptable for a bug?”

“Blue cheese.”

Your nose wrinkles. “That’s disgusting, James.”

“You asked, sweetheart.” He might be smiling too. You could swear you hear it. “That one’s your fault.”

“Shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The heat on your cheeks stings a little. You’d still rather feel it than not. “Would you steal the Declaration of Independence for me?”

Bucky pauses. “Why would you want me to do that.”

“To recreate the movie.”

“What movie.”

“Oh, we have to watch it, you’re going to hate it.”

Bucky snorts, and you trip on a crack in the pavement, but get yourself up right. 

You just have to keep walking. 

“I still don’t know what movie you’re talking about, Butterfly.”

“National Treasure. And you never answered my question.”

Bucky sighs. “Fine, I’d steal it for you.”

Your smile feels like it might split open your face. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

You want to ask him why. Even though you know it’s just a joke, and he’s just trying to keep you talking, you have to know why Bucky would ever think you’re worth that, when you’re really, really not. But he’s saying with such bored, amused certainty, and no real hesitation. And playing along means that he’s trying to help you, still, and you really can’t find a solid, real reason for why he’d ever fucking bother. He has to know how this story ends as well. He’s lived a similar one himself, and he got out, but it’s just not the same. 

Bucky didn’t deserve what happened to him. You’ve only ever been this much. This loud, and lonely, and desperate for attention that you can’t stand to feel.

It’s impossible to find the words to ask why. And you don’t really need to. 

There’s a rev on an engine, and Bucky’s voice, calling your name right as the line goes dead. 

He found you. He’s going to see you. The weakest, neediest part of you that he already knows about, but has never seen stripped and exposed with bruises and blood.

And when you turn, you don’t want to look him in the eyes. Don’t want to watch his reaction. 

“Butterfly.” He mutters, and you trace your gaze over another, deep crack, starting right at the tip of your shoe and running to Bucky’s boots. “Look at me.”

You shake your head, letting your hair fall over your face, and Bucky sighs.

“Please.” His voice doesn’t crack, but it does turn soft. Running with something delicate that’s so strange to hear, that you’ve only heard once before. 

Earlier this night, when he’d grabbed your chin and told you he hates it when you won’t look at him. 

You want to. 

And when he repeats your name, in the exact same tone, the Mist seems to spin and you slowly slide your face up. You can feel your balance wavering, and you need to measure how close Bucky really is. 

Only a pace away, but somehow feeling closer. Maybe it’s just his gaze, and the command of it. The way it tells you that he doesn’t want you to look away—so you won’t—and the way your every breath seems to be the most important thing in the world when he’s watching you. Just his gaze is slowing it and making it even, as if he’s got a hand on your back guiding your lungs. Bucky blinks at you twice, slow and careful as he takes you in, and your head is spinning. Miles might have hit you harder than you thought.

Or you’re just so fucking tired, and Bucky is here, so your body is ready to cave. 

He doesn’t say anything. Bucky extends his arm, gives you a small nod of approval when you take it. It makes your knees weaker and your core a little warm, but that makes your feet feel a little detached from your body, and you stumble forward, your gut clenching at the sudden movement and all your dinner spilling out of your throat onto the road.

Bucky’s arm wraps carefully around you, lowering you onto your knees and sweeping your hair out of your face. You can hear a long, deep humming sound as you continue to vomit, and there are somehow no scrapes on your knees when your head clears. Your head tips back against Bucky’s shoulder, and his eyes find yours in a split second. 

He’s still holding you. Pressed right to his chest, shielding you from the gaze of anyone walking by and the cool chill of the wind. And he looks good. All shadows on his face that make his features sharper, lips parted and mussed hair, wearing a thin shirt and no jacket. 

He ran to get you. 

He’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the universe. 

And now isn’t the time to be feeling it. Not just the Mist, or the crush, but the need. It’s worse than starvation, or dehydration. Worse than suffocation. It’s something new and that’s blooming over the cavity of your chest, weaving so well with the Mist and making you feel a lot stronger and more important than you are. It’s like being in desert for a million years then falling into the jungle. There’s so much, and everything is new, and there’s danger and fear and a million things that could go wrong. 

But you don’t want to go back to the desert. Ever. There’s color here. Life. And for all the danger, there are more ways to defend yourself. 

More things worth defending. 

Neither of you move, for a long second. And you think he can feel it. The absoluteness of it all, and how it’s better than maybe anything in your life. Just you and Bucky, his arms around you and you holding them there, the inability to look away, the feeling of complete. 

This is where you want to be. The only place you want to be. 

You’re never going to be allowed to stay. 

The strange sort of spell doesn’t break, but time keeps moving. It always does. You push back to your feet with Bucky keeping you steady, and he tucks your hair back and passes you a helmet without a word. 

You frown at him. “You didn’t make me wear this last time.”

“Because I was an idiot.” He grunts, taking it back before you can protest and setting it over your hair. “It’s for safety, Butterfly. No arguments.”

“You’re not wearing one-“

“I’m a super solider.”

You roll your eyes, but let him help you onto the bike. “You just want me to look stupid-“

“I want you not to die.” He says flatly, climbing on behind you. “And you don’t look stupid. You look adorable.”

That’s not fair. He can’t do that, when he knows. He can’t just put all his cards on the table, when you both know what game, you’re playing but you haven’t outlined the rules.

It’s something with caring. And being there. And both of you knowing that there’s more—that you’re going to fall, and Bucky’s going to catch you, and you’re going to keep trying to give him things and he’s going to have to take them—but not being foolish enough to think it will change anything.

You’re not foolish enough to think it will change anything. That Bucky can keep looking at you like he wants you, but you’re still trapped, and you’ll only drag him down with you.

Bucky doesn’t seem to be having the same problem himself. 

“You don’t need to tell me what happened,” he mutters, his voice vibrating in his chest and making you almost melt. “But I need to know if we’re going to the hospital.”

You swallow. It must be bad, if he’s asking. You really try not to look into mirrors unless you have to. “No. We’re not.”

Bucky grunts, and the engine revs. “Then we’re goin’ to my place.”

It’s not a question, but there’s still a second before he takes off. An offered moment for you to say no, drive me to Sam’s. 

But you don’t. 

The only person you need right now is the one you shouldn’t be near. That it would be better for if you just fucked off. But he’s not trying to shove you away, and when you’re silent, he knows you’re going to stay right where he’s holding you. 

There’s not really a better place to be. 

It might be a long drive. Or a short one. Time seems to blur when Bucky’s around you. You can hear the rush of the wind as he drives, but there’s also the hum of his voice in his chest. And the city smells as it always does in the middle of summer, but you can smell the rainy cologne Bucky seems to favor, and the sweet sort of mint he pairs with it, so nothing is really all that bad. 

He helps you upstairs, when you get to his apartment. Through the door and into the bathroom, scanning over your body with a tight expression as he sits you on the sink. 

“You should shower.” He murmurs. “The warmth will help.” 

You nod, watching him grab a first-aid kit from one of his cabinets. “Do we have to talk about it?” You whisper, and he sighs.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“I- I don’t know.”

“You can.” He stands back in front of you, angling your face carefully as he holds up a cotton ball. “I’ll listen. It’s gonna sting.”

“Wha-“ Your words fall off in weak sound of distress, as Bucky presses the cotton ball to your lips. “Bucky-“

“No infections.” He mutters, running a thumb carefully over the sting, and your breath hitches in your lungs. He keeps fucking doing that. “C’mon, Butterfly. Sit still.”

“But-“

“I’m tryin’ to take care of you,” he grunts, and that’s the commanding voice, so you’re melting again. “I’ll let you do it yourself, if you-“

“No.” You lean a little forward, holding his gaze and bracing your hands on the counter. “I- I’ll listen.”

He frowns at you, but dabs the cotton ball back on your cut. “Don’t need you to listen.” He grumbles, and you blink. “Just don’t want you to get hurt, sweetheart.”

“I know- I’m-“

“Don’t apologize, either.” He sighs, giving you one of the Looks you can never understand. “I’m here. You need anything, I’ll get it. That’s it.”

You stare at him for a long moment, and you know he means it, but it doesn’t feel real. Half of you is convinced you’re going to just wake up, the whole thing being only a dream. 

But you can feel too much for it be a dream. You can feel the soothing, cool metal of his hand on your knee. You can feel your own heartbeat, ready to burst out of your chest for Bucky to use however he pleases. You can feel all the pain in your body, not getting better, but growing manageable. Bucky’s warm. You’re not going to hurt more, as long he’s here.

And you can feel it itching, just under your skin. Another threat of the Mist rocketing out and swallowing your vision whole as the Bond fractures and splits.

But you push it down, and hold Bucky’s gaze. 

For now, in the moment—the dead of night, Bucky right in front of you and no thought spared for the future—you’re going to be okay. And you just want to look at him. To be even more sure it’s real.

“I want to talk about it,” you whisper, your hands curling slightly on his shirt. “But just-“

“Not now.” He mutters, and you give him a tiny nod.

“Can we watch TV?”

Bucky stares at you for another long second, his nostrils flaring as he gives you a small nod. “You wanna watch that National Treasure thing?”

Your smile splits your face, and your lip stings, but you don’t care. 

Bucky returns it, starting in his eyes and spreading over his whole face.

And he’s taking care of you, and just like the first time you stayed with him, there are a few minutes where you have an itch in your fingers from lack of use, but then they just grow comfortably sore. Heavy enough you don’t want to use them, and you’re in no hurry to try. Bucky gets you a glass of water when you refuse food, and a soft yellow blanket to rest on his couch, and you raise your brows. 

“When did you get this?”

“Last week.” He mutters, dropping on the other side of the couch. “On Amazon.”

You grin at him. “You use Amazon.”

“Yep.” He gives you a flat look. “Why wouldn’t I use Amazon.”

“I don’t know, because you’re a dinosaur.”

“I like modern things.”

“You hate doing the laundry.”

“Everyone hates doing the laundry.” Bucky grumbles, and you shrug.

“Maybe. Do you wanna share the blanket?”

Bucky blinks at you for a second, then does the maddening little tongue thing as the remote going slack in his hand. 

You haven’t seen him do it in a while, between the chaos of Hydra and Miles. 

It almost makes the wings in your chest burst.

“It’s for you.”

You frown. “The blanket.”

Bucky grunts, giving you a small nod before looking back to the TV, and you sigh. He doesn’t react when you scoot across the couch until you’re pressed right to his side.

“Hi.” You smile at his blank expression, and his nostrils flare again. You still have no fucking idea what that Look means. “Blanket.”

“Blanket.” He echoes back, and you beam at him, tossing it over his legs. 

Your thighs are pressed together. And you’re already throwing all your carefully followed rules about the Show and keeping yourself alone just by being here. 

So you play pretend. You’re pressed right against Bucky because this is going to end with you in his lap, and you’re pushing his buttons it might end with him kissing you and grinning against your lips. 

It the new game. Acting like both of you feeling it—this strange, warm comfort where you never want him to go anywhere and he likes keeping you around—is going to end any other way than pain.

Bucky—just as always—plays it better than you. 

He sighs when you toss the blanket over him, but slings his arm over the back of the couch and pulls you closer than you need to be. When your head drops on his shoulder, he adjusts you both so you’re all but wrapped in the blanket. He indulges all your comment about the movie and gives you low chuckles. 

His thumb keeps rubbing small circles on your upper arm. When you get up to use the bathroom, he helps you with an arm, mutters that he’ll wait for you on the bed.

And then you have to look in the mirror. 

It’s not the worst it could be. But it’s not you either. It’s someone with all the beauty and luxury you still don’t know how to have, but all the pain you’re not supposed to feel written on her face. You look tired. You feel tired. The Mist is burning up your spine, and you’re so fucking tired. 

You can’t understand why Bucky is staying for her. If he can see through the Show, and this is what’s underneath, you’d want to try and run as far as you could. 

And when you lean forward to try and see if there’s some part of you that’s not rotting or shadowed or undeserving, you can’t find anything at all. 

But it might be there, in your eyes. Shifting and shimmering and vile, made of all the power you can feel ripping up your nerves, threatening to rip up a whole lot more. 

“Smile.” A man in a lab coat hisses in your ear. “Левиафан, you must smile for the show.”

The mirror is polished, and the dress they put you in is pretty, but you don’t want to smile. 

Behind you, in the corner of the room, the blonde woman nods. 

You smile. 

“Good.” The man grins, and his smile is like poison. “Tell me the future, Левиафан.”

A million things flash in front of your eyes. Too many things. Your grip slips slightly, and the mirror cracks into a million pieces, then dissolves into dust. 

The man is angry with you. So you just make yourself small and quiet, because he is angry often and the best thing to do is not make it worse. 

But he asked you to tell him the future. And it will only make him angrier if you don’t listen. 

You could just keep your mouth shut.

But nobody ever wants to hear you. Nobody but the blonde woman, and even she is rarely proud. 

You might learn soon, who it is and isn’t safe to tell things. 

But right now you meet the man’s gaze, and tell him the brightest future you saw. 

“The sky falls, and you die in the rubble.”

The man stares at you for a long moment. He won’t hit you. He’s afraid to. 

But you’re locked in that room for another two nights before you see anyone at all, and the only proof you have that you’re still alive, is the written messages from the blonde woman that tell you so.

You blink as the vision clears, head pounding, and take a deep, long breath. 

You’re in Bucky’s apartment. You’re okay.

“You have fancy soap.” You mumble, shuffling out of the bathroom. 

“What’s fancy soap.” Bucky mutters, but you don’t care to answer. 

He’s holding pure white, glowing flowers. They’re in a fancy, colorful glass jar, and he’s still looking at you. And you can breathe, but it’s still a little dizzying.

“I, uh-“ He clears his throat. “Didn’t get to give ‘em to you. At the office. Was gonna get you on Monday, but-“ He sighs, and holds them out. “Better now, I figured.”

You nod weakly, and drop at his side on the mattress. He passes them into your hands without a word, and they’re beautiful. Shining in the dark and blooming out, the petals soft and the stems thin, and-

He got them for you. He didn’t have to, but he did.

“You like them?” He asks softly from the side, and you nod, only just able to rip your eyes away to meet his. 

“I love them.” You whisper, and he gives you a tiny grin, and it feels like you’re being split in half. “Bucky, you- You didn’t need to.”

He shrugs. “Wanted to.”

“But-“

“If I don’t get to fight it when you tell me I have to take days off, you don’t get to fight me when I get you flowers.”

You shake your head, and you can’t stop it. All the words you’ve promise yourself to never say, spilling out of your throat because it’s Bucky. And he’s not running, and you don’t think he’s going to, but you have to be sure.

“I’m not worth it.” You whisper, and Bucky frowns. 

“The flowers?”

“Or the water. Or the movie, or the drive-“

Bucky mutters your name, but it’s far too late. You’re overflowing, and it’s spilling out of your eyes and into your words, and there’s nothing you can do. 

“I don’t think I’m- I don’t deserve any of this, or you, and I- I’m not worth this, Bucky, I promise you I’m not-“

“You are to me,” he mutters, and it just pulls a sob from your throat.

“I’m not-“

“You are.”

“I’m not good.” You stare at the flowers in your hands, and you don’t know how to breathe anymore. “I- I’m not good, Bucky, I’m not good, I’m not good-“

Bucky doesn’t speak. He just takes the flowers carefully from your hands and sets them down, before softly rubbing his hand on your back, and your words are just sobs.

But he’s still not going. 

And when you half fling yourself into his arms, he catches you. Wraps you in a tight hug, lets you bury your face in his chest and ride out the rest of the pain. You can hear his gentle humming, same as the sidewalk, and it’s only when your breathing calms fully that he takes your face between his hands and gentle moves your gaze back.

“Better?” He murmurs, and you give him a weak nod. 

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He lets out a long, slow breath, and he’s looking into you again. Whatever he sees is all there is. There are no more layers. Nothing left to keep from him that you haven’t laid on the floor to be crushed. 

But he’s not crushing it. Bucky tucks a little hair behind your ear and says your name, and it really sounds like something worth saying. 

“You are good.” He mutters. “You know why I call you butterfly?”

You swallow. “Because I never stop moving?”

He shakes his head. “Because you’re beautiful. And it makes everything better.” Bucky drops his brow down, his gaze locked against yours, and you blink at him hopelessly. 

“I don’t believe you.” You mumble, and he shrugs. 

“Alright. Doesn’t change the truth.” He gives you a small smile, nostrils flaring, and starts to help you into bed. “Long night. You should get some sleep.”

You should. But Bucky starts to sit up, and you grab his metal arm. You stare at him in the dark, and he’s so handsome, and you shouldn’t say it. Everything will be easier if you don’t say it. 

But you can’t stop yourself. 

You rarely can, with Bucky. 

“Can you stay?” 

Bucky blinks at you. “In… the bed.”

“You can just sit. I- I just- I don’t want-“ I don’t want to be alone. I’m so sick of being alone, and I need it to be you with me, so please don’t go. “I’ll sleep on the couch-“

“No.” Bucky shifts to sit against the headboard, giving you a tight nod. “I’ll stay.”

He’ll stay. 

He does stay. 

You pass out in a second, and morning comes, because it always does. But this morning is a little better, because your face is pressed against Bucky’s thigh, and his hand is in your hair, and he’s knocked out over you. 

It would be perfect, if you woke up like this for the rest of your life. And there are things for you to do. To worry about. 

But looking at Bucky’s peaceful expression, his head lolled to the side and the beauty of his face, you don’t want to move. 

So you nuzzle a little deeper into the sheets, and fall right back asleep.

End Note: Every day Bucky gets closer to murdering Miles. Take the final step king. You can do it.

Thank you so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[big-ooof]

omg i loved „The Quiet Ways You Ask For Love“ 😭 it felt so comforting and i loved the mix with suggestiveness. can you maybe write something familiar with jay also with a black cat maybe even avoidant fem!reader? it can also have slight smut, however you like it <3

Jay x f!reader

note: thanks for request! The Quiet Ways You Ask For Love tugs on my heartstrings a lot because i'm a sad girlie and writing it felt like a tight, warm hug.

But Jay's personality fits well with an avoidant female reader. you caught me at a good time because i'm not on the struggle bus today when it comes to smut lol. hope you enjoy! sexual content 18+ also tw: mental health themes— reader has an anxiety/panic attack.

You hadn’t spoken to Jay in years. Not since the morning you left his dorm with nothing more than a soft, “I’m sorry,” and the stuff you kept in his dorm in bag. You didn’t owe him an explanation—or at least that’s what your therapist tried to help you believe when you told her it was better to vanish than disappoint someone like him. Someone steady. Someone who knew how to stay while you didn’t.

You moved back to your hometown after burnout post-grad swallowed you whole. The city drained everything—your savings, your energy, your ability to pretend you were fine. You move into a small apartment near the edge of town. It's quiet, it echoes when you walk, and sometimes, when your heart gets stuck in your throat, it becomes too quiet.

You knew once your body slowed down and your environment was no longer high-stress that an anxiety attack would come. All the feelings and emotions you suppressed rose like a tidal wave. You feel it creeping, like hands wrapping around your ribs. You try the usual things—counting tiles, deep breaths, grounding techniques—but your limbs still go numb, and your chest still hurts.

So you text him: i’m okay. i’m just having an anxiety attack and i remembered that telling you would ease my mind a little bit, bc at least someone knew.

You don’t expect anything back. You especially don’t expect the knock on your door twenty minutes later. You hesitate opening it, not because you don’t know who it is—you do, because of course he came—but because you don’t know how to be seen by him now. Not like this. Disassembled. Small.

But when you open the door, Jay doesn’t speak. He just takes one look at your shaking form, kicks his shoes off, and steps inside.

You blink at him. “Did I… how did you—”

“You gave me the code to the building,” He shrugs. “You must’ve felt safe enough to tell me while you were texting me.”

He puts a hand on your lower back like it’s the most natural thing, like he hasn’t been a ghost for two years, and guides you to the couch. “You’re cold,” he murmurs, tugging a throw blanket over you. “Try to breathe.”

“I’m okay,” you whisper. “I just—”

“I know.” And the thing is, he does.

He sits on the edge of the couch at first, but when you quietly inch closer, your fingers grazing his wrist, he shifts so you can curl into him. You’re trembling. He holds you anyway. Not tightly. Just there. You don’t talk. He doesn’t ask.

You wake up a few hours later in your bed. You didn’t remember falling asleep, but he must have carried you. There’s a glass of water on your nightstand. Your phone is charging. The bedroom door is cracked open, and when you step out, Jay is still there—sitting on your living room floor, back against the couch, flipping through an old magazine.

“You stayed,” you murmur, voice scratchy.

He looks up slowly. “Yeah.”

“…Why?”

His eyes are steady. “I didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

Your chest aches.

You don’t let yourself cry until he makes you tea without asking how you take it. The same way you did in college. Same mug, if you’re honest. You hadn’t realized he noticed.

“You didn’t have to come,” you say softly.

“I know.”

“I didn’t think you would.”

“I did.”

You curl your hands into your sleeves. “I’m sorry I left like that... while we were in college.”

“I figured you weren’t ready to be cared for,” he says. No accusation. Just truth. “But I never stopped hoping you’d let someone try.”

You blink. “Even after all this time?”

“Especially after all this time.”

You’re now lying side by side on your bed. Neither of you has moved to leave. You shift onto your side and you touch his face. The line of his jaw. The little scar near his temple from when he hit his head on your shelf sophomore year.

“I thought about you,” you say. “More than I wanted to.”

Jay exhales slowly, eyes on your lips. “I never stopped thinking about you.”

When he kisses you, it’s so painfully gentle you feel your chest split open. His lips brush yours like he’s memorizing them all over again. No urgency. No heat at first—just warmth. Familiarity. Longing.

You tug at his shirt and he lets you pull it off, lets you trace the defined lines of his chest, your touch shaky but curious.

“Yeah?” he whispers against your cheek.

You nod. “I want you to stay tonight. Please?”

There’s no rush, just the quiet drag of his hands over your skin, the soft hush of his breath against your collarbone, the way his body fits over yours like you were always meant to come back to this. To him. When he slides inside you, your legs wrap around his waist like instinct. You bury your face into his shoulder. He groans softly into your hair. You cling to him.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, over and over. “I’ve always had you.”

He sleeps with his arms around you, your head tucked under his chin, one hand holding yours like he’s anchoring you.

When morning comes, you wake up before him. You stare at his face, your heart both full and aching. You don’t know what this is yet. But maybe you don’t have to label it. Maybe it’s enough that he came. Maybe it’s enough that when you finally let yourself reach out, it was him who answered. And it always would be.

The sun filters in faintly through the blinds, a warm, washed-out glow tracing the edges of Jay’s face. He’s still curled around you—his hand resting lightly at your waist, his breath steady and deep. You stay like that for a while, letting the silence hum around you, your heartbeat calm but full.

It’s a strange kind of safety—waking up like this. With him. You inch closer. Let your fingers glide along his chest, then down the flat of his stomach. His skin is warm, the kind of warmth you want to drown in. Jay stirs slightly, a little groan in his throat as your fingertips dip lower, teasing along the waistband of the sweats he borrowed last night.

“You awake?” you whisper.

A sleepy hum. He doesn’t open his eyes, but he tilts his head toward you. “Mmhmm… am now.”

“You okay?” you ask.

He nods softly, eyes still half-lidded. “More than okay.”

You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Then another one to his jaw. When you shift to straddle his hips, he lets you—hands falling to your thighs but not guiding you. Just holding.

Your lips brush over his throat. “Let me?”

That makes his eyes flutter open, dark and soft. “You don’t have to ask.”

You smile. “I know. I just want to hear it.”

His voice is barely a breath. “Yes. Please.”

You lean down and kiss him, slow and deep. He lets you take it—mouth opening under yours, fingers gripping your thighs tighter when your hips begin to roll.

He’s hard already, quietly, beneath you. The way he reacts to your touch, so easy to unravel—it makes your chest twist with something bittersweet. He still wants you. Completely. Without question.

You reach between you, dragging your fingers down his abdomen until you tug his sweats lower, enough to free him. His breath hitches when your hand wraps around him, thumb brushing over the head.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, forehead resting against yours. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Good,” you tease, kissing down his neck. “Let me.”

He groans when you sink down on him, slow and steady, your walls clenching as you take him inch by inch. You’re wet, aching, but in control—and he’s helpless beneath you, hands still on your hips now like he’s trying not to squeeze too hard.

“Shit—you feel…” His eyes roll back slightly. “You feel so good.”

You rock your hips, deliberately slow. Watching him. Watching his mouth part, his brows furrow, his chest rise and fall like he’s unraveling with every breath.

“You like me like this?” you whisper, dragging your nails gently across his chest.

His jaw flexes. “I love you like this.”

You still. The words hang in the air like smoke, impossible to take back.

His eyes are wide now, lips parted in surprise at himself. “Sorry—shit—I didn’t mean to scare—”

You cut him off with your mouth, kissing him hard, deeper than before. The kiss is messy and open and full of too much feeling, too much time lost.

You ride him harder now, your hands braced on his chest, hips finding a rhythm that pulls curses from his lips and gasps from yours.

Jay grips your hips tighter, matching your movements now. “You’re perfect like this,” he breathes. “On top of me, taking what you want. You don’t even know what you do to me—fuck.”

You lean over, press your forehead to his. “You’re mine, right?”

His voice breaks. “Always.”

It’s not just physical anymore—it never was. It’s deeper than that, more intimate than skin. It’s the way he clings to you now, eyes locked on yours, like he’s never seen anything as beautiful as you breaking apart above him.

You cum first, a long, shaking moan pulled from your chest as you cry out his name, clenching tight around him. He follows moments later, spilling inside you with a low, wrecked groan, his arms curling around your back, body trembling under yours.

After, you stay there. Straddling his hips, your forehead resting on his collarbone, the rise and fall of his chest calming your racing heart. Jay’s fingers trace slow circles on your back.

You whisper, “You’re still in love with me.”

He kisses the side of your head. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

You lift your head just enough to meet his eyes. “It’s not,” you say quietly. “Not at all.”

Jay’s still shirtless, towel slung lazily around his neck, when you start pulling things from the back of your half-empty fridge.

“Let me guess,” he says, padding into the kitchen, voice still hoarse from sleep. “Breakfast for dinner?”

You shoot him a look over your shoulder. “Only because I forgot to buy real groceries when I moved back.”

He chuckles, stepping up behind you and slipping his arms around your waist. “I missed this.”

“This?”

His lips brush your neck. “You in the kitchen, pretending not to need some help when you cook.”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t pull away. Instead, you lean back into him. He doesn’t ask for more. Doesn’t press you to define what this is. He just stays. And that alone makes your throat tighten.

You nudge his shoulder. “Want to go to the store with me?”

Jay raises a brow. “You’re voluntarily going out in public before 6 p.m.? Who are you and what have you done with the woman who used to hide from group projects?”

You snort. “I’m evolving.”

“Like a moody Pokémon?”

“Exactly.”

He smiles—wide, open, beautiful. “Lead the way, Eevee.”

You walk side by side through the store, your basket slowly filling with vegetables, rice, meat—enough for a real dinner.

Jay’s carrying the basket, casually commenting on random things: why cucumbers always look vaguely smug, how he once ate an entire packet of raw ramen in college, how the pasta aisle always smells faintly like cardboard.

You don’t say much. But you listen. And somewhere between the fresh garlic and the sesame oil, you quietly step away, down a different aisle. When you return, you silently slip something small into the basket.

Jay doesn’t say anything at first. Just glances down. It’s a toothbrush. A soft blue one. Still in the packaging. Still sitting on top of the bell peppers like it belongs there. He freezes for a moment, blinking. Then slowly lifts his gaze to meet yours.

You don’t look away. “Thought it’d be weird if you kept using mine.”

His lips part, a little breath caught in his throat. “…yeah?”

You nod. No speech. No monologue. Just you, letting him in. Bit by bit.

He smiles—gentle, reverent. Like you just gave him something sacred. “Alright,” he murmurs, voice warm and a little hoarse. “I’ll keep it next to yours.”

Back at your apartment you cook together. He chops the onions because you hate the way they sting your eyes. You stir the sauce because he always overdoes it. It’s quiet and chaotic in the way that feels easy.

He brushes past you at one point, hand on your lower back as he reaches for the salt. You turn around too quickly and bump into his chest. You both laugh. And then you kiss him. Because you can. Because he’s still here.

Because you put a toothbrush in the basket and didn’t need to explain it.

[supernovafics]

series masterlist | last part — next part

pairing: modern!college!steve harrington x fem!reader, bestfriend!eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 5.4k words

warnings: explicit language, a bit of violence (kinda?) (only mentioned and barely even described), some angst

summary: you don’t know why you avoid telling everyone that you and steve are “broken up,”  but you do. and you don’t realize how much of a bad idea that is until way too late

CHAPTER FIFTEEN | ❝𝒍𝒆𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒖𝒕❞

Fall Semester 2016

“Who’s the guy again?” 

“I met him at the library. He asked to borrow my laptop charger and then when he was handing it back he asked for my number, and he texted asking to hang out,” You quickly explained as you slipped on your jacket and then turned to look at Eddie, who was sitting at your desk.

You weren’t particularly excited about the date, but you were excited to do something that you hadn’t done in a long time, and the smallest part of you could admit that you were doing this to try and be completely over Eddie. Your feelings being pushed and buried away were one thing, but if you were actually able to date someone else that had to mean that there definitely wasn’t anything else there. At least, that was what your mind told you, and it sounded somewhat logical.  

“If it sucks and you wanna get out of it, just call me,” Eddie told you.

“Robin already has that job,” You said. “We have a code word and everything.” 

He laughed a little. “What’s the code word?” 

“Dolphin.”

“That’s very random.” 

“Yes, and that makes it a more believable code word.” 

“Okay, makes sense,” He nodded. “Anyway, if she somehow ends up not answering, I will.” 

You doubted that would happen— you hadn’t known Robin for that long, but you already knew that she was very reliable. Still, though, you nodded at Eddie’s words because you liked how much he cared. It didn’t necessarily surprise you, but it still warmed your heart all the same. “Okay.” 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

Spring Semester 2018

It was the book that was making you cry right then. Nothing else. 

And maybe that wasn’t entirely true, but it felt like the easiest explanation. 

You reread the last page a few more times before finally closing the book and setting it on your desk. It was the same book that you’d been reading in Mexico with Steve a few days ago. 

He was right about the ending— the son died, and it happened right after he and the dad finally got in a good place. Of course, he’d been right.

A part of you wanted to text him and tell him that, but you didn’t. Instead, you kept silently crying— trying to remember the last time a book made you this emotional, but deep down knowing that it really wasn’t just the book. 

You didn’t get the chance to force yourself to face the exact reasoning behind your tears before there was a knock on your slightly cracked open door and Robin was walking in a second later. 

“Hey, I have two things I need to tell you. One is a question from Talia, who is too lazy to get out of bed right now, and the other is very fun news,” She stopped when she noticed you crying. “Woah, shit, you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry, I’m fine. I just finished reading this book and the ending was pretty sad,” You answered, haphazardly pushing your tears away with the sleeves of the sweater you were wearing. “What’s up, though?”

“Is Steve coming to game night on Monday? Talia wants to decide on teams now because she doesn’t want to get stuck with Eddie again.”

“Oh, um, me and him broke up…” The words felt so weird coming from your lips and you suddenly wondered if it had been stupid to not tell her and everyone else sooner. Instead, over the last few days, you simply didn’t talk about him because the timing never felt right enough to say what you should’ve said.

“Wait, what?” The confused look on Robin's face was easy to read. “Is that why you’re actually crying right now?”

You quickly shook your head. “No, no, it was just about the book. The Steve thing doesn’t even matter to me.”

“So, what happened? And when? Was it the trip? Did he hurt you? Do I need to kill him?”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little at how fast she was talking as she sat down at the foot of your bed. You turned to face her. “No, you don’t need to kill him, and yes, it happened right when we got back. We just realized that we want different things.” You shrugged halfheartedly. “Sorry, it took me so long to tell you; I know it’s only been a few days, but still. I just didn’t really wanna think about it, I guess.”

“It’s fine, that makes sense,” She assured you. “I know you and him weren’t dating for long but you two were really cute together.”

Hearing her say that, pulled at something in you for a second, but then you remembered that that just meant that you and Steve had been really good actors, pretenders, liars.

“Oh, what was the other thing you wanted to tell me?” You asked, shifting the subject. “You said fun news?”

Robin nodded. “Oh, yeah, I just found out about this party tonight at this girl’s lake house that’s an hour away. You wanna come?”

“I’m not really in a party mood,” You answered after the briefest moment of hesitation. It probably would’ve been good to get out of the apartment and actually do something that didn’t involve lounging on the couch in the living room, like you’d been doing since you got back from Mexico, but you couldn’t imagine leaving the confines of your room right then. “Sorry.”

“No, that’s understandable,” Robin told you. “I know you said that you’re fine about the breakup, but is there anything you want right now? We can watch a shitty movie, and Vickie will probably be okay with you having the last of her mint chocolate chip ice cream.”

You shook your head at her suggestions. “No, I’m okay, honestly. But, thanks, though.”

She smiled at you. “Of course, no problem. What are friends for if not someone to do cliche breakup stuff with? We could also burn any pictures you have of Steve, or throw eggs at his car, or key it?”

You laughed at that. “Great ideas, but hard no to all of them.”

“Okay, well, once you get to the anger stage of your grief, I’ll happily revisit any of those ideas with you.”

“There are no stages and there is no grief,” You told her as she got up from your bed. “I’m completely okay.”

“You’re voluntarily staying in on a Saturday night. I don’t know if I would call that “completely okay.””

“This is very normal behavior for me.”

She considered your words for a second. “Okay, yeah, maybe that’s true.” 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

It was the first time that the silence within the apartment felt okay. It actually wasn’t completely silent, you were watching a movie on the couch, but you were alone and felt entirely fine with that. 

You could feel yourself slowly falling asleep— head against one of the throw pillows and blanket pulled over you and it didn’t even really matter to you that it wasn’t even eleven o’clock yet— when there was a knock on the door. 

Weirdly enough, your immediate thought was that it was Steve, mainly because you knew that everyone else who could’ve been at the door right then was at a party an hour away.  

Instead, though, when you opened the door with your blanket still wrapped around you, it was Eddie standing there.

“Hey, I assumed you went with everyone to that lake house thing,” You said, pushing the door open further to let him in. 

“Robin mentioned it to me, but I had already planned on meeting up with a couple people from one of my classes at some bar,” He responded and you nodded as you closed the door behind him. 

You looked at him for a second. There was something weird about his demeanor right then. It seemed like something was wrong, and that quickly worried you because you couldn’t easily tell what that something was.

“Is everything okay?”

He shook his head, and for a few moments that was the only response you got, but then he was saying, “Not really.” 

“You’re being so–” You stopped mid-sentence when you finally noticed his right hand, how red and bruised it was. “Oh, shit, what the hell happened to your hand?”

“It looks worse than it feels,” He said, giving you a small smile. “Okay, actually, it feels pretty bad too.”

You dropped your blanket on the couch and then went over to the kitchen, grabbing one of the few small hand towels that sat next to the stove and then pulling some ice out of the freezer. 

“Come here,” You told him as you put the ice in the towel and made some sort of makeshift ice pack. Eddie joined you in the kitchen and you grabbed his bruised hand, softly placing the towel on top of it. You looked up at him. “What happened?”

He was quiet for way too long; things became almost unbearably quiet. You lightly nudged him with your foot. “Eddie.” 

He broke your gaze, looking down instead. “Fuck, it really sucks that I have to tell you this. I’m sorry.”

Hearing him say that only confused you further. “Tell me what?”

“I also saw Steve at the bar I was at…” Eddie started and then trailed off for a second. The look on his face made it seem as if the next thing he was about to say to you was going to be the most devastating thing ever. “And he was making out with some girl.”

“Oh,” Was all you said at first because you didn’t really understand why Eddie was telling you that right then and why he made it sound like the biggest deal in the world. And then, after the briefest of seconds, you were quickly realizing. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie told you, thinking that your “oh” was a sad one. “I wish I did a lot more than just punch him, but the security at that place is actually good so they immediately threw me out.”

Given what you two were currently doing in your kitchen, you should’ve expected Eddie to say that, but it still surprised you so much that you could feel your eyes widen. “What? You punched him?”

“Of course I did,” Eddie said, like it had been an obvious choice. “I saw him cheating on you.”

You dropped your hands from his and immediately covered your face. “Oh my god. I can’t believe you did that.”

“Please don’t try to defend him right now. I know you really like him, probably even love him, but what he did is so fucked up.”

You were shaking your head and kept your hands covering your face as you said, “He didn’t cheat on me.” 

“I’m sorry,” You heard Eddie say. “But, I promise you I know what I saw. I wouldn’t be telling you this if I wasn’t a thousand percent sure. I also wouldn’t have punched him if I wasn’t sure.”

You could’ve simply told him that you and Steve were broken up just like you told Robin earlier, but you suddenly felt tired of lying, and for once, telling the truth genuinely felt easier. 

You dropped your hands from your face and looked at Eddie. “He didn’t cheat on me because we're not together. We were never really together.” 

It surprisingly felt like so much of a relief to say it out loud, to finally be honest, so you kept going. “It was all fake; the entire relationship. And I’m so sorry for lying to you and to everyone. This entire thing ended up being so stupid and the worst idea ever. But, I don’t know, at first I thought it could be kinda good. And Steve thought so too; he was the one to suggest it actually, and he also had his own reasons for wanting to do this fake dating thing. I figured this could be the best way to do something about my feelings for you without outwardly admitting how I felt and potentially fucking up our friendship in the process, and I wouldn’t have to live in the unknown anymore like I’ve been since freshman year. And just for a second it seemed like it actually was working, and maybe you did feel something back. But then we had that conversation on your fire escape and I knew then that you’d never see me as anything more than as your best friend. It kinda hurt finally realizing that, but eventually it felt okay, though.” 

You let out a breath and inwardly felt as if the biggest weight had just been lifted off of your shoulders.

“You liked me?” That wasn’t exactly what you expected to hear Eddie say in response to your word vomit, but it made sense; it was the big “why” behind everything you did for the last month.  

“Yeah, sorry, I guess I kinda glossed over that part in my super long-winded explanation,” You said, a sudden shyness hit you and you looked away from him. “I did. I was stupidly in love for a really long time. I finally got over it after we had that conversation, though. But, I still had to fulfill my side of the deal I had with Steve, so I did that in Mexico and when we came back, that was it. Life was back to normal. But I was a fucking idiot and didn’t tell you that me and him were “broken up,” so here we are now.”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie said, a soft look on his face. “I’m sorry I didn’t know how you felt. I’m sorry I couldn’t see it.”

“No, please don’t be sorry. This is all on me. I did all of this complicated shit instead of simply talking to you about everything,” You said, leaning back against the counter. “Because you were so right that day, we are just meant to be best friends. That's the way that we’re supposed to be in each other’s lives. I get that now.”  

He got quiet again, probably still processing everything that you had just told him, which you had to admit was a lot. 

“Are we okay?” You asked when the silence started becoming too much to bear. “Did this fuck everything up like I thought it would?” 

Eddie shook his head at your questions. “Of course not. You could never fuck things up between us, and I feel really bad that you ever thought that you could, and I also wish that I had felt the same way about you… I do love you. It’s just…”

The smallest part of you expected to feel hurt finally hearing the rejection, but surprisingly you didn’t. “Just not in that way. I know. It’s okay. Please don’t feel bad. I know that we shouldn’t be together. I’ve accepted that,” You told him. “And I really wanna say that we should just forget this entire conversation ever happened because it would make things a lot easier and I’d also feel a lot less embarrassed if we did, but I don’t think we should do that. This may sound weird, but it actually feels kind of good having the truth out in the open.”

“Okay,” He said with a nod.

You looked back down at his hand and the towel covering it. 

“How’s it feeling?” You asked, slightly shifting the subject. 

“Better, kinda. The ice feels good,” He answered and then let out something that sounded like a breath of a laugh and a scoff in disbelief as he shook his head. “Jesus Christ, I can’t believe I punched him.”

“Me neither. But thank you for defending my honor, I guess?”

He smiled at you; a genuine smile that let you know that things were actually okay between you two. “Anytime.” 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

“So, everything with Steve was fake,” Eddie said when you two were settled on the couch, the movie you had put on earlier still playing. His words sounded slightly like a question, but also like he was still just trying to make sense of everything that you had previously told him.

“Yes, and let’s wait at least a month before we start joking about this. I need to let my poor bruised ego heal first,” You responded, dramatically pressing your hands to your heart, a small smile on your face. 

Eddie laughed a bit. “Deal.” 

And you expected that to be that. Everything was out in the open and everything was fine. You still had to tell everyone else the truth, but you knew that would end up being okay too. And once you did tell everyone, everything could all be put in the past and you could finally move on from it. There wouldn’t be anything lingering or festering; no “what ifs” or whatever else. 

“Can I ask something?” Eddie asked, voice getting soft again, and you nodded in response, unsure where he was going to go with his question. “Was it hard keeping how you felt a secret? I’m trying to think about if the roles were reversed, and I don’t think I would’ve been able to keep it from you.” 

“Honestly, sometimes it was hard, but also not really. And I know that’s kind of a contradictory answer, but it’s true,” You answered, somehow finding it so easy to be honest now. “For the most part, my feelings were shoved to the side and I pretended that they weren’t there. Like, when you were dating Chrissy, because I obviously didn’t wanna get between what you two had, and when you two broke up, because I knew that you weren’t ready for anything new. They still lingered deep down, though. And it was always random moments when I would get reminded that they were still there. But, keeping our friendship intact always felt more important than admitting anything because I love our friendship.”

He nodded understandingly. “I love it too.”

“Okay, this is kind of random, but do you remember that frat party we went to freshman year right before winter break?” You asked, and before he could say anything in response, you continued, forcing yourself to say what you had never said out loud before. “We were both stupidly drunk, and at one point— I think it was right before we were about to leave— you got, like, pushed into me by some random person, and we were standing really close, and then we, uh, kissed.”

The surprised look on his face was entirely expected. “I vaguely remember the party. But, I don’t remember the kiss, though. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. When we talked about the party the day after, you basically said that it was all kind of a blur to you, so that’s what I figured. I wasn't entirely sure if you didn’t remember it, so a part of me had wanted to ask back then, but in that moment I thought it was just easier to let it go.” 

It was almost startling how honest you were being with him right then— saying things that you didn’t think you’d ever admit out loud— and how perfectly okay it all felt. And weirdly enough, this also felt like the most honest you’d ever been with yourself too. 

“Thinking about it now,” You continued. “That probably should’ve been the moment that I let myself get over you. Because I could’ve told you about the kiss right then and there, but I didn’t want whatever your response would be— whether it be a rejection or whatever else— to change anything between us. And it was the same thing when we came back from break, and I was so close to admitting everything to you, but you told me that you and Chrissy were together first. I probably should’ve still told you then. And maybe I never did because deep down I always knew that nothing should change between us. I don’t know… A part of me is still trying to make it all make sense. But then, at the same time, I've been trying to avoid it all and not think about it.” You sighed. “The last couple of weeks have been pretty weird and confusing.”

“Maybe it’s not supposed to easily make sense, or make sense at all. And I know that’s probably a shit response, but…” Eddie trailed off and then shrugged after a moment. 

“No, I get what you mean,” You said, nodding at his words, and then you thought about something. “Honestly, the only thing that has ever really made sense with us is this. Watching movies together, listening to music, talking about unserious things, and also talking about the most serious things ever; stuff I never thought to tell anyone else.” You smiled at him. “Oh, and getting stuck in elevators together too.” 

He smiled back at you before saying, “The elevator thing sadly only happened once.” 

“We can try to recreate it one day.”

“Great idea,” Eddie responded with a nod. “The elevator in that building is still probably shitty.” 

“So true. And if not, we can just start jumping in it and that’ll probably do the job.”

“Or it will kill us.”   

You couldn’t help but laugh at that and Eddie laughed too and then winced as he readjusted the towel on his hand. 

That was what made you finally think about Steve. Was he even okay? 

And then you immediately felt like shit for not considering that question sooner. 

You abruptly got up from the couch and headed into your room before Eddie could question you. You grabbed the Advil bottle from your bathroom and then tossed it over to him when you walked back out into the living room. 

“For the pain. Take two of these and try to go to sleep. You can even take my bed if you wanna,” You told him and then headed to the fridge to grab a bag of frozen vegetables from the freezer. “I'm gonna go check on Steve. And yes, I’m stealing your van.”

Eddie pulled his keys out of his jacket pocket and handed them over to you. There was an amused look on his face. “When’s the last time you drove?”

“Don’t question my driving skills right now, Munson,” You said as you slipped the keys into the pocket of the sweatpants you were wearing and then grabbed the first zip-up hoodie you saw hanging on one of the hooks by the door. “Goodnight.” 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

It wasn’t until you were standing outside the door of Steve’s apartment that you realized that maybe he wasn’t even here. He’d been on a date, or at least, with someone when Eddie saw him, so there was a chance that he was still with her. 

Still, though, you knocked. And, surprisingly enough, he answered.

His face— more specifically, his left eye— looked bad; very bruised, and already settled into the dark red and purplish color that it would probably be for the next few days. 

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry,” You said, immediately handing over the frozen peas you had in your hand; they obviously weren’t as cold as they were before the twenty-minute drive to get here, but they still felt good enough. “All of this is my fault. It completely slipped my mind to tell Eddie that we “broke up.” I didn’t tell anyone, actually, except for Robin, but that was just today. I’m really sorry. The last few days have been weird.”

Steve gave you a small smile that felt entirely undeserved and he pushed the door open further so that you could walk into his apartment. “It’s okay.” 

You shook your head. “It’s really not. You have a black eye because of me being an idiot.”

“This would be the part where I’d say that you should see the other guy to prove that this isn’t as bad as it looks, but you’ve already seen him, so that doesn’t really work in this situation,” Steve told you jokingly and you shook your head, giving him a small smile back. You still felt like shit, but at least he didn’t seem to hate you for causing all of this. “How did you get here?” 

“I drove Eddie’s van. He came to my place after it happened,” You said and Steve nodded understandingly. “You’re right, though. His hand looks worse than your eye.” You weren’t entirely sure if that was even true— in all honesty, their injuries probably looked about the same on the bad scale— but it felt like the right thing to say at this moment. “I told him everything, by the way. About our whole relationship being fake and me doing it because I had feelings for him.”

Steve looked as if he didn’t expect to hear you say that. “How did that go?”

“Surprisingly good,” You answered honestly. He gave you an almost congratulatory-looking smile in response and you quickly shook your head. “No, not good in that way. He doesn’t feel that way about me. And I knew that. There was this conversation that I had with him before all of this that kind of solidified that for me. It wasn’t some huge moment where he outwardly said that he didn’t like me, but it gave me the push I needed to finally accept that me and him are only meant to be friends. I don’t even feel any other way about him now.” You let out a sigh before letting out a different part of the truth. “I kinda lied to you in Mexico and the days leading up to it. I knew the truth about everything then, but I felt too embarrassed to tell you and I also just really didn’t want to think about it.”

“Shit, I’m sorry this didn’t work for you,” He sounded so genuine about it and gave you a sad look that reminded you of exactly what you didn’t want to happen. 

You shook your head. “Don’t do that. Please don’t feel sorry for me.” 

“I was the one that kept telling you from the beginning that this was gonna work so now I feel kinda bad that it didn’t.” 

“Okay, yeah, that’s true but it doesn’t matter now,” You told him. “And just because this didn’t work for me doesn’t mean that I regret it— I honestly don’t regret it. It was dumb and a waste of time for me, but still, I don’t really regret it. Also, you got what you wanted out of this, right?”

Steve nodded after a second. “Yeah, I actually talked to my mom yesterday and she asked about you and I told her that we broke up.”

“Did you make me a cheater?” 

“Yeah, and I think she actually feels bad. But, we’ll see in a week or two if she brings up the Hamptons,” He answered. “I kind of doubt that she will, though. I tried to seem really upset about everything.” 

“I wish I could’ve been there for that phone call. I would’ve loved to see your acting skills.”

He smiled at your joking words. “They were fantastic.”

“Good,” You responded. “So, no finding your future wife this summer?” 

“Hopefully not.”  

“Congratulations,” You told him. “And you’re welcome for me being the greatest girlfriend during the Mexico trip.”

“I don’t know if I should thank you since I do have a black eye now because of you.”

You could tell he was joking, but you still decided to play into it. “Wow, so, you are mad at me for that!”

He playfully rolled his eyes at you. “I was kidding.”

“It’s okay to be mad at me. It would be deserved, honestly. And I’d completely understand if you hate me now. You should hate me.”

He gave you a serious look, but there was still the smallest smile on his face. “Stop.” 

You held up your hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. I did just give you a bag of sort of frozen peas to help with your eye, so I feel like you can’t be that mad at me, anyway.” 

“And I will cherish this bag of peas for the rest of my life,” He told you as he placed them over his bruised eye and you could only laugh at that. 

A comfortable silence lingered for a second, and it was what let you know that this should probably be it. It had barely been ten minutes, but you’d done everything that you felt as if you needed to do— you checked on him, made sure he was okay, and told him the truth— there was nothing else to do. 

But, instead of saying something equivalent to the simple “Goodbye” that should’ve left your lips right then, you said, “Can I stay for a bit?” 

“Yeah, sure,” Steve answered with a nod.

“You got throw pillows,” You pointed out as you sat on his couch. You grabbed one of the two gray pillows and placed it in your lap. 

“Yeah, somebody once told me that my couch looked sad and lonely,” He said and that made you smile.

“Still no curtains, though,” You responded, gesturing to the windows.

“One day I’ll get around to it.”

You gave him a quick nod. “Got it.” 

Steve put on a show that you both had seen before and things were quiet for a bit as you rewatched the familiar episode. 

“Oh, you were sadly right, by the way,” You abruptly said, turning to look at him. “I finished the book and the son did die.”

“Oh, yeah, I know. When we got back I wanted to find out what happened, so I finished reading it.”

Hearing that surprised you, and it also made you inwardly smile. “Really?”

“Mhm,” Steve nodded and then gave you a certain look. “You cried at the end, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did. I really didn’t think that he would die,” You answered. “And shut up, don’t judge me about it.” 

“I promise I wasn’t gonna.”

“I don’t know if I believe you.” 

“Scouts honor.”

“And now I’m supposed to believe you were a boy scout?” You joked. “You don’t seem outdoorsy enough for that.”

“Ouch, I feel offended.”

You laughed as you turned your attention back to the TV. You noticed that the show playing was the same one that you and him had been watching before the power outage; a night that felt like forever ago. 

This moment felt like the exact opposite of that one. You remembered how weird things initially felt then between you two, or maybe that awkwardness had been entirely in your head. Either way, the main thing that was different here was that in that previous moment, you’d been stuck with him because of the storm and power outage, and in this moment, you weren’t stuck.  

It was then that you were hit with the thought of, What the hell were you doing here right now?

You two weren’t even really friends, you remembered. You reminded yourself of what Steve said that night a few days ago and what you two both agreed on from the beginning— going your separate ways once all of this was done and over. 

Everything that had happened this past month was fake. And even though you’d been able to recognize that, you had still let a part of you miss it; let yourself miss something that you knew you’d never be able to get back. For the past few days, you thought it was okay to let the smallest part of you feel that way— miss the faking and the pretending and the brief friendship that developed because of all of that. But maybe it wasn’t okay. Maybe it was only making things worse and more complicated. 

“Actually, I should go,” You abruptly stood up from the couch, placing the pillow back in the spot you picked it up from. You turned to look at Steve and forced a small smile that you hoped didn’t look that way. “This isn’t following the ‘going our separate ways’  rule.” 

He gave you a confused look for a second, and then he was nodding in agreement. “Yeah, you’re right.” 

“I know I was kinda joking about it before, but I really am sorry about all of this,” You said as you walked over to his door, turning to look at him before pulling it open. 

He shook his head. “Don’t be.” 

You decided against saying anything else right then and instead smiled at him one final time before forcing yourself to leave.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

next part!

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[bless-my-demons]

Redamancy: Chapter Fourteen

Series Summary: What happens when your soulmate is a vampire that struggles to maintain a diet of trying not to kill you? Common sense says run for the hills, nothing is worth your life - but my heart is whispering why not, what’s there to lose?

Warnings: None… but the angst train has left the station

Notes: If you’re one of the sweet angels that left a comment on the taglist form, it makes my heart so happy - thank you! Please forgive me for the end of this chapter

Word Count: 1860

Series Masterlist

Reader

My entire summer was spent with the Cullens. Surprisingly enough, my mother didn’t protest it one bit, something about finally making friends. I was mostly monopolized by Jasper, but Alice had her fair share of stealing me away for girl’s nights with Esme and Rosalie.

Rosalie, talk about a tough nut to crack. I think at this point I’ve finally crested the mountain of hatred she feels towards her brothers’ “mortal liabilities” and I’m solidly in tolerable territory. She doesn’t outwardly mention her distaste anymore or avoid me like the plague, which I consider a definite win. I think Emmett is partially what wore her down besides Jasper’s lack of give a damn towards his sister’s opinions.

Befriending Alice has been as easy as breathing, she’s always there and might as well have Edward’s supernatural power of mind reading. I can tell her life has been lonely in the way she attaches herself to Bella and I, Rose isn’t the most social female and Esme is more of a mother figure than best friend. I’m grateful for her nonetheless, I’m not exactly flooded with friends myself - nor is whatever this thing is with Jasper an appropriate topic of conversation for anyone outside of this immediate circle.

Emmett has managed to become the older brother I wish I had and he takes that role incredibly serious for someone that’s always the comedic relief. Over the course of the last couple of months, I’ve figured out that he’s a big hugger, and a very good one at that. I’ve also noticed that he’s become my rock in a way - never backing down from a challenge, always hyping me up, and never passing judgement.

I still haven’t cracked the code for Edward. He’s quiet and shut off from the rest, not one for casual conversation or wasting time. And when he isn’t with Bella - well that’s wasting time in the worst way. Majority of our interactions are spent in comfortable silence, Jasper tells me it’s because I’m like a magnet in the way that my energy is calmer than most.

I like to think Jasper and I don’t make his family quite as nauseous as Edward and Bella do, but I know we have our moments… like his sisters insisting we sit apart for movie night because he most definitely cannot keep his hands to himself. The smug grin he had on his face along with his hands raised in surrender as his sisters berated him still makes me blush, damn him and his stupidly attractive smirk.

All summer long I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to realize that I’m human and he’s immortal, that I’m nothing in the grand scheme that is his life. It’s partially my fault for chickening out every time the topic of us rolls around, but my anxiety tends to get the better of me. God he is a patient man though, never pushing me and always in-tune to my feelings.

I’m absolutely head over heels for him but I can’t quite force those three little words of I love you past my lips. The confession simultaneously on the tip of my tongue and clogging up my throat.

Although he would disagree heavily, Jasper Hale is not a hard man to fall in love with. He struggles with his control from time to time, but when it comes to me - I can tell he’s different. He’s quiet in a way that’s patient and at-ease, instead of the closed-off way he was initially. His smile is softer around the edges, less forced than when he was trying for the sake of his adopted mother. His touch is instinct now, no longer robotic or unsure, but softer. He’s quicker to laugh, quicker to whisper sweet-nothings in my ear that make my cheeks hurt from smiling, quicker to reach for my hand when he needs an anchor.

I’ve never been more grateful for a split second of clumsiness on my first day at a new school.

• September 13th, 2005 • Forks HS •

Jasper

“A birthday party at your house?” Y/n asks, walking beside me before first period.

“Yes darlin’, I’m afraid my sister requires your attendance.” I continue to lead Y/n down the emptying hallway with a gentle hand on her back.

“I suppose I can spare you her wrath, but only if you pick me up tonight.” She glances up at me with a mischievous smile.

“Speak of the devil…” I mutter quietly while taking a deep breath, bracing myself for the quick footsteps approaching.

“I heard that!” Alice smacks the arm not around my girl. “I need your help.”

“Help with what?” Y/n asks quietly with a wrinkle in her beautiful brow, but I shake my head already knowing what my sister needs.

As Y/n and I stop at the bottom of the stairs, Edward and Isabella approach our small group as Alice vaults over the stair railing and skips forward in excitement, a neatly wrapped gift in her hands.

“Bella! Happy-”

“Shhh!” Bella stops her, the panic and embarrassment flooding from her almost drawing a laugh from me.

“-Birthday.” She finishes, quieter this time.

Bella flashes an exasperated look over Alice’s shoulder and I respond with a calming nod.

“Alice, didn’t I say no gifts?”

“You did, I didn’t.” My sister smarts back. “I’ve already seen you open it and guess what? You love it!”

Bella scoffs exasperated, but Alice interrupts her before she can object.

“You’re going to wear it tonight, our place.” At Bella’s hesitation she adds, “C’mon, please? It’ll be fun!”

Taking my que, I pull away her hesitation and replace it with a touch of acquiescence, gently in an effort to be inconspicuous.

“Okay, alright.” Powerless to my emotional regulation.

I notice a smile quirk the corner of Edward’s mouth, my brother exuding amusement - humored by our efforts to persuade his girlfriend.

A squeal of happiness leaks from my sister, “Great! I’ll see you at seven!” Spinning in our direction to make a quick getaway, we’re stopped by Bella.

“Jasper! No fair with the mood control thing.”

“Sorry Bella, Happy-“ but I let the sentiment die on my tongue at her exasperated look. “Never mind.”

Pushing my girl and gripping Alice by the elbow, I usher them away and towards class. I may be immortal, but a smart man knows when to let the women in his life win.

• September 13th, 2005 • Cullen Residence •

Reader

Waiting upstairs per Alice’s request to keep Bella company while she finished the final touches on decorations, roping my… Jasper into helping. Wondering over to where Edward and Bella are discussing a painting, I squint at who it contains.

“Is that, Carlisle?” Bella points out.

“Yeah, he lived with them for a few decades. He described them as refined, no respect for humans of course, but respect for the arts and the sciences at least.” He pauses, glancing between us before returning his eyes to the painting. “And the law, above all, the law.”

A shiver runs down my spine at the eerie way he explains the ancient vampires.

“Vampires have laws?” Bella’s tone takes on a rhetorical tone, but Edward answers nonetheless.

“Not very many. And only one that’s regularly enforced.”

“What is it?” The question comes from both of us this time.

“That we keep the existence of our kind a secret. We don’t make spectacles of ourselves. And we don’t kill conspicuously.” A sliver of panic runs through me as Jasper’s past flashes through my mind. “Unless of course you want to die.”

“You gotta stop talking about that. I can’t even think of someone hurting you.” Bella quietly and assertively tells him.

“Bella, the only thing that can hurt me is you.” As Edward turns to her, I gravitate towards the door to give them privacy. “I don’t have anything else to be afraid of.”

“That’s not true.”

“Victoria,” My mind immediately flashes back to the ballet studio, “She’ll come for me one day, Alice will see when she decides and we’ll be ready.”

Why had I not thought of that? Of course she’d come for us, the Cullens killed James because of us.

“I can protect you, if you change me.”

I try to contain my gasp, trying not to be obvious that I overheard her request. Her request to be changed.

“It’s time! It’s time, it's time, it's time!” Alice bounds into the room and I slip down the stairs before she can tug Bella away from Edward.

Jasper with eyebrows furrowed smooths a hand across my jaw to cradle my head as I step into his arms, sensing my clashing emotions. Alice interrupts him before he could ask why by bounding down the stairs and joining us.

I spin around to lean my back against Jasper as Edward leads Bella down to the living room, Carlisle and Esme are the first to greet them.

“Sorry about all this, we tried to reign Alice in.” Carlisle jokingly apologizes.

“Like that’s even possible.” Bringing Bella in for a hug with a sweet smile, “Happy birthday, Bella.”

Jasper’s hands find my hips and squeeze, I can tell he won’t let earlier go so easily, he cares too much for that.

Alice blindsides Bella with a flash of a camera, “Found it in your bag, mind?” She asks after snapping a picture of her and Edward together.

Emmett slides past us with a mischievous glint in his expression, causing Jasper to groan as his brother slides up next to Edward.

Nudging him, “Dating an older woman, hot.” Emmett teases.

Edward elbows him right back sharply to shut him up and I wince at the force.

“What?” He tries to play it off with innocence, but we all know he’s rather full of shit and I crack a smile at his antics.

Rosalie chooses then to rip the bandaid off and give Bella the first present of the evening, a small silver package. “A necklace. Alice picked it out.” Short and to the point, she steps away to rejoin Emmett causing Bella to smile.

Meeting our eyes across the room, she waves a greeting to Jasper that he returns silently.

Alice grabs a medium-sized present with a bow, “This one’s from Emmett.”

Bella shakes the suspiciously empty box and I try to cover my laugh at the look of confusion on her face.

“Already installed it in your truck.” He’s vibrating like an excited puppy, “Finally a decent sound system for that piece of crap-”

“Hey, don’t hate the truck.”

“Open Esme and Carlisle’s!” Alice thrusts the envelope into her hands.

“Just something to brighten your day.” Carlisle tells her as Esme steps forward.

“You’ve been looking kind of pale lately.” Esme hints with a smile.

Struggling to open the envelope, she finally tears through the paper.

But it isn’t the only thing that tears.

The droplet of blood that drips down her finger halts the breath in my lungs and the world feels as though it’s standing still. That is, until a thin arm wraps around my waist and my vision blurs.

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@zudooms

@itsmytimetoodream

[purplemountain]

Trauma Code: A Hero in Love

genre: workplace romance, comedy, mutual pinning, slow-burn, banter, suggestive

1.1 Early Symptoms of Trouble

Dr. Baek Kanghyuk wasn’t the type to get flustered. He had seen too much—disaster zones, war-torn areas, people on the brink of death. He was composed in chaos, unshaken in the face of catastrophe.

But apparently, he was not immune to Dr. Song Hye Joo.

He already knew who she was the moment she stepped into the trauma center. His old med school rival—sharp, passionate, relentless. It hadn’t even been that long since he saw her again, crouched on top of a patient’s stretcher, trying desperately to keep them conscious. That image stuck with him, etched in the same part of his brain that used to compete with her over test scores and case presentations.

He’d heard the rumors too—how she left her previous hospital because she refused to play politics, how she couldn’t stay in a system that valued power and money over saving lives. It didn’t surprise him. That fire in her had always burned bright. If anything, it had only grown fiercer.

And now, working beside her again, it wasn’t just the history that stirred something in him. There was no hesitation in her actions, no uncertainty in her voice. It was the way she moved, the way she commanded a room without raising her voice. The way she focused, with a quiet intensity that Kanghyuk found himself watching more often than he’d like to admit.

At first, he told himself it was professional curiosity. She was new to the team, after all. He had to evaluate her skills—make sure she could handle the pressure of trauma work, where every second counted.

That excuse held up.

For about three days.

Then it started to crack. Every time he caught himself watching her, every time their banter left a strange warmth in his chest, every time he found himself wondering what she was like now.

It wasn’t just curiosity anymore.

And that realization unnerved him far more than any battlefield ever had.

Which was why, on a Tuesday afternoon in the trauma center, Dr. Baek Kanghyuk found himself more distracted than usual.

“Careful, Dr. Song,” he said as he glanced over from the trauma board, catching her scribbling notes with her pen half-capped. “You’re going to stain your lab coat with ink again. That’s the third one this week.”

Hyejoo didn’t even look up. “You keeping track of my lab coats now, Dr. Baek? That’s oddly domestic of you.”

He scoffed. “Just observant. Unlike some people who are too busy scribbling like a med student cramming before finals.”

She finally turned to him with a playful smile and a glint in her eyes. “Aw, are you reminiscing about our old study nights? Don’t tell me you’re still thinking about the way you kept sneaking glances at me over your notes—trying so hard to pretend you weren’t impressed.”

Kanghyuk raised a brow, lips parting for a rebuttal. “Now hold on—”

But for once, nothing came out. His brain stalled. The mental comeback he was crafting simply… vanished, replaced by the memory of her across a library table, head tilted, the edge of her mouth curled in exactly that same way.

He blinked.

The silence lasted a beat too long.

Jaewon let out a wheeze from behind them. “Did… Did Dr. Baek just short-circuit?”

Jangmi was already clutching her chest, barely containing her laughter. “Looks like we finally have someone who can handle Dr. Baek.”

Kanghyuk exhaled slowly, shooting them both a flat look. “Don’t you two have charts to update?”

They laughed harder.

Hyejoo turned away, smug and unbothered, brushing past Kanghyuk with a chuckle. “I’ll be in trauma bay two if you want to keep score, Doctor.”

He watched her go, still trying to formulate a response. Something sharp. Something clever. Anything.

But nothing came.

Jaewon clapped him on the back. “You’ve finally met your match huh?”

“I’ve been waiting for this my whole life.” Jangmi said with a wide grin on her face.

Kanghyuk groaned, rubbing his temples. “You two talk too much.”

And yet… the corner of his mouth tugged upward.

Because maybe—just maybe—he didn’t mind losing this round.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Trauma Code: A Hero in Love - Chapter List

[ssinnerplazahotel]

╭──────────.★..─╮

*Chapter Eleven*

╰─..★.──────────╯

WC: 6k

Warning: 18+, age gap, smut, fluff, toxic elvis, manipulation, drug use, it’s the 50s/60s, dubious consent, painful-difficult-devastating-life-changing-extraordinary love

Pairing: elvis x black reader

Disclaimer: full of inaccuracies, inaccurate timeline, inaccurate depictions of Graceland, historically inaccurate themes and items

Masterlist: Prologue, Ch. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

You waited day after day for Joel to come back. You sat in the living room most nights hoping that the door would open and it’d be him.

You didn’t know where he was or if he was okay. You called Bibby to check on him and he told you that he’d called off work for an extended time. Bibby sounded more concerned about how many cars he had on the lot than he did about Joel.

You were worried sick and you had no one to talk to about it. You couldn’t talk to anyone, except maybe…

“Hello?”

“Aunt Dawn?” You felt guilty only calling now—now that you were alone.

She sounded confused when she responded. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” You said as you lit a cigarette on the front burner of the stove. “How are you?”

“I’m alright,” She said. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

“Yes.” You sounded too unconvincing not to cave immediately. “I mean, things could be better.”

“What’s going on?”

“…Did you know that Jerry told Elvis where Joel worked?”

You took a drag from your cigarette as you waited for her response, although her hesitation was enough of one.

“I did,” She said eventually. “Why?”

“No reason,” You said. “I just thought you’d tell me.”

“Should I have told you?” Dawn asked.

“Not necessarily.” You felt like you were communicating in some kind of code. “He showed up there…at Joel’s job.”

“I remember.”

“That was when he invited us to Graceland. Remember?”

“I do.”

You fell silent for a moment. “I saw him one night…without Joel.”

Dawn shifted on the other line. “Did you?”

“I did.” Your voice threatened to crack as you held back tears.

She sighed, disappointed. “Does Joel know?”

“I told him.”

“What’d he say?”

“He left a few days ago. I don’t know where he is.”

“I’m sure he’s fine.”

“I-I know that you~ you’re close and he trusts you and I was just wondering if you could get in touch with him?”

“How?”

“…I don’t know.” You closed your eyes and leaned back against the counter. “I don’t know what to do.”

“There’s nothing I can do.”

“I know.” You outed your cigarette and dried your eyes as best you could. “I’m so worried about him, I’m trying everything.”

“I’m sure he’s alright, wherever he is.”

“You’re right.”

“Give him some time, okay?”

“Okay.”

You tried Joel’s parents, they said a few nasty things about you calling but ultimately told you that they hadn’t heard from him.

It had been an entire week before you saw him again. In retrospect, a week away wasn’t a huge ask. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

You were getting back from visiting Sinclair when you saw his truck in the driveway. He was there, bent over working under the hood.

You pulled in behind him and killed your engine. He didn’t look up from what he was doing until you approached.

He stood up straight, squinting against the sun. “Hey.”

“Hi,” You said. You didn’t know what to say. “Is there something wrong with her?”

“Just needed some brake fluid.” He wiped his hands on a dirty towel.

“Where were you?” You asked.

“Bibby’s.” He shrugged. “You?”

“Sinclair’s.”

He sighed, looking down at his hands. “We should talk.”

You nodded in agreement. “Okay.”

He threw the towel down before dropping the hood of the truck. He gestured towards the porch and you led the way. You sat on the top step, Joel sitting one step down resting his elbows on his knees.

“That starter’s gettin ready to go,” He said, breaking the silence. “I shoulda changed it a while ago, it’s an old thing, so…”

Silence settled over the two of you again.

“I don’t know what I’m sayin,” He muttered, pushing his hair away from his face. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say anything,” You insisted. “I’m listening.”

“I talked to him,” He said after a beat. “Elvis.”

“You did?” You asked, panicked. “What’d he say?”

“He called me at work,” Joel said. “…said Dawn told ‘im to.”

For a moment you imagined how both those conversations must’ve gone, but you were more concerned with what Joel was saying. You wanted to lean forward and inspect his expression more closely. Was he upset that you talked to Dawn?

“He didn’t say much,” He continued. “I didn’t want to hear anything from him, but…he said Dawn was worried about you, s-so I came to make sure you were alright.”

You nodded your head.

“Are you?”

“Yeah, I’m alright.”

The silence that filled the uncomfortable beats between his words made it hard for you to breathe.

You wanted terribly to comfort him in some way but you couldn’t find the nerve as you watched him struggle to keep his emotions at bay. You’d never seen him so upset and it made you sick knowing that you were the reason.

“He said I should try to make things right with you and that it wasn’t your fault, but I don’t know if I can. I-It’s just…I-I guess I thought I knew who you were, who we were…but now it feels like I don’t know anything.” He fidgeted restlessly, trying to articulate his feelings clearly. “There’s this entire part of your life that you never told me about.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Because you still love him?”

“Because I couldn’t tell anyone.”

Joel met your eyes and you fully saw his expression for what it was. “Tell me now.”

You couldn’t bear the pain in his eyes. “I can’t.”

“Why?” He shifted towards you.

“I don’t want to think about that time in my life. When we ran into each other I had been trying to forget everything from before. Because it hurt too much to remember. I loved him and he hurt me.”

“Then why did you go back?”

“Because I felt…” Your pulse soared and your breath caught in your throat. You struggled to breathe but you still forced yourself to say the words. “I-I felt like he took something from me, a-and I thought I could recapture that lost part of myself somehow. But as soon as I was near him, I… I felt seventeen again. I didn’t go there with these intentions. I thought I could show him that I was in control a-and that I was happy and doing well—despite him.”

Joel remained silent as he watched you stumble through your explanation.

“I know I kept it from you but it’s the only thing I’ve ever kept from you. Everything else is real, I’m still me. What happened, it was my fault. But I swear I’ve never been more sorry about anything in my life.”

Joel’s expression remained hard, his eyebrows drawn—conflicted. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

You casted your eyes downward. You failed to combat your tears, batting them away uselessly.

“I don’t know if I can work past this.” He worried his lip as he spoke. He stared off in thought for a moment before a humorless laugh left his lips. “I keep thinking about that day…when I first saw you at Graceland with Dawn.”

That first day instantly replayed in your mind. You had relived the day so many times—hyper-focused on your interactions with Elvis. Your memory wasn’t too clouded by him to remember Joel, freshly eighteen, rushing out of the house to meet Dawn. He shook his head, as if trying to rid himself of the memory.

“I love you.”

“Tell me you don’t love him.”

“I love you.”

“This entire time you’ve been in love with him.”

“Can’t someone love more than one person?”

Joel’s eyes narrowed in hurt and he stood up from the steps. “Sure. Just not at my expense, that’s all.”

“I don’t know why I said that.” You rushed to follow him as he stormed into the house. “I love you, Joel. I choose you.”

“You choose me.” He chuckled humorlessly. He walked into the kitchen and snatched the refrigerator open to grab a beer.

“I made a mistake. I-I messed up and I’m sorry. I only want to be with you. I love you.”

He sighed and leaned back against the counter as he cracked open the beer in his hand. He tapped the metal cap against the counter with a distant expression.

“I need to think,” He finally said before straightening up and leaving the kitchen without another word.

You watched him go to the living room and drop into the crease of the sofa. He turned on the television and watched it in a slump as he gulped his beer.

You silently retreated to the bedroom with unshed tears in your eyes.

There was a distance between the two of you that grew as the days wore on. Joel spent most of his time at work. He’d leave early before you woke up and get in late after you’d gone to bed.

No matter how many days passed without saying a word to each other, Joel insisted that you keep up appearances with Sinclair and Marcus. He didn’t want them knowing about your issues, he didn’t speak about them to Bibby either.

You went along with it, for him. You didn’t exactly feel comfortable discussing it with Sinclair and Marcus either.

However, it didn’t make it any easier to tolerate his distance when he would suddenly speak to you and treat you nicely around them. It didn’t help that he kept up his image as a doting fiancé in front of your friends only to turn around and not speak a word to you.

No matter how much it hurt, you tried to endure—hoping that the two of you would eventually reach some state of normalcy.

“What?”

You kept your back to the door as you slipped off your shoes with tears in your eyes. Joel sighed before you heard him walk into the bathroom. He killed the shower and returned.

“What is it?” He asked.

You batted your tears away and stood to walk to the closet. “I don’t want to fight.”

“Who’s fighting?” He asked, following you to the closet. “Why’re you crying?”

You dropped your shoes and grabbed something to sleep in. As you made to walk past him he blocked you in with his arm. “You know why I’m crying.”

“I don’t,” He argued. “I thought we had a good night.”

“What, a good night of you pretending that you want anything to do with me?” You narrowed your eyes and pushed past him. You threw your pajamas down on the bed before turning to the dresser to remove your jewelry. “It was a wonderful night if you consider that a good time.”

“I was just trying to~”

“It doesn’t matter,” You said, snatching your earrings out. “I can’t take this anymore.”

“What?” Joel asked, his voice nearer.

“This!” You faced him. “I can’t take this. Constantly feeling like I’m being punished by you. I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”

He remained silent and you sighed, defeated. You turned to continue getting undressed. You slipped the rings from your fingers and unclasped the necklaces from around your neck before reaching back to unzip your dress. You fumbled with the zipper, huffing in aggravation when it got jammed. “Can you~”

“Yeah~”

“It’s stuck~”

“I see.” His fingers replaced yours on the zipper and he worked out the kink before gliding it down your spine.

You expected him to step away then but he didn’t. He slipped the fabric of your dress from your shoulders and let it pool around your feet. You turned your head to look at him and found his eyes already on yours. The sudden change of pace took you by surprise and for a moment you were touch-starved enough not to care. However, another thought consumed your mind the moment it entered it.

“What happened?” You asked just as his lips grazed yours.

“What?” He asked, his eyebrows twitching in confusion.

“What changed?” You didn’t feel exposed as you stood in your underwear—searching his eyes for the truth. “I thought it was a part of the act, I thought you were just dedicated to the role of a delicate fiancé because you didn’t want Sinclair and Marcus to suspect anything. But I see now that the entire night you’ve just been buttering me up to sleep with you.”

“Are you serious?”

“I want to know what put you in such a good mood that you’d suddenly look past everything and fuck me. Or should I ask who?”

“….I can’t believe you’d even ask me that.”

You pressured him to answer. “Something changed. What is it?”

“Maybe I just feel like it.”

You crossed your arms. “Can we talk?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“No?” Your eyebrows drew together slightly.

“No,” He repeated. “Because I still feel the same.”

“How do you feel?” You asked in a whisper.

His jaw tightened once again and he fell silent, not answering.

“We can talk to someone.”

“I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

“It could help,” You insisted. “We could talk to someone licensed to deal with this kind of thing.”

“I don’t want to talk,” He said firmly. His hands trailed around your waist and he pulled your body against his.

You shivered and parted your lips in a silent gasp as he kissed your neck, then your collarbone. “…J-Joel~”

He silenced you with a kiss—his lips moved against yours intensely for a moment before he pulled away. You were overwhelmed by his touch. He stepped forward until he forced you onto the bed, littering your neck with heated kisses once again.

Despite the way your body reacted you wanted to stop him—you didn’t want things to happen like this. The longer you went without actually talking about your feelings the more the distance between you seemed to grow.

He was finally speaking to you after days and you wanted to take the opportunity to discuss what really mattered.

“Joel.” You tried again, pressing your palms against his chest.

“Don’t ruin it,” He said breathlessly as he slipped his hand between your legs. “It’s okay.”

Your brain short circuited and you moaned brokenly. It wasn't okay, nothing was okay—but it felt good.

You swore in discomfort when he entered you but it was brief.

A sensation washed over you that caused your lips to part in a silent scream. His movements weren’t gentle or even familiar. You hadn’t seen this side of him. In all the time you had been together he had only made sweet love to you. This was something else entirely.

You felt like there was nothing tactile holding you to the earth as he fucked you so far into oblivion that you didn’t care if you ever felt grounded again.

You couldn’t register much outside of the intensity of the moment, but you felt Joel’s warmth deep inside of you when he came. He collapsed beside you and for a moment there was only the sounds of your labored breathing. He sat up eventually, tucking himself back into the jeans that he never took off. “You okay?”

You nodded, weakly pushing yourself into a sitting position. “I’m fine. I’m just gonna…”

“Yeah…okay.”

You stood from the bed and walked to the bathroom on unsteady legs. You cleaned up and slipped your bathrobe on before going back into the bedroom. When you returned, Joel was still sitting on the edge of the bed.

You sat with your back against the headboard, pulling your knees up.

“I’m sorry if I~”

“It’s okay.”

He nodded, looking off for a moment. “I’ll stay.”

He knew you too well. “Okay.”

He stood and walked into the bathroom. The shower ran for a long time before he returned. He didn’t say anything as he discarded his dirty clothes in the hamper and joined you in bed.

You fell asleep in his arms, and when you woke the next morning, he was gone.

*

“I’m leaving.”

“…Oh?”

Joel stood across the living room watching the rain pick up outside. He kept his arms folded across his chest—guarded. But something about his tone was more vulnerable than you’d heard in weeks.

You met him in the living room, sitting sideways on the couch so that you were facing him. He kept his back to you but continued when you didn’t respond.

“I‘ve been making arrangements.”

“What arrangements?”

“Bibby offered me a job in New York. It’s more behind the scenes and he’d pay me more for relocating.”

You waited for him to continue but he didn’t this time. “New York?” You prompted.

He faced you then—you couldn’t dissect his expression. “The offer just became solid today.”

“And you…don’t want me to come?” You asked, fearing that what you were seeing was reluctance.

“No, I don’t want you to come,” He said, confirming your doubts. “I’m sorry.”

“Joel…I-I know things haven’t been the best between~”

“That’s an understatement~”

“We can fix it.”

“It can’t be fixed. You…you broke my heart. Do you understand that?” You stood and tried to speak but he cut you off and continued. “You made your decision, now I have to make mine.”

“You’re running away? Just like that?”

“What am I supposed to do?”

Panic and anxiety swelled in your chest at the thought of Joel leaving you and moving to New York.

“You’ll have time to figure everything out. We don’t have to rush into selling the house.”

Your eyes burned with tears. “We don’t have to…”

He avoided your pain filled expression. “I have to.”

You could tell by the tears threatening to form in his eyes that the decision wasn’t one that he’d come to easily.

“I’m gonna tell Bibby I’ll go.” He sighed as he walked away. “It’s for the best.”

Elvis called you to apologize upon hearing the news from Dawn—you had been drinking your sorrows like usual when you answered the phone.

“Dawn told me what happened,” He said. He sounded remorseful. “I-I didn’t mean f-for things to turn out like this. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” You tried to sound sober, instead your voice was flat and shallow—and still obviously drunk. “It’s my fault.”

“I shouldn’t have pressured you,” He said. “I tried to tell Joel that it wasn’t your fault~”

“Of course it was my fault,” You snapped. “God, why are we even talking about this?”

“I feel horrible.”

“I’m sure you do…”

You sighed as silence settled over the line. You closed your eyes, waiting excruciatingly for him to say something.

“Maybe you should stay with Dawn in Memphis until you get things sorted out for yourself again.”

“What’s staying with Dawn gonna change?”

“I can put you up in your own place if you come back.”

“No.”

“Birdie~”

“I can’t go back to Memphis.”

“I’m worried about you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re drunk at eleven in the morning, honey.”

You glanced halfheartedly at the time. The curtains were still drawn and the house was cold and silent. It could have been any hour.

“I hate when you do this.”

“What?”

“You go around creating all these problems and swoop in to fix them like you’re the good guy.”

“…Can I do anything?”

You wished there was something that could be done about the miserable feeling in your gut. Your chest hurt from the amount of cigarettes you’d gone through and you were nauseous from the vodka-doused wine concoction you had going.

“I should be alone,” You said. “I deserve to be alone.”

“You made one mistake.”

“It was a lot of little mistakes that led up to one big one.”

“That still doesn’t mean you deserve to be punished,” Elvis argued.

“My life is ruined.”

“How can you say that?”

You struggled to internalize your emotions, picturing them retreating to a small corner in the back of your mind instead of erupting outwardly. You wanted them to go back inside until they were nothing, until they couldn’t hurt you anymore.

“What can I do?”

“I figured it out on my own before, I’ll do it again.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yes, I do.”

“I’ll take care of you.”

“I’m not coming back to Memphis.”

“Why not?”

You couldn’t believe you had to explain.

“Because I don’t want to get caught up in your bullshit again, Elvis,” You said. “I don’t want to fall into the same routine. The fighting, the constant back and forth—it’s fruitless and repetitive. I want to actually live my life. That’s why.”

“You can live your life,” He said. “I’m not gonna lock you up once you get here.”

“Sure.”

“…It could be different this time.”

“‘Could be?’”

He fell silent for a moment. “It can be different.”

You waited for him to continue but he didn’t. “I don’t want to play those games anymore.”

“No games, then. No fighting—I mean it.” His voice was low and sincere. “Come back to Graceland.”

You shook your head. You wanted to, of course you did. You were in love with Joel but you loved Elvis all the same. It hurt—it made you feel fickle.

“I can’t.”

“What’s stopping you?”

You couldn’t tell if you were awake or dreaming when Elvis showed up at the house in the following days. He had made his appearance discrete, you didn’t know it was him when the black impala pulled into the drive. It was late and he came alone—only him and his driver. He didn’t say anything when you let him inside. You shut the door and leaned back against it as he stood before you. He seemed out of place and too grand for the room.

You must’ve flinched when he moved towards you, or retracted in some way, because he stopped. It was silent and you refused to meet his eyes. The silence was tense, like the air after a bad fight.

“What do you want me to do?” He asked when the quiet became unbearable.

“You shouldn’t be here. It’s not right.”

“I came for you.”

“You shouldn’t’ve.”

He didn’t respond, instead he turned and walked further into the house. He noticed the boxes full of your things crowding the living room.

“You’re packing?”

“He’s selling the house.”

“Where are you gonna go?” He faced you when you didn’t answer. “I want to help.”

You were offended. “I don’t need your help.”

“I don’t care if you need it or want it, birdie, that’s the thing,” He said, frustrated. “I don’t want to spend another year wondering what the hell happened to you. So you can go anywhere in the world, alright? Just let me make sure you get there.”

“You say that like it’s so easy.”

“I don’t care if it’s easy, I care if you get there in one piece.”

He had neared you again, taking slow steps until he stood directly in front of you.

“Do you want me to take you to Dawn?”

“No.”

“Wilmington?”

“No.”

“Where? Somewhere around here? D’you want the house? I’ll get it for you.”

“No, Elvis.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t know. None of this feels real.”

You didn’t move away when he reached out and took your face in his hands. He made you meet his eyes, searching yours for a moment before his lips were inching towards yours.

You spoke before your lips met. “Not here. Please.”

He sighed and pressed his forehead against yours. His thumbs stroked the apples of your cheeks. “Tell me what to do.”

You closed your eyes, your hands moving to clutch the front of his shirt. You knew better than to give in to him so easily, but you were vulnerable. You wanted him to make you disappear. “I want it to be like it never happened…like none of it ever happened.”

“Okay.”

“It’s not okay.”

You were crying now but Elvis wouldn’t let you pull away. He dried your tears with the pads of his thumbs.

“Why can’t it be okay?”

“We can’t~”

“We can do whatever we want.”

You pulled away enough to really meet his eyes. He was being serious.

“Why did you come here, E?” You asked, suddenly grounded enough to question his motives. He was always that way—calculated and two steps ahead.

“I was worried about you.”

“And?”

“And I was hoping I could convince you to come back to Memphis with me…as my girl.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I’m choosing you, birdie. If you’ll let me.”

You weren’t sure how to react. There was a part of you that was elated enough to cry, but it was overshadowed by the crushing feeling you had that he’d let you down. He’d get you back to Graceland and you’d be back in a predicament that you had escaped—for hardly enough time to matter. You still loved him just as much as you did a year ago—if not more after rekindling.

You had pulled his hooks out but you hadn’t gotten out of arm's reach. One wrong move and he’d sink them right back in. The scariest part of it all was that you almost longed for him to do so. You wanted the satisfaction of watching it all happen before your eyes, slowly and painfully. You wanted him to tear you apart, bit by bit, and leave you broken—you wanted to do it for the thrill of watching something crumble so perfectly.

“You don’t want me.” You meant it as a warning—no one deserved to put up with you.

“You’re all I want, little bit.” He tapped your chin. “I’ll prove it to you if you come with me.”

He laughed in a nervous way when he said it—his expression genuinely hopeful.

“You don’t have to,” He said in the wake of your silence. “Like I said, anything you want. Anywhere you want to go.”

You didn’t say anything. For a while you stood there silently deciding what your next move should be. You didn’t have anything to lose, your pride and dignity had been exerted and you were feeling hopeless.

“…Can we leave now?”

“We can leave right now.”

You packed your clothes in your luggage and Elvis helped the driver put them in the trunk. You left your key and engagement ring on the counter for Joel, you wanted to leave a note but there was nothing to say.

“We’ll send somebody for it,” Elvis said in response when you asked about the rest of your things. “It’ll be out in time.”

“Okay,” You said as he led you out of the front door. You paused, looking around the house. It wasn’t lived in anymore, but there were traces of your life with Joel all throughout the place. From the barely there wine stain on the middle cushion of the couch to the knick in the wooden frame of the door from when you moved it in. You were saying goodbye to a life that had barely gotten started. Elvis stopped when he noticed your hesitation.

“Hey,” He said, making you face him. “I got you, okay?”

“Okay,” You repeated.

He kissed your forehead and led you out of the house once and for all. You climbed into the back seat of his impala, trying not to think about anything too much. If you did, you’d have a breakdown.

“It’s only an hour flight.”

“Flight?”

“Yeah, it’s quicker.”

You must’ve looked uneasy—he asked you if flying still made you nervous.

“I don’t do it enough to get past the nerves, I guess,” You said. “It’s fine, I’ll manage.”

“I’ll just give you something,” He said, reaching into the pocket of his slacks and retrieving an amber, 10 dram pill bottle. “It should help.”

“I’ll never see this house again,” You said, looking out the window longingly. “Nothing’s ever going to be the same. It’s over.”

“Take this.” He turned your head and dropped the pill into your mouth. “Hold it under your tongue.”

“What’s going to happen?”

“Don’t worry, darling, I’ll take care of you.”

He put his arm over your shoulders and kissed your temple. You leaned into his touch and closed your eyes, swallowing your bitter saliva as the pill dissolved under your tongue.

“Am I a horrible person?” You asked sometime into the drive.

“No,” Elvis responded. “You can’t help who you love, can you?”

“No.”

“Do you love me?”

“Yes.”

“Then don’t beat yourself up about the situation. It had to happen.”

“But Joel~”

“He’s a kid, birdie. He’ll get over it.”

It didn’t matter what Elvis said, or that he had seemingly convinced Jerry of the same thing. You knew Joel, and you knew that he’d take time to work through his feelings. You knew that a part of him would never fully heal.

You wanted to feel bad, you did feel bad deep down past the artificial calm spreading over you. You got to the airport and the two of you were escorted directly onto a private plane. Things happened fast, which you were thankful for.

“You okay?” Elvis checked as you took your seats, keeping your hand in his all the while.

“I’m okay,” You said. “Are you?”

“I’m perfect now that I’m with you,” He said, bringing you with him when he sat down instead of having you take your own seat.

You looked over your shoulder to be sure the cabin was empty and the plane suddenly jolted into motion. Elvis laughed at your expression and put a protective arm around you.

“Aw, birdie,” He said. “It’ll level out eventually.”

“Not helping.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Distract me.”

The hand of his free arm traveled up your thigh and he kissed your cheek. You knew what the sudden influx of ‘harmless’ kisses meant. Once upon a time, you favored this particular tell of his the most.

“I think I know what kind of distraction you need,” He said, kissing the shell of your ear.

“On the plane?” You squirmed away from his touch, laughing prudishly at the thought.

“Haven’t you heard of the mile high club?” He asked, unbuckling the front of your coat and pushing it off your shoulders. He maneuvered you so that you straddled him, letting the coat fall to the ground.

You protested but you leaned into his touch when he kissed your exposed collar bone. You would’ve stopped him had the medication in your system not loosened your ambiguity—leaving you feeling light and euphoric. His touch erupted into a thousand tingles against your skin and you were practically vibrating with desire.

“People do it,” He said, kissing your neck. “Something about the altitude.”

You looked over your shoulder again, trying to stop him. “Elvis…someone might see.”

He stopped, looking up at you with a lustful expression. “There’s no one but us until we land, baby.”

You laughed but the sound was immediately cut short by a moan when he slipped his hand under the skirt of your dress.

“…This is wrong,” You weren’t focused on the words as you said them, all you could focus on was the way his fingers grazed you through the thin material of your underwear. “I want to do the right thing.”

“Does it feel good?”

“Yes.”

“Then it’s right.”

He sat back in his seat, his hands rubbing your thighs before traveling up your sides and back. You released a low groan as he fingers pressed into your taught muscles. He massaged the tension out of your shoulders and kissed you slowly. Your eyes fell shut and you leaned into him.

“It’s okay,” He reassured you, one arm securely around your back while the other worked out the knot in your neck. You hadn’t realized how tense you were.

You ran your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp the way he always liked. You weren’t satisfied with the low groan he released and shifted to apply more pressure to his growing erection. The sound he released when you moved your hips was satisfactory. He took your face in his hands and looked at you.

“I love you,” He whispered, his voice almost lost in the mechanical hum of the plane’s engines. “I won’t ever let you go again. I promise.”

“You love me?”

“Yes. Don’t ask me why.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t tell you all the reasons.”

You kissed him again. “Is this real?”

He wrapped both arms around your torso and hugged your body against his. “It’s real.”

“Feels like I’m dreaming.”

“You aren’t. You’re here, with me. Be here with me.”

You opened your eyes. He looked at you with an intensity behind his expression that made you shiver—the world fell away like it always used to. It was familiar and all thoughts that weren’t concerning him vanished. You felt like you were falling in love for the first time all over again.

You didn’t notice that he’d unbuckled his trousers and freed himself until you felt him prodding at your entrance. You tensed initially but relaxed as he pushed your panties aside and entered you. You whimpered at the stretch—groaning when he was fully seated inside.

You stayed that way for a while, connected and unmoving until his hands eventually continued roaming your body. His breath mingled with yours as he thrusted to meet your movements, making your toes curl in your shoes. You were instantly on the verge of peaking—in every regard.

“Can I, please?” You trembled against him, your abdomen constricting as you anticipated your high.

“Why would I say no?” The pleasure was too intense, you didn’t know whether to chase it or run away. Elvis groaned as you finished, following with a suppressed grunt—your name growling deep in his chest.

He swore under his breath, grabbing your chin with his clean hand and kissing your lips. “You’re adorable.”

He patted your thigh and you stood, unsteadily.

“Stay,” He instructed before going into the bathroom. He returned with a damp towel, wiping his hands clean before helping you. “Take ‘em off.”

You laughed as he slipped your panties down your legs, holding his shoulders as you stepped out of them.

“Uh, uh,” He said when you reached for them, pulling them away. “They’re mine.”

“What are you gonna do with them?”

“Commemorate the moment.”

You finished cleaning up before retaking your seat. The last of the flight blew by—the two of you clinging to each other the entire time. Before you knew it you were arriving in Memphis. You saw all the cameras but it still took you a moment to realize what was happening.

“Elvis,” You said as you took in the scene outside the window of the plane. It was dark but the lights illuminating the runway made everything clear. “What’s happening?”

“We’re going home,” He said smugly. He stood with you but you sat back down. “Come on, baby.”

You shook your head. “You go first.”

He laughed, taking your hand and helping you out of the seat. “Let’s go together.”

“E.P.?” Sonny showed up—his eyes found yours briefly, but he looked away immediately. “Car’s ready.”

“I’m not gonna stop this time, straight there,” Elvis said to him before glancing you over, tapping your chin fondly. “Let’s go, little bit.”

Your stomach turned with anxiety. “W-What if they don’t like me?”

He shrugged. “I guess we’ll all just lay down and die.”

You couldn’t help but smile as he kissed your cheek and led you off of the plane. At first all you could hear were voices, but soon all sounds were replaced by your heart hammering in your ears. You would’ve froze, if it weren’t for Elvis’ arm wrapped protectively around your shoulders. You had feared the look on people’s faces when they saw the two of you together—now, however, you couldn’t make out anything aside from the wild flashes.

There were numerous barricades up to keep the crowd at bay, but there was still security to stop the few desperate freelancers that slipped through. Everything happened so fast—one minute you were there being photographed by dozens of people and the next you were in the back of the car. Elvis signaled the driver and the car lurched into motion.

“You okay?” He asked, helping you out of your coat and hat.

“So intense,” You said, heaving a sigh when you were free.

He reached over to place your jacket on the seat behind you. “You’re not too shook up, are you?”

You smiled and leaned into him. “A little.”

“Well, it’s over now,” He said, putting his arm around you. “You’re safe and sound.”

“Yeah, but…” You hesitated but quickly overcame your unsureness. “I still need something to calm my nerves.”

“Is that so?” The smirk on his face deepened.

“Mhm.” You don’t know if it was the rush of the paparazzi or if you were still riding some high from your activities on the plane. Regardless of the reason, you wanted him again—right then and there.

He laughed when you placed your hand on his inner thigh. He reached into his pocket and retrieved the small pill bottle. “Best I can do for now.”

You pouted as he opened the bottle and shook a pill out. He bit it in half, prompting you to open your mouth before placing one half on your tongue. You were already buzzing from the half before the flight. “Is that the best you can do?”

He glanced at the driver through the partition as he grabbed a bottled water from the cup holders. “I don’t want to disturb our friend.”

You followed his gaze, taking a swig from the bottle after him. “I think he’d have a good time.”

He didn’t pull away when you kissed him—blindly taking the water and capping it off before dropping it on the ground. His hand hooked onto the bend of your knee and pulled you closer. You were practically straddling him as the two of you attempted to consume one another.

“E.P.?”

He barely pulled away. “What?”

“10-12.”

“Okay?”

“Colonel doesn’t want any photos.”

Elvis sighed glancing up in aggravation. “Tell the Colonel that there’s nothing he can do about that.”

“But~”

“Straight through, boss.”

The driver nodded and put the partition back up. Elvis groaned, pulling away with a final kiss on your cheek.

“Pull yourself together, dirty bird,” He said, helping you back into your coat. “We don’t want to let these people see you on your knees for me just yet.”

“What does the Colonel think of all this, E?”

You hadn’t thought to ask. With everything happening so quickly you barely had a chance to process what was going on, let alone form any questions.

“Don’t worry about the Colonel.”

You didn’t like that response. You knew people would be opposed to the idea, but you weren’t prepared to face the Colonel. You didn’t want to face him.

“He doesn’t know,” You said. “Does he?”

“He will soon enough,” Elvis said. “Along with everybody else. You said no secrets.”

“I didn’t expect this…he’ll never allow this.”

“I don’t need anyone’s permission to be with you.” He blindly straightened his hair and slipped a pair of shades on despite the late hour. “I didn’t bring you all this way to hope for his approval.”

You stopped him when he leaned in for a kiss and he opted for kissing your neck instead.

When you finally arrived at Graceland the streets outside of the gate were flooded. There had to be at least a hundred people gathered—some were holding signs, some were holding cameras, and some were holding back tears. They stood shouting at the car as it inched through the ruckus. You tried to get a better look at what the signs were saying but Elvis stopped you.

“Don’t pay them any mind, doll,” He said, putting his arm over your shoulder. He pulled you into his side and kissed your temple. Something hit the window, startling you and making Elvis lean forward to snap at the driver. “Can’t they get somebody to clear the goddamn gate?”

“I think they’re trying.”

“Tell ‘em try harder.”

While Elvis went back and forth with him, you peaked outside again. You immediately wished you hadn’t when you caught a glimpse of what was written on the signs.

“O-Oh my god,” You stammered under your breath.

“Birdie.” He took your face in his hands, forcing you to look away. “I told you not to look.”

“Oh my god~”

“Don’t worry about them, honey, they’re just stuck in their ways~”

“‘Stuck in their ways?’”

He shushed you, trying to meet your eyes. “Don’t let them see you cryin. They’re gonna have to come around, like everyone else.”

You shook your head, willing your tears away. “I knew this would happen. They hate me.”

“They can’t hate you,” He said. “They don’t even know you. It’s just how it’s gonna be at first.”

Another object slammed against the window—you clung to him. “I’m scared.”

“You don’t have to worry, darlin, we’re gonna pull right up to the door…” His voice started fading into the background and the sound of the chaos outside took over. “You hear me?”

Your body nodded reflexively but you couldn’t focus on anything but the crying, screaming faces of the people outside.

“Keep your head down and I’ll lead right inside and upstairs. How’s that sound?”

Another disconnected nod.

“Talk to me, baby.”

“…That sounds fine.”

He reassured you again that everything was okay as the car eventually got through the crowd and was able to stop.

When you got out of the vehicle you could hear the cameras flickering in a frenzy but you kept your head down as he led you up the steps. You expected the chaos to die down once inside, however you were met by an angry Colonel.

“Elvis Presley~”

“I’ll deal with you in the morning,” Elvis said, attempting to lead you upstairs.

“You get her out of this house, immediately!”

“What?”

“You heard me!”

“This is my goddamn house!”

You closed your eyes as they shouted back and forth.

“This, what you’re doing, it’s…it’s suicide,” Parker said, he was practically fuming. If you had looked up you would’ve been met by his harsh glare. “If you insist on keeping the girl, I will be forced to leave you.”

“Then I’ll be forced to let you go.”

“After everything I’ve done for you?”

“Everything you’ve done…go upstairs, birdie.” He looked at Jerry. “Take her.”

You let Jerry lead you upstairs, his hand barely gracing the small of your back as he did so. When you got to Elvis’ room he let you in before following behind. You walked over to the bed and sat down. You couldn’t get the images out of your head.

Jerry walked over to the minibar in the corner and poured you a drink. Something dark and straight.

“I shouldn’t.”

“It’ll take the edge off at least.”

You took the glass. You stood as you took a sip, setting it on the bedside table so you could remove your coat.

“He should be up any minute.”

“Thank you.”

He smiled briefly and was gone. You took some time to walk around the room. You entered the closet to find numerous items of women’s clothing. The tags still hung from them as if they were either brand new or never worn. It made you think that he had prepared in advance for your arrival. He must’ve not had a doubt in his mind that you’d come back with him.

The bedroom door opened and you were met with Elvis’ fired up expression when you left the closet.

“Elvis,” You started. “Calm down~”

“Do not try to reel me in right now, birdie~”

“It’s okay.”

“How can you fucking say that?”

You walked over to him. “I’m sorry. I-I just~ I don’t want you to be upset.”

He sighed as you hugged him, noticing the empty glass on the table. “Jerry fixed you a drink?”

You looked up at him. “What if he’s right? It’s not worth it.”

He shushed you, sitting you down on the bed. You waited for his response but he fell silent. He removed your shoes and guided you to lay down. You stopped him before he moved away.

“Don’t leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He laid down and took you in his arms.

“What’s going to happen, E?”

“I have no idea.”

[soggyyycereal]

ii3 ramble don’t look if you don’t want spoilers

k thanks- ANYWAYS

Taps mic… inhale….

BOT!!! Bot… bot omfmngdnbf the trans allegory arc of the CENTURY BOTT AAHGGGG

Okay well.. I mean it’s not exactly an ALLEGORY when they are literally CANONICALLY nonbinary…

JUST. Just listen. Listen to me. Okay. I know it’s practically basic knowledge that their ENTIRE arc is trans coded bUT LISTEN IF I WANNA TALK ABOUT IT, THEN I’M GONNA TALK ABOUT IT OKAY…? Okay… listen…

THE GLITCHING??? The glitching… the glitching whenever someone mentions “chairs” or anything related to BOW’S, NOT BOT’S, BUT BOOWW’S PAST? Yeah. Dysphoria. DYSPHORIA!! GENDER DYSPHORIA!!! HOW?? I’ll tell you how- the feeling that’s something wrong, not knowing what feels wrong but it still feels wrong? Dysphoria without knowing it’s dysphoria… m’kay? Walk with me

We’re gonna pretend that Bow is pre-transition Bot,, right? Cuz that’s what it basically is, their ENTIRE arc is basically becoming who you are,,, A TRANSGENDERISM!!! So obviously when they’re gonna be perceived as Bow (or in this case,, birth gender), they’re gonna feel uncomfortable. But they don’t know WHY they’re uncomfortable… they’re Bow, why would they feel uncomfortable about something related to Bow if they’ve always BEEN Bow, right? Because of GENDER TRANSNESS

Anyways- moving onto when they ACTUALLY begin to realize they’re not Bow (egg cracking), this is when things began going FULL THROTTLE FOR ME. (Episodes 8-14)

Episode 8, when they finally realize that they, are in fact, not Bow…

THIS… oh my god this… being raised with typical gender norms but then finally realizing those norms don’t align with you…

OOGGHHH MY GODDDD BOOOTTTTT HHHNNGNVHDHCHSHHFHSFHDJFHF AAHAHGGG BANGS TABLLEEE

But wait… there’s more…

Episode 9… Where they begin to transition…

THE REACTIONS. ARE SO UNBELIEVABLY REAL. OH MY GOD… I only ever see the typical “yay supportive” or the “get out of my house NOW” unsupportive…

But never the overly over the top supportive… but alas… we have Goo

DON’T GET ME WRONG. GOO IS AWESOME FOR SUPPORTING HIS FRIEND WITH THEIR JOURNEY IM ALL HERE FOR IT…

But it does get to a point where that support can be a bit uncomfortable and overwhelming

Even with Test Tube at the beginning of the episode,,, with the whole chocolate cake thing… it’s a time of change and I get why she might be wary of accidentally stepping into uneasy territory, becoming hyper aware of how they’re eating chocolate cake and how BOW liked chocolate cake and doesn’t wanna make assumptions because Bot isn’t Bow

I think this could be seen as someone transitioning but still enjoying some parts relating to the gender they no longer align with… like masc people still enjoying makeup and fem people still enjoying dressing more tomboyish, yk?

Overall I think this episode can be summed down to almost everyone becoming SUPER DUPER aware of Bot’s transition, like, to the point that’s what all they see anymore. Not Bot as a person, but rather as JUST an identity (note to self I wanna talk about this later in ep 14)

I really like how it’s worded here, “you just wanted a slice of cake, and I went and gave you the whole bakery” I DON’T KNOW HOW TO WORD IT BUT LIKE.. GOD!!! ITS SO GOOD I LOVE METAPHORS

Episode 10 doesn’t really include anything other than more of the process of them transitioning,,, choosing a new voice and allat

BUT OH MY GOD PROUD MAMA TEST TUBE IM IN TEARSSS

Same with episode 11,,, nothing too much happens in relating to Bot and their transition

HOWEVER TWELVE. OH MY GOD EPISODE TWELVE

I personally relate to this one… cuz this one handles particularly fearing transitioning…

Exhibit A… They’re obviously projecting into Floory (The Floor? Idk what bros name is specifically…) here…

BUT!!! My man goes in to say that no matter how you look like or how you present yourself,, you’re still you no matter what

LIKE… okay… for me personally, when I found out I was trans I was PETRIFIED. The whole idea of becoming someone new and being perceived as someone new TERRIFIED me… Only as I got older and got further into my own transition I realized it wasn’t that bad, it was the best thing I’ve ever decided for myself!!! So having that experience here, that fear represented here means a SHITTT TON to me… Again, like with the Goo situation I don’t really know how to word it properly but it works SSOOO well… it’s unbelievable /pos

As for episode 13,, again (unfortunately) there’s nothing much I can comment on,,, other than the butterfly symbolism which was introduced in the last episode

LIKE CMONNN

OH!! And thinking more clearly/improvement of mental health that often comes with transitioning too!1!!!!

anyways episode 14… aha.. EPISODE FOURTEEN OH MY GODDDDDD /POS

AGAIN. Again.. the subtle fear of transitioning,,, that I myself have personally felt with, is shown in this episode as well…

I SHOULD MENTION THAT TRANSITIONING ISN’T ALL DOOM AND GLOOM.. Despite the struggles I mention,, it is genuinely such a life saver

ANYWAYS!! In this episode Bot struggles with the idea of coming out to their creators (parents), Test Tube and Fan… Nervous for them to see all of the numerous changes they have made to their person

THIS LINE… This line got to me- like- genuinely 😭

AGAIN.. PERSONALLY RELATABLE FOR ME… I don’t know how to describe it… again 💔… But I feel like that it’s a very real thing that a lot of trans kids go through, which is slowly experimenting and trying things out with your friends… whether it be a new name or new pronouns, usually people would test them out first with their friends, which is exactly what Bot did (even if they didn’t have a choice since both Fan AND Test Tube got eliminated 😭)… They tried out their new green butterfly appearance with Nickel and Balloon… their voice… Practically EVERYTHING minus their height manipulation that Test Tube gave to them

Like said in the screen shot I provided, they know that their parents aren’t going to be mad… but they hope that it wouldn’t make them sad. Having been raised with a specific vision in mind, which in Bot’s case, being built to be a replica of Bow, but then turning out nothing like her. This could be easily translated to being raised with a specific gender norm and being raised with the expectation of continually aligning with the gender you’re assigned at birth with. But then finding out you’re not. The idea of telling the people who’ve had that expectation is scary. The idea of disappointing someone with the fact that you aren’t who they expect you to be is TERRIFYING even though you know they aren’t going to be mad

which is why I SCREAMED when they got eliminated at the end of the episode

BUT OH MY GODDDDD IM GONNA SOBBB

It’s such a simple interaction BUT GOD I’VE NEVER CRIED AT AN ELIMINATION BEFORE THIS POINT IN THE SERIES… Less is more… and it DELIVERED.

It’s such a small want.. such a small need… to be accepted wholeheartedly and the thought of anything except that is so terrifying when coming out to parents… But watching Test Tube walk up to them, hug them, and saying that simple like while smiling… “it’s you” is everything and MORE.

OH!! UHM!! ADDING FROM MY POINT FROM EARLIER… Back when I mentioned about the characters seeing Bot as just as their identity rather than their full person? Here, in this episode, I bring you Cabby..

Mind you,, for a lot of the series I disliked Cabby (earlier part of the season)… BUT!! I WILL ADMIT THAT SHE HAS HER MOMENTS!! THIS IS ONE OF THEM!!

Up to this point, no one has really asked Bot what they enjoy. Not even Test Tube (again not like she could since she was eliminated- NO DISS TOWARDS ANYONE I SWEAR). During transitions, people can get very easily hung up in the process. Or so I’ve noticed with my own personal story… First year I was out as non-cis I was gifted pride stuff for Christmas 😭

ANYWAYS- my point is, it’s easy to get wrapped up in the chaos of becoming who you truly are that sometimes people forget to see you as YOU and not just as your identity, yk? So when Cabby asks Bot what they likes to do, they’re EXCITED

Anyways lgbtq community mentioned here as well

COUGHING ANYWAYS YEAH!!! This has been bubbling in my brain for a FAT while and I can’t exactly ramble to anyone about it (yet… my friend is almost done ii and oohhohohohoohh boy they are IN FOR IT/SILLY)

idk if anyone will actually read this,, but I had fun writing it all out!!!

[sweethoneyrose83]

Glitchcore dialogue prompts

1. "Reality is buffering… What happens when we hit pause?"

Character A stares at the glitching horizon, where the sky flickers between pixelated voids. Character B frowns, “Maybe we’re not meant to see the code behind it all.”

2. "You’re a corrupted file. But that doesn’t mean you’re broken."

Character A experiences moments of disconnection, their speech fragmented by static. Character B tries to reassure them, but each word feels like it’s slipping through the cracks of reality.

3. "Every time I blink, the world skips a frame."

Character A notices the world is out of sync. People flicker, objects disappear, and their reflection isn’t quite right. They turn to Character B for answers, but even their words are distorted, glitching mid-sentence.

4. "I was never programmed to feel this… but here I am, crashing."

Character A, an AI or digitally enhanced human, starts to experience emotions for the first time, leading to a system overload. Their thoughts flash like corrupted code, scrambling their sense of self.

5. "We’re stuck in a loop. But maybe this time, we can break it."

Time is glitching for Character A and Character B, repeating the same moments over and over. As they try to escape, reality fractures, showing distorted fragments of alternate timelines.

6. "If I glitch out, don’t follow. I’m just data—nothing more."

Character A is fading, pixel by pixel, as the virtual world they live in begins to collapse. Character B insists on trying to save them, even though the lines between digital and physical are breaking down.

7. "I hear the static whispers… It’s like they know we’re here."

Character A starts to pick up on strange sounds—static, broken transmissions, and voices from somewhere beyond. They believe the glitches are alive, watching them.

8. "We’re just echoes in the system, flickering between what’s real and what’s not."

Character A questions their existence as the world around them constantly shifts and deforms. The glitches feel too intentional, like someone—or something—is controlling it all.

9. "I saw myself glitch today… but it wasn’t me. It was something pretending to be me."

Character A sees their own reflection glitch and morph into something unfamiliar. Is it an error in the system, or is something trying to overwrite them?

10. "I’ve been patched up so many times, I don’t even know which version I am anymore."

Character A has been modified, both physically and digitally, so many times that they’ve lost their sense of identity. They question whether they’re still the same person they once were, or just a collection of fragments.

"You're not seeing me right now, are you? I'm stuck between frames."

"The code is breaking down. I can feel it. Every time I blink, something new glitches."

"We were perfect once. Now, we're just corrupted data fragments trying to piece ourselves together."

"Reality doesn’t crash. It fades, like static, until the lines blur and you can’t tell what’s real anymore."

"Don't trust what you see. It's all just a simulation rendering too slowly to hide its flaws."

"Every time I move, I leave a part of myself behind, like I’m lagging between timelines."

"I’m not sure if I’m the glitch or if the world around me is. Does it matter?"

"The pixels around your face—they’re unraveling. We need to reset the program before you disappear completely."

"I keep hearing this… echo. It’s like my thoughts are repeating, but they aren’t mine."

"I thought I deleted you. Why do you keep reappearing in my feed?"

"The horizon just flickered. Did you see that? I think we’re reaching the edge of the simulation."

"Every time I think I’ve fixed it, the glitches return, worse than before. Maybe we’re meant to stay broken."

"If I lose connection, you have to promise to reboot me. I can’t afford to stay stuck in here."

"It’s strange, isn’t it? How the glitch makes everything look more real than reality ever did."

"What if I’m just a copy of me, and the original got corrupted long ago?"

"I saw the world tear for a second. The sky turned into data streams, and I think I saw someone behind it all."

"I can’t trust the mirrors anymore. They show me… versions of myself that I don’t recognize."

"They keep trying to patch me, but it never works. I think I’m beyond fixing."

"You keep glitching. Are you real or just an error in the system trying to communicate?"

"I can feel myself desyncing from reality. Every moment, I drift further away."

"I’ve been seeing static in the mirror. Like I’m glitching in and out of existence."

"I can’t tell if I’m in the real world or a simulation. The lines are all blurred now."

"My thoughts are stuttering—like an old video buffering. Can you hear it too?"

"We’ve got less than a second before the whole system crashes. Are you ready?"

"Every time I blink, I lose a part of myself. The screen flickers, and I'm gone."

"There’s a glitch in my memory. Did we meet before, or is this another loop?"

"I’ve been coded wrong, haven’t I? My emotions don’t feel… real."

"I tried to log out, but the world didn’t let me. Now, I’m stuck in the error."

"We’re all just data points now. I can see your code unraveling."

"You’re breaking the system. If you keep doing that, everything might collapse."

"Sometimes I hear a voice, like a distorted signal. It tells me the end is near."

"I reached out to touch you, but my hand just passed through like you were a hologram."

"The colors are bleeding into one another, like corrupted files. Can you fix this?"

"I’m not supposed to exist, not like this. I’m a glitch, an error in the code."

"Reality froze for a moment. Did you see it? Everything just stopped moving."

[lynzishell]

Prev // Next

Transcript:

Dawn: You’re here. Atlas: I’m here. I’m so sorry, Dawn. Dawn: Me too. Dawn reaches over to rest a hand on his shoulder. Atlas covers her hand with his, and they sit like this for a while, not saying anything.

Phoenix: Have you seen these yet? Asher: Not really. I saw a couple on Atlas’ computer when he first got home, but that’s it. Phoenix: I assume he told you what happened up there… with Dawn? Asher: Yeah.

Phoenix: How is he doing? I’ve been meaning to check in, but – Asher: Oh, no, you have enough on your plate. He’s doing okay though. Not sleeping well, but otherwise, okay. Phoenix: Nightmares? [Asher nods] Phoenix: Yeah. I remember those nightmares. Asher: What do you mean those nightmares?

Atlas: Hey, do you remember when we were kids, and we learned that some twins had their own language? Dawn: Oh my god, yes, and we tried to make our own. Atlas: Except we just made these weird random sounds and pretended to understand each other. Dawn can’t help but laugh when Atlas tries to imitate their old “language”.

Dawn: Oh, and we would pass each other notes in our secret code. Atlas: [laughing] There’s no way anyone was cracking that code! Dawn: That’s because there was no code! We’d just write symbols on paper and pass them back and forth [laughing] and I put so much effort into each one! Atlas: I know! There’d be thirty or forty intricate symbols on a piece of paper, never the same one twice. It was impressive, actually. Dawn: We thought we were so clever.

Phoenix hears muffled laughter coming from the bedroom and smiles at Asher.

Phoenix: He’s always going to be better at that than me, isn’t he? Cheering her up. Asher: [shrugs] Probably. But you knew to call him, and that’s not nothing. Phoenix: Maybe I should’ve called sooner. Asher: Eh, we’re here now. How are you doing? Phoenix: [exhales loudly] I don’t even know. I’ve been so focused on her.

[Asher nods quietly]

Phoenix: It’s weird. It feels like there’s something missing now. I mean, we’d planned on having a kid eventually, but it always felt like an abstract, far away thing. Like something we’d talk about in a few years or more. But now. It’s all I can think about. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more. Is that crazy?

Asher: Definitely not.

Phoenix: And now I’m worried that this was all too much for her. What if she doesn’t want to try again? What if it never happens, even if we do try? I don’t know…

Phoenix: I don’t know why I’m telling you this. Asher: Sounds like you’ve been needing to talk to someone. I don’t mind listening. Phoenix: Thanks. Normally, I’d go talk to Aurelio, but I haven’t wanted to leave. She was really starting to fucking scare me. Asher: She’ll be okay. Phoenix: [clears his throat] I hope so.

Atlas: I kept one, y’know. Dawn: You did not! Atlas: I did. You had doodled all around the edges, and clearly spent a lot of time on it. I don’t know, something about it felt important, like I needed to keep it, so I did. Dawn: Oh, I bet I know which one it was. Atlas: Yeah? I’ve always wondered, what does it say?

Dawn: Hold on let me see if I can remember it… [thinking]… Okay I got it, ready? Atlas: Yep. Dawn: It says, ‘Today I am sad / As long as you’re my brother / My heart will be glad.’

[Both laughing]

Atlas: Stop! You wrote me a haiku? Dawn: I tried. I counted and recounted the syllables so many times. Atlas: Dawn, that is so sweet! I’m keeping it forever.

Dawn: Aw, I’m glad you’re here. Atlas: Me too. Asher’s here too, and we brought his dog. Do you want to come out and say hi? Dawn: Yeah, I’d like that. Can you stay for dinner? Atlas: Sure. Gimme a hug first though. I’ve missed you.

Atlas: Listen to me. Don’t start shutting people out again, okay? Dawn: I know. I didn’t mean to. I just… I couldn’t stand to see the pain I’ve caused him. Atlas: You didn’t cause anything; it wasn’t your fault. And he needs you now just as much as you need him. Dawn: … Is he angry? Atlas: No, he’s just worried.

Atlas: It’s okay if you need time to grieve, but you’ve gotta eat. You have to take care of yourself. Dawn: I will. Atlas: Promise me. Dawn: I promise.

[novabun-ships]

Since you asked me this about Brahms and I.. What are your favorite things to do with Anakin? (I hope you’re having a great day so far!)

[metal gear detection noise] !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Both canon and my senate au version because I want too~!! It's a little long, sorry ;;-;;

{My Canon}

Sparring Matches – Anakin gets way too competitive, and I enjoy teasing him when I win~! Although I high suspects he goes really easy on me and lets me win because lets be real, he's strong as hell, much stronger that I could ever be lol

Flying Together – Anakin’s piloting skills amaze me, but he also sometimes loves making me nervous by pretending they don’t know how to fly properly- that man is a thrill seeker for sure! Like please stop making me believe we're about to crash to our deaths thanks T_T

Late-Night Conversations – Both of us have been through too much, and sometimes just sitting together in silence or sharing whispered confessions is enough to make us feel a little bit better because we have each other and we understand one another.

Pulling Off Jobs Together - Despite my clumsiness, I always somehow land on my feet, which infuriates and impresses Anakin. Although when he assists me on jobs It's a bit of a double edged sword as we can both be pretty reckless and there are times where Anakin will actually want to strategize and I'm like "oops already doing the thing we'll wing it!" He HATES it lmao Imagine his surprise when Obi-Wan ends up telling him "Now you know exactly how I feel"

Bar Fights & Escapes – “Now Ani, we shouldn’t start fights” I say, seconds before elbowing someone in the ribs. Anakin sighs and tries to stay out of it, its my job as a bounty hunter to get "my guy" but sometimes it can get really rough and Anakin hates to see me in danger so he ends up joining. lol

Fixing Ships – Mostly just Anakin fixing things while I "help" (aka getting distracted by watching him as he works, handing him the wrong tools, or if he's sitting in the cock pit I end up following and albeit awkwardly, sit on his lap). "Are you here to help or distract and gawk?" "Why not both?"

{Senate AU}

Hand Touches Under the Table – During political meetings or dinners, Anakin and I brush hands under the table, pretending nothing is happening while our race hearts race~ we're very much the "always need to be touching each other in some way" types.

Fake Arguing in Public – Since we shouldn’t be together, we often pretend to dislike each other in front of others. But in reality, it’s just an excuse for dramatic eye contact and lingering glances and often times we see if we can make the other crack a smile.

Sabotaging Dull Conversations – If forced to stay at an event, I usually entertain myself by making absurd political suggestions just to see how long it takes for people to realize I'm joking or doing a bit. Anakin tries (and fails) to keep a straight face most of the time :3

Reading Together – I love sitting in Anakin’s lap while reading political documents. He pretends to be interested but mostly just nuzzles against me. I can read documents and Anakin gets to be close, it's a win win~

Stealing Kisses in Hallways – Anakin pretends to be serious about the Jedi Code, but he definitely pulls me into empty corridors for quick, stolen kisses.

Secret Rendezvous in Jedi Temples – I sometimes sneak into restricted areas of the Jedi Temple just to see Anakin. He scolds me for it but still sneaks me into his quarters. Yeah, we know it's bad and we shouldn't do that and absolutely could get caught but that's part of the fun :3

Anakin Falls Asleep on me – After long missions, Anakin is exhausted. I lets him rest his head on my lap, or cuddle on top of me. I run my fingers through his hair while he mumbles about how unfair the Council is and usually ends up falling asleep mid rant because he feels so relaxed and comfortable.