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apprenticestanheight · 8 months

Note

I don't know if your taking requests still 😭 but I would kill for some reader and adam angst, like Adam and reader were in the trap and are both suffering with the aftermath of it, but they have eachother to help, fluffy and angsty💔❤️ but bit more angsty for reader, maybe PTSD triggers if your okay with that?.. thankyou!! I love your work and you're fr keeping my obsession alive 😭 idk what I'd do without your works, love you bb <3

We'll Be Okay- Adam Stanheight x gn! reader

Hi!! I love me a good post-bathroom trap centric fic (nearly all of mine for adam have been aus where he lived because I refuse to think otherwise) and writing this was a good distraction from my life as it is now so thank you for sending this in!

One thing before we get into it--Adam is where Lawrence was in terms of the trap, and the reader is where Adam was. They wake up in the bath tub like Adam did because I needed their fear of water to make sense and that was the way to do it.

Fic type- this is hurt/comfort with angsty elements

Warnings- mentions and depictions of undiagnosed PTSD (the reader does mention going to therapy eventually but that's not until the fic is near it's end as to my understanding, therapy wasn't that big of a thing nor was it normalized in a big way until the early-mid 2010s. Might also be wrong there but google refused to tell me very much so meh), depictions of flashbacks, mentions of a fear of the water and such hindering the ability to shower for longer than three or so minutes (make up wipes are used in place because it was my first thought), a mention of serial rapists (in terms of Jigsaws victims), mentions of guns and bullet wounds and guns misfiring, mentions of drowning and being shot into the bathtub, reader is afraid of water and the dark post-trap

TWO MONTHS POST BATHROOM TRAP

You'd escaped the bathroom trap with Adam two months before you found yourself standing in a garden in Jersey after having left your apartment for the first time in two weeks. You were wearing basic outfitting--a pair of black jeans, a white cable knit sweater because Jersey was finally cold enough for you to dig it out of your closet, black Dr Marten boots that you'd owned since high school and would never give up on despite the wear they'd accrued in the eight years since you'd graduated, a black cardigan and a white beanie because when Jersey was cold it was better to wear too much than wear too little.

You hadn't known what your goal of the day was when you'd woken up--grants that your closest friend had applied for for you to get funds after the traumatic incident covered your medical bills and had been covering your rent for the two months post escape. You were applying for jobs after quitting your other one because there were too many reminders of the trap there, but you'd decided the night before that you weren't going to go job hunting that day--but you knew you had to do something.

So, you got up. You did your best to shower--waking up in the bathtub and nearly drowning in it had hindered your capabilities to be under water for longer than three-ish minutes--and you told yourself that that was enough while you made sure you didn't stink by using make up wipes that smelled like your favorite scent.

You got dressed in the cable knit sweater you'd thrifted when you were eighteen, put on the black jeans you'd borrowed from a coworker that July but would probably never return, put on a couple of pairs of socks to help combat the cold while acknowledging that the Dr Martens you'd splurged on just a couple days before you were taken still needed breaking in. You grabbed the cardigan off of your coat hanger by the door, did up the three buttons on the waistline, and grabbed a hat when you remembered you needed to grab your phone and apartment and car keys before you left.

Then, you left your apartment. You decided to walk instead of drive and stopped by a local breakfast bakery because you'd been meaning to start supporting locally owned businesses anyway. You grabbed a cinnamon roll and your hot drink of preference, then you left the store and kept walking.

You found yourself standing in one of the only gardens in Jersey, the mornings frost dusting the grass in a way that makes it look almost more beautiful than it does in spring.

You breath in deep, the air bitingly cold, but you find yourself thankful for it. You've started noticing that you're thankful for a lot lately--after a couple of bullet wounds from Zepp and Adam both, you had to spend three weeks in the hospital just...healing.

The minute you stepped out of the hospital, you found your case wasn't quite old news and press just kept hounding you, going so far as to wait for you in the lobby of your apartment complex.

Coupled with that was the fact that you had to go to the police to give a statement while the events were still clear in your mind. Because of complexities on the force and with the Jigsaw case, your statements kept being interrupted because of how thin things were stretched even with the FBI on the case, so that occupied the first week of your second month out.

Then, it was a myriad of issues. You were too afraid to have the spaces in your place be dark, you couldn't handle being in the water for too long because Zepp had shot you into it when he shot you in the shoulder and the chest, being unable to move because Adam had misfired and shot you in the leg when the gun was within his reach and Zepp had tried to wrestle it away from him.

But, still. You took a deep breath in, watching the ground, and were grateful for that capability. Just like you'd thanked the barista who'd taken your order, thanked your luck that you'd woken up in your apartment rather than the bathroom like your nightmares had told you you would. Just like you would thank the first stray cat who ran up to you and rubbed their cheek against your hand when you extended it--Jigsaws aim had been to make sure you felt grateful for the life you got, and while it had left you traumatized, the innate urge to thank things that you'd taken for granted before seemed to come along with the fact that you'd survived.

You weren't grateful for the fact that you'd been trapped--the trauma you inherited along with the survival had kind of hindered that. Instead, your time was spent angered at Jigsaw for doing as he'd done.

"Y/N?" You hear your name being called, recognize the voice calling it instantly. "What are you doing in the garden? It's the middle of November."

You laugh a little bit as you turn to face him. "I don't know," you say. "I just--it's standing in the garden that will be relatively free of people until the spring or job hunting. I've been using a grant to pay my rent since we escaped, so I chose to do this instead."

Adam laughs a bit in turn, and you let yourself approach him.

He looks good--his hair has grown out a slight bit, he's got his camera slung over his hip. He's wearing glasses, too, and oddly enough they suit him.

He's wearing outfitting that you just think is so him--a pair of blue jeans, henley layered with a flannel or two, and a leather jacket. He looks better than good--he looks amazing.

"What do you do for work?" You ask in the interest of making polite conversation. "Are you still working as a--"

"PI? No," Adam says. "I work in photojournalism now. Don't even smoke as often as I used to, I get so damn terrified he's around and watching me."

You snort. "Oh, believe me, I can relate. I've debated adopting a dog recently but I'm too afraid that I'll see an old man sitting somewhere sketching away whenever I take them on a walk. I hate it, but it's the new normal so I guess all we can do is adjust."

"You could adopt a cat," Adam suggests. The two of you start walking toward the garden entrance. "Unless, of course, you decide to leash train them. In which case, just make sure they don't climb up a tree and I'm sure you'll be okay."

You laugh a little and realize that you haven't laughed so much since before the trap. It's a little disheartening, but you and Adam were dropped at two separate hospitals. You couldn't have talked to him before that moment, and you were going to cherish it and all the laughter it brought along.

"If I did adopt a cat, I would want to make sure I had a job beforehand. The grants my friend got me on can be used to pay for rent and other expenses but I don't want to adopt a cat using 'hey, you were traumatized and we can't fix that but here's some money!' money. You're able to apply for them up to three months after the incident, so if you're needing something to cover the rent and make sure you have adequate groceries from paycheck to paycheck, I'd look into it."

Adam shook his head. "Pfffffftt," he breathed. "What--rent money and grocery money? In this America? How foolish a thought!"

You laugh. You'd not experienced any trouble with putting food on your table thanks wholly to the grants, but before the trap you were making enough to cover rent and rent only and as such would frequent the foodbank nearest your apartment.

"Seems a luxury until you realize that living without roaches is, in fact, your right as a tenant. Does your new job at least pay you enough to move somewhere?"

"They gave me a place, actually! It's near my job and the rent is cut from my paycheck. I get five hundred for groceries which goes a long way when one is shopping sales and at places like Aldi," Adam says. "I'm also using a company owned car--my friend Scott knows someone who knows someone else. Got an interview, didn't flunk my way through it, and now I've got a solid set up, I think."

You smiled. You were so happy for him.

When you're within a foot of the exit, Adam sidesteps, gestures at it and lets you through first with a sarcastic grin on his face. "The one who's got more bullet wounds gets to leave first," he says as you exit.

"I don't have that many more than you do," you say.

"You have four," Adam says. "Two in the chest, one in the shoulder, one in the leg. I have one--a shoulder wound is nothing, especially considering that Zepps aim was off."

You smile close-lipped at him, and Adam shakes his head.

"I know," he says. "Too soon. 'M sorry I didn't visit you--I meant to find your number in the phone book after I'd gotten out of the hospital, but I didn't know if you'd gotten out yet and I didn't want to leave a voice message. Doing so would've felt pathetic, I think."

"It's all right," you said. "I was a mess until my last four days in--had I seen you, I think that I would've needed to be sedated. John definitely got to me in a way that was not very fun at the start."

"You're on a first name basis with him now?" Adam asks, sarcasm dripping from his tone.

"Oh yeah," you said. "Kramer and I get coffee every Wednesday, and I hear all about the relatively innocent people he plans to put into his murder machines. Not a lot of photographers, though--you must've been a one-off."

Adam snorts and you laugh, leaning against him a bit. It's like something in your dynamic has cracked, returned you to the people you were in the bathroom--Adams sarcasm, your riffing off of his responses and hitting back with your own. The difference is that Adam found the key to the chain around his foot in a cracked and lifted area of the floor two feet away from where the chain on his foot kept him, and left after finding that the key required for the cuff on your foot was different. You were stuck for a few days before Kramer and one of his accomplices freed you after asking if you'd held out hope and when you responded yes desperately because you were dehydrated and hadn't eaten and you were bleeding out.

Adam sighs. "I have to get to work, but I'll call you, okay? You have a landline?"

"Yeah," you nod. "It's the number beside my name in the phone book."

Adam nods. "Okay," he says.

And then you're watching him go, and the coldness of reality is returning.

FOUR MONTHS POST BATHROOM TRAP

In the months that follow, you end up with a job working in marketing. Adam calls your landline and you give him the number associated with your flip phone. You start meeting for coffee when your shifts line up and let you do so before or after work, and on the weekends and most weekdays you two are inseparable until midnight comes and you're telling Adam to call you in the morning while you go about your nighttime routines.

Adam stays over on the weekends, or you stay at his. It depends on who's place the coffeeshop or bar you go to after work is closer to because the two of you take turns choosing where.

When, two weeks into your second month post escape, you adopt the pair of stray kittens you find in the dumpster behind your apartment, Adam starts picking coffeeshops that are closer to your apartment than his own.

The cats are both boys and are named Cinnamon and Nutmeg for their brown coats. Cinnamon is completely brown all over and blue eyed, whereas Nutmeg is a calico that has shades of brown all over his back, paws, face and tail, where white is on his tummy and neck area.

Adam has spent more time taking photos of them than he'll willingly admit, but as time develops he also has a ton of photos of you doing anything and everything--opening the windows, falling asleep while you two watch a bad horror movie, doing some work from home, making coffee and tea, holding a joint, making breakfast, eating an edible.

He also realizes as time goes on that you are a lot worse off than he is. Three months in and you can't stomach the thought of going to the part of Jersey where the trap was located. You can't exist in spaces absent of light for too long, you look over your shoulder constantly because you're afraid that the act of lighting a cigarette while in a public space will have you trapped again. You cry a lot and are sometimes terrified to be in your apartment because you were taken from there, just like Adam was.

There are days where something sets it off and you're thrown off kilter so bad that you have a panic attack. Nutmeg the cat is very receptive to moments like that one, often rushing to your side with Cinnamon the cat on his toes, ready to press his face against your tear stained cheeks while you idly pet at the fur on the top of his head, and Adam lights the lavender candle you use because the scent of lavender is calming.

Three months in and Adam is suddenly fond of notebooks because he likes to keep track of the things that trigger it for you. Winter-era power outages from the wind are not at all helpful in your recovery post trap, he discovers. You hate it, even with the candles lit. You cannot stand living in the dark--it reminds you of waking up in the bathroom, waking inside a full bathtub with your foot chained to a pipe on one side of the room while Adam was chained to one on the other. You can't stand the smell of the sewage in downtown Jersey or the smell of the dumpsters behind your apartment building because it smells too much like the bathroom. You get anxious about the idea of taking baths and being submerged in the water and find showers difficult most days.

You thank baristas and hold the doors open for people. You thank Nutmeg and Cinnamon whenever they cuddle up next to you or in the all-too-common instance that Nutmeg tries to use kisses as a reason for you to feed him two dinners. You laugh at dogs in the park doing silly stuff and you love the taste of coffee. You watch the news warily whenever a new Jigsaw victim or survivor comes out of the woodwork and you love the job you ended up with. You can't stand the sight of Walkmans or the sound of cassette tapes. You seem to thrive off the sound of Adams laugh in the way he thrives off yours.

By the fourth month, Adam has realized that his lists of the things that set you off and their solutions have just become lists of things you do and don't really notice while you do them--the smile on your face when you feed Nutmeg and Cinnamon or choose to donate a dollar to whichever charity when you and Adam are ordering your coffee from the coffeeshop you've both taken a liking to near your apartment.

The way that you look when you're baking or the way that you look when you watch the sunset, the sound of your laugh in the mornings.

The way that you look when you've just woken up and are registering the fact that Adams hand is carding through your hair because he's been awake fifteen minutes longer than you have. The sheer excitement you seem to radiate while you make your first cup of coffee of the day, the serenity that takes you over whenever the two of you watch the sunset from Adams fire escape, the way that you lean against him, arm looped through his elbow, when things get too much or when the world gets too quiet.

His lists of the things that he likes about you and the ones about things that set you off are eventually put into two separate notebooks after a while of meaning to separate the two things and have two different styles--the ones of things he likes about you are rambles. They go on for pages at a time and there are more run on sentences than there aren't.

The lists of things that trigger your trauma responses are simple--Adam writes the trigger and the solution.

Staying in the dark for too long--consider buying a small lamp for corner of room as Christmas gift, light candles, open windows (cold is good--Y/N likes the cold. Helps keep them grounded) play shitty 80s horror movie so that there's light from the tv

The smell of sewage and dumpsters behind apartment complex--avoid the areas of Jersey where the sewage is prominent, tell Y/N to plug nose and breathe through mouth when taking the garbage down

They're simplistic in their own right, complex in that too, but they're good.

Adam is holding a six pack of donuts and a tray with two coffees from your favorite local breakfast bakery when he opens your door, startled to find it unlocked. Your apartment door was always locked unless Adam called beforehand and you knew you'd be in the shower when he showed up, thus unable to let him in, but he'd not called that morning. He knew you didn't have to work and neither did he, so the fact that your door was unlocked set him on edge almost instantly.

He proceeds in with caution, setting the coffee and donuts on your coffee table. Nutmeg the cat meows at him before starting in the direction of your fire escape, the curtain drawn to a close over the window through which you got to it. When Nutmeg turns around to make sure Adam is following, Adam starts to.

He pulls the curtain over your window back, blinking a little in the surprise he feels as he realizes that it's mostly closed. Your back is pressed against the railing, your body facing the window, your eyes closed but your face tilted skyward.

Adam opens the window, steps onto the fire escape. He closes the window behind him after gently shooing Nutmeg the cat indoors so that he doesn't have to deal with the cold bite of Jersey in January.

"Y/N?" He asks in a voice that's barely above a whisper. He's helped you through panic attacks as you've helped him through the same, but he's never seen you like that before.

Your eyes open. You don't look at him.

"Do you ever get nightmares?" You ask.

Adam inhales sharply. His capabilities as far as sleep are concerned have been detrimentally affected since he escaped the bathroom trap. He went from getting somewhere just past the seven hour threshold on weekdays and nine or ten on weeknights to nightmares no matter how mundane the day. Because of the nightmares, he'd averaged out to three or four hours a night, two on his worst and five on his best.

"Every night since I left," he says. "When I escaped, I had a nightmare about leaving you behind--which, I did at first. I'm sorry about that, by the way."

You were chained to a pipe near a bathtub. Adam had been chained to a pipe near the door. Adam had found the key in a cracked and lifted part of the floor about two feet away from him after several hours of bickering and telling Adam to shoot you despite his protests. That day had been one of the worst days of your life.

Still, four months after your escape and well into a January in the city of Jersey, the days you spent starving to death, fading in and out of consciousness and bleeding from four wounds barely managed to top that.

"I didn't have too many," you say. "Not until recently--went for a three month visit to check on the wounds in my chest. Think that spurred me on a little, and I've been having them for three weeks now."

"What are yours about?" Adam asks.

You meet his gaze. Adam is startled to find that he can probably drown in the relief he feels as you do, following it by a gentle shake of your head and a smirk while you stretch your right leg out, crossing your ankle over his left foot. Adam presses his back against the window and idly wishes he could smoke.

"Nah," you say. "Nope. You first."

"Leaving you behind, mostly," he admits. "Some are about one of us being put into a trap again, the other of us being forced to watch them die. Mundane stuff compared to what old man Jigsaw is known for, right?"

You laugh. "Mine are somewhat the same," you say. "You leave me behind, but it's your choice to do so. Others center around my experience escaping, most are about drowning in the bathtub while you hold me, though. Sweet stuff--you're sobbing and you kiss my forehead and you ask the sky 'why, why them?'"

Adam snickers. "Had that been how it happened, I absolutely would've done that," he says. "God isn't really someone I believe in, but I would've stopped believing in him had you died. I uh--well, people have been put into Jigsaw traps for worse than us, right?"

"Worse reasons, and pettier ones, too," you say. "You spy on people, I fudged the data on a couple of marketing reports when my old boss promised me a raise, which you ended up investigating."

You approach and Adam welcomes your embrace, settling with you sitting against the fire escape railing by the window, one of Adams legs up and your leg tucked beneath it while the other sat near his foot, your foot resting against his calf.

"We're going to be okay," you say. "I mean--not now. Probably not by March, but we will be, I think."

Adam scoffs. "You think?"

"I don't know," you shrug. "Nothing is certain, really, but if I'm remembering correctly, 'time heals all wounds' was, in fact, my senior quote. Either that or something from a Jane Austen novel."

Adam laughs, presses a kiss against your forehead. You relax for a minute, eyes closing as you breathe the cold air in and whatever kicked up that trauma response seems to settle.

"For the record--I think we'll be fine," he says. "I mean, my margin for fine is a little on the low end, but I really do think we'll get there one way or another. We have to."

You grin at him, take his hand.

An unspoken truth exists there--you'll be okay if you have each other. You'll claw your way to okay if you have to, but you'll get there and you'll do with hands entwined, no matter how exhausting it becomes.

SIX MONTHS POST BATHROOM TRAP

You were working. You liked your job. Yours and Adams romantic relationship had been going on for a month when you decided to turn on the news on a crisp evening somewhere near the second week of March.

Another case. Another victim and survivor both, another instance wherein Jigsaw completely evaded capture and no leads on his location are findable.

Sometimes, despite the number of good days you have, you have bad ones, too. Adam is the same--his trauma isn't as bad as yours in the long run, but sometimes his nightmares throw him for a loop or he finds the darkness too unsettling or he gets too close to the part of town where the trap was without realizing until it's too late.

You both have your bad days and your bad weeks, and you've both come to rely on each other during those times. Adam knows how to get you onto the ground again when you feel like you are floating outside of yourself, and you know how to help him when his nightmares have left him helpless, drowning in the thought that he'd left you to die alone in the bathroom.

Adam knows your signals well enough, which explains the closeness he keeps to you when he shows at your apartment after his shift where yours had ended only forty-five minutes beforehand and you'd been home for all of thirty.

You'd managed to take a shower in that time, but in combination with your trauma exacerbated by a nightmare when you'd slept the previous night, it still left you reeling. Every drop of water against your skin was another reminder of the fact that you'd been shot into the bathtub, would've drowned if not for the fact that Adam pulled you out in a panic.

So, you were standing in your living room, your hair was damp. the news was on in the background, some reporter droning on about the specifics of the newest set of survivors and the victims who'd been identified thus far.

You were wearing a pair of adidas joggers and one of Adams hoodies, socks covering your feet because your floors were always cold. You were asking Adam if he wanted to order a pizza while he interlaced your fingers and nodded, pulling you back toward him when you started walking away and pressing a kiss to your forehead when you melted into his embrace for a split second.

You ordered the pizza while your brain was still trying to process everything, some part of you wanting to go back to watching the news despite knowing that such probably wasn't in yours or Adams best interests.

Once the pizza was ordered, you and Adam went to your living room. Adam looked at you how he looks at you when he's trying to determine the best way to help and ends up pulling you close, the two of you swaying along to the tune of the weatherman reporting the next week of Jersey springtime temps.

You're shaking, still a little on edge. You've been the way that you are for six months, and in those six months you've tried everything that you can short of going to therapy.

You bought melatonin gummies to combat the fear of falling asleep and thus falling victim to another nightmare and you take them as the fear sets in.

You've started gradually working on your fear of water rather than doing as you used to--forcing yourself under the shower head and trying to wash and condition your hair while in the midst of a panic attack--and you're slowly starting to work on your fear of the darkness, though you doubt you'll ever again find solace in it like you used to.

Adam, though, is a delightful constant in a life that, before your trap, was almost completely absent of them. You see each other daily, have each others backs and can read each other like neither of you can read anyone else.

Adam knows you inside and out, and that's why he knows to keep close while you sway, hands interlaced in order to keep yours from shaking.

Externally, you just seem like a couple in their mid twenties, swaying along to the music in their hearts while the news talks in detail of the latest local and global tragedies.

Internally, though, you're stuck in the bathroom again. Your chest is stinging with the reminder of the two bullets that were shot into it. Your leg aches like the wound is new and your shoulder begs for a reprieve from the burn of a bullet wound.

Internally, you're watching Adam try to jam the key into the lock attached to the chain on the cuff attached to your foot. He's angry because it's not working and you're begging him to go because you don't want him to see you bleeding out.

You're telling him "If you go, you have a shot at saving me. Go and get help, Adam. Please."

And he's responding. "I'm not going to leave you behind," and your hand is against his face, one of his is on your hip and you're both covered in blood that is his and yours both. Zepp Hindle is dead. The doors have slid open and Adam can go.

You push him away. "Please," you croak.

And then you watch Adam go, hope leaving you as he turns his back after promising that he'll come back and find you, even if it kills him.

Internally, you are once again the person who fell into murky bathtub water, and you're hearing Adams shouts as Zepp tries to drown you but Adam fights him off and yanks you out.

Internally, you are person startled awake by the feeling of two hands against your shoulders. You're mumbling Adams name.

"No," says a grizzly voice. It's the kind that just...has to belong to an older guy, the kind that you would hear from some sixty year old who'd chainsmoked his way through the previous ten years of his life.

"I have a question for you, Y/N," the voice is saying. "Have you held out hope for Adams return?"

In your bouts of consciousness, the first thing that you've spoken has been his name. "Yes," you're croaking, voice raspy from the disuse and the fact that you haven't drank water in days.

"Congratulations, then. You've passed your test, and it is time you got to a hospital."

Internally, you're hearing the sound of keys being inserted into the lock on the chain that holds your foot captive. You're being carried bridal style out of the building by a woman, dropped into an SUV. You're blacking out, starving and dehydrated, while you're driven to the hospital.

Then Adams voice meets your ears. "Y/N?" One of his hands moves to the small of your back. Your hand starts shaking but Adam moves it to his face, your thumb against his top lip. "Come home. We aren't in the bathroom--not anymore."

You're breathing in. Your eyes are opening as you trace your thumb over Adams lips. Adam steps just a little closer as your hand moves from his lips to his shoulder. You're careful not to touch the wound there.

"We're okay," Adam says. "It's been six months. Today, actually--it's the six month anniversary. I made it out and I called for help while I was sitting on a gurney in the ambulance. I didn't leave you behind, I promise. I told you I wouldn't and I didn't."

Despite the inklings of progress you've made, Adam senses that the reassurance isn't bringing you back like it's meant to. He tries to think of what you'd told yourself after a series of flashbacks--he's got it written somewhere, and despite himself, knows it almost like the back of his hand.

"Your name is Y/N L/N," he starts. "It's been six months since you escaped the bathroom trap, which you were placed into on September 10th, 2004. You were put into the trap because you fudged data for the promise of a raise that you desperately needed because your boss had lowered your pay to the point where it was either covering rent or eating on payday."

You did it like that--your name, the duration of time since you'd left the trap, the day you were put into it, the reason. That was always how it started.

"You are twenty seven years old," he continues. "You have two cats named Cinnamon and Nutmeg and you thank everyone for everything all the time. You say sorry a lot, too, and you like weed but you find nicotine a little disgusting because of how it tastes and the headaches smoking leaves behind.

"You like the coffee and baked goods from Maries on the corner of Cornelia and 45th. You hate the water and you hate the dark and you hate being left alone when the loneliness of that sets in, but you love things too. You love sunrises and sunsets, the smell of coffee and Jersey in the winter."

You squeeze his shoulder a bit, press your forehead against it. Adams hand moves from your lower back up to your shoulder, falling down your arm. He gives the hand of yours that is still tucked into his a squeeze.

"You love it when Nutmeg meows at you, the way that Cinnamon always runs to the good spot for sunbathing in front of your fire escape," he says. "You love late nights and the opportunities they give you in the realm of stealing my sweaters. You love cinnamon buns and music and the sound of birds chirping, and in an unexpected turn of events, your favorite movie is 1987s 'The Princess Bride'. You escaped the trap and we're in your apartment, we've ordered food, and everything is as okay as it can be right now."

You take a deep breath in. Adam squeezes your hand again, presses a kiss to your forehead.

"You surprisingly put up with my music taste despite the fact that ours differ," he says. "And you survived. You survived, Y/N. We both survived, and that has to count for something, at least."

Internally, the flashback ends. You exist outside of yourself for a solid thirty seconds more before Adams lips against your forehead brings you back to the ground.

"Thank you," you say, offering a weak smile. Adam grins back, reassuring and warm.

"Anytime," he says.

Six months in, things are okay. They could definitely be better, but they're okay enough and that's what really matters.

TWELVE MONTHS POST ESCAPE

The six months to follow are relatively decent--Adam moves into your apartment and his paycheck is bumped up significantly as he's not living where the company was paying for him to.

You find a therapist you like in order to work on your residual trauma and start going in every Saturday from two to four. You and Adam buy Cinnamon and Nutmeg a cat tree almost as tall as the wall in your living room and every single morning becomes one full of tired, groggy voices, hugs from behind and the sound of exhausted laughter.

The morning of September fourteenth comes quicker than you or Adam had expected for it to, but you try to go about your day as normal. Jigsaw is still at it, wherever he's ended up. You wake that morning to news of a detectives disappearance and one of his past victims having been tested again. There were two survivors in total--Amanda Young and Daniel Matthews, the son of the missing detective.

You try not to let it dampen your mood and decide to order breakfast rather than make it--you have the day off, as does Adam. You took it because you figured it wouldn't be a very good day and Adam took it because he wanted to suffer with you, in his words.

Off the bat, there's nothing that triggers it. Sure, the news has you in a tizzy as you discover that a group of people was placed into what evidence is reportedly calling "The Nerve Gas House," and you feel a moment of resentment for the fact that all of it is being sensationalized by the media, but that barely scratches the surface. It doesn't trigger much more than mild anxiety and resentment as you really start thinking about it. More people dead. Two left alive.

You wonder how Eric feels, how Amanda feels--both of them are being bombarded by the media just like you and Adam were, and you remember that much as though it were yesterday.

The true crime reporters were a different kind of ruthless, some of them trying to visit you while you were still in the hospitals recovery unit. News reporters also kind of sucked, but then it seemed like everyone wanted a scoop, and you could recall being told to "savor your fifteen minutes of fame" once by one of the particularly ruthless reporters who tried to visit you, even going so far as to open the door to your hospital room and enter while you were high on morphine and still being hydrated through an IV.

The entire thing has made you angry in recent months--Jigsaw, you can admit, puts a very wide scope of people into his traps. It ranges from people with a history of drug addiction or people like you who'd committed relatively minor offenses for decent reason to serial rapists and people who were the direct cause of someone elses death.

The ones who survive his traps are usually left with something to serve as a consistent reminder. For you it is back-of-the-mind worry about things in relation to your heart because two bullets were lodged there for several days. For Adam and you alike, it is the fact that you feel the bad weather before the bad weather hits because you'll get pain in your legs and your shoulders. For others, its the scars that self mutilation has left behind, sometimes even as far as consistent reminder of the loss of a limb coupled with the trauma and the responses developed from it.

So--the thing that makes you angry about all of it is that people survive the things that Jigsaw puts them through, and then, traumatized and having been given a hefty medical bill, the media circus will start. They'll be harassed by reporters as they walk down the street or after giving their statement to the police and the harassment will just continue until the next case comes around.

But, you suppose its better to digress. You turn the news off as you get a call that your food has arrived. Adam, having woken up and taken a shower only to get redressed into a pair of sweatpants and one of the baggy cableknit sweaters you loved digging out of your closet come the first of September, gets it from the door and thanks you for ordering food.

You sit and eat your breakfast while laughing at Cinnamon as he tries to steal Adams bacon, where Nutmeg the cat has settled between your side and the corner of the couch, head on your thigh as he purrs because you'd given him a few pieces of shredded cheese earlier, when you were snacky before you stepped into the shower and braved your way through standing under the water longer than five minutes.

Adam looks to you for help, and you shrug. "You're the one who took it upon yourself to feed him a small piece of bacon when he was nine weeks old," you say.

He laughs a little, holding his bacon egg sandwich in the air and laughing at Cinnamons persistence as he jumps from Adams lap to his shoulder, stretching out over Adams arm.

"I aided in the raising of a demon cat," he says. "You adopted a demon cat."

"I adopted two demons," you said. "I just don't happen to like bacon and Nutmeg calms down when I give him a little shredded cheese once every few weeks."

Adam shakes his head and relents, ripping a small piece of bacon off and letting Cinnamon have it. He's able to eat peacefully from there, Cinnamon settling on the couch cushion behind him.

You eat breakfast in a medley of calmness, talking about work and the apartment and getting snippy at one point, Adams sarcasm coming into play and you reminding him of how quick witted you can get when you riff off his sarcasm like it's nothing. You both mention how good a walk in the gardens sounds while the gardens are still walkable and not bitten by frost, but don't end up deciding to go right then.

There comes a point where Adam moves closer to you and you curl against his side and there's a silent knowledge that passes over you.

The one year anniversary of Adams escape was four days ago. The one year anniversary of your escape is today. Three days exist between the 10th and the 14th, all of which you spent alone. You were alone in that hospital, just as Adam was alone in his. Neither of you had reached out to your families beyond a few stunted phone calls, but you were still alive. A year gone and you were still standing.

Adam presses a kiss to your forehead. "'M sorry I left."

"I told you to go."

"I know, but I feel like I should've stayed."

You turn to look at him, shaking your head. "No," you say. "Had you stayed, we both would've failed and we would've been left for dead. You left because I begged you to go, you got to stay alive, and so did I. We both passed the test that Jigsaw set up for us and now we're here. You can't wallow in the what-ifs, okay? I already know how it would've ended had you stayed and I am relentlessly glad that you didn't."

You press your forehead against his. He grabs your hands. You interlace your fingers and give his hands a squeeze. Of course that day was not going to be an easy one--a year gone already? A year of nightmares, of flashbacks, of good and bad moments both, passed you by like it were a blink.

"We're okay," you whispered. "And we're okay because you left. You left, Adam, and you saved my life."

You pull away, meet his gaze. He's looking at you like you're the love of his life and he hates that leaving you was something he had to do at all.

"We're okay," you whisper.

"We're okay," Adam nods.

To tell the truth of it, you're not sure whether or not you're lying to yourselves. If you are lying to yourselves, however, then the lie is pretty damn convincing.

You and Adam end up walking through one of the only gardens in Jersey as the sun goes down. It's the first time you've been to the garden in ten months, and the ten months that have passed have been ones that were good, bad, everything.

Adams hand is interlaced with yours. Your cheek is against his shoulder. Things don't really feel okay, but you know that they will start to eventually.

But, there is also the truth within that that 'okay' is not a constant. There will be moments of your life wherein the thing in its entirety comes crashing down upon you, moments where you feel like breathing is a struggle, like blinking will make you exhausted. There will be moments wherein you're okay, moments where okay elevates to good. Good elevates to great, and great elevates to amazing.

There is not one constant state of feeling or emotion, there is not one constant state of being. Things will fluctuate, as they do, and as Adam lifts his camera to snap a photo of a stray cat, you think, for the first time since your escape, that you're fine with that.

Whatever the next phase of your life looks like, whatever it means for the trauma that still lingers from your time spent in the bathroom trap, you can handle it. With Adam by your side, with your apartment and the adorable cats you adopted two and a half months after you'd been dumped at a hospital with severe bleeding, blood loss, and several bullet wounds, you can handle it. Whether or not you'll be okay throughout all of that time, you'll handle it, and that's what matters.

#adam stanheight #adam stanheight x reader #saw 2004

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an-aroaces-harem · 3 months

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Ivy Chapter 19 Normal Attire Story

DISCLAIMER: I just deepl and google translated my way through this because I wanted to know what’s going on, so there are definitely mistakes but I believe I managed the general gist of the story. Anyway, it’s just a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes. Morganatic Idol belongs to Cybird and ABC Frontier, Inc.

Ivy-san, who was more upset than I had ever seen him, continued to hold me tight, but ...

Ivy: ... It's all right now.

Eventually, with a wry smile, he let go of my body.

Ivy: I'm sorry I'm so distraught. You were the one who had a hard time, but I can't be like this.

Rina: No way ... I'm glad you're worried about me.

Ivy: It's a relief to hear you say that.

Ivy: ... I won't let him get close to you, and from now on, I'll protect you.

Rina: Thank you very much. Ivy-san ...

His gentle smile finally brought relief to my heart.

... At the same time, I felt something strange in my body.

(Somehow it feels strange.)

Ivy: ... What's wrong?

Rina: I felt relieved ... but now I feel a little feverish.

When Ivy-san heard this, his expression clouded.

Ivy: That's terrible. It may be because of everything that's happened.

Ivy: You'd better go to bed. I'll get you something to drink. In the meantime, you can change your clothes.

With these words, he hurried out of the room.

Meanwhile, I change into my pajamas and go back to bed.

Within a short time, he returned with a plastic bowl, water bottles, and towels in his hands.

Ivy: I'm back. I see you've changed your clothes.

Ivy: Here, take a sports drink.

Rina: Thank you very much.

I received a plastic bottle that he had brought for me, and was grateful to drink from it.

The cool, sweet moisture seemed to seep into even the most strained heart.

Rina: ... It's delicious.

Seeing me let out an involuntary sigh, Ivy-san smiled.

Ivy: I'm glad. You'd better make sure you drink enough water.

Ivy: Now, lie down properly afterwards.

He gently pats me on the head and lays me down on the bed.

Ivy: How's the fever?

With that, his face came closer and our foreheads were pressed together.

Rina: ...

I forgot to breathe as I stared at the well-shaped face at close range.

Ivy: ... You're still feverish. That must be why you feel so tired.

Rina: Y-yes ...

Ivy-san said in a concerned voice, but I didn't have time to worry about that.

(Because ... he's so close.)

My heart was beating wildly and my face was getting even hotter ...

Ivy: You need to take it easy today and go to bed.

Ivy: Don't worry. I'll be there for you so that you won't be lonely.

Rina: I'm glad you're here, Ivy-san ... but I'm not a child, okay?

Ivy: Of course, I understand.

Ivy: Come on, you need to lie down now.

Rina: Okay ...

After that, he continued to take care of me ... wiping my sweat, placing wet towels on my forehead and so on.

In the past, I might have felt depressed that I was being treated like a sister again.

But now I know that he's thinking of me from the bottom of his heart ...

(I'm glad Ivy-san is taking care of me.)

The fever and the exchange with Yamauchi-san earlier may have taken a toll on me.

And then ... my head was being stroked by a gentle hand.

Before I knew it, I fell asleep.

A little later ...

Hitaki: Oh, Ivy-san?

Hitaki stops Ivy as he comes out of Rina's room.

Hitaki: I was told this is her room, right? You were a little noisy just now. What happened?

Ivy: Oh, she has been feeling a little under the weather, so I've been taking care of her.

Ivy didn't elaborate on the details of the situation.

Hitaki: Oh? I'm worried about her. I think I'll go visit her later.

Ivy: She doesn't need it. ... She has me, so it's okay.

Hitaki gazed at Ivy, who smiled at him with the face of a dependable leader as usual.

Hitaki: ... Is that so? Well, that's all right.

Ivy: Yeah. ... Okay, then.

As he was about to leave ... Ivy suddenly stopped.

Ivy: I remember you telling me before, Hitaki.

Hitaki: Huh?

Ivy: "Sometimes the most precious things that we take for granted can suddenly disappear one day."

Ivy: You were right. I knew exactly what you meant. ... No, I knew it, but I forgot.

Ivy: ... I hope I never have to go through that again. Don't let anything precious be lost ...

Ivy: I have to make sure to protect her properly.*

Hitaki: ... What are you talking about?

Ivy: No, I was talking to myself ... Well then. Good night.

Hitaki: Eeh ...

Ivy quickly returned to his 'normal smile' and turned away from Hitaki.

Hitaki: ...

... Hitaki stared at him as he left with light steps.

Note: Do I even have to tell you that Ivy said this with dead eyes?

#morganatic idol #morudoru #morudoru ivy #resa translates something for once?#resa should've bought the premium version

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scorbleeo · 8 months

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TV Series Discussion: Sex Education

Season 4 (2023)

Source: Google Images

Insecure Otis has all the answers when it comes to sex advice, thanks to his therapist mother. So rebel Maeve proposes a school sex-therapy clinic.

Source: Netflix (2019)

Absolutely Brilliant

I'll be honest here, I started watching this season with expectations of disappointment only because I knew the one couple I was rooting for was not endgame. That being said, I had no idea what I was going to get from Sex Education's final season.

In this last season, we got some really good stories which ultimately led to great character growth. Some were simply briefly touched on, like Jean's postnatal depression, Jackson finding out the truth behind his sperm donor, Ruby finally figuring out her true identity (kind of), and Viv's experience with an abusive man.

Whereas some took practically the entire show (not just this season) to get an ending. Like Aimee finally being able to recover from her assault, or Cal's struggle to become who they truly were. We also had Otis realising what issues he had and how deep they were rooted. This season also showed us Maeve and exactly how thick the wall she built around herself truly was.

Some of these stories, I particularly enjoyed watching the characters learn and grow from them. Some, really annoyed me. For example, I was never in love with the idea of Maeve and Otis being endgame. As time went on, I just preferred them as friends instead of a couple. As friends, they brought out the good in each other. As a couple, it always felt like Maeve's just holding onto Otis's leash. And I hated how Otis forsaked anybody and everybody once Maeve was around. If you'd watched this season, you could see how bad of a friend, a son and a campaign party he was once Maeve was back in his life. I still don't like the idea of them being a couple but seeing how deep-rooted their individual issues were, it made sense why I always thought them together romantically was problematic but I am not opposed to them coming back together in the far future. Probably why Sex Education's finale struck a chord in my heart, one I did not expect to be struck. Way to go, ambiguous endings.

Now, Adam has been one of my favourite people in this show since he showed his vulnerable side which automatically meant Michael's not exactly likeable. Michael was a toxic father and husband, nobody can object to that. And when Adam told Michael off and finally articulated his unhappiness with his father, I was so proud of my dear boy. However, it's the part where Michael said he doesn't hate Adam, he hates himself. That part made me so happy because not only was Michael fully acknowledging he was a bad parent and husband, he also finally gave Adam clarity. My boy has struggled too much and although I hate that he is no longer with Eric, I am absolutely elated Adam's in such a better place both physically and mentally.

Which brings me to my favourite character growth in this season. Eric freaking Effiong. I never thought this person needed more development, then this season came and I was utterly proven wrong. However, it's his story that warmed my heart. I don't think enough people talk about what Eric was going through in season 4. It's something everybody knows, regardless of which side we're on. Yet, we never talk about it or in some cases, act on it. The dilemma, the identity crisis, the forlornness that people like Eric suffer from... It opened my eyes bigger, I was aware before, I am just even more aware now.

Sex Education actually got better as the seasons went on. And season 4 was an excellent finale to it. I know it's not a show for everyone but I think it should be.

Before I say farewell to Sex Education once and for all, I went back to read my reviews for seasons 2 and 3. And wow, my thoughts each season really go back and forth. (Sarcastically) I love the fact that none of my wishes for season 4 happened, at all.

Rating: ★★★★☆

P.S.: I did not realise how much I liked the secondary school teachers until they had that small appearance.

More on Sex Education here: Season 2 | Season 3

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samtheflamingomain · 1 year

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when you decide to ruin your life over a traffic stop

If you were to Google the following exact string of words, you'd end up where I did a few days ago. They are: "Waterloo arrest audi no plates".

Let's go back and ask why I searched this term. My roommate and coworker Rob came home one day, came downstairs, sat in my desk chair and asked if I'd seen Damien (changed name), another of our roommates, in the past few days.

Actually no. "Hmm. A guy at the bar [we work at] heard on the radio about a 22yo male pulled over nearby for no plates."

No way, I say, being wrong.

This guy has been riding in a blue Audi with a horseshoe up his ass for a month before finally being pulled over for it. But spoiling that isn't even the tip of the iceberg, so let's jump back to me being told this thirdhand gossip and Googling around.

Finally I land on Waterloo Police's website. 7am, when he'd be getting on the highway for work, he was pulled over on the highway toward work. Blue Audi. No plates. Gotta be him.

Then I gasp and can't speak as I keep reading. Rob grabs the computer to see it: the list of all 10 charges he's been arrested on, and the 2 outstanding warrants he was wanted on.

We knew he'd get caught, it was just a matter of time. We figured he'd come back - straight to me, the person who spent 6 months as a court reporter in criminal court - with a court date. Nope, straight to jail for, clears throat:

Assault on, Obstruction of, Resistance to, and Escape from a Peace Officer. Driving with a suspension, no plates, no license and no insurance. Those are 8 separate charges, then, "Flight from Arrest in a Motor Vehicle" with one more "Being At Large" for good measure. He tried to flee. Then, at least spit on and at worst hit a cop. I really hope the bodycam footage hits the news, it sounds like a wild series of events.

At the bottom of this article was a number. I knew what to do with that. I say hold on a sec and bring up the government site for our local courthouse. Search the docket by that number and sure enough, I found his name in courtroom 103 at 10am for a first appearance. Then, today, bail.

Since he didn't come home (and assaulted a cop) I assume he did not get bail. Add on 2 wanted charged for those warrants and I'd be very surprised if he got out within the next year. That's before even thinking about his potential sentence.

When I explained the difference between getting 2y less a day vs. 2+ years (spent in jail vs. prison) Rob agreed - he's going to prison. That many charges... I doubt I'll see him ever again.

Maybe it's because I've never seen anyone go from a decent living to hard time so fast, maybe it's knowing the guy sleeping a room away from me for 4 months is capable of making chase and then assaulting cops. Maybe it's knowing he's a trained boxer that could absolutely clean my clock if I'd crossed him. I'm equal parts horrified and interested.

But one thing none of us can get over is that he's the most chill, laid-back guy I've ever met. And he doesn't even smoke. Just very monotone, keeps to himself.

But once he started driving that car without plates for several weeks... we knew one day we'd either get a call or he'd come home with paperwork. Never expected a "straight to jail, do not pass Go and collect $200".

Maybe I'll go to court one day. See what he's really like, since apparently I knew nothing of him at all.

Stay Greater, Flamingos. And get yer damn plates.

#crime #sam

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carlosfruitsnacks · 2 years

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Hello, im not sure if request still open, if it is then..Can i have a request of camilo x fem reader where reader and camilo in relationship, when reader suddenly says to camilo when they both died, will they meet them again when they were reincarnated? perhaps they will meet them in modern time?

perhaps angst with fluff (happy ending) or just fluff? you can decide if ya want

"in the next lifetime"

summary:

— reincarnation is a fascinating and mysterious topic, others will say it's real while the rest will deny it. but as you lie on your deathbed, you hold your lover's hand and asked him if will you ever meet him in the next lifetime. Camilo only smiles through teary eyes and says yes.

genre:

— angst with comfort, reincarnation into modern au

notes:

— female reader. I do not speak fluent Spanish and all of the Spanish here is translated from google, feel free to correct me if I got something wrong though I will refrain from using too much Spanish.

warning/s:

— mentions of death/major character death

a/n:

— thank you for requesting anon I hope you enjoy reading this !

It was summer after a fiesta when you and Camilo first met, his eyes landed on yours on that hot day and you smiled at him. Immediately, there was a spark ignited between you. The both of you began seeing each other more, forming a genuine friendship. Chasing each other around Encanto, laughing, and slowly falling for one another. It was you who first admitted your feelings for him, it was the happiest day of your life when Camilo says he feels the same too.

You and Camilo would sneak around town and share a kiss near the forest. It felt so incredibly right to be with him. Eventually, you and he turned 18, during your birthday, Camilo gifted you matching necklaces. Around that moment, it truly felt as though he has proposed to you. He took you to meet his parents and you do the same, your families totally overjoyed to find you both in a healthy relationship.

You'd continue to sneak around with Camilo. Sometimes he'll take you after midnight on the Casita's roof, either drinking or making out. It seemed like you and he are the only people in the entire world. Camilo would laugh and kiss you again and again.

"As soon as we turn older, I'm gonna bend on one knee and finally ask you to marry me. I'll find the prettiest ring out there for the prettiest girl I've ever seen"

He told you. Of course, your cheeks will turn red and you'll turn bashful. You really loved the idea of Camilo proposing to you and being his wife. As time flew by, the weather continues to change yet you and Camilo remained the same. However, one night, you fell ill until it remained for an entire week. Camilo was definitely distraught and stayed beside you the entire time. Eventually, you were told you have a sickness that has no cure and that you were bound to lose your life one day.

Your entire world comes crumbling down, your whole life flashed before your eyes before you began bawling your eyes out. Camilo wasn't strong enough to hold his tears back too, so he cried along with you. All those moments you spent with the love of your life suddenly felt so far away. The tragedy has broken your heart into smithereens rendering you hopeless. You remembered the time you met Camilo during that fiesta on a summer day. You recalled him making that promise that he'll make you his wife. You go weeping again, knowing your dreams with him will never come true.

Camilo did everything he could to stay strong yet he knew deep within, he was weak, you weaken him. Seeing you cry was enough to bring him to his knees. He did everything he could possibly think of. Yet despite his efforts, he couldn't stop the inevitable. Ultimately, his mother Pepa would come to hug Camilo and tell him to go spend his time with you while you're still breathing. So, he did.

You couldn't be more in love even though on the brink of death. You felt so weak yet so full of love. Camilo never left your side. He continued to do the things he and you would do while you were still well. The shapeshifter would tell you jokes, stories, and sing songs about how much he adores you. He'll be there before the sun would rise and never leave even if the moon comes falling down. In spite of all things, Camilo remained true and loved you until the end. It was enough to make you feel better.

The unpredicted day has come wherein you lie on your deathbed, eyelids heavy. Camilo was calmly humming beside you while brushing your hair. You snuck a glance at him and melted, he looked so beautiful. You reached to touch his hand, and he responded by interlocking his fingers with yours. Camilo kisses your forehead, and you smiled at him.

"¿Mi amor?"

"¿Sí, mi vida?"

There was a pause. You can feel your breath growing shallow as you struggled to keep your eyes open.

"Do you...do you think that I'll meet you in another life?"

You ask him. Camilo has noticed your weakening state and is already preparing himself for the most heart-crushing moment in his entire life. His breath hitched as he forced a smile, but his eyes begin to water. The shapeshifter wasn't sure if he believed in reincarnation, but if it were to be real, he wished you and him will meet in another lifetime where a tragedy like this wouldn't come between you both.

"I...yes. You...you and I will meet again, [Name]. I don't know when but we will. You'll probably be just as beautiful as you are now and I'll be falling for you all over again"

Camilo's words made your smile as enormous as ever, your heart swelled with joy. He goes to kiss your knuckles.

"In the next lifetime, I get to marry you and you'll be my wife. Nothing will ever come between us ever again, mi amor"

"Te quiero, Camilo"

"Yo también te amo, [Name]"

With those final words, you sighed in contentment and closed your eyes for good. Camilo held in his breath as he noticed the halt of your heartbeat, he collapses on your side, letting out a loud cry.

After your death, Camilo couldn't bring himself to love another, it felt like he was betraying you. So, with the remaining days of his life, Camilo continued to live on with joy and no regrets. He kept the memory of your love alive in his heart until he passed away due to very old age.

The sun rises indicating another day. A girl opens her eyes to the sound of her alarm. She yawns and reached for her phone by the nightstand. She prepared for the upcoming day ahead. After breakfast and getting dressed, she exits her home and made her way to her university. This was an average day for any college student. She'll go through the crowd and walk in the city full of colors, she makes her journey towards the train station. The girl busied herself with her phone, scrolling through social media and messaging her friends. The train arrives and she squeezed herself inside.

She stands by the exit and looked outside the window. The train begins to move as she waited until it reached her stop. The girl watched the scenery outside, there was a blur of other trains passing by. All of a sudden, her eyes grow wide. She lets out a silent gasp as she stared at the passing train nearby. She stared at the fellow passenger leaning against the train's exit. Her eyes sparkled with familiarity. It was a guy with sun-kissed skin and curly brown hair. His eyes were hazel and freckles adorned his cheeks. The girl couldn't help but feel so familiar with this random stranger riding another train.

The guy notices her gaze and becomes speechless. His eyes looked at her with disbelief. She was beyond beautiful. Her hair was [hair color] and her eyes felt like home. The two shared a look for a while, unable to say a word nor do anything. Both of their hearts raced yet they felt so confused why they felt this way. They start to grow apart, their trains separating ways until it has made them snap back to reality.

I have to find him!

I have to find her!

They thought in unison. As soon as the two of them exited the train, they raced out of the station, looking for each other. The girl ran outside and searched the crowd for those warm hazel eyes. He pants while he ran around the area to look for that gorgeous girl. They seek one another for a long moment, almost running out of hope until, in slow motion where it felt like it was destiny, they meet each other in the middle of the crowd. She was the first to approach him and he came closer to her.

They shared another look, it felt like a century as they stared at each other breathlessly. He was getting flashes of memories he didn't know he had. And she was feeling emotions that felt like it was buried deep inside for centuries. He was the first to speak.

"Hey...have we met before?"

His voice in her ears sounded so familiar, like a pair of arms wrapping around her. The girl can feel her eyes begin to water the longer she stared at him.

"I...I think so"

Her voice somehow brought tears to his eyes. It seemed as though he has found something he has lost before for a very long time. The two never broke the gaze. She smiled and chuckled lightly. It felt so absurd that this handsome stranger felt like a long-lost lover yet she has no memory of him whatsoever.

"My name's Camilo"

He, Camilo, introduces first. The name brings a slight pinch to the girl's heart but she decides to brush it off.

"I'm [Name]"

She says. Camilo lets out a shaky breath, unable to believe this feeling of joy rising within him. She takes out her hand, and he shakes her hand eagerly. Within the crowd, Camilo and [Name] couldn't shake nor deny the emotions that came to life after seeing each other for the first time. It appeared as though this meeting was ought to happen. Camilo laughs and runs a hand through his curly hair.

"So [Name], uh...wanna go out for coffee sometime?"

"I would love to, Camilo"

masterlist

#encanto #disney encanto #camilo madrigal #camilo my beloved #encanto fanfic #encanto fanfiction #camilo madrigal x reader #camilo madrigal x y/n #camilo x you #encanto camilo #jay's fanfics™️#jay's fluff fics™️

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youbloodymadgenius · 3 years

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The Sound of Your Footsteps (Ivar x reader)

A/N: This is my entry to @mrsalwayswrite 350 Celebration Challenge. Congrats again, love ♥️🌻♥️

Sense: Hearing - Prompt: Footsteps

The reader is blind. I'm not visually impaired. I did a lot of Google research on living with blindness, but I'm sure I still got things wrong. Sorry about that, and please, just know I tried my best.

@geekandbooknerd, thanks for beta reading this for me 💖 You're fantastic 🤩

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: Ivar wonders about the reader's eyesight. When he asks her about it, she has no choice but to answer him.

Warnings: soft, soft Ivar; blindness; possible inaccuracies.

Words: 2430

Crutch – right foot – left foot – crutch – right foot – left foot – crutch – right...

You remember like it was yesterday the first time you heard his footsteps. You've never been so scared. In the great hall of your father, Jarl Henriksson, you were just a frightened bride-to-be – actually you were still a child – promised to a prince you'd never met but whose reputation you knew. So much has changed since then. The thought makes you smile, and as often, gratefulness is flooding your mind as you silently thank the gods. For all Ivar's flaws, you couldn't have asked for a better husband.

You're not surprised when the door cracks open and, sitting upright on the bed, you look up, a beaming smile adorning your face.

"What are you smiling about, Y/N, uh?" His voice is soft, as it always is when it's you he's talking to.

As he crosses the poorly lit room, you struggle to follow him with your gaze, squinting, pressing your lips together, and forgetting to answer him. It doesn't matter, though, since Ivar seemingly stops all of sudden – no more footsteps, no more thud of his crutch.

His question comes out of the blue, your husband catching you off guard. "Can you see me at all?" He asks pointedly, but the concern in his voice is obvious and you can hear him frowning.

Your heart sinks. You know you should have told him, it just never seemed like the right time. Now, there's no way you can dodge the issue.

Closing your eyes for a brief moment, you decide to answer his question with a question. It's pointless, undoubtedly, but it could buy you some time. "Why are you asking, Ivar?"

"Why am I asking? What do you think, my love?" You startle when he stabs the wooden floor with his crutch before taking a step. "Maybe," his voice sounds closer now, "because you haven't said a word even though my face is covered in blood. Shouldn't you be concerned about my well-being?"

Dumbstruck, open-mouthed, you squint once again, harder, desperate, but to no avail, to make out more than the shadow figure of the man – your husband – now standing in front of you.

"Iv..." You stutter, "Iv..." Squeezing your eyes shut, you struggle to hold back the tears that are threatening to escape. "What... What happ... happened?" You finally manage to say.

"Y/N," Ivar utters a long, tired sigh, "there's no blood on my face. You can't tell, can you?"

Realizing that you got played, you furrow your brow. You want to be mad at him, a slight feeling of betrayal making you uncomfortable, but you know you can't. After all, you betrayed him first, by not telling him.

"Ivar..." You just whisper, looking up and giving him a sheepish half-smile.

A hand lightly brushes yours and then the bed sinks as Ivar sits himself to your right. Wrapping his fingers around your hand, his thumb gently strokes your wrist as he sighs once more. "I'm sorry for tricking you, my love..." You’re sure he is - you know he is.

"The truth is, Y/N," another sigh, "I've been wondering for some time now about your sight. It's subtle but, you seem more clumsy than usual, and your movements are slower, more careful. And you don't really make eye contact anymore. So..." You can feel a finger on your chin and then Ivar turns your face. You know without a doubt that he's giving you one of those piercing stares that seem to see directly into your soul. "Tell me, can you see me at all?"

As much as you'd like to, you know there's no turning back now. Your shoulders sag. "Not..." You wince at your shaking voice, and so you clear your throat, gathering your courage. "Not exactly."

"Not exactly?" He repeats your words incredulously. "What does that mean, huh?"

Embarrassed, you just shrug and Ivar insists as he places his other hand on your knee. "What can you see, my love?"

He may be close, his face a few inches from yours, but you can hardly see anything. Sure, you can tell there's someone in front of you; and if you didn't know it was him, you could probably tell it's a man just by their build; but that's it. No details, no features,...

Inhaling deeply, you grab his hand resting on your knee, squeezing it tightly. "Not much." As he keeps quiet, you know Ivar is waiting for more details. So, you give him a sorry smile and eventually take a steady breath before admitting the truth. "Mostly shapes and shadows. And light." As if to make your point, you turn your gaze towards the fireplace, your landmark whenever you are in the room at night, deprived of daylight.

Next to you, Ivar gasps – a rare occurrence. "And that's why you put more and more candles everywhere, right?" You feel the movement of his arm more than you see it as he surely gestures towards the candles that are scattered around your shared bedchamber.

Feeling his intense gaze on you, you nod, knowing he can see it. "Yes, it... helps."

"Why?" Ivar's voice sounds broken and you can hardly bear it. "Why didn't you tell me, Y/N?"

"Why should I have, Ivar?" You ask without malice, barely seeing – no pun intended – where the problem is. "My sight and my eyes are not that important, you know? We never talk about your legs either."

"It isn't the same." Ivar retorts with a pinch of irritation and then heaves a sigh. "My legs are... what they are. They never change. The pain may come and go, but my condition is still the same. But you... Your eyes, my love... Your sight has deteriorated to the point where you can barely see, and you haven't said anything. You didn't have to face this alone, Y/N. I'm asking you again, why didn't you tell me?"

If you're being honest, you don't know exactly why. When your vision began to blur several winters ago, you abruptly found out that you had inherited your mother's condition, who had gone completely blind even before you married Ivar. At that time, you were still able to see quite properly, but you had told him, of course. Then... Then it had been a very slow progression, which had allowed you to adjust gradually, almost without noticing it, until one day, a few moons ago, you had realized that what you were seeing was just a big nothing made of various shades of grey.

You're not going to lie, not being able to see is often frustrating and sometimes even scary, but actually, it's not as hard as you thought it would be. That's why, as you just said to Ivar, it's not that important.

You shrug, an embarrassed smile playing on your lips, before tilting your head downward. "I... I don't know..." You eventually admit as Ivar scoots closer, his breath now on your face. "But I wasn't alone, my love. You were always with me. Your love gave and still does, gives me strength. Besides, my being unable to see isn't Ragnarok, you know. It's at most a little bump in the road of my life."

Right next to you, Ivar hisses and you know he wants to object, but he won't, because arguing with you about that would be pointless. The two of you couldn't be more different. Ivar, who's continually angry at everything and everyone, can't even comprehend how you can be so resilient, while he will never fully accept his condition, even though he, unlike you, was born with. Yet, you know he admires you for that.

"You're so strong." He says instead, gently cupping your cheek. He strokes your cheekbone with a calloused thumb, and for a few moments, there are no words exchanged as only your breathings fill the silence.

As you finally want to tell him that it's not about strength, that, simply put, you have no choice, you hear Ivar take a sharp intake of breath and he speaks again, his quavering voice a dead giveaway of how upset he really is. "You can't see my face, or my eyes, even from this close, can you?"

At this point, hiding the truth will do no good. So, you sigh, cover his hand resting on your face with yours, and then turn your head and confess "No, I can't anymore," before pressing a kiss to his palm.

"But... You remember my eyes, don't you?" You can hear the slight panic in his voice. "You can still see them in your mind's eye, right?"

You know he doesn't say it in a cocky way. He knows just how much you love – loved – them. His otherworldly and so expressive blue eyes. They had been your anchor; the light in your darkness. How many times have you drowned in his eyes? You were sure that nothing, not even the years, could erase them from your memory. Yet, you were wrong.

It had been a painful realization. If you still can somehow see Ivar's face in your mind, the blue of his eyes has disappeared, as if washed away by the greyness in which you live every day.

You swallow, not answering him for a long time, and he just waits, his hand now on the side of your head.

After letting out a breath you didn't know you were holding, you grab his hand, squeezing it. "The colors, Ivar... They're gone... I've lost them."

"What do you mean? I know you can't see colors, it's nothing new." His harsh tone doesn't fool you. Your husband is worried, alarmed by your words.

"No, that's not what I mean, my love. I no longer know what red is, or yellow, or blue. I mean, I obviously know that an apple is red, or that grass is green, I... I know that your eyes are blue, but it doesn't mean anything anymore. I... I can't remember colors, that’s what I'm trying to say. And therefore no, Ivar, I can't remember your eyes."

Silence falls over the two of you as Ivar is trying to process what you just told him. As if to make sure he's still there, you squeeze his hand tighter but don't utter a single word.

"I'm... I'm sorry..." His whisper is barely audible, his breathing uneven, and you wouldn't be surprised if he was silently crying.

"Don't be, my love." You retort, not missing a beat, as your free hand finds his arm, moves up to his shoulder, his neck, and finally his face, which you cup tenderly. "I'm fine, I swear I am."

You're not lying. Things aren't perfect but it could be worse. You could be without him. "As long as I have you by my side, I can handle anything." As your lips graze his skin, you can taste the salt on his cheek. "No need for tears, my love. I've been watching my mother for years. I saw her cooking, sewing, or even taking care of my baby brother, even though she had already lost her sight. I'm not helpless. I will do as she did. I've already adapted. I rely more heavily on my hearing and yes, I think I make it work."

"But–" Ivar begins, but you shush him, your pointer finger gently stroking his mouth. "There's no buts, my love. I have neither the time nor the desire to mourn what I have lost. I could cry all day because I can't remember your eyes, but what good would that do me? None. So, I rather focus on what I have. Remember, you were asking me earlier why I was smiling, right?"

Ivar is unable to speak but you can feel it when he nods. "I was smiling because I was thinking how much I love hearing your footsteps now. I'm pretty sure it's one of my favorite things about you."

Under your hand, Ivar clenches his jaw, his whole body tenses, and suddenly, you're not sure if he's breathing. You know him well enough to be sure that disbelief is written all over his face.

"Listen, Ivar," you explain softly, "Wherever I am, everything looks the same now. Shades of grey, fuzzy dots of light, and hazy shapes... Most of the time, I could be anywhere and it would be the same. Even in the Great Hall, when you're out and about, I sometimes wonder where I exactly am. It's not a very nice feeling, you know? And then, I hear your footsteps, the thud of your crutch and the familiar clicking of your braces. And I know I'm not lost, I know I'm home. Because wherever you are, I am home. Because you're my home, and it doesn't matter where I am. And the sound of your footsteps is more often than not the first thing telling me that you're near me. It's comforting, reassuring, and it makes that warmth around my heart flare up. I used to look into your eyes and that way I knew I was safe. Now I listen carefully and when I hear your footsteps, I know that nothing can happen to me. That you'll keep me safe. That I'm home."

Of course, it is a sensitive topic. You're aware that your husband despises his awkward gait, his severe limp. You know he hates his crutch and his inability to sneak up. You need him to understand though.

For a fleeting moment, Ivar doesn't react and it unsettles you. With no visual cues, you don't know what to do with his silence. But then, you feel his smile under your fingertips and you know he gets it and so you smile back, relief flooding your mind.

"My footsteps, huh?" Ivar chuckles. "To be honest, if anyone had told me that one day it'd be your favorite feature of me, I wouldn't have believed it. But well," you feel him shrug, "guess I can live with that." Letting out an amused sigh, he finally adds, "The blind and the cripple! We're quite a pair, aren't we?"

You giggle, but the next moment, Ivar wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you into a kiss, his hands roaming your back, and the outside world immediately ceases to exist. And as you can hear him moaning, as you can taste the mead on his tongue, as you can smell his earthy, woody scent, as you can touch his chiseled and muscular chest, you know you'll be fine, no matter what.

You'll both be fine.

Tagging: @waiting4inspiration @honestsycrets @lisinfleur @saldelys @gearhead66 @inforapound @readsalot73 @milkkygirls @xbellaxcarolinax @shannygoatgruff @zuxiezendler @hecohansen31 @lonewolf471 @ivarthebloodyking @fuckindiva @tgrrose @didiintheblog @peachyboneless @pieces-by-me @funmadnessandbadassvikings @ethereallysimple @destynelseclipsa @cocovikings23 @xceafh @mrsalwayswrite @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @pomegranates-and-blood @jadelynlace @grimeundglow @quantumlocked310 @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom

#ivar #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar ragnarsson x reader #ivar fanfic #ivar fanfiction #ivar fic #ivar imagine #ivar vikings #vikings fic rec #vikings imagine #mz350celebration

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scuttle-buttle · 3 years

Text

Chapter 11

WC: 2077

Rated: E

Chapter Tags: full on angst, discussions of emotional trauma, mild depictions of blood/gore, mentions of self h*rm & su*cide, mentions of child abuse, discussions of physical disabilities, institutionalization, some dialogue & plot canon to TV show, hurt/comfort

🧠

The rest of the conference went by much like the first day did. Both you and Laszlo bought a few books for your collections. An ease had settled over your conversations with the help of Sara and John's presence; you spoke more freely with each other. You tell yourself it is not because he's going soft on you or vice versa, but rather that you have found yourself in this imaginary bubble where you happen to get on well. It's inevitable that it will pop once you’re back at school and Laszlo will revert back to his usual callous state.

Laszlo. It still felt odd to think of him like that, rather than by his title. You couldn't lie, it gave you a sort of thrill. Even in your dreams you had only called him by his honorific. Thankfully you didn't have another dream after Friday. You couldn't escape the feeling that you'd said something incriminating in front of the man in question. So you chose to pretend it didn't happen.

Monday morning came and you headed to the train station. Once again he had secured a private cabin for the journey. This time you came prepared with a book since you had yet to replace your broken phone.

"Thank you again for inviting me to this, I really enjoyed myself. It was really nice of the department to foot my travel expenses, the hotel was really fancy. I may have helped myself to a mini-bottle or two," you joked.

"There is no need to worry about the department's finances; they were not involved."

You pause. He paid for you? Laszlo did say he would take care of the arrangements; but the four-star hotel, the private compartment train tickets, the admission to the conference, and every meal? Shit, that must have been a fortune, hundreds of dollars at least.

You don't know what to say, so you settle for an awkward "oh." A moment passes before you add "I appreciate that, um, I can pay you back. Might take some time but I can."

The professor is flippant in his reply. "There is no need, it was well spent for the research and knowledge acquired." He opens his book signaling the conversation is over.

You lick your lips. Fine then, I'll just consider it payment for emotional suffering and damages of the last eight weeks.

The first few hours of the journey were spent reading one of the new books you picked up at the convention. Occasionally you would peek over the pages at the professor. He was engrossed in his own selection; sometimes he would pause to write down a thought.

Around the seventh hour of your journey you had given up on reading anymore in favor of looking at the fields outside. The silence was comforting.

Laszlo had trouble concentrating on the book in his hand. He saw you as a conundrum. One minute you could be sociable and teasing with your comments, then next you were biting at his throat with your quick wit and fierce ideals. He decides that he wants to know what made you into who you are today. Now is as good a time as any.

His eyes on you cause a tingle up your spine but you ignore it. Laszlo breaks the silence; "may I ask a personal question?"

"You just did," you answer, still peering out of the large window. He huffed once, amused. At his following silence you face him. You raise your eyebrows to signal him to go on with his question. Curiosity grows at the thought of what he intends to ask.

"Twice now you have made implications of a traumatic past," he begins.

Bubble popped.

Interrupting, you snark "is this the part where you psychoanalyze me, doc? Because trust me, I've been through enough of that." You pick at the lint on your jeans.

Laszlo tries to choose his words more carefully the next time he speaks. "What I mean to say is, the first afternoon in the classroom where you defended that student you implied you had been witness to a trauma. You then displayed signs of anger and embarrassment before leaving prematurely. Yesterday you mentioned having entered a psychiatric facility. As an alienist I can't help but find myself curious about your experiences."

You slide your eyes to meet his from across the cabin. Your face is devoid of any emotion. "We all have our demons. Even you can't argue with that."

Your jaw clenches. Everyone had warned you. They all said he would try to worm his way into your head to figure you out. All the reviews, the gossip, everything. It was a big fat 'I told you so'. You give a pitiful laugh at the situation. "You know, everyone told me that you would pull this stunt."

He seems confused by your statement. "And what is that?"

"That you'd get inside my head and try to figure me all out or whatever. You already know I googled you beforehand, what everyone says about your methods. By now I assume you've done a little research yourself. I promise you there is nothing exciting here," you scoff and point to yourself.

"You would be correct in your assumption." You chew at your cheek as he starts. "I do know some of what happened in your past. Yet I also know that society likes to dilute the truth into something either more palatable, more entertaining, for people to consume greedily. What I want to know is what you have faced. How you have not allowed the experience to overcome you so much so that your humanity is erased like the characters I lecture on."

Eyes closing of their own volition you are thrown back in time to that night so many years ago. You didn't talk about it anymore. Bitsy knew of course, but that was the extent.

Laszlo waits. He knows this is likely to push you over the edge if your history with him means anything. Quite frankly, anyone would be tossed to their limit at his interrogation had they gone through what you had. John always told him that he needed to work on his bedside manner; that he had a habit of coming on too strong in his pursuit of learning the intricacies of the human mind. But your earlier comment about being sent to a so-called 'nuthouse' rubbed him the wrong way. It left a bad taste in his mouth. He needed to know. He needed to understand.

Laszlo can imagine the reprimand that he would receive from John and Sara for this. Just as he considers apologizing for his intrusion you open your eyes.

"She was fine. None of us suspected anything was wrong. I came home from having dinner with some… boy, and she had locked herself in the bathroom. She- she must have started over the sink and moved to sit on the side of the tub. She was hunched inside it when I got the door open. I pulled her out. Blood was… everywhere." Your voice is clinical as you explain.

"After, I shut down. So I checked myself into a psych ward a few days later when I couldn't get the feel of her blood off my hands. It's slippery, you know. And it smells. You wouldn't think so but it does." You clear your throat. "I did the therapy, took the meds they prescribed, all the standard treatments. Later I started watching true crime documentaries. I'd heard about exposure therapy so I figured the more I saw the gore, the less the image of my dead roommate would bother me. And it did help. The nightmares stopped after a while, I came back to school. I was better, just not the same.” You had watched the passing landscape as you explained. Turning to face him you speak again. “That's why those pictures didn't bother me. They weren't anything I hadn't seen before."

He contemplates you. The discovery and subsequent loss of your friend in this manner would no doubt cause lingering effects to your psyche. A stain that would forever remind you. "I offer my sincerest condolences. I do not presume to know what that would be like to experience, but I am glad you sought help afterwards. To make the choice to alleviate yourself of your own suffering where possible.”

As he says this he realizes that your anger towards the idea of being enslaved to unconscious impulse makes perfect sense. It explains why you focused so much energy on defending your belief in free will. That you have the power to choose how you carry your joy, your anger, your healing. It reminds him of how he held onto his own guilt and hurt, ignoring how it festered within him for so long. He feels as though he needs to share a piece of himself with you.

“I played piano as a child, quite well too. My mother hoped I would someday make a career of it. I vividly remember playing Mozart’s Concerto for Piano No. 20 in D Minor at a holiday party when I was seven years old. It was my favorite to play.... It requires two hands." You finally look at him. "My father...” He pauses to gather himself.

Now it is the doctor that cannot meet your eyes. As you listen you feel your confusion grow. How could he have been a talented pianist if he only had full use of his left hand? Unless..., the realization dawns on you just as he continues, his words slow.

“My father had two sides. One loving and the other brutal, the two often coexisting. It was something as trivial as putting me to bed, I recall... A game of tug of war. We were laughing…” He inhales a sharp breath. Already you can feel the tears begin to blur your vision. “I don't remember if he was drunk or if I said something that offended him. He must have pulled my arm behind my back.” Laszlo exhales shakily. “In small children, fractures can often affect…” he trails off, unable to finish. You can hear how he barely holds himself together.

Your heart aches for the broken man that sits in front of you. He never let on how much his arm bothered him, at least not within your presence. Suddenly you don’t see him as this rude, insufferable, obsessive man, but instead as someone that spends his life trying to protect himself. He projects his own anger and hurt so that he may, just for a minute, forget about his own demons. He wants to help others even when he feels he cannot bear to help himself.

But unlike you, he has to live with the physical reminder of his past every day of his life.

You stand and move to sit on his right side. Before allowing yourself to think too much of your actions, you place your hand atop his own, curling your fingers around his palm and squeezing delicately. You don’t bother wiping away the tears on your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Laszlo;” the whisper is barely heard above the sound of the train. A second passes where you fear you have overstepped and offended him by touching the affected limb. When his thumb tightens against the backs of your fingers you know he is not. He holds you in place.

“You asked me how I kept my humanity. How does anyone really? We learn to take what we get and we carry it in a bag. Sometimes you have to drag the damn thing behind you. But eventually the weight gets less and less if you allow yourself to move forward, even if it’s still there with you all the time. I dealt with what happened years ago and it does still haunt me. It’s easier now than it was, but… I- I suppose I’ve learned from you too. Sitting in those lectures and hearing you talk. We can either let it haunt us for the rest of our lives… or we can accept it… and use the memory of our pain to help ourselves and others.”

“I’m not sure the choice is entirely in our hands.” His tone is mournful.

You turn to smile at him through your tears. His own eyes are bloodshot. “I disagree. If it weren’t, if we didn’t have the freedom to choose that, we’d all be murderers.”

Tag list

@hardlyinteresting @lorna-d-m @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles @greeneyedblondie44 @unbeatablecurlgirl @apparrio @marchingicenotes7 @anteroom-of-death @bruhidaniel @lemairepstuff @thehuiabird @zemosimp05 @alindeluce @iamnotthecatladynextdoor @laura-naruto-fan1998 @trelaney @boneheadduluc @i-am-dead-inside-666 @fictionlandslanddreams

#the interpretation of dreams #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo x reader #laszlo kreizler #the alienist #the alienist angel of darkness #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl #laszlo kreizler fanfic #laszlo kreizler daniel bruhl #scuttle-buttle #tw self harm #tw suicude #tw child abuse

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tharros-auris-black-asimi · 2 years

Text

Crime of passion (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Incubus Bucky Barnes x Female Human Reader

Summary: It's a normal day in the life of the incubus Bucky Barnes and his girlfriend— you.

... Or is it?

Chapter Warnings: This series takes place in a universe where monsters, creatures, and humans all coexist. In this world, Bucky is our lovable but questionable Incubus, and the Reader is his human significant other. They're both in a committed, established relationship. This chapter however, contains dark themes. Discussions about serial killers, murder, rape, as well as the killer being obsessed with the Reader are discussed. The Reader also discusses misogyny towards women in the broken justice system, as well as discussing how broken the justice system is in this chapter. Stalking, and obsessiveness are also discussed. The Reader also suffers a panic attack in this chapter, which leads to discussions of a past toxic relationship, implied daddy issues, and past infidelity. Protective!Bucky also makes an appearance, as well as allusions to Dark!Bucky.

Additional Notes: Hello everyone! I hope you're doing well. I apologize for my absence. But fear not, I'm back! I hope you all enjoy this new installment for Incubus!Bucky and his girlfriend. I enjoy writing them a bunch.

There are a few Russian words that Bucky calls the Reader in this chapter. Milaya, according to Google Translate means "sweet". Solntse means "sun." If I missed any other Russian words, please let me know.

And in light of what is going on with Russia and Ukraine, I want to wish my Ukrainian readers safety. I hope you're all doing well and staying safe. I love you all and I'm thinking of you.

Lastly, if you'd like to also read this chapter on AO3, you can read it here.

Word Count: 6,239

It all had started when you had fallen asleep early that night.

To be fair, it had been a long shift.

And Bucky still hadn’t come home yet either. Tony had needed him for something, he had told you with a grimace. You knew he would be okay with working late— he was a demon after all.

But to feel the cold side of the bed where he usually slept with you always made your heart clench. For a demon, sleeping with your sex demon boyfriend was always good. Somehow in his own little way, Bucky kept you warm.

Nights like this one made you miss that warmth.

You didn’t know what time you had crashed, either.

Even through all that, you still somehow fell ploy to dreamland.

At first, your entire vision was complete and utterly black, until you fell into a familiar room.

Your old childhood bedroom.

Just like last time.

Although it was just a dream, looking at your old bedroom made you feel strange.

As if this wasn’t your room anymore. As you hoisted your legs over the bed and got up, stretching your legs before running for it, the apartment didn’t feel like it was yours either. Seeing the pictures all over the walls, and even the TV— it just felt wrong.

Like you didn’t belong here.

Your landscape melted and you were falling… falling down… until you materialized to a familiar place.

You recognized it as the beach. The same beach that you had gone to LA to, with Bucky. The two of you had gone down because of Sharon Carter.

The blonde Ceraste and her Cyborg girlfriend had shown the two of you around before going to the beach.

It had been a fine time. It had been how you had secured Bucky’s infamous photo with the Boinky Barnes contact name.

Which no— you were not going to change anytime soon.

Not in a million years, thank you very much.

You heard the roaring of the waves crashing against the tide. You saw Sharon and Nebula together while the two of them stood in the sand and holding hands, while you and Bucky were laying on your towels under the shade. Provided by the huge umbrella that Bucky had bought from Target one time.

As you watched Bucky say something to Dream You and hearing Dream You’s laugh, the landscape melted and changed again.

This time, it was complete and utter darkness. As if you were simply walking through pure blackness.

Then…

“Your dreams are really weird, Doll.”

You let out a screech as you suddenly saw Bucky. Your outrageously hot demon boyfriend had his glamour down and his tail was even amused. His tail swished behind him in a teasing way that had you glaring at him as if he had set a room on fire. Something of that nature.

“You asshole! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” you cried out dramatically. To which Bucky just rolled his eyes. “Oh please,” he scoffed. “You’re too young to get a heart attack. Don’t be dramatic— that’s my job sweetheart.”

Nearly close to whacking Dream Bucky on the head, you settled on clenching your hands into fists and punching his chest as hard as you could.

Honestly, Dream Bucky thought it was adorable.

Your hits weren’t hitting him as hard as you were trying to do.

Like at all.

He didn’t feel anything. So it infuriated you when he broke out into laughter and deep chuckles.

“Stupid winged demon idiot,” came out of you in hushed mutters as your winged boyfriend did nothing but laugh at you.

“I’ll have you know I passed all of my college classes with A’s,” Bucky informed you with a smug smirk on his face. “Yeah,” you replied snidely, “—because I helped you study. If it weren’t for me, you would have never passed Calculus. Maybe I should’ve switched my major to chemical engineering too.”

A scowl made his way onto Bucky’s face at the reminder. To which you just gave him a smirk of your own.

Ha! Eat that Barnes.

“It’s not my fault it’s math based,” Bucky’s form of protest made you cock your head to the side in consideration. While the two of you sucked ass at math, you had been determined to help your then best friend to pass. Given that he was also a hopeless cause, you had visited his dorm every day to help him study for his quizzes, tests, and exams. And if he didn’t feel like studying in his dorm, then the two of you would be in the library in order to properly work.

“Then maybe you should have chosen a different career path,” you retorted with a snort. “You’re one to talk,” Bucky huffed, “You don’t even need a major in order to work at a strip club.”

You rolled your eyes. “What you need in order to work at a strip club as a stripper is good upper body strength. I swam a lot in high school. I was even on the team. So that helped me out. You try being on that pole. See how you like it, Sasha.”

Sasha.

It had been a nickname that you had given him after you had found out that Natasha and Yelena called him Yasha. Russian for James. But you hadn’t really liked calling him Yasha. You felt like that was a Nat and Lena thing to do. They had been closer to Bucky more than you had, after all. In their own way, Natasha and Yelena looked up to Bucky like an older brother of some sort. Their parents had always been friends, so it made sense that their children would be, too.

“Whatever you say, milaya. I picked up some Chinese on my way home.”

That had you perking up. “Oooh? Really? You got my usual?”

“Uh-huh,” he nodded. Confirming your suspicions. Your face brightened up. Even though it was a dream, Bucky could sense that you were happy. Eating Chinese take-out and watching the TV while cuddled up to your incubus sex demon boyfriend was exactly how you liked spending your days off.

Totally.

There wasn’t a place you’d rather be than in your apartment with your boyfriend.

“Okay! I’ll be waking up now. I might be a little groggy though…”

You couldn’t help but pout at that a little though.

And with a chuckle from your boyfriend, the landscape around you melted.

Your eyes popped open. Unlike the movies however, you didn’t get up right away. Your phone screen was telling you it was nine-forty PM, which meant that you had fallen asleep for nearly four hours.

With a groan, you managed to heave yourself up and hoisted your legs to the edge of your bed, yawning. Stretching your arms out to wake you up a little, you got up. Still half-asleep, you grabbed your phone and trudged towards the kitchen. Your footsteps smacked against the hardwood floors of your apartment that you shared with Bucky. But not enough to alarm or annoy the person living down below you.

Oh no. They had suffered enough whenever Bucky and you would fuck. Suffice to say, you and your outrageously handsome demon beau were too loud for your own good. Remembering how your neighbors would pound on your door at two in the morning, demanding that “you and your boyfriend need to quiet down right this instant young lady or else we will be calling the cops” because quite frankly, the elderly people who lived with the two of you desperately needed their beauty sleep.

Your downstairs neighbors hadn’t been spared either. You were pretty sure they were sick and tired of being tortured by all of the noises of depravity at night. Or in the wee hours of the morning. Whichever worked.

Grabbing a glass from the cupboard, you poured yourself some water from the water filter and gulped some down, hoping to wake yourself up and clear your senses a little bit.

Then. Then!

You heard it.

Familiar footsteps making their way down the hall and towards the door. In excitement, you happily bounced over to the door, just as the door was being unlocked.

The door swung open.

“Oh! You brought the food!”

James Buchanan Barnes gave you a coy look as he walked through the door. Happily closing the door behind him and locking it, you turned right back around just as he put the bags of take-out on the kitchen island.

“Course I did, Kitten. What kinda demon do you take me for?” Bucky questioned as he began to take out the take-out boxes from the plastic bags.

“A trickster one?” you teased him. Bucky just rolled his eyes, as if that was going to make everything better.

It wasn’t. But, as you walked over to the kitchen to giddily grab some chopsticks to eat your very late dinner, seeing the look on your face made everything feel better.

Even when you happily led him to the couch that the two of you had bought from IKEA to watch that one K-Drama you had stumbled upon on Netflix with a love triangle between a girl with face blindness, an AI, and the AI’s creator— Bucky still didn’t mind.

Not even as you looked at him, getting closer to him. Nuzzling your face into his shoulder. The gesture made a deep rumble erupt from his chest.

Was your boyfriend growling? Purring? Rumbling?

Whatever. You’d find out sooner or later.

His tail happily wrapped itself around you, keeping you even closer. His wings were wrapped around you too. Keeping you safe, like a cocoon wrapped around a caterpillar before it emerged as a butterfly.

Bucky gently stroked your hair as you pressed the button for the episode to play.

There was really no other place he’d rather be.

Two weeks later, with Bucky...

He should have known something was wrong when he had gone to work early that day.

Hell, he should have even checked his phone for any news.

But he hadn’t. Like an idiot. Instead, he had walked his merry way into work and didn’t even suspect that anything was amiss.

Not until the topic of discussion was brought up during the usual lunchtime that he spent with Steve and Sam.

A buzzing noise from Bucky’s phone had started the conversation.

Curious, Bucky had picked up his phone from where he had put it face-down on the table.

The New York Times article notification greeted him as Sam peered his eyes over to look at his phone too. “Since when do you have a New York Times subscription?” Sam’s voice was full of disbelief as Bucky gave him a glare. “I don’t.” Rolling his eyes, Sam still continued to peer at Bucky’s phone screen. “Dude!” exclaimed Bucky. “Can you not be staring at my phone? Have you never heard of peace and quiet?”

“Oh… murderer’s still at large, huh?” was what came out of Sam’s mouth in a low tone.

Bucky and Steve both blinked at him in surprise. Confusion too. “Murderer?” Bucky echoed. Sam gave him a nod. “Murderer,” Sam confirmed. “Y’all remember my older sis Sarah?” At Bucky and Steve’s nods, he continued. “She works at the morgue as a personal assistant. Apparently, there’s been a murderer on the loose. He always goes after the same women. They’re all in their mid-twenties. Same hair, body type.”

“Have the police found any motive?” Bucky questioned the Griffin. Sam shrugged. “Not from what I heard of. Why?”

Bucky didn’t answer him.

After work, the incubus had called Sarah and asked her if she would like to join him for coffee, which the older Wilson sibling happily accepted. She had always been fond of him.

“Bucky! It’s been a while,” she greeted him after giving Bucky a hug. The two of them had caught up while drinking their coffee before he had spilled the question to her.

“I heard about this murderer that’s been going around.”

The happy expression fell from Sarah’s face. “You heard about that, huh?” she sighed. “Do you know anything else about it? Anything the public doesn’t know?” he asked her quietly. Gently.

Taking a deep breath, “Well, I managed to look at all of the bodies. They’re all the same. Bruises on the sides of the throat. Marks on the wrists. Those looked like rope binding to me. Bruises on the hips, too. And the semen. They’re dry on the inner thighs. It looks like whoever it is, they didn’t even bother cleaning up his victims. As if I couldn’t hate him even more. He doesn’t even do the proper aftercare. Fuckin’ ass wipe.”

Bucky openly chuckled while Sarah softly laughed into her cup of coffee. “Anything else?” he inquired.

Sarah chewed on her bottom lip. As if she was nervous. As if what she was about to say next was going to upset her little brother’s friend.

“To be honest Bucky I…” her voice had dropped low, low enough so that only Bucky would be able to hear her. It also helped that the coffee shop that the two were at was very full of people right now. “… if I’m gonna be honest with you… the victims remind me of your girl. You know, your roommate? They’re kinda similar… same hair… same body type…”

It was as if someone had flipped a switch in him.

All of a sudden, he felt like he had gotten some sort of clarity. Almost like as if he had seen the light. Like people claiming that they had found Jesus.

“Sarah,” his voice was dangerously low, “I hate to also ask you this, but who’s in charge of this investigation?”

Later that evening, in the neighborhood of the Bronx…

Loud banging of the door caught his attention.

Being in charge of this murder case was harder than he had thought. Of course, he was intelligent. His intelligence and ambition were what got him this job.

But this case was beginning to stump him.

Him!

Even as intelligent as he was, he was still having trouble getting into the murderer’s head.

He had theories, yes. Many, many theories.

And he had been thinking about them, up until the banging on his door started.

“Sasha!” A woman’s voice shouted from behind the door. “Stop banging on the door! What if the person’s asleep, huh? Do you want to disrupt their slumber? Beauty sleep is very important, you know! I should be getting some right now instead of freezing my ass off in late November!”

“You agreed to come, Doll. You could’ve just stayed home.” A familiar man’s voice spoke from outside the door.

A voice that the werewolf who occupied this home recognized.

He remembered that voice.

“… you were dragging me out the door, Sasha! No explanation! I didn’t have a choice!” he heard the woman retort. “… and then, when I was trying to ask what was going on, you just said that you would explain later!”

Uncurling his legs, he got up from the couch to make his way to the door.

Hushed and low Russian were being spoken at the door in quick paces before the door swung open.

You and Bucky were for a better word, bickering. You had your arms crossed while Bucky was eyeing you with a cool look in his eyes.

Both of you were glaring at each other, locked in a staring contest.

A clearing of a throat made Bucky blink.

“Ha! I win.”

Bucky just rolled his eyes.

“Are you finished?”

You turned your head.

… And then you were blinking in surprise.

Bucky did not look delighted to be standing at this doorstep.

“Yes...” the werewolf watched in amusement as Bucky straightened his back.

“Just let us in,” Bucky grumbled.

Helmut Zemo was for a lack of a better word amused.

This was even better than the human nurse he had a slight crush on, whenever he’d drop by her apartment for her to nurse over his wounds. Just the severe ones.

Having the human nurse treat his wounds was always a fun time, simply speaking because of how she would talk about all the K-Drama's that she would watch. It certainly helped expand his Netflix options.

As soon as the werewolf had invited the bickering couple inside of his home and they had gotten situated on his couch, he walked straight for his kitchen, where he kept all of the water bottles. When he walked back into the living room with three water bottles in his hands, you and Bucky were still bickering.

“… No Sasha, I’ll be fine,” you were being stubborn again. Bucky wasn’t having it, as the look on his face basically spelled my human girlfriend is going to get herself into sticky situations and he was quick to rebuttal your kind statement. “There’s a goddamn serial killer on the loose! You could be next!”

His anger melted away from his face when you looked down. As if you were resigning yourself to some fate.

Bucky spoke your name quietly. But you were already pulling out your phone and pulling up your Instagram.

“I’m really sorry if this is a bad time…” you trailed off because you didn’t quite know the man’s name who was sitting across from you. “Helmut,” he quietly introduced himself. You noticed his voice was low and raspy. His low timbre made him sound like a bass instrument almost. “Helmut Zemo.”

“It’s very nice to meet you. Sorry that we had to meet under these weird circumstances,” you apologized kindly as you quickly typed in a username in your search bar. As you searched, Helmut gave Bucky an amused look. Almost like he was ready to snort at the incubus sitting across from him.

“Well James, it has been a while, hasn’t it?” He couldn’t help but allow the smirk to creep through. Oh yes, he was definitely enjoying this. “How odd. Your other half seems to have more manners than you. Pray, tell me, how did you manage to score someone like her? Does your mother know? Say hello to her by the way. I haven’t seen Winifred in ages.”

Now Bucky was glaring at him. If looks could kill, Helmut could have been six feet under by now.

“She’s just as much as a little shit as I am, Helmut. Don’t give me that face.” was all Bucky snarled back at him. Helmut just leaned back into his chair as if he was being entertained by some reality tv show. “I don’t doubt that, James. But the fact that she has more manners than you… it speaks volumes.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean, Zemo?” Bucky all but growled. “It means she can keep you in line, James. Heaven knows none of your girlfriends in the past could do that. She keeps you on a leash.” Helmut remarked dryly. “Says the dog,” Bucky saw Helmut roll his eyes in amusement.

“I swear, I’m surrounded by actual children…” both men saw you glower at the two of them as you pulled up the Instagram profile. “And you aren’t one?” Bucky questioned with a smirk.

“Shut up, Sasha.”

Clearing your throat, you spoke.

“So, I heard from Sarah Wilson that you’re the detective on this case, Mr. Zemo?” You asked, trying to strike up a conversation. All the while Bucky was trying to look over your phone. To which, you sent him a heated look. “No looking at my phone.”

Bucky just made a noise. You ignored it.

“Yes. Although, before you and James arrived, I found myself hitting a dead end.” Helmut confessed.

“I think I may be able to help with that,” you spoke quietly.

“You will?” Helmut questioned, a dark eyebrow raised. Bucky, on the other hand, looked a little bit skeptical. You nodded.

“Yes.”

You slid over your phone on the coffee table. Helmut picked up your phone while wearing a pair of gloves that had been laying on the table. “The private messages,” you added quietly.

Curious, Helmut pulled up the inbox between you and what appeared to be a man’s profile. Scrolling through the conversation, he saw it had been a one-sided conversation, with you not giving a response. Simply because it was still in the request box.

At first, the messages had started with him asking how you were doing. Then they slowly had devolved into him asking if you were available for hanging out. He seemed to take a break for a week, but then, he was right back on his shit. When he realized that you weren’t responding, his text messages became more frantic. Your crazy psycho ex started saying that he would find your address to come and talk to you. Helmut’s face changed from one of interest to one of pure horror.

Sliding your phone back onto the table in your direction, he sat back in his chair uncomfortably.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone that he was threatening to find out where you lived?” You didn’t answer his question.

"He's threatening you! Why didn't you tell me? We could have gone to the police!" Bucky exclaimed.

"Yeah? And what would the police do, huh? They don't care. They would probably laugh at me, or say it's not enough evidence." Your bland response had Bucky seething. "What more could they need?" he retaliated angrily.

"A dead body?" You guessed. "The law isn't going to give a shit unless there's a dead body. Or my dead body, for that matter. Stalking is the hardest crime to prove. You could scream and shout it as loud as you could, but what good would it do? The law doesn't care unless there are dead people involved."

Grabbing your phone from the coffee table and sliding it back into your purse, you leaned back on the couch. You closed your eyes as you took in a deep breath.

Inhale.

Exhale.

At last, you opened your eyes.

“Whether if you like it or not— the police are only giving a shit now because there are dead bodies. It’s like Promising Young Woman all over again. Cause lemme tell the two of you— if there weren’t any dead bodies and I would’ve just gone to the police station, I would have been laughed all the way outta there, or they would have told me that he was just being funny and I should have been more considerate of his fucking feelings, or they would have told me I needed more evidence. It doesn’t matter that he’s threatening me, Sasha. And you wanna know why?”

“Because he’s a man. Just because he’s a man, I suddenly need to be more considerate of his feelings and how he feels. I need to let him just speak his mind and hear him out, because what could possibly go wrong?”

“Oh yeah—” you had switched back to English. Your hands had turned into fists as you tried to desperately hone in your anger. Keep it contained. Because right now, you were seeing absolutely pure unfiltered red. “… because if I put up a fight, or I say no, I could end up fucking dead in a ditch! I could be cut up into little motherfucking pieces and scattered in a lake somewhere! He could cut me up and eat me! He could kidnap me and rape me and force me to marry him!”

At the end of your impromptu speech, you had been digging your nails into the palms of your hands so deeply that when you retracted your nails, there were crescent moon-shaped bloody shapes on them.

Your body started to tremble. “Easy for you to say that we should go to the police, Sasha. They’d believe you over me.”

Turning to the dark-haired werewolf detective, you tried to give him some sort of a reassuring look. A smile, maybe? You didn’t know. “Have a good night Detective. I think we’re going to go home now.”

A few days later, that Saturday morning…

Everything came crashing down early that morning when you and Bucky decided to stock up on groceries.

Bucky had noticed that you had slipped a small little handgun into your purse ever since meeting Helmut. You didn’t tell him, but he had a sneaky feeling it had been because of your theory of your crazy ex-boyfriend being the killer that had been going around. Like the good boyfriend that he was, he didn’t ask questions or bring it up in conversations.

However, he did hold your hand tight as the two of you stepped off of the subway and into the busy street. Heading for the grocery store that was down the street, he kept a close eye on people as the two of you walked down the street. He heard a child giggle as they were picked up by their mother when they looked at him.

Thank fuck he had put his glamour over him. You were holding onto his hand as if it was your lifeline as the two of you walked into the store. Pulling out the piece of paper that held your shopping list, you began to rattle off the things you needed.

“Eggs, milk, bananas, strawberries, greens, mochi ice cream?” You gave Bucky a bewildered look. He simply shrugged in response. “I like the strawberry ones. The green tea ones are good too. The mango ones… that’s debatable.”

“I’ll have you know that the mango one is delicious, thank you very much.” you shot back at him as the two of you walked deeper and deeper into the store.

Eventually, after walking around the store to get what the two of you needed, the two of you stopped by the dairy section in order to grab the milk and eggs. The mochi ice cream was right up ahead.

Everything was fine.

You resisted the urge to swallow that lump that had appeared in your throat.

Everything was fine.

You were fine.

Everything was fine.

Bucky quickly checked the five dozen eggs, gently tap tapping the top before gently putting it in the cart. You kept watch at the cart while your boyfriend grabbed two cartons of milk, humming happily as he put them in the cart too.

Just then, you felt it.

A chill ran down your spine as you saw a familiar head of hair walk out of the corner of your eye.

It was as if everything had slowed. As if time itself froze as your brain stopped working.

All of a sudden, you felt like you couldn’t breathe. Your body grew hot as your temperature rose.

Danger.

You were in danger.

Your chest heaved up and down as you started to hyperventilate.

And then Bucky was wrapping an arm around you and pulling you towards the ice cream and opening the door for you so the cold air could hit your face.

“… Hey,” you heard him whisper. “Come on. Focus on my voice. Good. That’s good, sweetheart. You’re doing a great job Angel… pick out any flavor of ice cream for me. I’ll get the mochi ice cream after we’re done. Go on. Pick one. Any one.”

Somehow, your hands had grabbed a pint of ice cream.

The flavor made Bucky raise a dark eyebrow.

You were certainly going out of the box with this flavor. You had never chosen it before. However, Bucky heeded no mind and just wrapped an arm around you again, leading you back to the cart. Tears were starting to roll down your face quickly as Bucky hid you from view. From an outsider’s perspective, you were simply being cuddled by your boyfriend in public. But Bucky was looking straight at you, a look of concern in his eyes.

Then his hand was gripping the cart handle and the two of you were walking out of the dairy aisle. Turning the corner, he made a sharp right turn into an empty aisle.

“It’s alright, solntse. Breathe, milaya. Deep breaths. In and out. In and out. That’s it. That’s good. Breathe with me, sweet girl. That’s it Petal.”

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Bucky watched as you breathed with him. Slowly, you regained color on your face. Your chest movements became slower, more fluid instead of you trying to heave in oxygen as much as you could.

“S-Sasha,” you managed to say through hiccups. “Shhhh. Don’t say anything. I’ll make sure to pull up a nice warm bath for you, okay? Today’s your day off. It’s Sunday. We’re gonna have a nice Sunday inside. We’re gonna watch some Netflix with take-out. Okay?”

Weakly, you nodded.

James Buchanan Barnes bent his head down to kiss the top of your head.

“That’s my good girl.”

Bucky drew you a bath when the two of you went home. Just like he said. He had ignored your protests of wanting to sanitize the groceries and had steered you right towards the bathroom. After drawing you a bath, he kissed your forehead and told you that he would be taking care of everything else. That you didn’t have to worry about anything.

While you were in the bath taking a soak, he quickly sanitized the groceries and put them away. About the time he started making mac and cheese was about the time you had finally gotten out of the tub. Your feet echoed on the hardwood floors of the apartment as you made your way into your room, trying to find new clothes to wear. Eventually, you just decided on your pajamas.

Hearing you walk into the kitchen made him look up. Just as he had finished putting the breadcrumb topping on top of the macaroni in the pre-heated oven.

“Did you season it?” You rose an eyebrow. “Yup. Salt, pepper, paprika, garlic powder, cayenne pepper, and a little bit of nutmeg. And before you ask—“ Bucky gave you a look, “… yes, it’s freshly grated. So is the three kinds of cheese.”

You gave him a nod. “Good. The sour cream is still good, right?”

“Yup. Still in tip-top shape Doll,” he confirmed for you. “And the Netflix is all set up too,” he added.

You couldn’t help yourself.

You really couldn’t.

A soft little giggle that reminded Bucky of something akin to a schoolgirl came out of your mouth. Like the good demon boyfriend he was, he didn’t freak out or anything.

“You really are marriage material, you know that?”

“Please.” Your boyfriend let out a snort. “Demons like me don’t get married. Marriage is the only thing angels speak about. And when they do speak about it, it’s so disgusting.”

This time, you were the one to let out a snort. “That’s because most people have weddings. It’s a shit ton of money and time that you need to plan that stuff. Usually, people go big or go home. They go all out. That’s why demons don’t like it. They’re not fond of… rambunctious engagements.” You chose your words carefully, watching as Bucky raised a dark brow in your direction. “Engagements? Are we living in the regency era?”

“Oooh… speaking of regency eras…” you spoke in a singsong voice.

Bucky groaned. “Please, no. No. No more about that Bridgerton show. Please. You’ve been talking about it. I don’t care. You can have another marathon.”

“Huh? I don’t want another marathon.”

He sighed in relief.

“… I already had one.”

Another groan.

You just rolled your eyes. “Oh, stop being a killjoy. I was just going to suggest we watch Pride and Prejudice. The one with Colin Firth in it. Everyone knows that version is superior.”

“But,” you clapped your hands together in glee as you walked over to the couch. “—Stand-up comedy will have to do.”

It was after finishing the rest of the mac and cheese and getting knee-deep into Pride and Prejudice did Bucky ask the question.

“… The thing at the store… you saw him, didn’t you? The guy that Helmut’s lookin’ for.” His voice was rough.

“Yeah.”

You were looking down at your hands.

“You know him, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

Subconsciously, his hand reached out for yours as you intertwined your hands together.

“When I was in junior high… I hit a rough patch in life. You know— I got my period when I was young, I was dealing with teenage angst. I thought the world was dark and edgy, blah, blah, blah. I listened to really depressing ass music. I shouldn’t speak shit though— that Welcome to the Black Parade album by My Chemical Romance still slaps.” You couldn’t help but chuckle bitterly as you thought about those memories.

“You already know about my parents. They divorced when I was young. I don’t remember my dad very much. My mom never really talked about him either. But I was really close to my grandfather from my dad’s side of the family. He was like the father I never had growing up. So when he passed away when I was thirteen, I went through it really hard. I even picked up a drinking problem. I never really told anyone about it. I didn’t realize that… everything with my life was hitting the fan until I was sixteen. I got clean when I broke up with him. And then, you know. I cut off contact with my mom after high school, bada bing bada boom. Blah, blah, blah.”

You took in a deep breath. To steady yourself.

“But the problem lies within the shitty ex. The douche canoe. The bane of my existence. Around the time my grandpa got sick, was when I met him.”

“It was a nice day, actually…” you trailed off, beginning to get lost in old memories. “He was so nice to me… I never thought he’d be capable of cheating on me.”

“What?!”

Bucky looked shocked. Surprised. His face was full of disbelief. “How… how could anyone cheat on you? You’re…” he trailed off. Not being able to find the right words to describe you. Not quite.

You just gave him a shrug. “He did,” you told him in Russian. “… and I was too stupid to take him back. All my friends were telling me I shouldn’t have. I ignored them, obviously. What could I say? I was dumb and in love. No… no quite that. I loved him— I really did.”

“But…” you had lifted your head up, turning your head so you could look at him. “I think I also took him back because I thought no one would ever love me. Not in the way you do. I never had a father. The only father figure in my life was dying. He was the first boy who actually looked at me… like I was just me. I clung to that too. And I really did love him. I did. But every time he cheated on me… I started loving him a little less.”

“I kept track of how many people he cheated on me with,” you confessed to him. “When we finally broke up for the last time, I reached out to all of them and told them about him. What he was really like. I don’t talk to them all that much anymore. I just wanted to be done with him and everything and everyone he knew.”

“How many people did he cheat on you with?” Bucky asked you.

“Seven. One time, I think it was our second time that we had gotten back together— he was dating two other people while seeing me.”

Bucky choked on the drink that he had just gotten. Luckily, none of its contents had spilled onto the coffee table.

“You’re fucking with me. Seven?!”

He was in awe.

Really.

He was in awe of how stupid your ex was.

Maybe stupid wasn’t the right word to describe your ex? Maybe there wasn’t a correct word that could describe how he felt towards your ex.

“Yeah,” a humorless chuckle left you. “And he fucked them all. I guess I wasn’t worth fucking.”

“Nah. Nah— you’re definitely fuckable. Sex on legs, doll.” Bucky deduced. Even nodding with his own statement as you laughed, grabbing your drink of choice and taking a sip of it.

There was a part of him, that deep part of him that was gleeful that your ex hadn’t touched you. That he hadn’t even tried to think of doing anything with you, simply because that dark part of him knew that no one would ever be able to make you feel what he did.

Bucky wasn’t perfect. He had made peace with that a long time ago.

For a long time, he thought it would be fine. That his undying crush on you would remain requited and nothing would come of it. He had long accepted that these dark, possessive thoughts and feelings he had about you weren’t definitely normal— not by a long shot.

But now?

Now, he didn’t give a shit anymore.

He didn’t say anything. Not much.

Leaning in to press his mouth against yours, he felt you smiling.

“I don’t care about him. If you asked me to kill him— I’d do in a heartbeat.”

He really did say the sweetest things to you. What an amazing boyfriend you had.

“I don’t want you killing him. I don’t want you to do that, okay? I’ll be fine.” you told him.

Oh, how wrong you would be.

Taglist: @bxnnywriting, @greeneyedblondie44, @hawsx3, @sunflowerfive

#incubus!bucky barnes #incubus!bucky barnes x female reader #incubus!bucky barnes x asian!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x asian!reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction

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im-in-love-with-pizza-bites · 3 years

Text

Best Parts Of Him

Sebastian Stan X Daughter!Reader

Summary: As time goes by he wants you to know that he'll be with you wherever you go, you'll always be his baby girl

Warnings: breakup, that's all I think.

Song: Best Parts of Me by Will Dempsey

A/n: The Romanian is from Google Translate it might not be right... If it isn't go ahead send me a message or an ask with the correct translation and I'll fix it thank you!

Princess is spelled prinţesă and dear/darling is dragă :)

I can still remember the first time I saw

Those brown eyes staring into mine

It was in that moment I felt a love

I never knew I would find

It's like God took my heart right out of my chest

Sebastian smiled down staring at your big doe eyes that were filled with so much innocence. He couldn't believe it, he was a dad. Not only a dad, but a dad to the most precious little thing he had ever seen. Wrapped in a pink hospital blanket, a tiny tuft of hair on your head, and most beautiful eyes he's ever seen.

"Oh bless you." He cooed as you let out a tiny sneeze. He was in love, you owned his heart now he swears. He's never loved anyone or anything as much as the little baby in his arms. "Aren't you just the most precious thing. I love you." He placed his lips onto your forehead before looking back at your face.

"I'm gonna teach you everything I know. And your gonna know Romanian. Asta e corect prinţesă." He finished in his mother tongue. (That's right princess)

And wrapped it all up in a little pink dress

And painted the most beautiful smile in the world

And topped it all of it with brown hair and curls

The day he made my baby girl

Sebastian took a deep breath before knocking on the door holding the sunflowers in front of him. He could hear giggling from the other side of the door before it was opened.

You were in your room with your grandmother before you heard the doorbell. You looked up at your grandma smiling.

"Go on." She urged. You went running out of the room giggling once you made it to the living room. Opening the door you saw your dad holding a bouquet of sunflowers.

"Yes daddy!!" You jumped up and down smiling. He chuckled.

"Prinţesă, can I take you to the daddy daughter dance?" He asked kneeling to look 6 year old you in the eye. He couldn't help but hope you'd always be this tiny little girl. His little princess.

"These are for you dragă."

"Thank you."

'Cause the best parts of me were given to you

And I hope that all of your dreams come true

And as time goes by

I want you to know that I'll be with you wherever you go

You'll always be my baby girl

"And the winner is-" You crossed your fingers and looked down at your dad who was sat in the audience. "Y/n Stan, with her dance act!" The principal announced. You smiled stepping forward.

"Here's your prize." The drama teacher came onto the stage with the prize, it was a fifty dollar toys R us gift card.

You found your way in the lobby of your school looking for your dad. He was stood next to your grandparents, holding a bouquet of flowers. You smiled hugging him.

"I won." You said proudly.

"Good job dragă."

She's as sweet as the syrup

She dripped on her dress

Won't leave the house if her hair is a mess

"Daad! It looks terrible I can't go to school like this." You said motioning to the lopsided braids.

"Hey little missy I'm trying my best." He said. "It does look pretty bad though doesn't it?"

"Yeah it does. Just pull it back up in pony tail daddy." You grumbled crossing your arms.

"How about pig tails?"

"Fine just get them even." You sassed. He gasped.

"Hey sassy mcsass I'll leave your hair like this."

"Sorry dad." You leaned up placing a kiss on his cheek.

"That's what I thought."

You should see her dancing when she thinks she's alone

Or the snap she sends me from her mama's phone

And I've made so many mistakes in my life

At least I did one thing right, my baby girl

Sebastian did his best to hold in his laughter as he watched you belting out to music. Doing a funny dance, holding you hairbrush like a microphone. He pulled his phone out and began filming.

"You held me down, but I got up already brushing off the dust." You sang along. "You hear my voice, you hear that sound."

"Like thunder, gonna shake the ground." Sebastian joined. You screamed turning around dropping the hair brush. "You held me down, but I got up." He motioned for you to keep singing. You smiled joining in.

"Get ready 'cause I've had enough, I see it all, I see it now."

"I got the eye of the tiger, a fighter, dancing through the fire, 'cause I am a champion, and you're gonna hear me roar." You two sang together. "Louder, louder than a lion, 'cause I am a champion, and you're gonna hear me roar."

'Cause the best parts of me were given to you

And I hope that all your dreams come true

And as time goes by

I want you to know that I'll that I'll be with you wherever you go

You'll always be my baby girl

A scream was heard through the penthouse. Sebastian jumped to his feet running out of his office toward the sound. Almost falling a few times before he made it to the living room, more importantly by the door. He sees you a big smile on your face, hugging a piece of paper to your chest other mail scattered on the floor around your feet. He immediately felt relief seeing you okay.

"What happened?" He asked walking closer careful to not step on the other mail.

"I got in!" You said looking at him with such joy he has never seen before.

"In what?" He smiled.

I got in my dream school!!!" You exclaimed. He gasped hugging you.

"I'm so proud of you!" He said. His baby girl all grown up, leaving for college this summer.

There'll be some hard times you'll face in this life

Just say the word and I'm by your side

And all those bandaids and heartbreaks and days that go wrong

You'll never face them alone

Sebastian was confused, you had been away at college for about three months, it was November now. He wasn't expecting you to come home until Thanksgiving, but you called him told him you'd be home for the weekend and staying during Thanksgiving break. He didn't know why though. You told him you were having a Friendsgiving with your roommate and some other friends you made at college this weekend then you'd start heading down the next morning. Though you called him Friday and told him you were on your way. So Saturday morning he was up and watching for you to get there.

"Dad?" You hollered walking into the penthouse. He came around the corner frowning when he saw you. What looked like dried tears on your cheeks and his old college hoodie you stole from him when you were 7, a clear sign you were sad.

"Dragă? What happened?" He immediately brought you into a hug. You broke, you tried all night to stay strong but here you were. You never could stay strong around your dad.

"H-he broke up with me." You choked out. He knew who you were talking about, your boyfriend Kevin. You and Kevin had been dating during senior year of high school and decided to try to take a chance at long distance.

"Oh prinţesă." He mumbled.

"He met someone new!" You cried. "I wasn't good enough."

"Hey. No, you don't talk about yourself like that." He pulled away putting his hands on your shoulders. "Ești perfect, frumos, nu vorbești rău despre tine! A intelege?" You knew he was serious when he broke out the Romanian. It was rare for him to talk to you in Romanian, it was more common for you two to talk to your grandmother in Romanian but it was only pulled out for you when you were in trouble. (You are perfect, beautiful, you don't speak ill of yourself! Understand?)

"da tată." You responded hugging him again. Your dad always could make you feel better. (Yes dad)

'Cause those best parts of me

Will never leave you

Wherever you go

Whatever you do

And if there comes a time

When I'm not around

You know where I'll be found

My baby girl

My baby girl, oh

A/n: I love this song, I found it on tiktok and think it's beautiful. Also, I think I perfected the songfic? With it in bold and italic while also indented. What do you think?

#Spotify #teen!reader #x daughter!reader #x teen!reader #daughter!reader #sebasstan #sebastian stan x teen!reader #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x daughter!reader #sexy seabass #mcu #bucky barnes #sebastian stan fanfiction #sebastian stan fluff #sebastian stan fandom #sebastian stan fic #songfic

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hot-wiings · 3 years

Text

The One Where After His Recovery, Tensei Iida realizes Life Is To Precious And Short.

Requested By: Wattpad User

Edited: 1-13-2021

"You can do it!"

You yelled out to Tensei Iida from the top of a hill. It wasn't very steep, it was a slow gradual incline. He was at the bottom of the hill in his wheelchair trying to push himself up alone. This was all part of his long recovery from the attack on him in Hosu. The attack that left him crippled. The attack that forced him to take early retirement.

He knew was never going to get his ability to walk back, he had given up on that long before his younger brother got Recovery Girl, his school nurse, to try and help him. Tensei knew how her quirk worked, and if the best of the best, the woman with the greatest medic type quirk couldn't heal him, nothing would.

"Tensei, babe! You got this!"

Tensei tried to push on the handles attached to the wheels of his chair and push up the hill. He knew he’d never get his walk back, all he could do now was work on adjusting to his new life. Adjust to wheelchairs, adjust to never using his legs again, adjust to getting taken care of for the rest of his life. He tried but it was futile, going uphill was just so hard on his own. He wasn’t there yet, wasn’t strong enough yet.

He hated this. He absolutely hated this. He hated depending on you. You were giving everything up for him. You barely worked anymore, you were always with him. You ran around and did errands for him. You went grocery shopping, you did his laundry, you did his dishes, you helped him get in the bath, and you wheeled him around. You were constantly accommodating your schedule and life for him. He was sick of it. You were his girlfriend, not his caretaker. He hated helplessly watching as people had to accommodate him, but he hated it most watching you give up everything.

"I can't do it! Can we find a smaller hill?!"

You jogged down the hill with a smile on your face. Why were you always smiling? Didn't you realize what a burden he was? How awful your life was going to be constantly taking care of him? You’d started to hate him, and your sex life wasn't going to be what it used to be.

"I don't see why you're in such a rush to push yourself around. The doctor said it’s going to take time to get used to it, besides we live together, I'm always gonna be there to help you. Getting sick of me already?"

You grabbed the handles on the top of Tensei’s wheelchair and turned him around. Further away from the hill he couldn't get over and closer towards the busy streets of Japan. Tensei clenched his fists as he tried to answer you. You'd been together since high school, years of your relationship taught him that there were going to be ups and downs, it taught him he needed to be honest above all else. He wanted to be honest, he wanted to tell you how much of a burden he was, but he didn't want to lose you. Not after all these years, not after how much you meant to him.

"I don't want to always depend on you. I... I don't like this. I don't like you always pushing me around, you should be focusing on your career. If I just push myself, then I’d be able to get groceries on my own, I could go run the errands instead."

"Don't say it like that."

You pushed the wheelchair up to a busy road and pressed the button on the street lamp. You walked in front of the chair and squatted down so you could talk to Tensei on a more equal level. You grabbed onto his hands as your eyes met and you gave Tensei a warm smile.

"You're not a burden, so don't act like it. I like running around and doing errands for you. We live together, and groceries are a need for us both so don't act like it's some inconvenience."

You stood back up and stretched out your body, tired limbs stretching as you arched your back. Pushing Tensei could get tiring sometimes, but only because you lacked the muscles to push all his body mass around.

"As for my career, I'm a writer. It can done from home."

"You're a news writer. You need to be out in the streets, reporting news. Not on the couch, editing your college's work from a shared google docs document. They get all the credit, and you don't."

You crossed your arms and huffed at your boyfriend. He was being stupid. Stupid and unfair. After all the years you'd been together, after junior high and high school, after college and getting your first jobs. He should've known by now how much he meant to you. He should've known how important and priceless to you he was. He should've known you weren't letting him go, crippled or not.

"I am a news writer, but news gets boring very quickly. Maybe I’ll write a book instead. 'Love For Dummies', how is that for a title?"

"Just because you've been in a long stable relationship doesn't mean you can write that. People who switch jobs like that are unhappy."

"I’m referring to you, you dumbass!"

You and Tensei had begun yelling at each other, heatedly pointing and scowling, not even caring that citizens and bystanders were staring at you. In your heat of rage, you had stomped your foot and stepped on a pebble. It knocked you off balance and you began to slip back into the busy road. Without thinking, Tensei used his hands and with all his might he pushed his chair forward, grabbed your shirt, and pulled you onto him before rolling backward.

"You're so dumb. Are you trying to die or just get crippled like me? You should've taken the back streets, you could've ride."

"I slipped, it was an accident, I'm sorry."

Your body felt uncomfortable being sprawled out on top of Tensei haphazardly. You felt like you were crushing his legs, but you knew he couldn't feel them anyway. Your little sniffles drew Tensei’s attention to you.

"Hey, don't cry. I'm sorry, you’re not dumb."

"It’s not that, I just... You think I'm unhappy with you?"

Tensei ran his fingers through your hair, and you tried to hold back your tears. It just hurt. It hurt knowing that your partner felt so hopeless and feeling so fruitless, and you couldn't do anything.

"I know you're unhappy, you just don’t realize it yet. There are so many news breaks that happened the past few weeks, and you couldn’t catch any of them because you were with me. You’re missing out on your dreams, you’re gonna realize it after all your opportunity is gone and you'll be so unhappy."

"You're so wrong. I'm not gonna be unhappy. I'll never be unhappy with you. I only ever became a news writer because you became a hero. It’s so stupid, I know, but after you told me you were going to be a hero I decided to be a news writer. That way, even if we broke up, I’d still be able to chase after you. I don’t care what kind of life it is, I want you Tensei. Tensei, you were my first love, and I’ll be damned if anyone but you is my last."

You tried to pull yourself up off of Tensei, sure your added weight must be hurting him somehow despite not having legs, but he wrapped his arms around you to keep you there.

"I wasn't planning on asking you this, but it appeared to me that life is short. Will you marry me?"

"Yes, yes. God yes. A million times yes. We're gonna have your brother as the best man, and we'll invite your old coworkers, and god, we have to tell your mom, she's gonna be so excite-"

Tensei presses his lips against yours frantically, you both smile into the kiss and pull apart before erupting in laughter. You were completely oblivious from the forming crowd. Oblivious to the people, the people who recognised Tensei Iida, the newly retired Ingenium. Oblivious to the crowd holding up their phones and recording your near death proposal, all that mattered was each other.

"Let's go home first, okay? Then we can start planning."

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hearteyes-for-killmonger · 3 years

Text

Part 24: Appearance

Erik shuffled down the aisle of the train car, crutch nudged snuggly into his armpit and a suitcase half his size rolling behind with a heavy looking duffel. No one offered assistance and he didn't ask. As a black man, he could always count on that as a consistency. Crutches and all, he'd be viewed as overly capable. From a young age it was ingrained through experience.. all you have is yourself because no one out here will help you, a young black man. Time had proven it again and again. Injured, he could still handle more weight than the average man and it was because he pushed himself. He relied only on himself. Even hospitalized, he found ways to maintain his strength. Weakness and laziness was never an option, not even for recovery. With all his money, that was still something he couldn't afford. But they could.. the white couple on the left. He couldn't help but notice them sitting there.

A closer look told him they weren't actually a couple. The blonde girl's face screamed underage. Fifteen/sixteen. The heavy makeup she wore aged her. She looked high. Heroin, Erik guessed glancing subtly for track marks. She looked up and he glanced away to a Spanish speaking family with five kids including a crying baby. He bit his lip on his way to take his seat at the rear where he could see everyone. The man in front of him was on his way to sleep. Erik put in his earbuds and continued his watch.

As the hours passed, he noticed more and more. The kids had no home training. The parents had no sense of awareness considering they sat opposite a fifteen year old girl being held against her will. It could easily be one of their kids, with them not paying attention it wouldn't take much. The baby had the healthiest lungs of any baby he'd ever heard. That blonde girl was high as hell. She got up to use the bathroom on his side of the train and he kept his eyes down as she passed with her trafficker on her ass to make sure she ain't try nothing risky. Ain't none of my black ass business, Erik told himself. He hadn't signed up to save any little blonde girls. He kept his eyes down as they passed him again to return to their seats and she dropped a tiny earring on the floor next to his foot on purpose. Damn, he groaned dropping his head on the back of the seat. Why me? I just said I ain't wanna get involved in this shit.

Taking a deep sigh, he picked up the earring and did what made sense. He googled the train police department and texted in a report using his sub contact phone, the main phone. He gave a description of the couple and information regarding the train. You're welcome, he thought watching the back of the girl's head before settling back in his seat comfortably. Any other time he'd have ignored her, not that victims often reached out to him so clearly. Still, it was an unnecessary risk calling on police. What if they decided to search the train? The whole point of taking the train was to not be searched.

Y/N would be proud right now, his lip twisted in irritation. She'd become the true north of his moral compass. What would Y/N do in the situation? The thought made him nauseous. She wouldn't survive his lifestyle. He wouldn't survive it with her morals. This is dangerous. We are completely incompatible, but I still want you, he admitted to himself. It was more like need. Obsession even. There was a burning feeling in his gut. "This shit ain't healthy," he muttered.

-----

"Wow, may I..," Tanner's fingers hover in the air, his eyes on your fresh braids. Your eyebrows answer before you can and he lowers his hand with a smile. "Those braids are really something. Would it be offensive if I asked how they're attached?" He looks so fascinated. He's been staring and talking to the top of your head since he saw you this morning in the lobby and now he's staring just as hard from across the small booth table at Pho Station.

"You just buy braiding hair and braid it into your hair. That's literally it."

"Braiding hair.. what's that?" His head rests on his hand as his elbow sits on the table. He's so curious, staring dreamily.

"It's packs of hair you get at the store specifically for braided styles." You slurp in a spoonful of long noodles.

"Is it human hair?"

"Synthetic." It comes out muffled as you break off the noodles hanging from your mouth with a chopstick so you can swallow.

"Synthetic? What's the difference..," his blue eyes drift lazily down to your nearly black ones. "Well, I mean in how they look."

"Human hair is typically Malaysian or Brazillian, something like that. You can straighten or curl it because it's actual hair. Synthetic fibers can melt but it's inexpensive and can mimic hair textures well."

"Well it's beautiful," he nods. "I've always wondered about it. Does it hurt?"

"Mm-mm," you grumble slurping the broth of your chicken pho. "No these are knotless and they don't hurt." That confuses him so you get into the difference between regular box braids and knotless. "You can't even sleep when you first get regular box braids because it's so tight that's why I don't wear them."

"Yes.. don't wear them if they hurt. Don't wanna pull out all that beautiful hair.." His eyes hold a familiar twinkle. The way he stares.. it reminds you of Erik. You don't wanna think about the meaning of it.

"Damn right.. Hey your pho's gonna get cold."

"Oh," his brows raise in faux offense. He picks up his soup spoon looking away for the first time. It's about time. "Well these.. knotless braids," he gestures with the spoon, "They look amazing on you," he smirks. "But you're already gorgeous, you know that."

"This from a Gene Kelly/James Dean lookalike. You look like you belong in a Marvel movie. That dark hair.. chiseled jaw? And who do you get those eyes from?"

"My grandma. My mom's eyes are carmel brown and so are my sister's. My father's are a darker brown."

"Punnet square kicked in hard."

"So tell me where your features come from," his eyes twinkle, hands folded under his strong chin. Your heart nearly skips a beat. It took a while for you to admit it to yourself because you'd have to admit you were lowkey using him.. but you knew what he was doing and how he felt from the start. That look was infatuation.

Opening doors, calling on me, paying for lunch every time, bringing me coffee? It's a lot.. Well that's because he likes me.. No It could be friendly, doesn't mean he likes me.

Almost everyday you told yourself the same thing.

I don't want him as anything more than a friend, maybe a work husband now that I know he's a cool lil white boy. I think he knows that..

Not when you flirt back he doesn't know that..

But is it really flirting or being nice? Besides I think he might feel the same.

A look into his eyes slams that possibility.

Who am I kidding. Maybe it's wrong to let him pay. Is that selfish?..

Girl, you're not dumb you know exactly what you're doing..

No, but really, I enjoy his company. I look forward to our little lunch outings as much as he does..

Then pay for yourself!..

I KNOW, but I don't.. want to...

Blinking, you sigh clearing your guilty conscience. "I look exactly like my dad but my personality is my mom."

"Oh really. That's where you get those adorably chubby cheeks from? Your dad? Interesting family photos I bet."

"Believe it or not that's also where I get this tummy and all this ass from," I say straight faced watching his cheeks sink in. On that note, he buries himself in his pho and I watch him hold himself together, the both of us laughing on the inside.

"You're ridiculous," he smiles down at his bowl. "What will I ever do with you.."

"Hopefully keep feeding me."

"Of course, Barb told me about a BBQ place about fifteen minutes from here. How about tomorrow?"

"Then I can show you pictures of my bootylicious father," you stare watching him collect himself again.

"Wow," he chokes on his broth. "Or we can look at yours, completely up to you."

-----

Never had it felt so good to be coming or going. Erik wheeled his bags through the station coolly, but internally he was leaping for joy like a little kid. After touching down in every continent through the military as a soldier and then a mercenary soldier, he was used to traveling. New locations, customs, and languages were the norm. War, battle, and toppling small countries for their resources and political control was the norm. It wasn't right, but it made big money and when his service ended, he retired. However, that didn't change the fact that he was still a multilingual and adaptable war weapon with no other real skill or interest other than killing. He was good at it so he made it a business. A consultant was what he called himself. Gameplay and development was the front.

Life as an assassin made him his own boss. He could kill and go off the map at will. He'd travel as far as it took to complete the task and take cash or cryptocurrency which he'd translate into several offshore accounts before his domestic ones. He'd usually buy a throwaway car, restock his ammo, spend time sunbathing on a yacht in the Maldives, hunker down in a city where he blended in and then isolate for a month wallowing in a small room before his next kill. Sightseeing wasn't on his agenda. He'd been all over the world and seen the worst of human nature. Texas had been a first as far as experiencing the high points anywhere. He'd enjoyed his stay with a woman and they'd gone on dates, real dates. He'd gone to an amusement park of all places and taken her around the city. It was magical though he'd almost been killed for it. Texas.. Not Cartagena or Havana or Jaipur but country ass Texas. Now here he was finally back in Cali. Nothing came close to the joy of having someone waiting for him. Someone who'd be overjoyed to see him. His job was done, his leg was healing up nicely, no one was after him because he'd left no one alive that could easily identify him. He was on his way home.

Home, he smiled somewhat bitterly. More like playing house.. Ain't none of this shit real and eventually it will end, probably in disaster.

Still.. He couldn't drop the facade for it was filling a hole within him that he hadn't realized until recently could be filled. He had latent desires. Playing house with her was the closest to a home he'd ever get.

-----

Erik's car takes premium gas and you wonder about his bills. Is he paying them? 'Cause you're not. He'd better have it worked out because once the lights go out in this isolated grand establishment, you're gone. You've gotten too used to walking around with every bright light in the house on at night. Walking through the bathroom butt naked you light the very last of his pricey looking black label white candles having burned through the rest of his supply. This one's Leather scented, not the best but not bad. That's why it was last. Locking the bathroom door out of habit, you run the shower and enjoy the luxurious spa room you've become accustomed to. The water pressure still hits. The warm thick white towels are fresh from the dryer. Your body is hairless from shaving and you've just purchased a new body oil to try that Ava swears by. Though you're only going to bed, you can't resist it. It smells like like fresh baked cookies from the oven and makes your skin radiate golden. It's perfect for a pool party or the beach.. whenever you end up going again which may be a while. Taking a few suggestive shiny body selfies in the towel, you decide to go ahead and send them to Erik though he doesn't deserve them. Someone has to see your glass skin. You hadn't spoken to him in the last two days as he'd been "busy". Doing what, you had no clue. It felt like bullshit. All of it. It was maddening to the point that you didn't want to care anymore, whether he returned or stayed. He'd been gone too long. Waaay too long. His reasons for wanting you out of Texas were beginning to feel like lies.

There's probably a huge harem of harlot whores he's entertaining and he doesn't want me to know he lied about only having three submissives, the asshole. He's probably in some twisted unsanitary orgy in a dark and questionable dungeon drinking glowing lime jello shooters and getting blackout drunk right now.. Probably whipping some poor girl with one of those long cowboy whips. God knows what he does with his other subs. If he was that dirty with Lil Bitch's morally debased ass and that was in front of me...

Every now and again the thought would cross your mind. Fuck him, you thought. Stay gone. I'll keep living here alone in the lap of luxury.

Never before had you been in a hot tub so often. It did wonders for a post work unwind with a smoothie or herbal tea in hand. You didn't need him when you had wifi, cable, powerful A/C, and a full fridge. He could stay with whoever he was with.

But what if he doesn't come back, your mind wonders darkly. What if he stays in Texas and never comes back?

Suddenly the house seems a lot chillier and unwelcoming.. Empty even. Too quiet. Hugging yourself for comfort you wander through the house and turn each of the lights off one by one to get an idea once more just how dark it gets. Too dark. Pitch black. You can't even see a hand in front of your face and panic sets in along with a strong inner body chill. This isn't something you can do and if Erik never comes back...

Honestly you've never seriously considered that possibility. The thought brings a loneliness that echoes the depth of darkness, both equally terrifying. The fact is that you do care.. profoundly to the point that his continued absence really bothers you. He has already become an indestructible pillar in your everyday life. Going days without so much as a hello feels like a week and that doesn't do much good for your anxiety.

Flipping each of the lights back on, you settle into Erik's bed this time around and stare at the time until you doze off. When you open your eyes there's natural light coming in through the window and you take a grateful breath before sitting up in the bed.

"Good morning," a chilling voice interjects and you nearly have a heart attack, unable to scream in the face of Flu sitting on the edge of the bed watching you. You want to run, scream, fight, anything but your body which is frozen in absolute fear and shock will not move. He smiles and you dart upright in bed sweating cold bullets and panting. Outside is still dark. According to the clock you've been sleep three and a half hours. It's 3:30 AM. Taking a deep breath to calm your breathing you look around the room comforting yourself with the mantra "It's just a dream. You're okay. You're okay. There's nothing to worry about. You've been safe and you're still safe. You're completely safe." A few minutes of repeating it and looking around, listening closely to the air has you relaxed enough to fall back asleep especially since your eyes are crossing up. When your eyes open again you check the clock. It's been almost another hour but you keep waking up.

Hold up. Didn't I have the light on?

Thinking back, your half sleep mind isn't completely sure but you know you sleep with the lights on. Nervous to move, your wide eyes search the pitch blackness before you and when you get the courage to move, you turn over bracing yourself to see Flu sitting there beside you on the bed. Nothing's there or out of the ordinary.

Did the lights go out? Did it blow? I think I had it on...

It's not getting up to explore. That's how people fir in movies. Instead, you bury your head in the covers like a small child and slip back into sleep. Or at least almost. Before you can cover your eyes with the blanket, you hear something that sounds like a slight vibration. That would be normal.. if your phone wasn't all the way downstairs.

A hand clamps over your mouth and as you feel a body quickly cover yours you grab at the darkness in attempt to gouge, scratch, and scrape whatever you can reach. When you pull locs, your brain registers and you yank them hard to get a noise.

"AHH," he whisper screams.

"ERIK WHAT THE FUCK?!" This time your lungs are free and healthy because you yell directly in his ear, slapping at him. "YOU ALMOST GAVE ME A HEART ATTACK." Breathless, you try to catch it, still swinging. "Why would you do that! What the fuck is wrong with you!"

"I wanted to surprise you," he grips your hands. "I didn't think you'd try to rip my damn hair out! And why your nails so sharp!"

"Are you mentally deficient? In what world did that seem like a good idea to you?!"

"Catch your breath," he says quietly.

Getting up he flips the lights and sits on the bed beside you. You haven't seen him in what feels like ages. "You still having nightmares." It's not a question as he looks in your tired eyes.

"Not often, just a couple of times since I've been on my own here." You didn't really have them when you two were together. He nods understanding your meaning. You hadn't mentioned it on the phone or through text. What could he have done about it anyway? There's a moment of silence as he rests his hand over your blanketed leg.

"I'm sorry for being away so long..," he says quietly. "I mean it. I'm sorry for scaring you.. I honestly didn't consider the nightmares because when we were together you didn't have them. I promise you, you are safe. He can't hurt you. There are many things in this world that can, but I promise he's not one.. and as long as I'm here I won't let anyone touch you. I will protect you with my life."

"That's good and all," you sigh, half listening and half asleep already. "But can you just.. stay here with me until I fall asleep."

"You in my bed," he smiles climbing fully dressed under the blanket to scoop you into his arms. Instantly your body clings to his and his shirt becomes your new pillow. You feel the quick sensation of his lips on your temple. "Did you miss me," he whispers. You mean to respond, but instead you fade out asleep.

-----

As soon as he'd slipped into the bed, she was knocked, sleeping soundly and breathing loud. He stroked her braids, her arm, and her back gently but firmly the way he always had when she needed help to relax.

"I missed you," he whispered into her forehead. She responded with a small fart and his nose crinkled. He didn't smell it which meant it was trapped under the blanket. She did it once more just then but it was louder. She'd be horrified if she were awake. "Y/N," he groaned hoping he wouldn't smell it. He didn't dare move though. He only sighed and continued rubbing her back. "Stink," he nicknamed her on the spot. "My lil stink stink," his stomach jumped in humor thinking of her reaction in the morning. He wanted to see the expression on her face when he called her that and when she heard the explanation of why. It made his chest shake. He tried to control it so not to wake her. She was sleeping too good for him to even get up and take his outside clothes off and they were hot to sleep in. He wanted to get comfortable.

That's okay, he decided as he settled in to fall asleep exactly where he was, under her. It took some effort to get comfortable in that position but in that moment there was no other place he'd have rather been.

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