#and what if one day you go to that warehouse for whatever reason as well

[cynicalmusings]

IMAGINE A MASQUERADE BALL WITH XIAO???

…see, you’ve done the very dangerous thing of reminding me of the 100 followers special continuation i was planning that includes xiao and heizou… and a little of my cinderella au with him, too. 

but i need to brainrot about this now.

thing is… we could go down the usual route of fantasy masquerade ball with big fancy chandeliers and a nice ballroom, but i feel like a spin could be put on it to make it more interesting.

namely, cyberpunk; a setting that i think fits xiao very well. (let me generate some ideas for a second…)

maybe this masquerade ball is inspired by old fragments of books and paintings uncovered in the wreckage of historical buildings, and a group of people are trying to resurrect it, just for fun. it’s likely nowhere as grande as the ‘proper’ ones, and takes place in some abandoned warehouse or the basement of a pub. the music is an electronic, bass-y version of some classical pieces, performed by a mini-orchestra of electric classical instruments. there are some asymmetrical make-shift chandeliers welded from old bits of metal hanging from the ceiling, sporting some LED light bulbs. 

people come wearing all sorts of clothing; most try to imitate the gowns and suits worn in the old days but with a spin of cyberpunk, with metal masks and hand gauntlets, while a few wear visors and their typical fashion.

xiao’s mask is no doubt based on his yaksha mask, put together with metal and cogs and some pieces of wood, and there are neon blue lights around the eye sockets, which mirror his original mask’s glowing eyes. the fangs are made of steel and bronze. 

the atmosphere is lively, although the location is quite dark. as they dance, people try to guess who the person behind the mask is. xiao prefers not to know. 

xiao is a really, really good dancer. he meets you in one of the dances, and you’re floored by his dancing. his movements are fluid and graceful, almost like water, and each step and twirl is precise, like he’s been doing this all his life. he’s actually quite courteous while dancing, too; he’s a guy who prefers actions over words, so it’s no wonder that he lets his dancing speak for itself. he finds it so much easier to carefully spin you around than start a conversation, in which he’s certain he would come across as brash.

meanwhile, you try your very best to figure out who this person is, and whether you’ve met him before, but his identity eludes you. you only spend a brief time together before the music changes and you’re both met with new partners, but somehow he still stands out to you the most. 

after the dance, the crowds disperse, and you try and look for him, absentmindedly taking off your mask because the dance is over. for a moment, you catch a glimpse of glowing blue in the crowd, meeting your eyes from behind a familiar metal mask. when you blink, he’s gone, and you don’t find him again afterwards.

(meanwhile, xiao probably just ducked behind some wall or pillar because he was not prepared for you to be so stunning behind that mask and needed a second to gather his thoughts.)

[sturniolobsessed]

NSFW ALPHABET - C.STURNIOLO

Warnings : SMUTT, swearing

Summary : A NSFW alphabet about Chris

Authors Note : I don’t know what order I’m gonna post these in but there is gonna be a Matt and Chris SFW version as well. Also, please let me know if you want me to add you to my taglist <3

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A - Aftercare (What are they like after sex)

Chris is more playful and flirtatious but still sweet. He likes to caress your body and just worship you.

B - Body part (Their and your favourite body part of each others)

His favourite body part of yours is your eyes and your ass. He likes your eyes because he could stare into your eyes all day and your ass for obvious reasons. Your favourite body part of his is his hands because you think the veins are hot and you also like how it feels inside of you.

C - Cum (Anything to do with cum)

He would lowk want you to swallow it but if you don’t want to, he ofc ain’t gonna force you.

D - Dirty Secret (What is a dirty secret of theirs)

I think he would have a bit of a breeding kink but only if you’re on the pill because he isn’t ready for that kind of commitment yet.

E - Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Kid has like 1-2 bodies but not like too much. He is a quick learner so whatever he doesn’t really know, he learns quick.

F - Favourite position (Goes without saying)

Chris is hitting backshots all the time but he lowk loves it when you ride him - he still finds a way to be the dominant one. He would also kinda fw missionary when he is feeling cutesy.

G - Goofy (Are they more serious or goofy in the moment?)

Chris is like permanently making jokes but he definitely doesn’t do it as much during sex. He would probably make a joke every now and again if the sex is getting a little dry but other than that, not really.

H - Hair (How well trimmed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes?)

He def has a bit but he would absolutely hate it when it gets too long. He also has a happy trail bc you can see it when he’s shirtless

I - Intimacy (How intimate are they in the moment?)

He loves sweet yet passionate make outs and it would 9 times out of 10 turn into something more.

J - Jerking off (Masturbation)

Chris would only pleasure himself if you’re not there to do it - which, imo, isn’t very often but if he was to do it, he’s moaning your name.

K - Kinks (What kinks do they have?)

As confirmed in one of their recent streams, Chris is an ass guy so I think he would love to slap your ass in bed and also just when he feels like it but other than that, I think it’s mainly just the classics. Also, he is 99% of the time dom.

L - Location (Their fav place/s to do it)

If Chris is horny, he will fuck you in most places. You’ve probably fucked on every surface in the warehouse, his room, probably the kitchen and living room. He is also not afraid to fuck you in the bathroom in a restaurant or somewhere in public but that doesn’t mean that he wants to be caught. He’s just horny. He’s acc really terrified of getting caught.

M - Motivation (What gets them going?)

He is a sucker for you in a short ass skirt, once again, so he can see your ass and he also loves when you sit on his lap. Obviously, if your just casually sat on his lap, cuddled into him, he’s less likely to get turned on but if you’re like, touching his chest, kissing him etc, he’d always have you sat on his lap. Also, before you start worrying, he don’t care how much you weigh.

N - No (Things they’re not open to in bed)

The same as Matt, he would never in a million years let you peg him but other than that, he’s open to most everything. He’s probably not too welcoming of like.. crazy shit but if there’s something you wanna try, of course he’ll do it.

O - Oral (Are they good at it? Do they prefer to give or receive?)

I think Chris would prefer to revive head, although he loves to make you feel good, because he loves to see you on your knees for him, doing as he says. He thinks it’s the hottest thing. And yes, of course he’s good at it.

P - Pace (Do they prefer sweet and sensual or fast and rough?)

Chris would probably prefer fast and rough, more fast than rough because he still doesn’t want to hurt you, but he also likes sweet and sensual when you or him have had a bad day and just want some sweet sex. Also, if you’re having morning sex, it’s only sweet and sensual because he’s tired.

Q - Quickie (Their opinion on quickies and how often?)

He would probably prefer to take his time with it and tease you, kiss you, touch you etc but he is definitely not against a quickie when it’s necessary.

R - Risk (Are they willing to take risks?)

Chris is very open to new things if you want to do them because he wants to make you feel good. As I said earlier, if it’s not too crazy, he’ll do it for you.

S - Stamina (How many rounds? How long do they last?)

He can go for 3-4 rounds but 5 if you haven’t had sex in a while. He lasts a perfectly average time but will definitely touch you and kiss you in between rounds so that you still feel good. He will also ask you to do the same for him.

T - Toys (Do they own toys? If so, how many and which ones?)

There is no doubt in my mind that Chris has like a fleshlight or something and then some stuff for you to make you feel good. He would probably have a vibrator but not a dildo because he wants his dick to be the only one to make you feel good lmao.

U - Unfair (Do they like to tease? If so, how much?)

His entire idea of foreplay is just teasing and getting you to just before you cum and then pulling away, leaving you whining for his touch. There is a good chance that he has reduced you to tears, just wanting to be touched.

W - Wild Card (A random headcannon)

He loves to just watch you touch yourself either while he touches himself as well or just watching, almost teasing himself because he wants to touch you but he won’t let himself.

X - X-Ray (What have they got going on under their clothes?)

We’ve already lowk seen what he’s got going on because of this video so from that, I’d say like 7 inches. He’s big but not too much.

Y - Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Chris is very horny when he wants to be and when I tell you, when he wants it, there’s slim to nothing that will stop him. You would most likely have sex like 3-4 times a week and sometimes more.

Z - Zzz (How fast do they fall asleep after?)

He wouldn’t fall asleep straight away after because he wants to cuddle and stuff but he would be worn out afterwards.

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Taglist : @astrolynnworld @moncherriis @mattybsbitch @mangoposts @sturniolo0ntop @bluesturniolo333 @mattyssluttt @strnzzvsp @sturnsem @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @loud-sturniolos @iheartmattsbeard @sturnsaver @sturnsdarling @sturnioloslife @stuniolvs @iheartmattsturniolosstuff @33sturniolo @sturnsxx

[spidernuggets]

Jason Todd x Reader

Part 2 to this.

Thanks for the support guys, sending lots of love <3

It's been 2 years or so since you moved out of Gotham. Well. Not moved out moved out. You couldn't leave. Gotham was your home. And even with those painful memories of Jason demanding you to leave, he's still the same person who you shared those long-lasting kisses with, who texted you every 5 minutes while he was on patrol to make sure you were safe at home, who was able to give you the first, real experience of love and devotion for the first time in your life.

But now you feel numb. Every time you caught a glimpse of your reflection from puddles on the ground or the shine of a window, you saw that gut-wrenching, eerie grin of the Joker. The grin of your father who once killed your ex-boyfriend and your passionate love.

But you broke Jason's trust. Maybe if you told him sooner, he wouldn't have cast you out. Maybe he would've sat down for a second and realised you aren't the same person as your father.

Staying at the next town over beside Gotham wasn't a bad idea, however. You were able to reflect on yourself, realising that you had no power over your father, and there was physically nothing you could've done to save Robin. But you've repeated in your head over and over that you are not the Joker. You weren't the ones who committed those crimes. You weren't the ones who killed so many innocent people. The only guilt that would eat at you was that you were selfish and a coward to stand up to the Joker and at least attempt to save someone. Bht you didn't. And you hoped that if someone knew your name, who knew your story, that they'd understand. That they'd be scared, too.

You were able to buy a run down... apartment?..house? Whatever it was, it was, unfortunately, all you could've afforded at the moment. And worse, it reminded you too much of your room in the warehouse. Minus the dried blood. But it had a horrible stench of weed, which took you forever to get rid of.

Unlike the warehouse, however, you were at least able to make it a little more homey. You didn't have any furniture, but you did have a cleaner mattress plus bed sheets, knick knacks scattered across the floors, a fake plant, or two on the floor beside you bed. And lastly, though you really should move on, a framed picture of you and Jason. You put this directly beside your bed, where it would be the first thing you see in the morning.

You know that what Jason told you was cruel. You could never forget it. But you had the decency to understand him. He dated someone he trusted. And unfortunately that someone just happened to be the daughter of his murderer. Of course, he'd think you're working with the Joker. Especially if that camera footage showed that you showed no effort to help Robin.

So, what the hell have you been doing when you went away? Well, as said, you couldn't stay out of Gotham for very long. You always went in and out, just for the nostalgia. Just because you had bad memories in Gotham didn't mean you didn't have good ones either. You just assumed that since your leave, you've been fired from Bat Burgers, so you decided to avoid that vicinity for now.

The real reason, though, was the soup kitchen. You could never step foot inside ever again, in fear that Jason would still be volunteering there, and you wouldn't want him to have a breakdown. So you just anonymously dropped off bags of produce of whatever you could afford during the day and quickly departed without being seen. But you missed the kids. Yeah, Jason made you feel loved romantically, but those kids, they felt like family. And how you missed diane so much, too. She was like a mother to you.

It pained you that you couldn't go see the kids anymore, but as you heard them laugh and yell just from the other side of the entrance, you smiled. You always took quick glimpses of them, and some of them grew taller. Some of them formed freckles on their faces. But your smile would slightly falter when they mention how much they missed you. And by that time, you'd just drop off the bag and make your way back home.

You weren't proud of it, but when you found yourself completely broke, you decided, fuck it, and started nicking a things from grocery stores, just for you to survive. And in moments like them, you think to yourself... am I slowly becoming like...him? You shake your head, thinking that the Joker had committed the most heinous, unforgivable crimes, while vigilantes wouldn't really care for petty theft, and the cops wouldn't give two shits anyway, especially if it's only stores running on the poor side of Gotham being robbed.

God, how you hated the police system. They'd only help when the richies were being mugged. Even Batman neglected the poor. Sometimes, you'd smile when you'd see Jason helping the kids of Crime Alley. The memory warmed your heart. Too bad you couldn't make more memories similar to those ones.

You rushed your quick drop off of fruits and veggies to the soup kitchen. It wasn't much. You think an empolyee spotted you trying to conceal a small box of strawberries in your jacket.

You felt some familiarity when you turned to make a run for it when you ran into somethi- someone.

"oW- literally what the fuck-" You hiss, grabbing onto your scrunched up face, not noticing the person you walked into. "Watch where you're going, nit-" You looked up to glare at the person, but oh, how you could never forget those gorgeous green eyes. Those green eyes you fell too far in love with. The green eyes that would sparkle when its owner would rant about the new chapter he was reading in The Catcher in the Rye. The ones that used to look at you so lovingly. But now, it is replaced with burning resentment.

"You're the one not watching where they're going."

What a familiar setting. But instead of the joking tone of Jason correcting that you're the one not watching their step, he means it now. As if he was some stranger to you, annoyed that some rando foolishly walked into him and tried to blame him.

And suddenly, you're back at the Batcave. Suddenly, you're back on your knees, looking up at the hurt, screaming man who towered over you. Suddenly, you hear once more if I ever see you again, I'll end you.

You don't reply to his spiteful response. But you notice your breathing getting heavy. You try to make a run for it past him, but what he says next makes you stop.

"You're selfish for coming here," he grumbles, barely audible, but you hear it. You hear it so clearly. And it pisses you off. What the hell does that mean?

"I get you hurting me because I was Robin. Because I'm close to Batman. But coming here to hurt these kids?"

You turn to him, disbelief on your face. "Excuse me?" You spit.

"These kids did nothing wrong. So leave them alone. Leave Diane alone. Leave Gotham." He says, surprisingly pretty calm.

You already feel the tears brim your eyes. "Fuck you," you say quietly, choking out a sarcastic laugh as you turned to walk away. But before you can leave his line of sight, you turn to face him once more. "I didn't do shit, okay?! I made a mistake, but I didn't. Do. Shit,"you claimed as you walk away in a fast pace. And this makes Jason fume in anger. Yes, you did. You lied to him. He told you his secrets. You were about to give him up back to the Joker. You put his family that he worked so hard and long to make amends in jeopardy. Right?

Jason follows after you in anger, pulling you through a narrow alleyway. Luckily, the neighbourhood was quiet, and no one was around to see this private situation.

"Don't talk to me like you did nothing wrong," Jason hisses. And you yank yourself away from his grip.

"You never told me you were Arkham Knight. Why do I owe you who I was?!" You snarl at him.

"But I did!" He yells back. "At least I eventually told you because you were always nagging that I was out late! And you didn't even return the favour by telling me you're the daughter of someone I hate the most! You didn't commit any of the same crimes he did? Fine. But you're still an accessory. You stood there watching him torture me. And I bet you stood there with every other victim that he killed, feeling absolutely no remorse. That makes you just as disgusting as him."

By this time, tears were already rolling down your cheeks. Your cheeks burned red, and you could feel a headache forming.

"And the worst part," Jason continues quietly. "I still can't get you out of my head. A stupid itch at the back of my mind saying that I still love you," he says in shame.

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion. What the fuck? No. No, why the fuck would he say that. That's selfish of him.

"Fuck you!" You yell. "I'm sorry, Jason. I'm so fucking sorry, but I couldn't do anything! You saw it yourself! I was a kid, I couldn't do anything! I was scared! And I did NOT watch him torture you- I wasn't even aware you were there until he killed you! I didn't even remember it was you when I first met you!"

"BULLSHIT"

"IT'S NOT FUCKING BULLSHIT," you cried, panting, your adrenaline dying down. You rake your hair back, tangled between your fingers as your tears begin to dry up.

"I'm sorry, Jason," you sighed. "I really am, I- I'm sorry I couldn't save you. And I'm sorry I didn't tell you who I was but.. but not telling you was protecting you! The fewer people who knew who I was, the safer everyone would be, especially after you told me that you're Red Hood..." You took a breath. "I spent my whole childhood believing my dad when he told me that no one could love me. But then I met you. You taught me how to love and- and how to be loved! And I fucked this up, and I'm sorry. But I'm too tired to keep arguing. I finally accepted that I'm not the same person as my father and- and I'm not going to let you take that away from me because it's the only thing I have left.."

Jason stares down at you. You have no idea what's going through your head, and right now, you don't have the energy to find out what it is. So, you slightly shake your head in defeat and start to wall out of the cramped alley.

"Oh," you say before leaving. "And for your information, I already left gotham. Just stopping for a visit," you mutter before finally leaving Hason on his own.

He shouldn't believe you. How can he trust you?

You arrived back at your house. Your body went limp, laying on the mattress as a final tear soaked through your pillow.

You absolutely hate how you know that you still love Jason Todd. He was the first person to ever help you what love truly felt like but also showed you how fast such a strong bond can crumble in a few minutes.

As Jason is remained to be alone in the alley, he thinks to himself. It's crazy. You've been raised by the Joker. The Joker. How are you raised by such an abomination but still be the most angelic, beautiful person to cross the planet.

He walks out of the alley and goes towards the soup kitchen where he'd start his volunteer work. Before he walks in, he notices the small bag that you left behind. He picks it up and opens it to see fruits and vegetables inside. He shrugs, not trying to think so much about it and heads inside.

As soon as he steps in, he's greeted by the kids, and his gave brightens in delight. But he sees some of the expressions falter.

"Where's Y/n?" One of them asks. "You two are always together... we haven't seen her for a long, long, loooong time," they frown.

Jason was about to awkwardly answer when Diane came up to him. "Jason, my dear boy! How was your rest, honey?" She asks. Ever since he found out you were the Joker's daughter, he couldn't work, he couldn't eat, he couldn't sleep. He didn't have the energy of volunteering, so he rang up Diane saying that he wasn't in the best spirits, in which she completely understood, saying that you would be around to help anyway. He was about to answer to say that he wasn't so sure about that, but Diane hung up, telling him to get a good rest, and that she'll see him soon.

Jason nods and sends her a sweet smile. "Yeah, thanks. Had a lot in my hands at the time," he explains, but Diane shakes her head.

"Don't even worry, sweetie. It's been calm the past few days," she says, looking down at Jason's hands, and a sad look reaches her eyes. "Is that from Y/n? She always left a bag of food outside, thinking she's slick. Tsk, foolish girl," she jokes. "She hasn't been around in a while. You two are dating, no? What happened? Of course, it's not my place to know. But I'm here if you need to talk, sweetheart," she says, placing a comforting hand to his cheek before walking back to the kitchen.

A little girl tugs on Jason's jacket.

"Jay-jay?" She calls out as Jason bends down to her eye level. "Is, N/n okay?" She asks, worry in her face. Jason attempts to send her a reassuring smile.

"I'm sure she's fine," he responds. "She's a big girl, like you. I'll check up on her to make sure she's okay, if that'll make you feel better," he offers.

"You promise?" She asks, holding her tiny pinky out.

Jason sighs. "I promise," he says, intertwining his larger pinky around hers.

Unfortunately for Jason, he never breaks a pinky promise to the kids. And he would never lie to them. So, on Jason's next scheduled patrol, he'll ditch and find you to make sure you're safe. That's it. Nothing else. He doesn't need to speak to you. Just a quick glance to see if you're not doing anything stupid.

Wait.

God fucking damn it.

You told Jason you already left Gotham. How the hell was he supposed to find you??

Shit, right. Diane said you always leave bags of food outside their door. So you couldn't have lived far, right?

Okay, he'll do a quick sweep of the ourskirts of Gotham, then he'll check the edge of the next town over.

It's been a long, tiring night, to say the least. He started searching the outskirts of Gotham around 6 pm and started his search of the next town from 1am.

He was about to give up his search when he heard a man yelling. He looks down to see a figure running out of a 24 hour convenient store as a man in a uniform yells after you. Jason rolls his eyes, hopping down to the roof to stop you.

You run pretty far, but you look back to see if the store owner was chasing you. You smile to see that you weren't being followed, but as you face back forward, your head hits against an extremely hard, metalic surface.

"Fuck! No- why!" You yell, pressing a palm to to your forhead, where the impact was laid. And low and behild, you see the infamous Red Hood standing in front of you.

"You know I'm always not looking where I'm going! Can you at least have the decency not to be in my way!" You hiss, swerving past him. "Besides, I don't want to speak to you," you mutter, heading home, which wasn't that far.

"I'm not here to talk. Anna just wanted me to check if you're safe." He claims as you scoff.

"I'm alive, aren't I?" You sarcastically say, grabbing the keys for your door. Jason inspects your house.

"This is where you live?" He blurts out with clear concern.

"What of it," you mumble, stepping in. Neither of you really commented on the fact that Jason let's himself in, continuing to critique your humble abode.

"There's mould and cracks everywhere," Jason says, looking around.

"Great observation, sherlock. Guess what? I don't care. It's a roof over my head, and it's a 10 times upgrade compared to the warehouse. At least there isn't dried blood everywhere," you say.

"What? You didn't have a proper room?"

"Joker wasn't really a 'world's greatest dad mug' kind of guy." You say, laying on the mattress, keeping one leg bent upwards as the other lays flat. One arm is tucked under your head as the other is laid over your eyes.

Jason wanders around the run-down bulding, looking at your belongings scattered on the floor, which used to sit on the shelves and windowsill of his much more comfortable apartment.

But a shimmer catches the corner of his eyes. He sees a frame, the picture turned away from him, directly beside where your head lies.

He cautiously walks towards you, taking a peek of the picture. And he could already tell, by the smiling faces and puckered lips of the photo, that it was his favourite picture of the two of you. He had a copy of the photo stuck in his room somewhere in his apartment.

And the guilt slowly eats at him.

"I'm sorry," Jason quietly says.

"For what?" You mutter, obvious that you're exhausted.

"Everything I said." He replies, sitting on the floor beside you. "For telling you to leave Gotham, thinking you were anything like the Joker... saying I'd kill you if I saw you again.. I didn't mean it," he says, his voice getting raspier by the second. "It was horrible of me to say."

"It's whatever, Jay... Jason," you reply, shifting to turn away from him, your back facing him. "I'd probably think the same if I were you."

His heart sunk.

"I should've believed you," he says, his voice raising a little. All he needs is for you to say you forgive him for saying all that shit. Because of him, you think so lowly of yourself, and that you love in such a horrible state, where instead the two of you could be cosy, wrapped in softer blankets in his bed in what ysed to be your shared apartment. He doesn't think he can take it if you think so harshly of yourself.

"But you didn't. And... and that's okay. I mean.." You try to hide your sniffle by burying your face into your pillow, but you aren't as discreet as you think as Jason obviously catches you. "I don't think anyone in this world would trust the daughter of a psycho," you try to joke, sending a weak, pathetic laugh.

"But you proved to me so many times that you aren't him. And I completely ignored all those times and started labelling you for someone you're not! How are you not mad- how are you not yelling at me?" Jason says, almost in a desperate whine. He needs some sort of emotional reaction from you. But you look so... dead.

You sigh as you sit up, avoiding eye contact. "Because you were right, Jason. You had every right not to trust me. I broke your trust by not telling you- I couldn't even save you."

Jason shakes his head vigorously. "No- No, no, no. Sweetheart, no," he didn't mean for the nickname to slip out, but no one mentions it. He reaches for your hands, which fit so perfectly in his larger ones. He held your hands in his grasp, pulling them to his chest, making sure you're looking at him.

"I was wrong- It wasn't your responsibility to save me. You were a kid- we were both kids! There was nothing we could've done. We were both kids dragged into Batman and Joker's stupid game of theirs! This isn't either of our faults! And you didn't tell me you were Joker's daughter... and that's okay. I'm sorry it took so long for me to understand why you didn't tell me. The Joker is wrong, Y/n. You can be loved... You are loved. Because I love you so much that it hurts," he admits, brushing strands of your hair away from your face so that he can look into your eyes. And you can look back into his. His gorgeous green eyes that can finally see love again. "And I understand if you don't lo-"

"I love you so much, Jay," you sniffle, smiling at him. Jason's eyes soften as he smiles, his head leabing forward and his lips resting on your forhead. "I'm sorry," you say, and Jason just shushes you, but you continue. "And I forgive you for what you said to me," you quietly say, shifting to lean your head on his shoulder.

"I forgive you, too, my love," Jason replies, his hand reaching up to softly caress your cheek. "I'll stay the night. Okay? Then tomorrow, first thing, you pack your stuff and move back in with me, okay?"

You smile as you nod, your tears finally withering away as you lie down in your bed, watching Jason strip off his heavy armour, laying in with you in just his tactical pants and compression shirt on. He wraps his arms around you in a warm embrace, and suddenly, you feel safe again. You feel warm again.

You feel loved again.

I'm so sorry if this is ass 😭. I really wanted this finished, and it's like 2am. But i really hope you'd still enjoy!! 🙏🙏

Taglist 🏷: @tyrone200 @pank0w @lorosette @havlindzk @achromaticerebus @demonicparalysis @fairyeoll

sorry if you requested part 2 and was not tagged, maybe because of mention priv settings? nonetheless, i hope you like it!

[toournextadventure]

our little secret pt.vi

Summary: Life has a funny way of coming back around. Maybe, for the first time, it's actually going to come back around for the better.

Word Count: 10.9k Warnings: swearing, homophobia, HIV/Aids crisis, religious trauma, excessive smoking Pairing: Lorraine Day x Fem!Reader (Masterlist)

The sun was just starting to rise by the time you finished letting the cattle into the field. Fall was coming in nicely, and the spring calves had more than come into their own by that point. They were rather mischievous at this age. They reminded you of such as they continued to butt their heads into the back of your legs every chance they got.

Adorable little bastards.

The crops surrounding the small gathering of buildings were looking pretty damn good, if you said so yourself. You let your fingers trail over a few peas as you squatted down to look for pests. They were almost ready to harvest. Not too much longer and it would be market season, and with any luck you would have enough harvest to make a little more to put back.

As you stood up, you picked two pods off the vine. One went straight into your mouth. The crunch was superb. Definitely ready. You tossed the other pod to Hank, who was lying in his spot on the porch, more than ready to start sunbathing. He was a useless cowdog, but you’d be damned if you didn’t love him.

“You’re doin’ great, buddy,” you said softly. He continued to crunch on the pea pod as you scratched behind his ear and walked inside.

Based on the noise echoing through the log cabin, everyone was already in the kitchen. Good, you wouldn’t have to chase them down. Not that you had to do that much anymore, everyone had fallen into a rather comfortable rhythm. A schedule, if you will. A routine fit for the veterans you now called your family.

“Thank god,” Jane sighed as you walked through the doorway into the kitchen. “Roy’s burning breakfast.”

“Course he is,” you mumbled.

“I’m not burning anything,” Roy called back. He still stepped aside without protest when you walked up beside him.

“Yet,” you said with a raised brow.

“Morning,” was all he said in reply before walking back to sit at the long kitchen table.

The whole crew was already up and ready to go while you finished saving breakfast. A wonderful array of eggs, bacon, sausage, and… well, whatever they could get out of a can. For some unknown reason - it wasn’t entirely unknown, just unconfirmed - they made it a habit to steal cans from an old military warehouse not too far away. They’d grab whatever they could carry, come back, and barter them amongst each other until their next run.

You weren’t sure why they didn’t just share, considering they all lived in the same place.

“Are you working today?” Greenback asked from where he was sitting on one of the counters.

“Yes,” you said with a nod. You turned and gave him The Look, as they all dubbed it. “Which means I can’t bail you out today. So unless you want to spend the night in jail,” you look back down, “don’t get arrested again.”

“Yes mom,” he mocked. “You don’t have to remind me every day.”

“Sure she does,” Hippie said. Unlike the others, he was waiting patiently for breakfast. “She didn’t remind you last week. Remember what happened?”

There was an awkward silence. You bit your lip to keep from laughing because you certainly remembered. So had your savings, quite frankly. And he was paying you back for it dollar by dollar, so he remembered too.

“I got arrested,” Greenback finally answered, so quietly it was almost inaudible.

“So maybe she does need to tell you,” Hippie said.

“Now listen here-”

-the noise of their argument died out. It was a skill you had learned after only a year of being there. All of them were wild, constantly arguing and occasionally devolving into screaming. Terrifying at first, considering each of them had killed someone at least once in their lives. Now you knew better.

They just needed someone to care.

“Here.”

Out of the corner of your eye, Roy held out a cigarette. You mouthed a silent “thank you” before taking it, waiting patiently for him to flick his lighter open. Smoking was a nasty habit. Yet, when everyone around you imbibed, it was easy enough to fall into it with them. In a strange twist of fate, Camels were preferred over Marlboros. Peculiar.

Disgusting.

“Going to the hospital this morning?” Roy asked.

You nodded and exhaled the ashy smoke. “Wanna go with me?”

He was already shaking his head. “Those are your people, not mine,” he grumbled before leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms.

“Some are vets,” you said, looking at him with a raised brow. “Just cause you don’t claim ‘em don’t mean they’re not yours.”

“Tell that to our old man,” Roy said, all joking aside.

“Yeah, well.” You exhaled the last cloud of smoke before you put the cigarette out on one of the many trays around the house. “I got a few other things I’d rather say to him.”

“You and me both,” he said, patting your shoulder and pushing away from the counter with his hip.

He was doing better, you thought as you told everyone breakfast was finally ready. He was much better. Maybe it had something to do with being around a bunch of other people who understood. Everyone in the compound - or commune, as Hippie called it - except you had been in Vietnam. They knew each other’s struggles and fears. As much as your daddy hated the term, it was everyone’s safe space.

“Hey Preacher, you’ll bail me out if I get arrested tomorrow, right?”

And unfortunately, you were everyone’s Commune Mother. Who would’ve thought?

—---

“Morning, Richard,” you said once you saw the kind doctor behind the desk.

“Good morning, Preacher,” he said with a smile that hid behind his mustache. “I was hoping to see you this morning.”

You smiled to yourself and gripped your bag tighter. Dr. Richard was a sweet man, not too different from Huck. If Huck was closer to your father’s age than yours, that was. His smile wasn’t as crooked, but you supposed some would find it attractive.

Not you. But someone.

“Who do you have for me this mornin’?” You asked, instinctively leaning over the counter.

You weren’t supposed to, you knew it was against policy. Richard had said it was something against patient privacy or something like that. The first few times, just the thought of violating someone’s privacy was enough to send you home. The last thing you wanted to do was read something they didn’t want you to. You knew that better than most.

Now though? Oh, now they could tell you to your face if they wanted you to back off.

The long list of names was almost as recognisable as the Bible itself. You visited a very specific type of patient. A type that had gotten you ostracised your first few months. You knew every single patient that came in, and every single one that Robert - you adamantly refused to call him daddy anymore - condemned to hell. If they were going to hell, you were going with them.

“Here we go,” Richard said, pulling you out of your thoughts. “Mr. Baker.”

You leaned further across the table, almost touching foreheads with Richard. Mr. Baker was new, if you remembered correctly. In his 50s, grumpy, determined the world was out to get him. Maybe it was, you knew the feeling. Hell, the world had been out to get you. It wasn’t too far-fetched to believe it might be the same for him.

“He gonna throw anything at me?” You asked as you finally dropped back to the floor.

“He’s been advised not to,” Richard said with a sigh.

“Oh thank the lord, he’s been advised.”

“I’m sure he’ll behave,” he said. His smile was always nice. Kind.

“I’ll go see,” you said. You pushed yourself away from the desk but didn’t get very far before you heard Richard call after you.

“Can I buy you dinner tonight?”

You looked at him for a moment, your head tilted. This wasn’t a new question. In fact, he asked nearly every week, if memory served you right. Part of you wanted to tell him yes, just once. Just once to see if you could change. It would certainly make the world a lot easier to deal with.

It wouldn’t be fair to him.

“I have to work,” you said with a soft smile. He kept getting smaller as you walked backwards.

“How about a drink?” He leaned forward on the desk.

Oh, he was charming. And yet, you still felt nothing but a platonic admiration for him. Nothing you did would “fix” you. If you couldn’t fall for someone who was inarguably a perfect match, with the only issue being he was a man? Nothing would work. And for the life of you, you still couldn’t decide if it was because you were broken?

Or perhaps nothing was wrong with you at all.

“Ask me again next week,” you told him.

“Will you say yes?” He asked as he stood up straight. It was the same old song and dance, week after week. A routine. Comfort.

“No,” you said with a cheeky grin. You managed to see Richard shake his head and smile to himself before you turned around and continued your walk through the hospital halls.

As unusual as it sounded, there was something comforting about the hospital. Yes, it was filled with disease and death and despair. An unfortunate consequence of the times. But with all the time you had spent between the walls, you felt at home. No one judged; they didn’t have the time nor capacity. You felt welcome. Wanted.

Mr. Baker’s door wasn’t hard to find; you knew the layout like the back of your hand. Though you would admit, you didn’t think you had been to that particular room before. Not that it mattered, they were all the same. At least it would be easy enough to find for next time.

You knocked on the door three times, gave it a moment, and walked in.

“Good morning, Mr. Baker, I-”

“-Get out of my fucking room,” he said before you could even close the door. “I don’t want some fucking priest in here.”

Your mouth snapped shut. In your mind, you checked off the boxes as you studied him. Grumpy? Judging by the set of his mouth, check. Older? His balding head of grey hair was a check. Sick? Well, he was in the hospital, so check. Scared?

Check.

“Good thing I’m not a priest,” you said slowly. He could hear perfectly well, but you didn’t want to make him more angry. A skill you had learned rather quickly.

“I can see a bible thumper from a mile away,” he continued. “It’s sticking out of your damn bag.”

Slowly, you looked down. Damn. He was right.

“I’m not a bible thumper, Mr. Baker,” you tried to say.

“If you’re not some priest, what are you?”

“Would you like my name?” You asked.

“I don’t give a fuck what your name is.” He shook his head. “I want to know what you are.”

“What do you want me to be?” You asked as you took a step further into the room.

“You some kinda prostitute or something?” He asked. You finally noticed his thick Yankee accent.

“Is that what you want me to be?” You asked again, taking another step.

He opened and shut his mouth twice before looking away from you. The very first few weeks you had started coming to the hospital, you remembered what everyone had told you. They’re like cornered animals. You had initially taken offense at the sentiment. They were scared, and the staff had the nerve to compare them to animals?

Until you remembered when you were cornered. You had been just as angry, just as scared, and just as vicious. Those first few months alone without the three people you knew would have protected you. Those were the most terrifying months of your life. Each time someone looked at you, fear raced through your veins. Did they know? Would they try to kill you too, just for the crime of existing? Were they angels, coming to personally drag you to hell for the sin of love?

Only once you had someone who cared did you feel any sort of comfort in your skin. Roy and his entire gang would fight heaven and hell for you. They didn’t care who you loved, they just cared that you were safe. That you were loved, unconditionally. It wasn’t a feeling you were accustomed to.

Everyone you visited in the hospital just wanted to be loved, not feared or ridiculed.

You took another step closer.

“If you want me to leave, I will,” you said softly. “Just say the word.”

Mr. Baker continued to look out the window. It didn’t feel right to stay if he didn’t want you, and you wouldn’t blame him. You waited a few more seconds in awkward silence before nodding slowly to yourself. He didn’t want you there, and that was okay. You backed up and turned to face the door. It was alright, you could always try again next-

“-you can stay.” You smiled to yourself while still facing the door. “Since you’re already here.”

It was a lovely visit with Mr. Baker. He had been a lawyer, back before the epidemic scandal. Hell, he had been a lawyer less than a week ago. All until he had gotten too sick, and got fired for being gay. He complained about his wife leaving him, but he didn’t seem all that upset by it. You could understand.

“If you’re not a priest,” Mr. Baker said, “why carry that damn book?”

“Cause it used to bring me comfort,” you said as you flipped aimlessly through the Bible. “It’s the last thing I have of home.”

“You get excommunicated?” He asked.

You turned and gave him a sad smile. “Somethin’ like that.”

“Do you feel free yet?”

No. Not entirely, at least. That feeling of guilt that had weighed on you throughout your entire adult life had eased, but you weren’t free. Free would be living with Lorraine, and Beau and Huck. Not a care in the world, just living off together and doing whatever you all wished. Yeah. Yeah, that was freedom.

“Not yet,” you finally answered.

Mr. Baker chuckled humourlessly. “That’s what I thought.”

You didn’t stay much longer. He made you promise to come back next week. Well, he didn’t so much make you promise, it was more like you can come back, if you want. But you had been around enough people to know what that meant, so you said you’d come back.

Without your bible, of course, that was what he emphasised.

“Hey Mama.”

You smiled at the words. “Hey baby.” Quietly, you closed the door behind you. “How are you today?”

Eric smiled back at you. “Better and better each day.”

You both knew it was a lie. From what Richard had patiently described to you, Eric was at most a few months away from dying. No more than a boy at only 19, he was going to die without any of his family around. All because they thought he was gay. Perhaps that was why he had attached himself to you as quickly as he had; there was no time to be picky.

“Come sit with me,” he said as he patted the spot beside him.

Without hesitation, you placed your bag at the end of the bed and crawled in with him. The television was situated directly in front of the bed, on a rolling cart that you often found yourself moving. It was some western, but you couldn’t be bothered to know which one. All knowledge of westerns had been forcibly shoved out of your mind the moment you had been displaced.

If anyone from home would have seen you at that moment, they would have keeled over. Not only were you in bed with a suspected gay boy, but one with AIDS? The devil’s disease? The thought of their disgust alone was enough to warm your soul. You hoped they would find out, and you hoped it killed them.

You wouldn’t bother going to their funerals.

“You bring the goods?” Eric asked.

You were already nodding your head as you leaned forward to grab your bag. “If you tell anyone I got these for you, I’ll never buy them again.”

“My mouth is shut,” he said.

He watched with hungry eyes as you pulled out the contraband. The first was a pack of cigarettes; Lucky Strikes. Eric claimed he liked them for the flavour. You knew it was because his grandfather had smoked them during the second world war. Second was a pack of baseball cards, unopened, directly from the corner store a few blocks away. Rumour had it they carried the best cards around.

Third was a Playboy, which you quickly handed over so you wouldn’t have to touch it anymore.

“Oh, you’re the best,” he mumbled to himself as he ripped open the pack of baseball cards with his teeth. “Bet there’s something special in here.”

“I hope there is,” you said with a barely concealed laugh.

While he pulled the cards out, he handed the pack of smokes to you. As much as you knew better, it had become a nice little routine of yours. You would open the smokes and get one started for both you and him. He would look through the cards and show you the “good ones,” going on about every little detail. Once your cigarettes were nothing more than a filter, you would sit back, enjoy a bit of company, and watch whatever you could find on the television.

“Oh this is amazing, wanna hear about it?” He asked, but he didn’t wait for an answer before starting talking.

You slipped the light cigarette into his mouth while he talked. His enthusiasm was contagious. You had not the slightest idea who he was even talking about, but even you were impressed with the person’s statistics. Not enough to remember any of it, but that didn’t really matter.

Eric carried on, and you just sat there and watched him. He reminded you of Jimmy. Young, eager, excited about the little things. It was good to be young. Good to be excited about things that others would consider silly or inconsequential. Maybe that was why you had such a soft spot for him. You might not have had Jimmy, but you had someone that gave you hope in the world.

It wasn’t enough. But it would do.

“Oh shit,” Eric said in a hushed voice. You looked down to see the Playboy in his hands. “They’ve got Miss Minx in here.”

Your brows pulled together as you looked down at the magazine. Admittedly, you couldn’t have cared less about the issue. Your small window into the world of smut had closed that night Lorraine had left. It didn’t have anything to do with you anymore and, quite frankly, perhaps it was all for the better.

But nothing could have prepared you to see a full print of Maxine in a Playboy.

“She made it,” you whispered to yourself with a small smile. “The crazy bitch made it.”

“What do you mean?” Eric asked. His eyes grew wide as he looked up at you. “Wait, did you know her?”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Her and her whole crew.”

“You knew her early stuff?” He asked excitedly. His body turned to face you.

You nodded.

“Like Bobby-Lynne?”

Another nod.

“And Jackson Hole?”

And another.

“And-”

“-Yes, I knew them all,” you interrupted. 

You couldn’t hear her name coming from someone else’s lips. It would have been sinful to speak of the woman you would have worshipped day and night. Something about hearing someone else talk about her felt wrong. Blasphemous even. It was better to let sleeping dogs lie.

At least out loud.

“Think you can get me an autograph?” Eric asked, still as enthusiastic as ever. “It can be my, uh,” he exhaled harshly. “What’s it called,” he mumbled. His eyes lit up before he looked at you again. “That Make A Wish thing.”

“Ain’t that for kids with cancer?” You asked.

“Maybe,” he said with a shrug. “But I’m a kid with AIDS, so I think I count.”

“Don’t think it works that way, baby,” you chuckled.

“Just one autograph,” he begged. “I won’t ever shoot up again, I promise.”

“You already can’t shoot up again,” you said not unkindly. “That’s what got you here in the first place.”

“Oh come on, please?”

You sighed and shook your head. You always had been a sucker for big brown eyes.

“I’ll see what I can do,” you said dejectedly.

The rest of the visit went exactly as it always did. Eric talked non stop about everything that crossed his mind, and you listened. From what he had been “forced” to eat last night, to what he was looking forward to you bringing next week. He very much wanted a burger from your bar. You couldn’t argue; it was the most sensible thing he had asked for in months.

“Don’t get in trouble before I come back,” you told him as you walked to the door. It was past time for work.

“I promise on my life,” he said with a smile that showed off the purple lesions on his gums. “Love you, Mama!”

“Love you too, baby,” you called out, shooting him one last smile before leaving the room.

The first tear fell before the door clicked shut.

With a shake of your head, you made your way out of the hospital. Richard gave you a quick goodbye, and you were off to work. It was some sleazy gay bar on the outside of town. You knew better than to try and take a cab out there. If Roy or Jane couldn’t grab you from the hospital, you would just walk the 30 minutes to get there. Safety first.

Unfortunately, it was far too hot for the walk. It was nothing you weren’t used to, but that didn’t make it enjoyable. Sweat was dripping into your eyes and keeping your shirt stuck to your back by the time you finally walked through the doors of the bar. Thankfully you kept a change of clothes in the back.

“Thank god,” Jessie groaned when you came back to the bar in much cleaner clothes. “I was about to panic.”

“Don’t be a dick,” you whispered in his direction as you smiled at the man on the other side of the bar.

“Is your doctor coming in tonight?” He asked with far too much excitement.

“Go serve your drinks, pretty boy,” you told him before turning back around to start working.

There was something surprisingly enjoyable about working at a bar. Or perhaps it was technically called a club, you weren’t entirely sure. Regardless, you loved it. It was freeing in a way. No one expected you to act a certain way, or pretend to be something you weren’t. You could just laugh, have fun, and genuinely thrive.

“Can I buy you that drink now?”

You smiled to yourself before sitting on the other side of the table. Richard had made himself at home - as he usually did when you worked - and was still nursing his singular drink. His usual doctor’s coat had long been abandoned, instead replaced by a flowery shirt and some cargo shorts. Something that made him stick out tremendously among the group of gay men and women.

“Not on my break,” you told him.

“How about a smoke?” He asked, pulling out a fresh pack of Camels out of his shirt pocket. With skilled fingers, he opened it and pulled a single cigarette out.

“Oh, you’re my hero,” you mumbled, leaning forward to wrap your lips around what he had dubbed the “cancer stick.”

“Those are bad for you, you know,” he said even as he lit it for you and slid the pack and lighter across the table.

“I stopped caring about that a long time ago, Rich,” you said.

As the patrons continued to mill about and enjoy their night, you sat quietly with Richard. He really was a good man, and a part of you wished you could love him. Hell, he had helped you through a lot, the least you could do was give him the one thing he wanted. If you had any belief that you were capable of it, you would have taken him up on his offer long ago.

But you couldn’t in good conscience marry a man that you couldn’t properly appreciate. It wouldn’t have been fair to him. You had watched Lorraine go down that road with RJ, and it hadn’t gone well. She was miserable, doubtless, he had picked up on it as well, and neither one ended up being happy. That was no way to live.

You put out the smouldering cigarette on the ashtray and immediately lit another. That train of thought was not going to end well. You hadn’t painstakingly forced yourself to keep going just to end up thinking too hard one night at work. No, you simply needed to feel the sticky burn at the back of your throat a few more times.

“Is Roy taking you home tonight?” Richard asked.

You hummed affirmative. “No need to play taxi cab,” you teased.

“Will you be back in the hospital soon?” You nodded again. “The men love you.”

“How ironic,” you said with a humourless laugh. “If we had loved each other to begin with, all our lives would’ve been different.”

“Don’t be cynical,” Richard said. He reached out and placed his hand on top of yours. It was warm. Soft. So very different from Beau’s.

You thought for a second before answering. “What do you want me to be?”

“Don’t start that,” he said, quickly pulling his hand back. You couldn’t help smiling at him. “That trick doesn’t work on me, sweetheart.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” you said. Another inhale, another ache in the back of your throat, another satisfying cloud of smoke. “Jessie said I need to quit usin’ humour to cope.”

“He’s not wrong,” Richard said. His voice was soft over the sound of the music playing in the bar. “Do you need to talk about it?”

He really was sweet, you thought. Truly a shame.

“I’m alright, Rich,” you said. “Really.”

“I know, just,” he sighed. “I know we aren’t compatible, but I do care for you.” He, too, had irresistible big brown eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You didn’t know what to say. It was all entirely too much, and you were still feeling emotional from hanging out with Eric earlier. The last thing you needed was for Richard to get emotional on you. If you were being honest with yourself, you needed him to mind his own business.

“You need to go home,” you said with a smile. It was a poor attempt at teasing. “Jessie works tonight.”

“Oh shit,” Richard mumbled. His back straightened and he looked around frantically. “Yeah, I had better go.”

“You should say yes sometime,” you said as you both stood up from the table. “You’d make his year.”

His eyes got big before he undoubtedly noticed the crinkle by your eyes. “I couldn’t dare lead him on like that.”

“Go home, Rich,” you laughed.

You leaned up on your toes to press a quick kiss to his cheek. It was scratchy; he needed to shave again. Roy had told you not to give the man hope, but you weren’t. From the beginning, you had been very clear with him where you stood, and he had never pushed you for a different answer. A kiss on the cheek was nothing more than kindness.

“Get home safe, sweetheart,” he said. “I’ll see you later.”

You bid him goodbye and walked back to the bar. If you put all your attention into work, it wouldn’t be long before you closed and you could go home. Tomorrow would be calm until you had to go back to work later that evening. There should be plenty of time to start harvesting crops and getting everyone set up for the next few weeks.

“I’ll get that man to love me one day,” Jessie said. You followed his line of sight to see Richard walking out the door.

“Sorry, Jess,” you said with a shrug, “but I don’t think he’ll budge.”

“Then he can tell me no himself,” he said. “I can wait.”

“You’re gonna get you in trouble one day,” you said as you started preparing a drink for one of the usuals that had just walked in the door.

“So are you,” he said from his spot beside you. “Someone was asking for you while you were with Doctor Handsome.”

You slid the drink across the bar. “And what did you say?”

“We don’t give out that information,” he repeated like he had so many times before. “I know the rules, I’m no amateur.”

You hummed in acknowledgment as you continued working. Who could have come asking for you? Perhaps it was one of the Vets; Jessie didn’t know all of them. Vulture was quite the intimidating character, maybe it had been him. He was the least likely of the crew to remember your work schedule. Yeah, it was probably him.

The rest of the night was reasonably quiet. Those were some of your favourite nights. There were fewer expectations and interactions. You could simply do your job, get paid, and go home. No stress, no need to overthink, nothing. It was wonderful.

Like clockwork, Roy walked into the bar after everyone had left and you were finishing cleaning. He sat down at the bar, resting his arms on the cool wood. Without stopping your movements, you slid the pristine pack of cigarettes over to him, which he swiftly opened and lit.

“How was the hospital?” Roy asked.

You leaned forward so he could place a smoke between your lips. “Same as always,” you said. “Eric’s magazine had Maxine in it.”

An exceptionally tough stain captured your attention. Having something to focus on was nice, you didn’t want to think about seeing Maxine. In fact, you already regretted bringing it up. You knew Roy had liked her too, even though he had only met her once or twice. It wasn’t fair to either one of you for you to have brought it up.

“Well hello, Roy,” Jessie said as he sidled up next to you.

“Hello, Jessie,” Roy said politely. And nothing more than polite.

“You ever going to party with us?” Jessie asked. He was not helping you clean. “I think you would be good for business.”

“It ain’t really my scene,” Roy said with an unsure smile.

“It could be,” Jessie said. The flirt.

You quickly shoved your hand towel into Jessie’s hands. “Think you can finish closin’ on your own?”

Roy took that as his sign to head out, telling Jessie a short “good night” before heading to the truck waiting on the street. You loved Jessie to death, you really did, but he was going to get himself into a world of hurt if he didn’t stop. Roy wasn’t homophobic by any means, but the man still wasn’t consistently stable. He was not the one to play with.

“Quit flirtin’ with my brother,” you hissed as you grabbed your Camels, lighter, and cash tips. “And my doctor.”

“Quit bringing handsome men to the bar,” Jessie called after you. “It’s not fair, you know.”

“Night Jessie,” you shouted. He answered as the doors swung closed behind you.

If there was one thing you could say about Roy’s truck, it was that the interior was as pristine as a farmer’s truck could get. Everything was in its place, and everything had a place. The car lighter was always ready, and he kept one pack each of three different smokes in the center bucket. In the glovebox was his pistol and a few spare rounds in an unmarked cardboard box.

“You didn’t share a cigarette with that boy earlier, did you?” Roy asked once he pulled off onto the main road to get back out to the compound.

“No, Roy, I ain’t stupid,” you huffed. “I lit his, then got my own.”

“Don’t get testy,” he defended quickly, “I just don’t want you gettin’ sick too.”

“Oh I’m fine,” you mumbled more to yourself before looking out the window.

It was because he cared, you reminded yourself. Maybe a bit too much, but he did. Even though you both considered the other Vets your family, you still only had each other. No one understood you like he did, and vice versa. You wouldn’t be who you were without him, and he was protective to a fault.

That did not mean you had to enjoy his line of questioning.

“Make any new friends?” He asked after a bit of awkward silence.

You told him all about Mr. Baker; not that there was much to say yet. He listened intently, nodding along with your tale and mumbling encouragement when appropriate. It was a pretty one-sided conversation, but that didn’t matter. He listened, and you got to say a bit. Hell, he even laughed when you complained that Mr. Baker had called you a priest.

“Hey Roy.” You waited until he grunted for you to continue. “Did you ever think maybe Robert was wrong? With his preachin’?”

He laughed. A big laugh, one that would put anyone else to shame. It caught you off guard and you frowned at him even though he was focused on the road. He didn’t need to be so rude.

“I knew he was wrong the day I was drafted,” he said after calming down. “Why d’you ask?”

You looked down at the pieces of paper you were slowly picking off the pack of Marlboros in your hand.

“I’ve just been thinkin’ about it lately,” you said with a shrug.

“What exactly have you been thinkin’ about?” He probed.

“You think God is ashamed of us?” You asked.

When Roy was silent, your fingers pulled at one of the cigarettes in the pack. Maybe Richard was right, you needed to slow down. But with all the thoughts running through your head day and night, the last thing you were worried about was a smoke. That sounded like a problem for the future, if you ever got to it.

You exhaled smoke before continuing. “Think He saw us and decided it was easier to turn his back?” Roy was silent. “Cause He don’t talk to me anymore.” You turned to face Roy, who was still looking straight ahead. “Did I do somethin’ wrong?”

“You did nothin’ wrong,” he said quickly. If you looked closely, his knuckles were paling from his grip on the wheel.

“Just what I’ve been thinkin’ about,” you said quietly. “Sometimes I feel like I did somethin’ wrong.”

The truck pulled up to the front of the house you shared. The lights were on downstairs and in the kitchen. Hopefully Moose wasn’t drunk again. The last thing you wanted to do was deal with his nonsense so late at night. Honestly, you just wanted to go get in bed and start a new day.

“Guess we should head inside,” you mumbled.

You put the cigarette out on the heel of your boot before putting the now-cool butt in your pocket. Everyone knew better than to leave trash in Roy’s truck. But when you went to open the door, Roy’s arm reached in front of you and pushed down the lock.

“Why’d you do that?” You asked with a small laugh. “We’re already parked.”

Both of his hands stayed on the wheel. He still wasn’t looking at you. You knew the look on his face. It had never led to anything good.

“Remember when we first got here?” He asked quietly.

“What?” You asked. He didn’t move. You sighed and shook your head. “Yeah, I remember.”

“You didn’t get out of bed for two months,” he continued.

“Why are you askin’?”

He exhaled slowly. “I wrote a letter back home not long after we arrived.”

“What?” You asked incredulously.

“I didn’t leave a return address, but I wrote to Ma that we were safe,” he said.

“You never told me that,” you said.

“I didn’t want them to hear from Mr. Dylan first and think badly of you,” he said.

Finally, he turned to face you. He wore a troubled look, one you so often saw when he was having a hard day. It usually accompanied a bit of crying, perhaps some yelling, and a lot of nightmares before that look of his went away. You didn’t like that he had it again.

“A few weeks ago, I got a letter from someone,” he said. “Through the circuit.”

You vaguely remembered him explaining that to you. Some backroot way Vets were talking with each other. A system they had all created with a bunch of different towns. If you sent a letter through the circuit, some way somehow, eventually it would find who it was supposed to. You didn’t question it much since none of your Vets used it.

But only other Vets knew about it.

“Who sent you a letter?” You asked.

Roy looked at you with pathetic puppy dog eyes.

“Roy,” you said, more stern, “who sent it?”

“Jackson.”

You looked back at the house. And the silhouette of someone now standing in the window. Perhaps they were looking out, you didn’t know. You didn’t care. You knew that silhouette. Knew it like the back of your hand; better than that, actually.

With shaking hands, you put another cigarette between your lips. It took far too many tries to start the lighter, and even longer to keep it still long enough to catch a light. The smoke and ash didn’t hurt enough. It didn’t quell whatever was going on inside your chest.

“Unlock the truck, please,” you said softly.

Roy didn’t move. 

“Unlock the fuckin’ truck,” you said more forcefully.

The moment you heard the lock click, you threw the door open. Heavy boots hit the hard ground, and you gripped the door handle until you were sure you could stand on your own. The ground tilted beneath you, like a ship on the sea. Back and forth in front of your very eyes. Or maybe it was still.

You started walking away from the house. It would be a decent walk, but that was okay. Long enough for you to clear your head, get a grip on reality, and rest. You knew where to find a warm bed, and no one would do anything to you. Everyone knew not to mess with you, you had friends in high places.

“Where are you goin’?” Roy called out to you.

You took a drag of the cigarette. “I’ll stay the night at Richard’s,” you called back. You sounded pathetic. Weak. Broken.

“You ain’t just walkin’ away-”

“-why not?” You interrupted as you spun on your heels to face him. “Why can’t I just walk away?” He looked at you intensely. “That’s what we did four years ago. Why is this any different?”

“Because you could’ve died,” Roy said quickly. “When I walked in, you were about to be fuckin’ executed.”

“Better than bein’ lynched,” you said. “At least it would’ve been quick.”

“Don't act like you weren't scared.”

“I've been scared every day of my adult life,” you admitted. There was a lump in your throat. “How would you even know how I feel anyway?”

“Because,” he laughed, “none of us are stupid. You're not as good at hidin’ your feelings as you think”

You scoffed and crossed your arms over your chest. “You're full of shit.”

“Oh yeah?” He asked, standing taller. “Then how come everyone always saw you as a bigger suicide risk than me?”

You froze. 

“Yeah, now you're listening,” he continued. “You think no one talked behind your back? Even Ma would ask me if you were alright, if you and Beau were good.” He shook his head. “Everyone was worried as all get out about you.”

“If y'all were so concerned, you sure knew how to hide it,” you argued.

“What were we gonna do, Y/N?” Roy asked. “Potentially out you to the whole town? You're right, they would've lynched you outside the church.”

“I already told you, I wasn't scared of dyin’,” you said as you walked closer.

“Don't act like you gave up in that church because you weren't scared,” he said harshly. “You gave up to protect Lorraine.” His finger jabbed into your chest harshly. “If you died, no one would've ever known about her and she could've lived happily ever after. You gave up because you love her,” he practically hissed.

You took a step back. The burn of a lit cigarette inched closer to your knuckles. It was a feeling you could live with because at least it was a feeling. A better feeling than whatever Roy’s words had done to you. They were carving out your insides, scraping you off the edges until you wanted to cry and scream and hike into the woods until you couldn’t remember your own name.

“We missed Gramma’s funeral.” You shook your head. “We missed our baby brother’s wedding.” It wasn’t true. “I ain’t lettin’ you miss anything else.”

It was too much. Everything was just too much. What did he mean? Gramma had been in perfect health when you had left. Hell, you all swore she would live forever. And what about Jimmy getting married? Sure, you had expected it sooner or later, but without you?

He got married without you?

“I’ve spent four years workin’ on movin’ on, Roy,” you said. The lump in your throat only grew bigger. “I’ve worked day and night to try and live without her.”

“And look where you are, darlin’,” he said. “You still have nightmares from that damn church. And Jessie told me how many women you’ve turned down.” The cigarette butt fell from your fingers. “Think someone who’s moved on would do that?”

Damn Jessie. Damn him for talking with Roy. Though, he wasn’t wrong. Over the course of working at the bar, more than your fair share of women had asked you to dinner or to buy you a drink. They were all nice, and attractive. But you told them no time and time again because of one flaw that wasn’t their fault.

They weren’t Lorraine.

“You’ve been through some shit,” Roy said softly, and you looked up to meet his eyes. “Don’t go throwin’ away your shot at happiness.”

You wrapped your arms around your body and looked at the house. The silhouette was still in one of the windows of the living room. If you looked closer, you could see the scene you had always wished for. Holding Lorraine close, in a house you called your own, drinking coffee and watching the sunrise. No fears, no shame, just love.

It was what you wanted more than anything.

“I don’t wanna lose her again,” you whispered.

For the first time in a while, Roy smiled at you. “I promise you won’t.”

His hand rested on the small of your back before gently pushing you forward. Right, you needed to move. Okay, you could do that, you could move. All you needed to do was get to the house, right? Get to the house and get the girl. That’s what Jimmy would’ve told you. It’s what Beau and Huck would’ve told you.

Each step closer to the house forced your heart to beat harder and harder. Roy had seemed pretty confident, but what if he was wrong? What if Lorraine was there to officially end it? After all, she had been engaged to RJ. Not happily, but she had been. Without you around, what need would she have to break it off?

Oh, that wasn’t a good train of thought. Not good at all. Maybe you didn’t want to see her again. You didn’t think your heart could handle rejection, not after everything it had already been through. It would be less painful than jumping in front of the train that ran through the outskirts of town.

But what if she said yes?

Now that. That would be worth the risk.

Roy’s footsteps could be heard around the porch. There was a side door that lead to the second half of the house, the one that had originally been its own building. After everyone had knocked the middle wall down to make one house, they had still treated it as separate. That’s where the Vets stayed more often than not.

Which left you alone.

You couldn’t stay outside the door forever. Well, you could. Maybe you should. Would that really be so bad? Just sleep outside for the night, you could go find Hank’s dog house and rest. Moose had built it big enough to fit, well, a moose. Yeah, you could fit, it might be a good idea just to stay in there.

Someone shuffled around inside, and you couldn’t take it. You needed to know if it was her. You needed to know for sure, and you needed to give your heart a break. Whatever the outcome, it would bring some sort of closure. Anything was better than the limbo you had been living in.

The door creaked as you pushed it open. It pierced your heart like the splinters outside. Your palms could not have been more clammy. The floor was solid beneath you. It swayed beneath you, but at least it didn’t feel like it was falling out under your feet. That was always nice.

You faced the door as you closed it. The shuffling behind you - it was in the kitchen - came to an abrupt stop. The wooden door was rough beneath your fingers. If you scratched it, you could flake off the paint. Some scratched paint was the least of everyone’s worries in that house.

Turn around. If you could just turn around, it would be okay. Roy said it would be okay, and you trusted him. He wouldn’t lie to you, not about this. With a sigh, you let your forehead rest against the door. Come on, you just needed to turn around. Right. Something weighed heavy in your stomach. You felt sick.

One slow breath in.

Slow breath out.

A splinter pricked your finger as you pushed yourself back and turned around. You focused on that, looking down at the sliver of wood. Tired fingers picked at it, and you used it as a distraction. Work at the splinter, and get your breathing under control. Once you were ready, you could look up.

But you couldn’t wait. You had waited so long already. Within your chest, your heart was aching. Reaching out for its other half. Scratching at the confines of bones and flesh to escape and relish in its freedom once again. To drown itself in the love that it so desperately desires.

You just needed to look up.

The moment you saw those brown eyes again, you knew it was over. All the pain and suffering and rejection. The fear of being found out, or being ostracised for a love that was no different than anyone else’s. It was over once you locked eyes with her.

She looked tired. The bags underneath her eyes rivaled your own; no small feat. If she had lost weight, you wouldn’t have faulted her. You had certainly lost your fair share. It was difficult to keep yourself well fed when you didn’t see the point in continuing. You knew that well.

Should you say something to her? She was looking at you like it was expected, but what could you possibly say? A simple hello wouldn’t suffice, not after everything you had both been through. Not after you had nearly been killed. What could you say to the woman you loved? What could make up for those years apart? Those years spent denying something serious was taking place within your hearts for the sake of peace?

Turned out, all you had to do was breathe.

One inhale was all it took. Lorraine’s body slammed into you before you could do anything else, knocking all the breath out of you in one fell swoop. Her momentum carried you, and before you could steady yourself, the floor rushed up to meet your back. It should have hurt, should have stolen the breath from your lungs and ached for days to come.

But you didn’t feel anything besides her body against yours. You had forgotten how well she fit in your arms. Like you were supposed to be together, two halves of the same mould. She was warm, and soft, and her heart beat rapidly against your chest. If you listened closely, your heart was in sync with hers. Like it should have been. Like it always had been.

With your back to the floor, she couldn’t properly wrap her arms around you. But you could. Your arms wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her tighter. Her breath tickled against the hollow at the base of your neck. When you inhaled, she smelled of spring. She always smelled of spring.

“I knew I’d find you again,” Lorraine mumbled against your skin. Her lips were soft.

You didn’t know what to say, so you said nothing at all. You just pulled her tighter against you. If you could keep her where she was, it would be impossible for her to disappear. No running off to go on some film shoot, no leaving to save face with RJ. She would stay right there in your arms where she belonged.

Where she was supposed to be.

“Baby?” She whispered. You hummed in acknowledgment. “This is getting uncomfortable.”

An ache shot through your hips when you tried to move. Clearly, she was right. Your girl was always right. But you weren’t going to let her go, not so soon. Instead, you kept your arms wrapped around her and struggled into a sitting position. It was like instinct for her to maneuver herself so she could sit in your lap and rest her head between your collar and jaw.

“They said you and Roy ran off,” Lorraine said softly. Small fingers played with the buttons of your shirt. “First it was a vacation, then he kidnapped you, then y’all were dead.”

A low rumble cleared your throat. “Weren’t no vacation, that’s for sure.”

“Missing the fourth of July gave that away,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered into her hair.

“Beau lost his mind,” she continued. “Huck couldn’t even keep him calm.”

“Are they-”

“-they’re still good,” she said quickly. “Just worried about you.”

“And you?”

You knew she cared. God, you knew. But you needed to hear her say it. All your feelings had been put aside day after day because you couldn’t ruin whatever pretend lives you had on display for everyone. She needed to say it, to confirm that yes, she does love you, she did miss you, you weren’t imagining everything.

“Every day, I prayed to find you,” she said softly. “And if that wasn’t possible, then I prayed for God to just kill me.” Her breath tickled your neck. “When every beat of your heart hurts because it longs for something it can’t have, you start to wish for the worst.”

You didn’t have any sort of reply for her. What would you say? If they had all been that concerned without even knowing what had happened that night, you couldn’t in good conscience tell her the truth. I’m sorry you were worried, baby, but we left because I was almost murdered. How would that help anything? Besides, you were more than content to try and forget the whole night anyway.

In your lap, Lorraine shifted until her back was pressed against you and your hands rested in her lap. Naturally, your chin rested on her shoulder as you looked down. Her warm hands played with your own, twisting them this way and that. Gently, of course. It was then you noticed something different, and you rubbed your finger across her bare ring finger.

“I broke it off,” she said.

Hell, she didn’t need to say more. Those four words were enough to have your stomach rolling. Those shackles you had both been bound by were gone. No need to pretend you were nothing more than best friends. Friends. The word left an ashy taste in your mouth. No, you would never be her friend again.

“Was he upset?” You asked.

She was silent for a moment. “I think he saw it comin’.”

“Damn,” you said. “I was hopin’ he was devastated.”

Lorraine laughed. A big laugh. God, it was beautiful. The sound of her laugh warmed your chest from the inside, spreading down to every nerve in your body. Only she could make you feel like that. You had always known it, but this just proved it even further.

“I missed you,” she said softly. Her fingers continued to gently pick at yours. “Missed just bein’ with you.”

“I missed you too,” you answered.

Hesitantly, you turned your head to place a ghost of a kiss on her cheek. If you thought about it for too long, you believed you felt her shiver. It could’ve been a figment of your imagination, but you didn’t think so. She leaned back with what little space she had left, leaving no room between the two of you.

“I think you need a new ring,” you said as you ran your thumb over her ring finger again.

“Buy me dinner first,” Lorraine said without hesitation. Her voice sounded sleepy. “I’m still recovering from a failed engagement, remember?”

“Oh yeah,” you said. “I bet you’re devastated.”

“Heartbroken, really,” she said as she turned around, placing her legs on either side of your hips, keeping you trapped. You were done when her arms wrapped themselves around your neck.

“You have my condolences,” you said. Her eyes were mesmerising.

“Thank you.” Her fingers played with the hair on the back of your neck. It tickled. “I think I just need some comfort.”

“Well lucky for you, that’s my job,” you said. “I can bring you all the comfort you need.”

Her smile was contagious. God, it was so pretty. She was so pretty, scars and all. You had missed her, in every way you could imagine. Being able to sit with her, tease, joke, enjoy just being with her? You had missed it all. And when she leaned forward to rest her forehead against yours? You were in heaven.

“I think I just want-”

“-oh shit.”

The voice forced your body to tense up. Lorraine’s hands gripped the back of your shirt tighter before she hid her head in the crook of your neck. Across from where you were sitting, at the bottom of the stairs by the kitchen, was Bull. A monster of a man if ever you saw one.

If you ignored his Garfield sleep shirt.

“Sorry, Mama,” he said with a smirk. “Just came down for a snack.”

Of course he did. Out of everyone, Moose and Bull were the ones who snacked in the middle of the night. None of the other Vets came down. They would wander, sure, but they wouldn’t get the munchies. For Moose, it was from the weed. Bull? Well, he was just a big guy.

“Cookies are in the cupboard,” you said with a gesture of your head.

Lorraine gripped you tighter.

“Chocolate chip?” He asked even though he was already digging for them.

“Shortbread,” you answered.

“Fuck yes,” he mumbled once he found them. “Thanks, Mama.” He froze at the bottom of the stairs and looked back at you. “Night, you two.”

“Night, Bull,” you called back.

The two of you must have been quite the sight to see in the middle of the night. Sitting on the floor, not moving, holding each other like your lives depended on it. Which maybe they did, you couldn’t be sure. It certainly felt like they did. Like Lorraine would disappear if you gave her any sort of space. You had lost her too many times, you wouldn’t risk it again.

“Sorry,” you mumbled into her hair. “The guys get restless.”

“Mama?” She asked. You could feel her smile against your skin.

“Someone’s gotta mother them,” you defended. “It ain’t like they’re grown or nothin’.”

Lorraine giggled. “I like it, it’s cute.”

Your fingers traced every inch of her skin they could find. When they ran out? They trailed under her shirt. Nothing scandalous, you just wanted to touch her. To feel her and confirm that yes, she was with you. She wasn’t gone, she wasn’t someone else’s, she was yours. Only yours. Your girl, your Rainey.

“Don’t they care?” She asked, pulling back to look into your eyes.“About…” she trailed off. You knew who she was talking about.

“No,” you said with a soft smile, “not at all.”

“Can we-” she stopped mid-sentence. Her eyes drifted down.

You stayed silent to give her time to focus on her words. This whole situation was… difficult, to say the least. Disappearing for years, lying to everyone for years before that. The years had flown by, and who knew how many you had left. But you could give her a few more minutes to get her thoughts in order.

“Can we stay here?” She asked, finally looking back up at you. “All of us? Together?”

That was all you had ever wanted to hear. All you had ever desired from the moment you had realised your feelings for her. To be able to be with her forever, in any capacity, as long as you could call her yours. Lorraine was the only one your heart and body and soul yearned for. 

And to have your guys with you? The ones who had been with you both through thick and thin, who had supported you even when things were tough? They were as much your loved ones as Lorraine. Your happily ever after included them too, and you knew Lorraine felt the same.

You leaned forward to capture her lips in a kiss. Soft, gentle, slow. But no less passionate. It was a kiss to make up for the years apart. To make up for all the secrecy, and hiding, and shame. A single kiss to confess your devotion to her and her only. It was enough to have your heart beating so fast you swore it would explode.

Even though she chased after you, you pulled away until you could look into her eyes again.

“Buy me dinner first,” you said, repeating what she had told you earlier.

“You’re lucky I love you,” she said with a smile that stretched across her face in the most delectable way.

“You’re lucky I love you too,” you said, leaning forward to give her another kiss. One that held no shame. It tasted of freedom.

“I need to hold you,” she whispered against your lips. “Take me to bed?”

Well that. Now that you could do.

“I’m your Huckleberry.”

—---

The sun was hot on your back, scorching whatever piece of skin it could find. If you didn’t quit soon, you’d be burned to hell and back. And if you were sunburned, you knew there was an entire compound full of people that would make it a point to hit it. A bunch of sorry bastards is what they were.

The joints in your knees ached as you stood up straight and stretched. A pop here or there released some of the tension. Enough, at least, to start walking back to the house. With a towel in hand, you started scrubbing the dirt off your ring. The last thing you wanted was Lorraine to see you had dirtied it all up.

“Your wife is making cookies,” Huck said when you stepped onto the porch. “Something about you havin’ a sweet tooth?”

“Legally she’s yours,” you said with a raised brow that intimidated no one. “And I don’t have a sweet tooth, that’s Tack.”

“Can’t be, he’s out at the barn with Beau,” he said.

He held out a beer, nice and cold, and you took it with a mumbled “thanks.” His lazy ass was in the same spot it had been all day; on the rocking chair beside Hank’s little dog bed. The moment he had seen Hank, you knew it was love. If it had been up to him, the dog would’ve been sleeping in the bed with him and Beau every night.

Beau shut that down real quick.

“Beau and I got competition in two weeks,” Huck said as you quickly sat down on the porch in front of him. “Think we can harvest in time?”

You took a swig of your beer and pulled out the pack of cigarettes from your shirt pocket.

“Probably not,” you said before inhaling the smoke. “But Greenback’s arrest last week means he owes me.” A slow exhale. “We’ll get it done while you’re gone.”

“I think Hippie wanted to travel with us,” he continued. “Said he was curious.”

“He’s been curious for years,” you chuckled. “At least he’s finally askin’ instead of mopin’ while y’all are gone.”

“Be nice to him,” he said. “At least he likes hangin’ around.”

“Course he likes hangin’ around, the four of us do everything for ‘em,” you teased.

Huck laughed, and you couldn’t help but smile with him. “Ain’t that the truth. Where would they be without us?”

“Gettin’ arrested,” Beau said, appearing beside you. Tack was nowhere to be seen.

“Speak of the devil,” Huck mumbled.

“You only show up when we’re gossipin’,” you claimed.

“I heard your wife’s makin’ cookies,” he said. You smiled to yourself and took another drag of your cigarette as Beau fell gracefully into Huck’s lap. You also ignored the sound of him kissing him.

“Know how you only call Beau my husband when he’s in trouble?” You asked, turning back to look at the both of them. “You do the same with Lorraine, so what’d she do now?”

“We just think you should be the one to test her cookies first,” Beau said.

“Make sure she don’t poison any of us, again” Huck continued.

“Y’all better hush before she hears,” you whispered as you reached out to slap one of the four legs that you could reach. You didn’t know who it belonged to, and you didn’t really care.

“Her cobbler the other day poisoned Roy,” Beau claimed. “Said so himself.”

“Roy don’t even like peaches,” you said, “so he’s full of shit.”

“He said he- oh hey, Rainey.”

Beau changed his tune quickly when Lorraine walked out onto the porch. Judging by the look on her face, she had heard the gossip. Damn her and her good hearing. You certainly didn’t have it, you would have been ignorant to everything if it had happened outside the door. And that was just fine by you.

“Jane helped with the cookies,” she defended, “so no one is gettin’ poisoned.”

“Told you it was fine,” you called back to them.

Lorraine sat down beside you and pulled you into a quick kiss. You didn’t think you would ever get used to the feeling. Every time she even looked at you, your stomach twisted and turned into knots in the best way. Let her ring be in sight? Oh god, it drives you crazy. She was your wife. And everyone knew it.

“You goin’ to work tonight?” She asked.

“Nah,” you shook your head. “I’m free till tomorrow night. Why?”

“Max and the crew are comin’ by later,” Lorraine said as she rested her head on your shoulder. “Wanted to make sure we’d be home.”

“Course we will be,” you said as you pressed another kiss to the top of her head. “There’s nowhere better.”

The four of you sat on the porch and continued to look out at the home you had all built. A full barn, trailers, and bales of hay waiting to be moved. Across the way were the fields full of more crops than you could reasonably harvest, but that was alright. You would just prepare better for next year. Out to the left was a field you had claimed as your own. It housed the crosses for all the patients you met at the hospital. In the very front was Eric’s. You kept some Lucky Strikes and a pack of baseball cards by it.

Never in your wildest dreams had you ever imagined you would have everyone together and actually living the lives you had all hoped for. To think, it had all started off messy. Now, you all had lives, and hopes and dreams that you didn’t fear would be squashed just for existing. You could love. You could be loved. Out there in the East coast where your dreams had always led you.

With Lorraine’s fingers intertwined with your own, you exhaled another cloud of smoke and looked out.

There was something relaxing about spending a day outdoors on your and your loved ones’ farm.

[nicksolemnlyswears]

HAN LUE HEADCANONS PT. 3

pairing: han lue x waitress!reader

word count: 8.7k

warnings: smut

notes: part 3 is finally here! so sorry for the delay. i wanna say thank you for all the love on part 1 and 2 as well as in the requests. this will be the last part of the waitress!reader headcanons for now. i left the ending open to give myself space to come back and add more if i'd like. i've been thinking of doing a mini series of han and that other person that comes up in the end (sorry im trying not to give anything away).

if you guys want me to expand on any part of the headcanons even if it's just a one liner let me know and maybe i can write a small drabble or oneshot on it.

i have my fingers crossed that you like how it turns out. i definitely have a favorite part of this particular part of the headcanons. again, thank you! enjoy!

ps. want to add a little warning that these headcanons might not be the most grammatically correct in terms of punctuation just because i don't go deep editing. it's a choice i make but if you've read my oneshots you know i am better than this lol.

PT.2

-everyone has a side of the bed, you and han are not an exception. from the first moment you slept over at han's the side farthest from the door has been your side.

-on a random day the conversation comes up and you ask han why the side closest to the door is his side. he tells you it's in case an intruder were to break in (which is highly unlikely) you'd have time to escape.

-lowkey all this time you guessed he picked that side because it's right under the ac vent and he gets hot at night. so you call out his bullshit and he admits that's partly the reason, but what he said remains true, it's safer for him to be right by the door. ridiculous because there is no way you are going to run away and leave han to fend for himself.

-talking about apartments and sides of beds. when you moved out of your place you brought along a box or two of knick knacks that couldn't be stored in a warehouse. you placed them strategically around han’s (now both of yours) apartment.

-han admits he likes having a shared space with you. you gave it a different flare with your decorations. or simply, you took away the fact that it was a former bachelor pad.

-he likes coming home to you everyday. whenever you stay with mindy, for one reason or another, it feels lonely. something he'd never felt before. it's like somewhere along the way he got attached to you and now he's constantly seeking you out.

-one thing han detests though is the abundance of pillows on his bed. you don’t even use all of them! before going to bed you throw them by the chair on the corner of the room. he says it's pointless, you say it's decor.

-because you have a semi normal schedule now you have more time to visit han at his garage. you make sure to talk a bit with reiko and han's other friends but most of the time he steals you away from them.

-if the crew at han's garage is not careful they run the risk of finding you and han in compromising positions. you try to prevent han from getting carried away but it's hard when you want him just as much. you've had to apologize to twinkie and sean one too many times. poor boys can't even look you in the eyes after what they've witnessed.

-han is the type of guy to tell you to check something out under the hood of the car despite you warning him you don't know shit about cars. he couldn't care less, it's an excuse to see your ass bent over his car.

-you would be talking to him about how it all looks like a bunch of scrap metal when you feel him pressing up against your backside. you'd look over your shoulder and han would say 'everyone went out to grab a bite. thought i'd have mine right here, baby.'

-you would roll your eyes at him but would push up against him nonetheless. in record time he'd push down your pants and underwear and sink his cock into you. you hang on to whatever part of the car you can as han thrusts repeatedly into you. 'you look so fucking pretty, baby. should’ve gotten you like this sooner.’

-all this time you're moaning and calling out his name. until he suddenly slaps his hand over your mouth to keep you quiet. with slow deep thrusts he'd lean down to whisper in your ear 'fuck, baby. they're back, but don't worry i'm almost done. just keep quiet for me.'

-han knows his way around your body so with precise touches to your clit and the angle of his thrusts he makes you cum quickly which prompts his orgasm as well. his near silent grunts are music to your ears.

-by the time sean comes looking for him han is bent besides you on the car pointing at something called a radiator. had he been there 5 seconds earlier he would've found han tucking himself into his jeans and you pulling up your pants.

-with han's help you get the restaurant running in eight months. it was a long eight months filled with work, day and night. the old diner was remodeled in its entirety which included kitchen, storage area, and dining space.

-you lovingly named the restaurant CATCH MY DRIFT. it's cheesy and punny but you love it. you found it necessary to pay homage to han in some way.

-the soft launch is successful thanks to your staff, some of which are the same people you worked with when it was a diner. you and han invited friends and other important people who would help spread the word about your little restaurant.

-mindy was in charge of the restaurants social media. she made it her mission to help you succeed and she did a wonderful job. she took beautiful pictures of both the restaurant and you. the socials began gaining a following pretty quickly thanks to her and her abilities.

-after the first official day of the restaurant being open and all the staff left, you prepared a table with candles and rose petals. there is one last person you had to serve for the night.

-han had been there with you through it all. he's been your support through every sleepless night and anxiety attack due to your fear of failing. he made last minute runs to get anything you might've forgotten and forced you on aimless drives around town to get your mind off things.

-han made your dream a reality. han wove himself seamlessly through all your hopes and dreams and became an integral part of them. now you can't see your life without him by your side.

-han returned to the restaurant under the impression he was going to pick you up. you might not work the night shift as a waitress anymore and you know how to drive now too, but he'll always pick you up and take you home. it gives him time to talk to you before you go through your night routine, head to bed and he heads out to the races or any other errand he has to run.

-when he enters he sees the romantic setting and you waiting for him in a beautiful red dress. you smiled softly at him and took his hand in yours.

"what's all this?" han asks, following you to the table where you pull his chair out for him.

"it's a thank you," you say, walking around the table to find your seat that faces him.

"you didn't have to, baby. you've been working all day," han shakes his head, although there's a grin plastered in his face. he appreciates what you've done.

you've told him countless times how much it means to you everything he's done. the moment he walked into your life he changed it all for the better.

"maybe i didn't, but i wanted to. all of this was possible because of you," you tell him, grabbing his hand that lays on the table, "will you let me start making it up to you?"

-it's come up on your late night conversations how you're guilty of han spending so much money on you. the last thing you want is to make him believe you're with him for the money. so you take each opportunity that presents itself to make it up to him.

"alright. what you got?" han asks.

you uncover the dinner plates to reveal a simple bacon burger with fries. no pickles. han's smile spreads even further touched by the gesture. it's been a long time since he's had one of these.

"i figured you missed your order considering i have been feeding you fancy dishes all these months," you chuckle, remembering all the tastings han had to go through. "i'll always have a stock of burgers and fries just for you. all you have to do is ask."

"have i told you i love you," han says, lacing your fingers together.

you hum quietly, pretending to think and say, "not today." you bring his hand up to your lips, kissing the back of it.

"i love you, baby," han repeats for the first time today but for the thousandth time since he said it first.

-there are times where han runs out of his snacks and doesn't have access to a store immediately. wether it's because he's at the races or driving around the country side or any other reason.

-when this happens he gets really antsy. he'll pick at loose threads, or at the skin around his fingers, he'll drum his fingers against something, or his leg will bounce. it's very noticeable that something is bothering him.

-it happens while on a trip around europe. han planned it as a vacation for the two of you for your second anniversary. he (you) had exhausted all his snacks and you were about an hour away from civilization. an idea suddenly pops into your head, han wants to have his hands and lips busy and you have the perfect thing.

-you take off your seatbelt and lean over the center consol. han doesn't question you until you kiss his cheek down to his neck.

"what're you doing, baby?" he murmurs, his eyes briefly looking at you before they return to the long stretch of pavement.

"making you crave something else," you whisper in his ear, biting his earlobe.

"get in my lap," he immediately responds. han's pretty tall so there's a huge gap between his chest and the steering wheel, leaving his lap free for you to sit on. 'if i fits i sits' style.

-you don't hesitate, since you've adopted han's risky behavior. once in his lap he catches his lips on yours. the focus he has to maintain on the road while kissing you is enough to make him forget his cravings.

-you eventually forget what lead you to this as you get lost in the kiss. it's not often you get to take the upper hand. taking advantage of the situation you slip your tongue inside han's mouth, massaging his tongue with yours.

-when he makes it to a gas station in the middle of nowhere he parks far away from the pump. you whine about having to walk the long distance to the convenience store.

"i need you now, baby," he grunts, grabbing the back of your neck to smash his lips against yours and showing you his true intentions.

"hannie this car is tiny, it'll be so uncomfortable," you whine against his lips.

"it's either the half a millon car or the public bathroom," he breathes, lifting your dress without waiting for your answer.

"i can make it work here," you huff, straddling him. you bump your head on the roof of the car but han quickly pulls you down flush against his covered cock.

"that's what i thought," he groans into your mouth as you grind against him.

-when you finish your risky endeavor you stumble out of the car and speed to the bathroom to clean yourself. han goes inside to grab snacks and pay for gas. he grabs snacks for you as well seeing that was what led him to run out in the first place. you made up for it in your own way though.

-in terms of your family, you haven't talked to them in about four years. once you spoke up about hating your college major and the fact you were gonna switch they presented you with a choice. continue the path your father paved for you or leave.

-you gave it a lot of thought. you finished your semester and everything. but in the end you decided you didn't want it. you hated your classes and was miserable. so you left. and your father told you not to come back unless you got your priorities straight.

-mindy took you in, let you live with her while you found a new place to live and a job. without your parents support you couldn't afford the culinary school you wanted to go to. with what little savings you had you got your apartment and soon found a job in the american themed diner.

-the diner was your saving grace. they let you stay on the overnight shifts. you didn't have a family to go to, you didn't exactly go to school during the day either, so it worked.

-you had other jobs along with the diner but none lasted and then han came along and it all changed for the better.

-you think about your family often. you remember your parents and sisters birthday and the anniversaries. when those days come along you keep yourself occupied.

-one night you and your staff are cleaning after a long shift and the door chimes as someone enters. you ignore it believing it's han that's come to give you company and take you home, but someone clearing their throat makes you look up.

-your mom stands there, she's still the same as the last day you saw her. her clothes are as expensive as ever, her shoes and bag matching perfectly.

"i thought i'd find you here," she speaks smoothly with her head held high as she assesses the restaurant.

"how did you find me?" you ask not giving her the pleasure to have your full attention as you finish wiping down tables.

"there's been buzz going around about a brand new restaurant. one of my friends came and saw you," she goes silent. "she was right, it's a nice place, is this all yours?"

"is there something you want?" you ask her, finally facing her. you didn't feel inclined to go on to explain your mysteriously wealthy boyfriend funded it.

"we need to talk," she tells you plainly as if she hasn't lost the right to speak to you.

"we're talking," you huff, ignoring the true meaning of her words.

"in private," your mom grits, grabbing hold of your arm much like when you were younger and refused to listen.

-to avoid a scene you know she's fully capable of making you guide her to your office. it's simply decorated with a desk and a few chairs scattered around. there's a white board on the wall where you write down your menu ideas and to do lists. there are also sticky notes on it that han has left behind throughout the months. some are sweet and encouraging and some are naughtier with innuendos and inside jokes.

"talk," you say when she stands in the middle of the room taking it all in.

"is that a way to treat your mother?" she scolds you.

"we haven't seen each other in four years and you suddenly come here. just say what you have to say," you angrily exclaim, crossing your arms over your chest.

"i never agreed with what your father did," she then reveals.

"and yet you didn't do a single thing about it. either way, he got his perfect daughter" you humorlessly laugh, referring to your sister who did everything your father expected of you. "is that why you're here? to suddenly apologize?"

"i want you to come back home," she responds.

you shake your head, "that's not happening. i have a life and i can't drop it just because you want me to. besides it's not like dad wants me there."

"he does, he's too stubborn to admit it, please come back," your mother pleads, forcefully grabbing your hand in hers.

"why now? i refuse to believe this is coming out of nowhere." you rip your hand from hers and a disappointed expression crosses her face.

"your dad is sick. the doctors don't think he has a lot of time," she gulps, turning her back to you.

you're quiet as you process her words, "i'll think about it. if you'll excuse me i have a restaurant to take care of."

you leave her behind and see her walk out of the restaurant soon after. your mind remains busy there after as you mull over her words.

-days go by of constantly thinking about it. han notices the moment he picks you up that night but wants to give you time to bring it up. except you don't.

-three days later he finds you in his bathroom, deep in your thoughts in his bathtub, the water a bright pink from a bathbomb you must've used.

-he gets in the tub with you. the water is still hot as he sinks in and sits behind you. you must've gotten in not long ago. instantly you relax against him. han wraps his arms around you, tracing figures against your stomach and thighs.

"rough week, baby?" he murmurs in your ear.

"mm yes, the delivery came late, not once but twice. burned my finger, cut my finger, burnt some food, feel like a loser," you list out, rubbing his thighs which are around you.

"it's one bad week, among a sea of other good ones," he reminds you, lacing his hands with yours.

"hope so or i'm retiring at the ripe age of twenty six," you smile, turning your head slightly to kiss his jaw.

"it's okay. i'll be your sugar daddy," he jokes with you. although he definitely would be your sugar daddy if you decide not to work another day in your life.

-theres a glass of wine by the bathtub that han notices. you only drink wine when something is troubling you. with gentle coaxing han convinces you to tell him what's been on your mind.

-it's he who convinces you to go and see your dad at least once. he put into perspective you might regret it in the future. you're not doing it for them, you're doing it for yourself.

-you contact your mom and tell her your decision. she invites you over for dinner. it'll be just the four of you. you didn't want to bring han in case all hell broke loose.

-as you get ready han helps you with the clasp of your high heels. you prop your foot in his knee, your dress riding up, revealing your black lacy underwear. he takes the opportunity to caress your leg from your thigh down to your ankle. he'd buckle the strap of the heels he gifted you that make your ass look great and then he'd kiss your knee.

-han would repeat the process on your other leg too. only that after you straighten up he'd pull you down to his lap to kiss you and try to convince you to a quicky. just this once you don't give in. you don't want to cast a bad impression by being late to see your family for the first time in four years.

-nervously you knock on the door. your mom answers and she welcomes you in. it's oddly strange to be back in this house, you feel out of place. you peep the wall where your parents measured you and your sister when you were growing up. the dent on the wall you caused using your bike inside. your childhood is present still.

-your mom failed to mention she didn't tell anyone you were coming as your sister is quick to stand "what is she doing here?"

"i invited her," your mom tell her.

your dad is quiet as you take a seat where you always sat when you lived there. there's an unbearable silence until he speaks, "can i ask why the sudden appearance?"

"mom told me about your situation," you tell him with a frown.

"what situation?" he prompts, looking at your mother.

"that your sick...although you look pretty healthy to me," you softly say, redirecting your gaze towards your mother.

"i lied yes, but i thought this was the only way to get you here," she shakily admits, secretly hoping you don't up and leave.

"mom, oh god," you sigh in relief. your shoulder no longer holding the weight of your father possibly dying.

"do you realize how fucked up that is?" your sister adds.

"it got her here!" your mom yells, making everyone go quiet.

-the rest of dinner goes by as normal as it can. your parent ask you about your new life and everything you've been doing. it was agonizing. you answer most of their question albeit reluctantly.

-the question you've been dreading comes up. 'are you dating anybody?' you tell them you're in a two year and a half relationship.

-you avoid saying he's the one that funded the restaurant. you owe everything to han but if you tell them it was him who put in the money they will probably discredit you and your abilities.

-your dad calls you over to his office to talk after dinner, your sister glares at you, she's upset you chose to leave, cause it means you turned your back to the whole family. she believes you're selfish because you 'forced' the family business onto her.

-you emptily apologize for coming home when he told you not. surprisingly he asks you about your new priorities and although they don't necessarily align with what he had in mind for you, he accepts them and asks you to be around more.

-more importantly he apologizes for what he did. he had a health scare recently and realize he wanted you by his side (it’s where your mom got the idea). after talking to him you leave. going back to talking to your family will be hard because for the longest time you suppressed it.

-han waits for you back home, your true home. he's watching tv, an old japanese movie from the 90s. you tell him all about your family dinner and how your mom lied but he was right. you would've regretted not going.

-feeling good about your night you give in to han's advances. throughout the night he couldn't shake off the sight of you in your pretty dress and heels. he doesn't ruin the illusion as he only takes off your panties. the dress and heels stay on as he fucks you, your legs pressed to your chest as he wants to be as deep and close to you as possible.

-while your parents want you back in their life you don't instantly go back, choosing to show them you got back on your feet without them. you have a new life.

-but once your moms birthday rolls around you don't feel the need to busy yourself, instead you pick up the phone and give her a call wishing her a 'happy birthday'.

-han eventually meets your family. your mom is instantly charmed by him so much so that by the end she has him calling her by her first name. he certainly made a great impression with the flowers and expensive earrings he picked out for her.

-your dad takes longer to come around but by the end of the night han has him wrapped around his pinky finger as well. your dad likes that he's a 'business man'. if only he knew how shady han really is.

-in just in a few hours they were able to see how much you and han care for each other. it's in the way han searches for you in the busy room. he looks out for you constantly in a non-possessive way. or the way you constantly reach out for him to hold his hand or wrap his arm around you.

-han is not one for big and elaborate love gestures. he believes in showing his love and appreciation everyday with smaller gestures. like restocking your skin care products when you're running low or leaving hand warmers on your coat pockets in the cold winters or buying take out of whatever food you're craving.

-he listens to you when you rant about your interests like the new season of Game of Thrones or about a new compilation that came out of your favorite artist. he'd make an effort to learn about it just so he can have an input in your conversation. han loves the way your eyes light up whenever he voices out an opinion, especially when it goes against yours.

-'friendly' debates are your thing as a couple. it's coincidental that in some minor things your opinions are different. like if the dress is 'black and blue' or 'gold and white'. you swear its black and blue but han insists it's not.

-the same goes for you, because you see all the effort han makes for you, you try and learn about cars and drifting and learn the names of whatever technique is popular. you learn about his favorite foods and favorite movies (which are mostly american and from the 90s) and tag along for the occasional race.

-han's favorite way of showing you his love is with colorful post-it notes. you'd often find them in your office in the restaurant, in the mirror you use to get ready for the day, the fridge door, on your kitchen counter along with your favorite chocolate bar. you'd even find them on the depths of your purse.

-funny thing is you've never caught him sticking them anywhere. so it's always a fun surprise.

'don't worry about lunch today. i'll stop by the restaurant with your favorite! -h'

'i love you, baby -h'

'roses are red, violets are blue, i love you, let’s go screw -h'

'cutie pie ;) -h'

'stop stealing my peanut crackers :( -h'

'you're both my favorite chef and my favorite meal -h'

-after two and a half years of dating han you finally get the opportunity to meet the toretto crew. they would be staying in japan for about a month in a mansion they rented out in the mountains.

-han is beyond excited that his friends are visiting. he constantly talks about them and has all these plans for when they arrive.

-you're nervous to say the least. this is his chosen family and he's been through so much with them. gisele was part of that family too and you feel the pressure of being compared to her once you meet them.

-you convince han to go meet up with then first and you'd join them later that night. you didn't want him to wait so long for you to finish work. besides in your mind it's better if he catches up with them before you get there. you wanted him to enjoy being with his friends without worrying about you.

-when the day finally comes you say goodbye to a sleepy han, go prep the restaurant, work your butt off for the day and once you clos the restaurant you go to mindy's house to get ready.

-you visit her to distract yourself and to have someone call you ridiculous for being afraid of meeting han's friends. it also helps as she distracts you with talk of her newish relationship.

-as you scramble through your toiletry bag looking for a hair tie, you push away your deodorant, tampons, dry shampoo. but you come back to the tampons realizing it's been over six weeks since your last cycle...

"mindy!"

"i know what i said was out of bounds but he called me a dramatic bitch!" mindy exclaims from her spot on the bed where she scrolls through instagram.

"tampons!" you yell, pulling them out of your bag.

"what about them?" she asks, looking at you over her phone.

"i haven’t used them.”

"you want me to give you a prize or something?" she mumbles, shooting you a strange look.

"no, mindy, no. i haven't gotten my period!' you begin pacing around the room with the box of tampons in your grasp.

mindy jumps from the bed and begins panicking as well, “oh, we'e going through this. we're having the pregnancy scare, how exciting! every pair of best friends have to go through this."

-mindy runs to the pharmacy on her block to get you a pregnancy test while you chug down two water bottles. she gets you one of each test they had. you had to pee but your nerves made it difficult. mindy forced you to chug down a soda too cause if you don’t pee wilingly you'll do it forcefully.

-through all this mess han calls you. he's been expecting you for the past hour. everyone is excited to meet you. he's spoken so much about you and your name has slipped past his lips a few times during the day. they can tell he's more than obsessed with you.

"hey baby, are you on your way?"

you’re dressed but your makeup is barely done. considering the stress you’re currently going through you definitely have to put on some makeup.

mindy motions to you to respond as she holds your phone on you hands because you were washing your hands free of pee.

"h-hey hannie, two more minutes and ill be on my way. mindy is going to take me," you scrunch your eyes at the stutter. you never stutter!

"okay, let me know when you're nearly here," he says unsure.

"mhm, bye," you say, motioning for mindy to hang up.

"girl that wasn't smooth. he knows something is up," she flat out tells you.

"you're not helping," you grumble.

-while the three minutes tick away mindy forces you to sit and have a chat. she asks if you’ve talked to han about a future together. marriage and kids and the whole deal. she asks what you want to do if the result comes back positive. she’s cool being the fun cool aunt but if you don’t want to go through with it she’ll be your confidant and drive you to the clinic.

-once your phone alarm goes off you walk into the bathroom alone. with a racing heart you turn on the phone to record yourself because be damned you don't have this reaction to show han later. baby or not.

-one test after another you turn them around with shaky hands and they all say the same thing, p o s i t i v e

-you sob not out of sadness but overwhelmed. this is so messy. you just got the restaurant running, you're not married and you are expecting a baby. the only thing that seems right is that it's the love of your life's baby.

-you step out the bathroom ten long minutes after. with one look mindy knows all she has to know. she helps you finish getting ready, puts drops in your eyes to reduce the redness and drives you over to han. on the way out you give yourself a look in the mirror but you look just the same. you're only a couple of weeks along it would be crazy to see a difference so soon but you already know everything is different.

-mindy drops you off after hyping you up all the way to your destination.

"thanks for bringing her," han says, helping you out the suv.

"anytime, she might have her license but there’s no way i’m letting her drive." she jokes at your expense.

"i’m not that bad a driver. you just don’t let me practice," you defend yourself.

-han grabs your hand and your bag and walks you to the front door, you can hear music and chatter from his friends. but he stops before going on.

-he asks if you’re okay. and you tell him you’re nervous, a half lie. han nods in understanding. ‘they’ll love you, baby.’

-he kisses your lips lightly before opening the door because he hasn’t seen you all day and he missed you. but of course roman pierce has to interrupt. he opens the door, interrupting their moment, ‘aye! she's here han is hogging her.’

-roman insists he knows japanese and tries greeting you using the language. you respond fully in japanese just to fuck with him, even adding the bow in your greeting. he bows back and just stares back with an empty smile. he did not understand a word you just said.

-han pushes past him and leads you to where everyone is gathered. he introduces you to everyone and you say 'hi, it's nice to finally meet all you. i've heard so much!'

roman stands besides han with a scowl and whispers. ‘man you could’ve told me she speaks english.’

-you are received with open arms as han introduces you to everyone that came along. dominic, letty, mia, brian, tej, roman, ramsey and all of their kids. it’s nice to be able to place faces to the names you’ve heard for the last two years.

-with you now present they ask all about how you and han met, eager to view your perspective. you respond as much as you can, laughing at the quirky remarks the others throw. they tease han like never before and he deserves it because he went MIA for three years.

-it's enough to make you forget momentarily about the pregnancy tests in your overnight bag. until letty offers you a beer, you pause but react quick enough where no one notices your hesitation. you'll just have to sneak your way around this one.

-han is a lot more reserved around the toretto crew than when he's around sean or twinkie. there's no big in-your-face make out sessions or random gropes of your ass. he respects the crew to much to subject them to that.

-doesn't mean he's not constantly attached to you. throughout the night han has his arm around your shoulders or his hand pressed on the small of your back. it helps a lot ease your nerves when facing the room of friendly strangers.

-eventually the subject of your restaurant comes up. you barely get the name out when ramsey squeals in excitement. turns out she's a big foodie with an instagram account and on her to-do list for japan is visiting your restaurant. she didn't know you were the same person until now. 'you're all welcome whenever you'd like. i'm there most of the week,' you tell the bunch.

-as the hours go by the crew starts turning in for the night. han pulls you up from the couch you were sitting on and guides you to a room.

"what did you think?" han asks as you both change into your pajamas.

"you were right they are all very welcoming. even if i have only known them for a few hours i see you guys have a very familial relationship."

you sit on the edge of the bed with your head hanging. the weight of your secret is crushing you down, your stomach has been swirling since you and han retreated to the bedroom.

han stands in front of you, tilting your head up to look at him. his eyes are soft as he rubs his thumb across your cheek. "what's wrong, baby?"

"'you love me, right?" your eyes fill with tears. suddenly feeling an unreasonable fear in the pit of your stomach. han has shown you more than enough times how much he loves you.

"more than anyone i have ever loved," he assures you. han is concerned. you've never been overly emotional and nothing has happened that he's aware off.

you hug him by the waist, burying your head on his stomach. he hugs you back, holding your head and running a hand up and down your back.

you pull back from his embrace, wiping your tears and some snot and manage to hiccup your news, 'hannie, i-i'm pregnant.'

han freezes momentarily. he thinks he heard you incorrectly but he couldn't have. your words were clear. leaning down in front of you so he's level with your- still not showing-belly he gasps, "we're having a baby?"

-one nod of yours causes a tsunami of questions. when did you find out? how? are you happy? how far along? boy or girl?

-han is over the moon. he is taken aback by just how happy he feels. he wants this but he thought it wouldn't happen for another year or two. the baby is more than welcome though.

-just earlier today he had been thinking about having kids with you as he watched the o'conner and toretto children run around.

-with both of your emotions running high han pulls you close and kisses you like never before. he takes you to bed and fucks you hard and deep and slow. him on top of you, never ceasing his attack on your lips. whenever he does it’s to tell you he loves you and how happy you’ve made him. it's like he wants to get you pregnant all over again.

-'wait, is that why you were switching our beers earlier?' han asks when you’re laying in bed, your head on his chest. you laugh at his question, having forgotten your attempts at not drinking alcohol.

-at around 4 am you and han sneak to the kitchen where you make a snack. you were starving and so was han. he sits you on the kitchen counter as you eat. he stands between your thighs speaking softly about future plans with your baby now included in them.

-'it's 4 am, don't you two sleep?' its tej who came downstairs for water. he shakes his head in disapproval at the two of you going back to his bedroom once he got his water.

-letty is the one to bring up the happiness that oozes out of you and han the following days, 'you two look awfully happy.'

"got some good news the other day," han softly drawls, "you want to tell them?"

you're sitting on his lap with his hand wrapped around your waist as you nod, "we're expecting a little lue."

-the crew is nearly as happy as the two of you. they congratulate the both of you. the girls whipping you away from han to ask all the questions and give you any advice you might need. the guys tease han about not wasting any time with you.

-han is surprised yet not because you two go at it like rabbits. he's surprised he didn't get you knocked up before then. your birth control must've given up.

-han is happy, he is content, he is satisfied. you're pregnant and having his baby. the crew visiting tokyo only amplified his joy. not even roman's teasing put a dent on him.

-as he's talking to dom, brian and tej a question comes up. is han going to ask you to marry him? his response is simple. no. or at least not yet. he doesn't want to ask you to marry him just because he knocked you up. when he asks he wants you to be sure that it's because he wants it too. and he does want it right now, he adores you. the baby only put his plans to propose on pause. he knows you're the one for him, he's known for a while and he's in no rush.

-his life has consisted about running and races and winning. but with you it's different. he feels like he can slow down and take things at his own leisure pace. make things right and give you everything you deserve.

-you've never called han daddy. it's not your kink and you don't think it's his either considering he hasn't asked you to call him that. now that you're expecting you have teasingly been calling him that. he finds it endearing to say the least.

he passes you something across the table? 'thanks daddy'

'can daddy do the dishes?'

'mommy has a craving for rocky road ice cream, do you think daddy will be good and get some for me baby?' you ask looking down at your belly.

-pregnancy is not kind to you at first. in the first trimester, everything you eat ends up flushed down the toilet. you're miserable. han sympathizes with you and helps you out as much as he can. holds your hair back, rubs your back, prepares your toothbrush, etc.

-because of all the puking you barely show at first until suddenly you popped and the nausea stopped in the second trimester. that's when you started noticing the pregnancy glow and felt cute enough to highlight your bump with your clothes.

-han is obsessed with it. each night when he goes to sleep he puts a hand on your bump and talks to the baby. whether you're asleep or not. he'll rub his hand on your stomach soothing any pain or nausea you might feel.

-han goes with you to each and every doctors appointment. he doesn't dare miss one. he loves when the doctor sets up the ultrasound and the baby starts shaping up and taking form as the weeks go by.

-han keeps a picture of an ultrasound in his car. along with one of you two. it's everything he loves all in one place.

-han is the first to feel the baby kick surprisingly. it's one of those nights he returned home from the races. he settled in bed and touched your growing belly. it's slick from all the oils and lotions you apply to try and prevent stretch marks. then he feels it a small 'thud' he thinks he imagines it, until it happens again.

"baby, wake up," he softly calls you, rousing you from sleep.

"what's wrong, hannie?" you mutter with your eyes still closed.

"the baby is kicking," he whispers, grabbing your hand and placing it where he felt the kick. his hand over yours.

"no, it's no- oh my god, it is," you shiver finding the sensation a bit strange at first. you spend the next hour just waiting to feel the baby kick again.

-when you tell your parents you're pregnant they become the most doting grandparents ever. they start buying everything and anything they can get their hands on. it's their first grandchild and most of their friends already have grandchildren. they want to be the best. plus, they feel like they owe it to you for what they did.

-although han's apartment is bigger than yours you don't believe it's big enough for a baby. you spend months apartment hunting until you find the perfect place. a three bedroom, two bathroom penthouse.

-you insisted it was too much space but han reassured you it's not. because he wants more children and he doesn't want to move again when you have another baby. your words were:

'give me a break hannie, i haven't even pushed the first out. let's see how it goes."

-with pregnancy a woman goes through many changes. besides your bump han's favorite is still your tits which have grown larger. he notices that change instantly, but with each gain there is a loss. the piercings had to go. you also tease han that now he'll have to share.

-not surprisingly pregnancy does a number on you and you get hornier than ever. it's like constantly ovulating and having to be pounded. which doesn't make sense cause you're already pregnant.

-it's not something han finds himself complaining about. it's fun to explore the changes your body is going through and how the sensations shift. like how your nipples get very sensitive in your pregnancy and how han takes advantage of that.

-you go on a journey of finding your self-love once more. the changes your body go through are out of your control, they are necessary to sustain the life inside of you and yet some made you insecure.

-the love you felt for your bump at first then made you insecure as it grew larger and stretch marks decorated it. you're not used to the sight. sure you've always had some faded ones on your thighs or your boobs but you've had them for so long you got used to them. these were long and red and they made you cry.

-for about a week you felt so insecure and looked for ways around being intimate with han because if you hate them surely he will too.

"lets get this off, baby," han says, pulling up your silky night dress up your thighs.

"no, no, let's keep it on," you laugh it off, holding hans hands with yours.

"alright, what's going on?" he asks, leaving his hands on your thighs and squeezing them lovingly.

"what do you mean?" you feign innocence.

"baby, don't think i haven't noticed you've been covering up and acting strange."

you avoid his gaze but he cups your cheek and returns it back to his. "i'm scared you won't like the way i look now," you mutter.

"are you joking? i've never liked the way you looked more than i do now," he speaks without any hesitation.

"really?" you peer up at him through your lashes.

"oh yeah. i think this is the sexiest you've ever looked. you're carrying my baby, how can i not like the body that's helping it grow and keeping it safe? And you know i love how much more responsive and sensitive you've gotten."

"oh god, you've made me even hornier," you say, pulling him down to kiss him.

"and you're glowing and look so cute waddling around the house," he teases, breaking the kiss.

"i do not waddle!" yes. you, in fact, do.

-han is always asking for the baby to kick, those lazy morning spent in bed, he'll have a hand on your belly talking to the it.

"come on kid, kick for daddy"

"let them be, it's not your bladder they're kicking"

he softly apologizes, knowing that as the day gets nearer the more trips to the bathroom you make.

-han dotes on you every second of every day, he barely leaves your side. you need something to drink or eat? he'll get it. your feet hurt? hell massage them. get cravings? he'll make a trip to the convenience store.

-as a couple you decided to keep the gender of the baby a surprise. which just led to the two of you to place bets on what's it gonna be. han swears you're hanging low (whatever that means) so you'll be having a boy and because of your morning sickness you think it's a girl.

-realistically both you and han are fine with either one. which is why you'll be trying for another one when the time comes. if it turns out the same gender you'll try for a third, but that's all! if all three turn out the same, tough luck!

-you go into a small crisis thinking you'll never be able to wear your short dresses and skirts. you're going to be a mom surely you'll have to dress like one? han assures you you can wear whatever you want because he knows you'll be a good mom, which is all that matters. plus, he likes seeing you wear that type of clothes.

-han invests in another car. one he never though of having. a toyota sienna le. it's a minivan. always one for cars, han details it, adds leather seat covers, a few cool features and an overly complicated car seat.

-as your due date nears you spend more and more time in bed with han, having sex obviously. you had read somewhere it was good for contractions and when you go into labor. plus, you just had these boosts of energy and it was the only way to get you to sleep.

-han eventually stops working for takashi. more people are at risk now if he continues. takashi lets him go without much trouble. han did help him expand his business a lot quicker had he done it by himself.

-when the time comes to give birth, han races to the hospital in his new minivan. finds it stressful cause the thing can't go as fast as his precious mazda. but he makes it to the hospital in record time.

-your doctor is waiting for you, they have a room prepared for you. han stays by your side through it all even as you curse him out through your pain. your labor is long and painful being a first time mom and all.

-at some point you start crying that you can't do it and han is there to wipe your tears away and tell you you can. it's holding his hand that you push and push. he doesn't whine or complain once, ignoring the insults you throw at him and the pain in his hand.

-then it happens, a cry resonates through the room and your hand stops squeezing his. the nurse places your baby on your chest. it has a full head of dark hair already.

"it's a girl," the nurse coo's.

-han didn't think he'd be able to love someone as much as he loves you. he's proven wrong as he softly touches his baby girls head. she's slimey and a little ugly (being a newborn and all) but this emotion swells his chest and tears well up in his eyes.

-you softly call out his name and he looks at you and just says, 'i love you.’

-to make up for your pain han gets you a push gift. it's a pretty golden necklace. it has a thin chain and a pendant with a little gem, behind the pendant the initial of your baby girls name is engraved. it has enough space to add when your family expands eventually.

-fatherhood suits him. he's patient and soft spoken and baby girl adores him. han is a night owl so he has no problem getting up at night to feed his baby girl or change her diaper.

-it takes time to adapt and start feeling like yourself again but han makes it easy for you. he loves you no matter what and does everything possible to make the transition a smoother one. you gave him everything he wanted and more.

-you left the restaurant in good hands while you rode out the last month of your pregnancy and the first two postpartum. returning to work felt good. you love baby girl but getting out the house without puke on your shoulder was necessary.

-han stays with her during the morning embracing being a stay at home dad. granted he slips out now and then to the races or to hang out at the garage. in fact, when baby girl is older he sets up an area just for her.

-sean and twinkie make fun of him and his minivan. to which han threatens to kick them out the garage they don't even have to pay for.

-when your baby girl is almost 1 year old, he pops the question. it was date night, your parents were taking care of the baby. he picked you up in his orange mazda that just so happened matched your nails. you were back to wearing your usual dresses and sparkly heels. although you were rebuilding the confidence you had two years ago.

he took you to dinner and then dessert and then you walked through a park. it's cherry blossom season you had to make the most of it. that's when he does it. under the rain of sakura flowers he asked his question.

"will you marry me, baby?" han asks, down in one knee.

"i thought you would never ask," you cry out, extending your hand so he can slip the ring on your finger.

"that's not an answer," he teases, before he slides the ring on your finger.

"yes! it's a yes!"

finally he puts the ring on your finger and it's just like you'd imagine it to be.

-you have your ceremony not even a year after. the toretto crew comes back to japan. even hans family (that you've only met like twice in four years) attends. your family and friends are invited as well. mindy is your maid of honor and your baby girl the ring bearer.

-it's on your honeymoon, that is really more like a family vacation because baby girl is with you, that you tell han a little secret.

'We're having another baby!'

a/n:

if you’d like to scream at me or cry with me about the headcanons feel free to send me a message through the asks! i didn't think before making this blog a sideblog so i can't answer comments from this account but from my main.

lol in case you didn't catch that i'd like to make a mini series of sorts of han with his baby girl. i've got ideas floating around so if it's something you'd be interested in let me know!

also been thinking of making a brian o'connor one shot or something cause those baby blues are irresistible.

bye!

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

Glutton for Punishment | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hello, hello! I am back back back again. My life has been busy, y'all. School is kicking my ass. But this fic has been like 94% complete for like a month, and I finally got to finish it! yay!

wordcount: 8939

Warnings: angst, self harm, Bucky's trauma

Bucky collapsed onto the bed with a defeated huff. The mattress rippled under his weight and jostled the computer resting on your thighs. His chest rose and fell with another dejected sigh. His meetings with Fury never went well- but they weren’t always bad. Sometimes, things between them were cordial. Neutral. This was not one of those times. Bucky wanted to sink into the bed and never come out. He wanted to dissolve into the earth and disappear. The only thing anchoring him to reality was, as always, you. 

“Hey, how’d it go, babe?” The comforting lilt of your voice floated through the air. Maybe drenching your words in overt positivity was too much, but it seemed necessary. Maybe if you could coat your voice in optimism, it would fix whatever plagued Bucky. But you knew it was useless to hope. 

He didn’t answer. He just stared up at the ceiling, a blank expression on his face. Coming home to you after a bad day or a shitty meeting was always his saving grace; being near you brought him peace. But he hated bringing the shame home with him. 

“That bad, huh?” you ditched your laptop and laid next to him, propped up on one elbow. “What happened?”

Silence. He didn’t tear his eyes from the ceiling. Didn’t even blink. He just gazed upward- hopeless. 

In the quiet, your fingers traced up and down his arm. You pressed kisses to his shoulder. He always had a way of shutting you out before allowing you in. It wasn’t personal; it was just his process. He opted to suffer without your help until the pain ate away at him. And when there was almost nothing left, he tore down the walls and welcomed the onslaught of comfort. 

“He said it was my fault.” Bucky tried not to sound too pathetic. He knew you worried about him- a lot. Knew that his misery always hurt you. Seeing him in pain brought you nothing but heartache. But his efforts did nothing to hide the anguish in his voice. 

You didn’t want to make him repeat the whole ordeal, to relive whatever messed up shit Fury said to him- but you needed context. Your words were soft, your voice gentle. “He said what was your fault, baby?” Bucky didn’t deserve more blame, more guilt. Though none of what he did was his fault, a lifetime of remorse rested heavy on his shoulders after his Winter Soldier days. You wondered how much unjust blame he could carry before it crushed him. 

Bucky sighed, “All of it. Everything that went wrong on that last mission- the explosion, all those agents getting hurt-”

“What? You weren’t even the lead on that job- how is any of it your fault?” Heat rose in your chest. Your heart pounded against your ribs. Defending Bucky was your first instinct, your first priority. And while he accepted the shame with which Fury saddled him, you immediately turned to protection. To rage. 

Bucky shrugged, “he said I’m the most experienced, so I should’ve known better than to let the lead take our team into the lab.”

 “Wait- he said you should’ve argued with the mission lead?”

Bucky nodded. 

“But didn’t he reprimand you last month for that exact reason?”

Again, he nodded. 

“What the fuck?” Wrath sizzled beneath your skin. No one was allowed to treat Bucky this way- not even Fury. He contradicted himself and put his hypocrisy on full display, knowing Bucky hated himself too much to argue. 

“I can-” Bucky’s voice came out hollow. Empty. Guilt had him in a chokehold. “I can see where he’s coming from…”

“No, don’t do that.” It wasn’t a reprimand- but a reminder. You laced your fingers with his, “You know it wasn’t your fault.”

He refused to make eye contact. “I mean, I could’ve spoken up-”

“You weren’t even with them, were you? Didn’t Fury tell you to hit the warehouse on your own?”

He nodded.

“So how is any of it your fault, Buck?” Fury sent Bucky into a tailspin with almost no effort. He knew exactly which buttons to push, which wires to pull. Fury made him his puppet, his scapegoat. He made Bucky work harder than anyone else and never delivered the praise he deserved. Instead, he met Bucky’s efforts with tongue-lashings and bitter insults. With blame. 

“I don’t…” he shrugged. “I don’t know- but it feels like it’s on me. A lot of people got hurt and I am the most experienced. I should’ve said something-”

“But if you did, Fury would’ve called you into his office to tell you that you’re arrogant- like he did last time.” A deep breath filled your lungs and calmed your system; anger wouldn’t help Bucky. You needed to channel that energy into comforting him, easing his mind. 

You softened your tone, “You know you can’t win with him, Buck.”

“Maybe because I tried to kill him… twice.” Finally, he looked at you, “And I can handle being called arrogant- those agents got hurt, doll. That’s different.”

“I know it’s different. I’m just saying… you weren’t involved. You did what you were told- what Fury told you to do.” Your hand cupped his cheek, he leaned into your touch. “And if he wants to get mad at you for that, he’s a piece of shit. He knows he fucked up, and he’s pinning it on you.”

Bucky pulled you close. He curled in on himself with you at his center, his head resting against your chest. The logical part of his brain believed everything you said. It disregarded Fury’s false accusations and willed the blame to dissipate. But the rest of him took Fury’s every word as gospel. It rejected your assurances, categorizing them as obligatory kindness from a significant other. Shame feasted on his soul. He didn’t want to feel this way, but it came easily. By now, it was second nature. 

“Thanks, doll…” He lifted his head and brought his face to yours, “I appreciate you.” He meant it; no one ever supported him like this. But you always listened. You were always there for him, even when he was too ashamed to look you in the eye. You showed him patience and kindness and led him out of the dark more times than he could count. 

He dotted a few soft kisses to your lips, “I’m gonna take a shower.” 

“Wait-” Your hand caught his as he tried to get up, “I love you.”

A shy smile pulled at Bucky’s lips. He once again met your lips with his, needier this time. “And I love you.”

He stripped off his shirt and, immediately, your eyes landed on it. By now, you knew better than to stare. But sometimes, you couldn’t stop yourself.  

The first time it caught your eye, you couldn’t avert your gaze. You noticed it right away- how could you not? It drew your focus the first moment Bucky removed his shirt in front of you. You didn’t think anything could ever distract you from his perfect body- but you were wrong. 

A massive bruise splashed across Bucky’s skin. The cluster of broken blood vessels was dark at the center- nearly black. It exploded into by purples and blues that stained his right shoulder and eclipsed his chest. Sometimes, an angry, red haze leaked from the edges like a wine stain. Greens and yellows- signs of healing- colored the border every now and then. But no matter how many times you bore witness, they never seemed to overtake the tones of violet and navy. 

For whatever reason, this thing refused to heal.

On more occasions than you could count, you asked Bucky about this large indigo mark. And he always had an answer:

“Ran through a wall”

“Jumped out of a plane”

“That John Walker asshole hit me with Steve’s shield”

He did, indeed, have a dangerous job and a penchant for peril. For taking risks. But no one else on the team ever seemed to have a bruise like that. Even you received your fair share of stitches and broken ribs, but never anything as persistent as Bucky’s bruise. 

Wasn’t he a super soldier? Wasn’t he supposed to heal fast- really fast? His other injuries disappeared like they’d never happened; why did this bruise stick around? 

“I think you need to get that looked at,” you told him once, “it can’t be good that it never heals...”

Bucky shrugged it off with a smile. He kissed you on the forehead and thanked you for your concern. But he didn’t get it checked out. He downplayed the massive bruise eclipsing his body and moved on, just like he always did. 

“What are you lookin’ at?” Bucky quirked a brow at you, his shy smile making another appearance.

You shrugged, “Doesn’t it hurt?”

“It’s not- it’s not that bad,” Bucky did his best to hide his bruise with his vibranium hand, but the colors extended far past what he could cover. “I’m used to it.”

Something had to be wrong with him, right? Something inside his body had to be out of order. The first time you saw it- the first time you saw him without his shirt- was six months ago. How long could a bruise last? And how long did he have it before he showed it to you? 

Why hadn’t the serum fixed it by now?

Bucky was well past his expiration date. He lived more years than the universe intended, and his body suffered enough trauma for a hundred lifetimes. He was strong, he was a survivor. But every time you stole a glance at the inky spot on his skin, anxiety blocked your airway. Part of you wondered if this mark signaled his end. There was a chance that his body already started breaking down, that all those years of abuse caught up with him. Maybe his bruise was a harbinger. Maybe his days were numbered. Maybe he was dying. 

Maybe you were about to lose him.

Those kinds of thoughts pushed bile into your throat. You shoved them into the darkest corners of your mind and did your best to lock them away, but they reappeared from time to time just to hurt you. Taunt you. Bring you to tears. And while Bucky made his way into the bathroom and turned on the hot water, you remained fixated on the inky spot. On his demise. 

Bucky did his best to let the shower cleanse his mind. He told himself he’d let it all go- all the guilt and the blame. He knew he didn’t deserve it. But his shame didn’t run down the drain. It didn’t wash away with the warm spray of the shower. No, he remained coated in it, dripping with it, no matter how hard he scrubbed. And though it wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, he never welcomed its reemergence.

A sliver of levity wriggled into his chest as he emerged from the bathroom. He found you reading in bed, your brows knit together in that cute way he loved. But your focus shattered when he stepped into the bedroom. He watched you dogear your page and shut your book as he climbed into bed. 

“You don’t have to stop reading because of me, doll-” 

“I was only reading while I waited for you,” you extended a hand in his direction and tugged him closer. He didn’t need to know that you only opened your book to distract from your crippling anxiety about his condition. He didn’t need to know that you read the same paragraph over and over and over without retaining a word. “Now that you’re here, I don’t need any other form of entertainment.”

“Is that so?” He narrowed his eyes at you and gestured to the book resting on your chest, “I’m better than Dracula?”

“Way better. So, the guy drinks blood and sleeps in a coffin-” You shot him a wink and knocked your book to the floor, “big whoop.” A dramatic eye roll and a quick laugh accompanied your comments about Bram Stoker’s masterpiece. But a sudden seriousness banished your playful tone as you gave Bucky a once over. He didn’t look any better- not that he ever looked bad. But the hot shower did nothing to help him relax. All his muscles remained taught. His brow still furrowed. The tension in his jaw seemed to turn to concrete. He was hurting. 

“How you doin’, Buck?” A gentle hand smoothed over his shoulder and slid down his arm. “You okay?”

A manufactured smile spread across his face. His shoulders rose and fell in an all too casual shrug. “I’m fine- I’m good.” He couldn’t seem to maintain eye contact for more than a few seconds.

Another tug of his hand brought him closer. “You don’t seem fine…”

“No, really. I’m okay,” he brought your hand to his lips and pressed kisses to your palm. He was the farthest thing from okay; it was written all over his face. And though he did his best to put on a façade for you, you saw through the cracks. A heaviness lurked behind the grin he wore. A deep sadness darkened his gaze. You knew he probably spent the entirety of his shower replaying Fury’s words and berating himself within an inch of his life. 

An extra helping of guilt dropped upon Bucky’s shoulders as he studied you. One of your nails dug into the cuticle of another. Your smile remained tight and tense. He could practically see the anxiety surging through your nervous system. And it was all his fault. You were worried about him, upset about him. How could he do this to you when you brough him nothing but peace?

He found it in him to take a deep breath, to let his shoulders fall a fraction of an inch. “It’s just gonna take a little time for me to get out of the shitty headspace Fury put me in. I’ll be alright-” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, “I promise.”

Fucking Fury. He seemed to allow everyone else chance after chance; he granted grace to every other member of the team. Everyone but Bucky. “You wanna get some sleep, then?” you cupped Bucky’s cheek, “hopefully, you’ll feel better in the morning.”

Bucky nodded. He reached over and flipped off his bedside lamp before giving his pillow a few adjustments. He got settled under the covers and waited for you to do the same- but you didn’t. You laid there, watching him. 

“You gonna turn your lamp off, doll?”

“Not until you’re all situated.”

Bucky looked down at his perfectly arranged covers and then back at you, “I’m um, I think I’m settled, baby.”

You quirked a brow at him, “Are you though? Come on-” you found his hand under the covers and pulled him closer. “Assume the position, Barnes.”

He let out a labored, tired laugh. “Baby, thank you, but I can’t. My hair’s still wet, you’re gonna be cold-”

“I don’t care- you had a rough day.”  You could practically see the war raging within Bucky’s psyche. He was dying to crawl into your embrace a disappear into your warmth. But he couldn’t- not tonight. 

“It’s okay, doll. You don’t have to, it’s-” 

“Come onnn, Buck. You knowwww you waaaant toooooo.” You gave your chest a few light pats, beckoning him to you. “I know it always makes you feel better.”

Of course, he wanted to. Something about resting his head on your chest, listening to your heartbeat, and feeling your hands in his hair eased his soul. Even on his darkest, most soul-crushing days, he found solace with you. But guilt still gnawed at him; Fury’s rant played on a constant loop inside his head. And after what he’d supposedly done, he didn’t feel as though he deserved your love. 

“Baby, I know you feel bad; And I know you’re trying to deprive yourself. But guilty or not- which you are not-” you gave his hand a squeeze, “you deserve comfort.”

A touch of heartbreak colored your voice. You were desperate to help Bucky, nearly begging him to grant himself some grace. Some care. In his attempts to hurt himself by staying far from your embrace, he’d hurt you instead. He’d made you sad, filled you with worry. He wondered if he’d ever be able to do anything right. 

In an instant, he did as you asked; he’d do anything to make you feel better. His head rested against your chest, his wet hair dampening your shirt. It sent a rush of goosebumps over your skin- but you didn’t care. A deep sigh left Bucky’s chest as he melted against you. He often swore his body was made to fit yours, that he only existed to touch and be touched by you. 

“See? Isn’t that better?”

“Mhmm…” he sighed, “much.”

You ran a hand through his wet hair, “Good. Now, let’s get some sleep. Okay?” You flicked off your lamp and wrapped your arms around Bucky, willing every ounce of your love into his body. He’d feel better in the morning- you knew he would. He just needed time and rest and a little love. And you gave him more than he ever dreamed of. 

But around two in the morning, a strange sound vibrated on the edges of your consciousness. The dense ‘thud’repeated endlessly, like an eternal metronome. It resounded inside your head, mixing itself in with your dream until it finally woke you. 

With your face still smushed into your pillow, you muttered Bucky’s name. The sound stopped- maybe you imagined it. Maybe it really was just part of your dream. Silence settled over your room once again and lulled you back to sleep. 

But only a few minutes later, that sound woke you once again.

Your words came out sloppy, heavy with sleep. “Whass tha noise?” 

No answer. 

“Baby,” you said, more alert this time, “You hear that?”

Bucky didn’t respond. 

With a groan, you forced your eyes open. There was no sign of disturbance or struggle; nothing out of the ordinary caught your eye. Everything was in its place- except Bucky. And when you pressed your palm against his side of the bed, the sheets lacked any remnants of his warmth. 

This wasn’t like him- not anymore, anyway. Back when you first got together, Bucky left the room when he woke from a night terror. He’d slip out of bed and escape to the living room, forcing himself to withstand his panic attack all alone. But one night, you found him on the living room floor- desperate for breath. He clutched the corner of the rug and gritted his teeth, willing the anxiety to receded. 

He flinched when you touched him; he didn’t hear you approach over the pounding in his ears. But the second he saw you, he reached for you. His sickly white knuckles regained their color as he released his fists and collapsed against you. He dropped his head into your lap, falling forward with the weight of his trauma. And he allowed your voice to soothe his racing mind. He let you guide him out of the agony. 

Of course, he apologized for waking you. For inconveniencing you. Of course, you wouldn’t hear it. And when the panic finally subsided, he let you walk him back to bed. He buried his face in your chest and thanked you a million times over. After that night, you made him promise to wake you when these things happened- no matter what time it was. You made him promise not to suffer in silence. And he agreed. 

You didn’t know he had his fingers crossed. 

“Buck?” the anxious pounding of your heart boomed in your chest. “Baby?” You kicked the blankets from your body and abandoned your bed. Slivers of light made their way through the blinds and splashed across the floor, allowing you to search through the darkness. He wasn’t sitting on the floor or in the armchair near the window. Nor did you find him in the en suite bathroom.  

“Bucky?” The hall was empty and the office void of Bucky’s presence. And while you searched for him, the sound refused to cease. It echoed through seemingly every fiber of the apartment. It haunted every space. Unfounded worries threw themselves at you, fighting to topple you to the ground. What if Bucky was hurt? What if he was gone? 

No- he was fine. Of course, he was. Right? He had to be. The home you shared was safe. Nothing here could hurt or harm him in any way. 

Well, maybe not nothing.

The thudding of your heart grew loud in your ears, nearly eclipsing the mystery sound all together. Part of you even doubted the existence of the noise- maybe it was just your anxiety getting to you. Maybe Bucky was in the kitchen grabbing a late-night snack, perfectly safe and happy. 

But when you rounded the corner into the living room, all doubt fell away. Shards of your heart did the same as you stood in shock, watching the source of the sound reveal itself. 

Bucky sat on the floor near the window, his back resting against the couch. 

His metal fist hammered against his right shoulder again and again, beating the flesh a sickly blue. 

The utter shock stole your breath, forcing it violently from your lungs. A burning erupted from your chest and spread through your every cell like wildfire. The floor seemed to tilt and ripple as a wave of dizziness sent you nearly collapsing into the closest wall. And through all of it, the sound persisted. The sickly thud of metal striking skin, striking bone.

But there was no time for your shock or sadness or heartbreak. Bucky needed you.

“Buck? Hey-” In only a few strides, you made your way to his side. But he didn’t look at you. He didn’t meet your eyes when you sat down in front of him, nor did he stop his assault. “Bucky, baby, can you look at me?” 

He didn’t. He simply forced his hand against his chest over and over, no matter the pain. 

“Bucky,” you didn’t recognize your own voice. It came out more strained, more desperate than you’d ever heard it. The sight of Bucky doing this to himself almost made you sick, the sound covered you in goosebumps. A flood of saliva rushed into your mouth, warning you of the impending threat of vomit- but you forced it down.

Every time you asked about it, every time you wondered what caused that bruise- you never imagined it was self-inflicted. 

“I need you to stop, okay?” Your words came out frantic, “Can you- can you just look at me for a second?”

His hollow gaze remained fixed on the floor. Anguish twisted his features, pulling his face into a pained mask. But his eyes held no life. 

“Please-” your palm landed on his bruised shoulder mere seconds before the next strike. The force of his vibranium fist was sure to shatter your hand, but you didn’t care. You’d do anything to stop him from hurting himself. Anything to ease his pain. And if you couldn’t make him stop, maybe you could soften the blow. 

But just as his fist once again neared his shoulder, he stopped. “Move,” his voice was low, almost timid.

“No.”

“Doll,” his eyes remained downcast, “I need you to move your hand.”

You refused. “I’m not gonna move, Buck. I’m not gonna let you hurt yourself.”

Finally, he dragged his shame-filled gaze upward. His despondent look sliced through you, cutting right to the bone. This was worse than the vacant stare he wore moments ago; this was utter misery. “Please…” his voice caught in his throat, barely pushing its way past the tension. “Move.”

But your hand remained; you’d keep it there until the end of time if you had to. 

Warm, salty tears breached your lips as you spoke, and only then did you realize you were crying. ��Buck, why are you doing this?”

“Because I know you won’t.” He clenched and unclenched his metal fist in a never-ending cycle, itching to resume his efforts. “None of you will. Not Sam. Not Hill. Not ever Fury. So, I have to.”

“Of course, we won’t. Why- Why would we?” It was an unfathomable thought. 

“I need- I deserve to be punished. I deserve to face consequences for my actions.” The words fell from his lips in what resembled a recitation, like he had a script to follow. Like he’d said this before. “There are always consequences…” Again, he pulled his hand into a fist; the vibranium whined under his strength. “There have to be consequences.”

“There were consequences- your meeting with Fury? That was the consequence.”

He shook his head, “It’s not enough- people got hurt.”

“It’s more than enough…” With your free hand, you reached for Bucky’s cold fist. He resisted at first, almost scared to be without his method of punishment. But he never could resist your touch. One at a time, you uncurled his fingers from his tight fist. You pressed his cold palm against your chest and held it there, allowing the beat of your heart to vibrate through the metal. “Especially because you didn’t do anything wrong. People got hurt- but it’s not your fault.”

Bucky ached to maim himself. He needed to feel pain. Needed to get what he thought he deserved. But he couldn’t bring himself to tear his hand from your chest. And though you blocked his bruise and made punishment impossible, he liked the way your palm felt against his black and blue skin. It was the one part of him you always shied away from for fear of hurting the already tender flesh. But your touch soothed the deep ache.

“Baby, how…” you swallowed the lump forming in your throat, “how often do you do this?” You weren’t sure you wanted the answer; just the thought of Bucky doing this to himself day in and day out filled your chest with storm clouds. But you needed to know.

His words held a deep shame, “Whenever I deserve it.”

“Buck, you’ve had that bruise for at least six months...”

He shrugged, “I deserve it a lot.”

Everything inside you burst into flames. You wanted to tear Hydra apart, to destroy them for what they did to Bucky. They altered his sense of self so violently, so irreparably, that they changed who he saw in the mirror. He viewed himself only as a vehicle for destruction, a receptacle for other peoples’ wrongs. They drilled into him an acceptance of abuse, of pain, of torture. And now, he didn’t know how to operate without it. 

“No, you don’t- you don’t deserve this.” A small quiver forced its way into your voice, “even if this whole thing was your fault- which it wasn’t- you wouldn’t deserve to be hurt.”

He stared at you for a long moment. Sometimes, he didn’t understand. He couldn’t comprehend the sentiment that he didn’t deserve pain and suffering; that he wasn’t always to blame. It was almost like you spoke different languages. Shuri may have eliminated the Winter Soldier programming and rendered his trigger words useless, but she couldn’t remove his shame. His guilt. His instinct to assume blame.  

“I can’t do anything right-” His right hand gripped the edge of the rug. He needed some way to release his tension, his anxiety. The fabric bunched inside his fist and twisted with his every move. 

“It seems like no matter what I do- or don’t do- someone ends up hurt. That says something about me, doesn’t it?” 

“No. It doesn’t.” You slowly removed your hand from his metal wrist and found his right fist. He eased the tension in his grip with your help and released the corner of the rug. It fell crumpled against the hardwood, struggling to regain its shape. “Buck, you always say that you blame yourself because you think you’re a bad person. But I actually think you blame yourself because you’re a good person.”

He gave a small shake of his head. 

“You’re willing to shoulder whatever guilt or blame other people put on you- regardless of whether you deserve it- because you’re not selfish.” He was, in fact, the least selfish person in the world. He’d set himself on fire to keep you warm. Would move heaven and earth to make you smile. He was loyal, devoted. He cared about you, about his friends, without ever putting himself first. 

“And you haven’t buried yourself in ego or pride like some of the other guys we work with.” 

Bucky let out a soft laugh. 

No, he didn’t bury himself in ego; he had no ego. His self-image wasn’t inflated or overexaggerated. He just wanted to do his best. To help. To offset with light some of the darkness he caused. 

“And maybe it’s your way of seeking redemption- not that you need to be redeemed,” you gave his hand a squeeze. “But maybe part of you feels like if you accept enough responsibility, it’ll make up for the things you were forced to do as the Winter Soldier.” 

He let out a sigh from somewhere deep within him, somewhere he didn’t know he had. It seemed to him like he’d been holding on to this truth, this breath, since the day he escaped. And here, in the darkness, he released it. “I just… I don’t want to be the bad guy anymore.”

“That’s the thing Buck,” you gently stroked a few fingertips across his massive bruise, “You never were.”

His forehead fell against yours. The two of you sat there, motionless, for what felt like forever. Cars moved on the streets below. Thunder rolled through the sky. Rain drops tapped against the large windows. But neither of you noticed. 

“If I move this hand-” you tapped your once again fingers against his bruised shoulder, “are you gonna do it again?”

He shook his head. 

With great hesitancy, you removed your palm from the evidence of his self-inflicted punishment. It looked worse in the eerie 2am lighting, like a black hole formed on his skin; you feared it might envelope him completely if you let it. Your lips replaced your hand, leaving the softest of kisses across his skin. Bucky let loose a small sound- something like a whimper- as you traced the bruise with your mouth. He let a few tears slip down his cheeks. 

“Thank you…”

You took a moment to drink him in. He was stronger than humanly possible. Hugely muscular. Nearly indestructible. But in the middle of the night on the floor of your living room, he looked so small. So fragile. His shoulders caved forward, and his read remained bowed. His voice wavered. His right hand shook ever so slightly. He was a man haunted, possessed by his past. Fearing the future. He was hurt. Broken. Lost in others’ perceptions of himself. He lay trapped under his need for validation from those around him. He sought approval from people who never dreamed of granting it. 

You wondered if he’d ever be free from his ghosts, or if they’d follow him until he became one himself. 

“You don’t have to thank me,” you pressed a kiss to his forehead. “All I ever want is to be there for you when you need me.” The tremor in your voice matched Bucky’s. Pure hurt rendered the air around you thick and heavy. You ached for Bucky, and he, in return, ached to be anyone but himself. 

“What do you wanna do? We can go back to bed. Or if you don’t feel like sleeping, we can hang out in here and watch some tv.” You ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, “Up to you.” 

Bucky’s mind still raced. His brain sat stewing in a deep pit of sorrow and anguish. But he was tired- exhausted. And while his mind wanted to stay up for a while, he let his body decide. His chest and shoulder screamed with pain. His skin stung. Each breath forced a sharp agony into his consciousness; he knew he must’ve cracked a rib. “Let’s-” he grimaced as an inhale filled his lungs, “let’s go back to bed.”

As gently as you could, you helped Bucky from the floor. He smiled when your hand found his as you led him in the direction of the bedroom. The two of you shuffled down the dark hall in silence with no clue what to say. Bucky wanted to apologize; you wanted to drown him in promises of your love. 

Bucky stopped short when you paused, almost running into you. You turned to him suddenly, eying his bruise in the dim light. “You go ahead, okay? I’m gonna grab you an ice pack.”

“Doll, thank you, but I’m fine-”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “does it hurt?”

He shrugged; the motion made him wince. “I mean, yeah. But it’s-”

“Exactly.” You pushed up on your tip toes to press a kiss to his cheek, “I’m gonna get you an ice pack. You get your ass to bed- I’ll be there in a second.”

Bucky whispered a ‘thank you’ and headed in the direction of the bedroom, leaving you alone. But just as he turned the corner down the hall, guilt wrapped around his ankles like a ball and chain. He was stuck; his need to apologize rendering him frozen. He watched you turn in the direction of the kitchen and wondered what he did to deserve you. “Hey, doll…” he called after you. “I’m sorry for waking you.”

“Nothing to apologize for. I promise.”

“But I-”

 “You’re doing your best. You’re coping in the only way you know how. That’s not something to be sorry for.”

Bucky shrugged, winced, and disappeared into the bedroom, eager to escape your line of sight. Everything you did, you did for him. And though that knowledge should’ve eased Bucky’s soul, it only added to his guilt. He marked yet another tally to the long, long list of ways in which he didn’t deserve you. 

The walk to the kitchen wasn’t long- but it provided a sliver of extra time for you to cope in private. If Bucky knew just how much this upset you, how heartbroken you were, he’d never forgive himself. He, instead, would add that knowledge to his ever-growing mountain of shame. He’d adopt a new method of self-punishment, something more subtle, easier to hide. And he’d never express his guilt or shame to you ever again, all to save your feelings. You couldn’t do that to him; he deserved an outlet, a sounding board, a space to vent. You’d never dream of robbing him of that. 

“Alright, here we go,” you pushed open the bedroom door. “I got you one of the big ones, cause that thing is massive, and-” If you didn’t look up at the right moment, you would’ve crashed right into Bucky. 

He stood near the foot of the bed, just inside the door, almost vibrating with anxiety. It rolled through him in waves and placed tremors in his hands. He didn’t stand a fighting chance. 

His massive frame looming in the darkness almost blocked your path completely- and scared the hell out of you. “Shit-” You tripped over your own feet and stumbled backward, but Bucky wouldn’t let you fall.

He caught you in the nick of time, snatching you from the air and righting you on your feet. “Oh, hey- I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

Without a word, you pressed the towel-wrapped ice pack to his skin. Though he detested the cold, the sensation awarded him much needed relief. A deep sigh left his chest as his pain receptors deadened and the constant, months-long throbbing subsided. This was the first thing to put his pain on pause in- he couldn’t remember how long.

You searched his face for any indicators of discomfort, “How does that feel?”

All he could do was nod. The two of you stood there a while as Bucky drank in the relief. The muscles in his shoulders released their tension, his breaths came a bit easier. But something dark lurked beneath his quiet surface. 

“Such a gentleman, waiting for me to come back before getting in bed,” you threw him a wink.  

Bucky’s attempted laugh came out broken, disjointed. To his credit, he tried to laugh for real. He wanted to put this whole night behind him and slide into bed with you. Under the covers, surrounded by your body heat, nothing could hurt him. The skeletons of his past couldn’t claw out of the ground and wreak havoc on his psyche. But a nagging dread yanked at his heart. 

He couldn’t pretend things were resolved. He couldn’t forget his troubles and intertwine his body with yours like the knit of a well-loved sweater. The crushing weight of Fury’s blame sat atop his shoulders, growing heavier by the second. But he couldn’t find it in him to tell you, to ask you for help. 

“Come on, let’s go back to sleep. Okay?” You tucked the ice pack into Bucky’s hand and started toward your side of the bed, “I know you’ve gotta be exhausted.”

But Bucky didn’t follow. He didn’t join you, didn’t even nod. He stood there, stuck, his feet anchored to the floor. The cold pack ate through his nerve endings until his hand went numb. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t fill his lungs. They felt shallower, somehow- like they lost all capacity. 

His deadened fingers fell open, allowing the ice pack to fall against the floor. The sound pulled your focus, halting your efforts to right the sheets and blankets. 

“Buck?”

He didn’t answer. 

“Hey…” Quick steps brought you face to face with his empty stare. “Is everything-”

His knees met the hardwood as the weight of his anxiety forced him into submission. He fell against the cold floor with a sickening thud, his body shaking with the force. His head bowed; his spine curved forward. Ragged inhales forced their way into his ever-constricting lungs.

“Please-” he begged through choppy breaths, “if you won’t let me do it myself, I need- I need you to.”

“Buck, I’m-”

“I need you to hurt me.”

His words gutted you. 

“Baby, no.”

He begged over and over for punishment. For pain. 

Bucky fell against you the moment you joined him on the floor. His head lay buried in your neck, his sharp breaths fanning your skin. He begged through the tears, through the torment, for pain. And you refused. Instead, you gave him the lightest, softest affections you could manage. 

Under different circumstances, your gentle touch would’ve saved him. It would’ve brought him comfort in his moment of distress, grounded him during a bout of panic. But he didn’t want kind hands. For the first time, your soft touches prolonged the agony. The light circles you rubbed against his back filled him with impending doom. With misery. He wanted torture. Agony. 

And even if he were dying, he’d willingly sacrifice his last breath to ask for punishment. 

As carefully as you could, you helped Bucky lay down on the floor. How his body continued to run remained a mystery to you. He was drained, physically and emotionally. He was hurt. Panic ravaged his nervous system and pumped him full of cortisol. He was running on empty. 

“Let’s try to relax a bit, okay? Let’s try to breathe-”

He shook his head against the rug, “No, I need- I need it. I need you to- can you…” His words came out weak- but desperate.

Your hands raked through his hair and massaged his knotted muscles. Over and over again, you swore your love to him. You showered him in assurances and words of kindness. And though he was grateful when sleep won him over, it didn’t stop his efforts. Even as he finally dozed off, he begged. 

“P- please…” he sighed, his eyelids fluttering. “Need you… need you to.” His hand twitched, his brow furrowed. “Hurt- hurt me.” Hearing it didn’t get any easier. 

For what must’ve been the millionth time, you refused. 

And while Bucky slept in your arms, you remained wired. Every cell in your body swam in a cocktail adrenaline and cortisol. You wondered if you’d ever sleep again.  Just when you thought Bucky’s story couldn’t get any darker, it seemed to do just that. His life was all shadows and wormholes wrapped in an inky abyss. No stars, no moon. Just shapeless, unsettling, endless night. 

He deserved better. 

The sun rose as you fell asleep. Your mind shut off; your body gave out. Thinking yourself in circles while Bucky slept in the safety of your arms depleted your every ounce of energy. Worrying this much didn’t seem healthy; you didn’t think it was even possible to feel such deep concern. You never knew how taxing crying could be. But Bucky was worth it- hands down. 

No part of you wanted to fall asleep; Bucky couldn’t be left unsupervised. But a biological need for rest demanded you get some shut eye. And while you slept off the gut-wrenching night you’d spent with Bucky, anxiety seeped into your dreams. Images of Bucky maiming himself flashed behind your eyes. You saw him bloodying his body, abusing himself. His bruise haunted you. 

Waking in bed threw you for a loop. Only a few hours ago, you’d dozed off on the throw rug covering your bedroom floor. But when you opened your eyes, you found yourself snuggled under the duvet with Bucky’s body under yours. His arms held you tight, your face nuzzled into his neck. This was how things were supposed to be. 

It was then you realized- your head lay against his bruise. Even in your sleep, you did your best to protect him from himself. He wouldn’t dare strike his shoulder and risk hurting you. But the weight of your skull had to hurt him, didn’t it? He was sore, miserably so. Just the pressure of your palm resting against his bruise the night before made him wince- surely, your head was too much. With the utmost caution, you pulled your head from his chest.

“It’s okay- doesn’t hurt,” his voice was weak, full of exhaustion. You didn’t know he was awake. 

“Oh. Okay, good. I, um,” you looked around for a few seconds. “I don’t remember getting in bed.”

“We didn’t- well, you didn’t.” He couldn’t believe that after everything he put you through the previous night- all the pain, the heartache, the worry- he let you fall asleep on the floor. It was selfish of him, inconsiderate. He should’ve insisted that you get in bed. He should’ve done what you asked and crawled under the covers with you. He failed you- again. “I didn’t want you to sleep on the floor…” 

Your lips met his skin in a chain of soft kisses, “You know I don’t mind.”

“But I do,” he returned every kiss you granted him.

He woke nearly half an hour after you finally dozed off and found you curled up against him. Your head rested against the cold hard wood; the itchy rug left marks against your skin. A small shiver rattled up your spine and pushed you closer to Bucky’s warm embrace; it was too cold for you to sleep without a blanket. His body begged him to go back to sleep, but he couldn’t- not yet. He lifted you from the floor, his shoulder aching with the effort, and tucked you into bed with all the care in the world. Only then could he fall asleep once again. 

“I’m sorry about- about all of it,” he said. “Last night was-”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” you pulled your face from his chest, “I just wanna know what that was about.”

Bucky hoped that acting innocent would save him. “What?” Maybe if he pretended like he didn’t know what you were talking about, you’d move on. Maybe you’d tell him to forget it and save him the explanation. You didn’t.

“When you asked me to…” you gave a small shake of your head, “to hurt you.” The pain in your voice sliced through Bucky. He wondered if words could make him bleed. 

“Oh. Yeah. That was… I was out of line,” his jaw tensed. “That wasn’t okay. I know I made you uncomfortable- I’m sorry. I never wanna upset you. I was being stupid. And selfish. It wasn’t fair of me-”

The shame practically dripped from Bucky’s lips. You could almost see in running down his chin, staining his skin. He expressed his remorse for things that weren’t his fault, for things he couldn’t control. He told you how sorry he was for his trauma responses and the anxiety that held him hostage. Maybe one day, he’d believe you when you told him he didn’t have to apologize. Today was not that day. 

“I’m just worried about you, Buck. And I wanna help in any way I can-” you took a deep breath, “I just can’t help in that way.”

“I know.”

“Can you maybe tell me- can you help me understand?”

He remained silent for a long while. If he stayed quiet long enough, he could avoid any further distress on your part. With his silence, he could provide solace. But no. You had a penchant for knowing what made Bucky tick, no matter the pain it caused you. 

Your unflinching stare drilled through him until he couldn’t take it any longer. “I needed you to hurt me because that’s what I’m used to. I’m used to punishment,” he finally said. “Because when I fucked up at Hydra, there were consequences. They’d beat me within an inch of my life to get the message across.”

Of course, this was a sad truth you already knew. But hearing it aloud- from his lips- gutted you. The image of a cowering, broken Bucky sent bile rushing up your throat. You could see him lying in a cell somewhere, his blood staining the concrete as Rumlow tore him apart. And of course, he’d never fight back- he couldn’t. Not unless ordered to. 

“And now, that’s what I’m accustomed to,” he rested a hand against his bruise, almost on instinct. “I don’t know how to operate without it. I thought I’d be happy to never experience it again but… I feel like I need it.”

Showing Bucky kindness and understanding sat atop your priority list- but you couldn’t grasp his perspective. It didn’t make sense. He lived a life so foreign to you, so utterly other, that the things he said often left you confused. While the two of you had many similarities and things in common, some experiences would simply never be relatable. Some stories could never be shared. 

And similar to how Bucky couldn’t understand your flagrant disregard for locking the front door, you couldn’t fathom why he’d beat himself blue.  

“Why, Buck?” It wasn’t that you wanted to know. No, the truth could only serve to hurt you. But you needed to understand. You needed to untangle every knot within Bucky’s psyche and help mend his frayed edges. In order to help him, you had to first grasp his perspective. “Why do you ‘need’ it?”

“Because I know I deserve it.” The words came out course, almost aggressive. Bucky shot you a sheepish look, his method of a wordless apology. The next time he spoke, his voice was softer, his tone more even. “I’ve been conditioned to expect it. And waiting for that pain is- it’s torture. It’s almost worse than the punishment itself.” 

He thought back on all the beatings he received as result of fucking up missions. On one occasion, they broke all twelve of his ribs in one sitting. Another time, they turned almost his entire body blue with bruises. But the times they made him wait it out were far worse than any bloodshed. He jumped at every sound, lost the ability to think. To sleep. To breathe. Every moment fell prey to the anticipation of agony. Bucky shuddered. 

“I keep expecting pain. I feel like I have to look over my shoulder.” The urge to tear himself apart scratched at the inside of Bucky’s skull. If he could just deliver his punishment- if he could just get what he knew was coming- he’d be okay. By destroying his body, he could soothe his mind. But with you so close, staring at him with your blood shot, heartbroken eyes, he was stuck. “It’s like this sense of impending doom that doesn’t end unless I get what I know is coming.”

Things fell quiet as you thought over his words. Anxiety was an old friend you knew well. It accompanied you through everything, never leaving your side for more than a few days. But what Bucky described- that was the stuff of nightmares. That was misery. 

“Hang on,” you tripped over a detail in his story, “then what happened last night?” You didn’t mean to sound skeptical- it wasn’t like that at all. You believed every word Bucky said. One part, however, didn’t quite make sense. “Last night, you got your punishment. You got the pain. Why did you ask me to-”

He sighed, “Last night was different. You caught me. I had to stop- I’ve never done that before. I’ve never stopped right in the middle. I was only out there a little while before you found me.” His vibranium hand pulled into a fist and slowly released. He did this time and time again as the urge hurt himself gnawed at him. “I didn’t do enough. It felt like holding in a sneeze or something. And when we came in here to go to sleep, I still had this sense of looming pain, an impending punishment. And I knew you wouldn’t let me give it to myself. So, I asked you to do it.” 

The far-away look in his eye dissolved as he came screeching back to the present. Guilt dragged his features downward into a near scowl. “But I shouldn’t have done that. I’m so sorry.” The remorse weighed more than he could shoulder. If he thought he knew what guilt felt like before, he was wrong. 

“It’s okay, Buck.” You knew the memory of Bucky begging you for punishment would haunt you forever. It took up prime real estate in your mind and cut you deeper each time you paid it attention. But he couldn’t help it; this was part of his journey. When you started dating Bucky, you knew he wasn’t a ‘regular’ person. Darkness and demons followed him wherever he went, filling his mind with horrors most people could never imagine. Of course, there were going to be speed bumps and rough patches on the road of your relationship. But he never did anything with malice in his heart. He was simply trying to survive. “I know you’re just doing your best-”

“My best is pretty shitty.”

He was always so callous with himself, so unforgiving. It wasn’t fair. “Baby, you’ve made a lot of progress.” He was a completely different person than he was a few months ago. He’d worked hard every day to wade through his trauma and find himself on the other side- all while saving the world. “But it doesn’t all have to happen at once. You can’t heal from everything in one fell swoop. It’s not linear. It’s a slow process-”

“Really slow.” He let out a huff and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. Part of him wanted to run; he couldn’t believe he’d subjected you- the kindest, most loving person on earth- to this corner of his awful reality. But he knew being without you was a fate worse than death. Worse than Hydra. 

“I don’t want to do this-” he motioned toward his bruise. “I don’t want to hurt myself. But I don’t know how to stop. I don’t know how to heal the part of me that’s always looking over my shoulder for a punishment.”

You smoothed his hair back and let your hand drift down his cheek, “You don’t have to do it on your own, Buck. Maybe you should talk to someone-”

He shot you a pointed look.

“Not Dr. Raynor. Someone else. Someone with empathy.” 

Bucky gave a firm nod and a quiet laugh. “Okay, yeah. That works. 

“And in the meantime, whenever you feel that impulse, I want you to tell me, okay? I want to help you through in whatever way I can.”

He tried to protest, but you silenced him. “I’m in this with you- full stop. I’m with you for all the hard stuff and the things you hate about yourself. I’m always in your corner.”

He snaked his arms around you and pulled you as close as possible, relishing in the feeling of your heart beating against his skin. 

“This is a pain-free household, okay? We don’t do punishments here. We don’t hurt ourselves, and we don’t hurt each other.” You wiggled a hand free and offered Bucky your pinky, “promise?”

Not hurting you was a given; Bucky would never dream of causing you pain. But refraining from hurting himself was another story. The need sometimes possessed him, drove him to harm himself when the guilt grew too heavy. The look in your eyes, though, pushed him to promise you. You held such love for him, such adoration. And he knew you meant every word you said. You were going to help him through, to support him, no matter what. 

He linked his pinky with yours, “Promise.”

“Good.” You pressed a quick kiss to his lips before pulling away, “hey, do you have Fury’s address?”

Bucky cocked his head to the side, “Uh, yeah. I think it’s in my notebook in the office. Why?”

In one swift motion, you slithered from Bucky’s arms and slid out of bed. “Oh, no reason,” you sighed as you headed for the door, “I’m just gonna egg his house.”

———————

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[jacksdinonuggets]

~Fight Nights~

Y'ALL I HAD AN IDEA AND I WROTE IT.

Summary: Vaggie has a fight with Charlie and needs comfort. However, the only other person she can run to is Carmilla

Vaggie stormed out of the hotel, angry, and on the brink of tears. She and Charlie had just gotten into a fight. They didn’t fight often so it really affected them when they did. The reason that they fought? Vaggie was suppressing her negative emotions again, therefore keeping a secret. This made Charlie pretty upset since she wanted them to have a mutual relationship and not just one protector. However, Vaggie viewed herself as someone who couldn’t show weakness so she got pretty worked up when Charlie confronted her about it. She didn’t mean to turn it into an argument. It just sort of happened.

Anyways, she just really needed comfort from someone and the only other person she could really go to was carmilla. She had been taking fighting lessons once a week with her and sometimes, she would even teach a little bit of ballet so she could learn to dance-fight. At first, they would just go back and forth with returning weapons and paying some loans and business stuff but then they started to get a bit personal. Sometimes, if Vaggie was having a bad day, Carmilla would invite her into her office and they would talk about whatever was bothering her before they practiced.

So, still slightly pissed and more emotional than ever, she walked to her warehouse that was also just her normal house. She knocked on the big metal doors, hanging her head low. Now was not the time to cry.

The doors opened after a couple of seconds and Carmilla greeted her at the door.

“Vaggie, what brings you here? It is not our normal practice day,” She questioned as she urged the girl inside. 

“I just-... I needed someplace safe to cool down. Me and Charlie had a fight,” Vaggie explained. Talking had never seemed as hard as it did at that moment. It felt like with every word she was about to break down into tears. Usually, if she was feeling like this, she would go to Charlie and the two would cuddle, spend time together, or have little time. But she couldn’t because she felt wrong for having to want comfort from the person she just fought with. It would be awkward and strange.

Carmilla sighed, “How about you meet me in my office and i’ll bring up a cup of tea. Then you can tell me all about it, ‘kay?” Vaggie nodded and started walking up the stairs. She passed the big doors that lead into the main house area and went towards the office. 

As Vaggie was waiting, she could feel her headspace teetering. It was a weird feeling to want to be taken care of and comforted by basically a stranger. But somehow she grew sort of attached to her.

When Carmilla returned, she had two cups of tea in her hand. She gave one to Vaggie, who was sitting on the couch. She nodded a thank you and took a sip. Carmilla sat next to her and put her’s on the coffee table.

“Alright, why don’t you tell me what’s going on?” she prompted. Vaggie took a deep breath and began.

“Charlie had begun to notice that i was hiding my vulnerable emotions and lying whenever she would ask if i was okay. I get overwhelmed easily but I would say i was fine whenever someone would ask, just to not be seen as weak. Well, she noticed and confronted me about it. We got into this huge fight and she brought up how i haven’t regressed-” Shit, she can’t tell her that. That’s too personal. Plus, what if she thinks its weird? “Uh- I mean used this one coping mechanism in a month or two and that i was repressing it,” wow, great save there.

“Anyways, she hit a few nerves that I know she probably regrets. I said a few things I’m not proud of, but it still hurts. Its like, I really want a hug but I can’t get it because she’s the only one I have who can comfort and love me!” Vaggie spiraled. At this point, she didn’t even care that she was talking to a dangerous overlord. She just needed to rant. And rant she did.

“Would it make you feel better if I gave you a hug?” Carmilla offered. She saw how Vaggie looked as though she desperately needed one. It was like looking at a small panicking child. You just needed to help them. In a way, Vaggie reminded her of her daughters. And Carmilla reminded Vaggie of a mother in a way. Not like she’s ever known hers, being a heavenborn orphan whose only family consisted of exorcists who bullied her.

Vaggie nodded. Carmilla wrapped her arms around the small, short girl and gave a reassuring squeeze. Vaggie had never wanted to cry more than did right now. It was overwhelming. But not exactly in a bad way. She felt this strange, clingy emotion towards her. 

Carmilla was about to pull away but she felt something stopping her. Vaggie’s arms were gripping her waist like her life depended on it and she could feel something wet on her collarbone where Vaggie had her head. She hadn’t even noticed the girl start crying. But nonetheless, she rubbed her back and comforted her, just like she would with her daughters.

“Shh, it's okay, I’ve got you,” she whispered in a soothing motherly tone, the one she never uses with strangers or in combat.

Vaggie’s headspace dipped so far when those words were spoken. She felt so small, like a toddler in Carmilla’s big embrace. 

“Mama..” Vaggie mumbled into her chest. It was very muffled and quiet though.

Carmilla noticed the words spoken from vaggie and knew that the girl’s headspace had dropped. She wasn’t stupid. She knew what regression was. 

“Mama’s here, sweetie,” she gently told her.

The two hugged for what seemed to be 5 minutes until Vaggie calmed down. She didn’t want to let go though. It felt so good to feel loved.

“It seems like it’s past your bedtime, little one,” she said when they pulled apart. Vaggie pouted but was noticeably tired. It was about 9:30 and her little brain could only stay up so late.

“Come on, I’ve got a spare room you can use.” she stood up and signalled for her to follow her. However, she Vaggie was having some trouble standing. She kept falling over. Having one eye and being small didn’t mix well for balance. 

Carmila bent over and picked her up. She held her by her hip as she carried her out of the office, their tea forgotten. She walked towards the big doors that led to the main house area. When she opened the doors, Clara and Odette were sitting in the living room on the couch. They looked up to see their mother carrying the princesses girlfriend? It confused them but Carmilla mouthed ‘I’ll explain later’. 

When they approached the guest room, Carmilla was able to hold Vaggie with one hand for about a second to open the door. They didn’t have any spare pajamas so Vaggie would have to sleep in her current clothes. They didn’t seem too uncoomfortable though.

Carmila laid her down in the bed and pulled the covers over her, tucking her in.

“Wha’ bout Char-Char?” Vaggie rubbed her eyes. The big kid in her knew that Charlie would be expecting her to be home in about an hour and would definitely begin freaking out if she wasn’t home by then.

“I’ll let her know you’re staying the night,” Carmilla said in a hushed voice, “For now, its ni-ni,”

Once she was done tucking her in she turned off the lights and left, but not before cracking the door just in case Vaggie needed anything during the night. Then, she went back downstairs to explain the situation to her daughters. They seemed pretty okay with it and promised not to spread it, as Carmilla knew it was something she’d probably like to keep a secret. In the end, Carmila never expected to be the mother of three, yet here she was.

[gaysindistress]

Van Helsing Retold - three

pairings: vamp hunter!reader x vamp!bucky

Summary: Under the cover of night, vampires and their hunters have been at war for centuries, never letting their bloodshed reach the light of day. That is until the wife of a powerful vampire leader, Steve Rogers is murdered and he demands revenge. Y/N Van Helsing is the target of his crusade and she comes face to face with his right hand man, Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: cursing

Word count: 2.5k

two | series masterlist

Tag list: permanent @hidden-treasures21 @cakesandtom @isabellatb @vonalyn

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on Google/Pinterest. The women in the banners are purely for aesthetic purposes.

The smell that hasn’t left my mind for the last three, no four, I don’t know how many days but that’s besides the point. That smell has wrapped its imaginary arms around me and is holding me tight against its strong chest as I wake up. Sam’s voice is floating around me but the heartbeat in the chest I'm leaning against is louder, pounding in time with my own. Another voice, one that’s vaguely familiar and pulls at a thread somewhere inside of me, says something to Sam.

I feel something shift and I squint my eyes in an attempt to see my surroundings. We’re in a car now and Sam is driving. There must be someone else with us if he’s driving and I’m being cradled like a child.

Wait.

Fuck.

The vampire from the warehouse.

The vampire from the warehouse that’s been haunting my every waking and sleeping moment.

He was the one who barged in on our meeting with Helumt. He was the reason I felt an anger so violent and hostile that it threatened to make me sick. He was the reason Sam and I got out of there safely while I was a limp noodle in Sam’s arms.

Scratch that; a limp noodle in his arms. He’s the one who carried me out and is holding me tight as if i'll turn into ash if he lets me go.

“Van Helsing?” Sam’s voice calls to me and I blink at him through the rearview mirror, “Oh good you’re awake!”

“Thank you for the insightful observation, Wilson,”I shoot back and I feel a small rumble of laughter against my back. I want to look and confirm what I know to be true but I don’t want to admit it. I don’t want to admit that this vampire has saved my ass at least twice now. I don’t want to admit that I’m comfortable and I feel safe nestled in his arms. I don’t want to admit that I haven’t stopped thinking about him or that I’ve seen him in my dreams. I don’t want to admit that there’s a part of me that awoke that day and it aches when he’s not around.

“Wanna explain what happened?” Sam asks, throwing an accusing look at me

“Well if I had to guess, I’d say I fainted because I’m fresh out of the infirmary and I have a mild head wound that’s still healing. Oh and don’t forget the venom that’s eating away at my hand. I’d say I’m not exactly in fighting shape and my brain knocked me out so I wouldn’t hurt myself anymore.”

The vampire recoils a bit at the mention of my head wound and loosens his grip. Whatever anger of his that is left in me causes me to push off of him and face him.

“And you need to explain why you were at the club and the warehouse.”

His pale eyes widen at the anger directed at him but nonetheless he explains, “I was sent to find Peggy after she didn’t show up for an appointment and Sam asked me to come to the meeting with Helmut.”

It’s my turn to be wide eyed as I snap my eyes to Sam in the rearview mirror, “Sam did what now?”

“I said I had a lead,” he mumbles, not meeting my gaze.

“You didn’t tell me your lead was the fucking right hand to the leader of the Captain’s Guard!”

“If you know how I am then why did you ask me why I was at the warehouse?” The vampire asks, annoyed like I’m the problem.

“You,” I point my venomous finger at him, “don’t get to talk until I say so. As for Sam, you need to explain right the fuck now how and why you’re in bed with the Captain’s Guard.”

“I’m not in bed with them, Jesus,” he scoffs, “he called ME as a matter of fact and i knew that if we were going to make it out of that nightclub alive, we would need backup.”

I narrow my eyes at the vampire and he raises his eyebrows at me as if to remind me that he’s not allowed to speak until I say. I roll my eyes and tell him to start talking.

“As much as I hate all of you hunters, I hate your Guild Master even more. Killing Peggy was a shit call on his part and he’s going to let you and anyone else who tries to help you, take the fall. I told Sam that I would help him find the anti venom for your hand if he helped me frame Walker for Peggy’s death.”

I stay quiet for a moment as I try to process what he’s said, “that doesn’t explain why you’re doing this. I’m a Van Helsing, you should hate me more than any other hunter.”

He studies me, his eyes looking me up and down before he speaks, “I made a promise to your mother and she scares me more than you do.”

“My mother?”

Sam clears his throat and I shoot him daggers with my eyes.

Confusions hits me.

“She died when I was a baby. Peggy killed her.”

“That might be what she told everyone but it’s not true. I took your mother to a safe house to heal and she made me promise that I would never hurt you or let any hurt befall you.”

“You’re lying.”

“Trust me, I fucking wish I was.”

“Sam?” I look at my fellow hunter, “Is he telling the truth?”

The Falcon as he liked to call himself, refused to meet my gaze once again. He’d been maybe 17-18 when I showed up at the Guild as a small and crying baby. In true Van Helsing fashion, I had been wrapped in a black blanket with one of my family’s stakes tucked next to me and placed in a wicker basket on the doorstep of the previous Guild Master’s house. Tony had only been in his early 20s, the youngest Master to take over but he, Sam, and Happy raised me like I was their own. Now that Tony was dead and Happy hadn’t been seen in years, Sam would be the only person who knew what happened to my parents. I’d thought the story he’d told me, the one that Peggy had thrown at me, was the truth but from the way his eyes stay trained on the road, I realize it was a lie.

“Sam,” I try as my voice trembles, “is he telling the truth?”

The vampire’s hand gently grips my chin and pulls my face so that I’m looking at him.

“He’s not to blame. She made us all promise to keep you safe even if that meant lying to you.”

I slap his hand away, “Don’t touch me. I don’t give a single fuck what my mother said or what she made you promise. I don’t even know you so how can I even trust anything you have to say? As for Sam, he’s just as bad as you are and the moment we get to the Guild….”

He grips my chin again and forces me to stare into his eyes as he persuades me, “You will not speak of this to anyone and until I say so, you will stay silent and not move.”

My mouth and body comply without my permission.

Without control over my body, I zone out. Disassociate is a better word for the way I can’t remember the drive, getting out of the car, or how I’ve come to be sat on an emerald green tufted couch. Sam and the vampire are conversing in low voices but it doesn’t matter. I can’t hear them. My brain has effectively shut out everything but the sounds of rain hitting the window behind me and the fire that crackles out to my right. My eyes are trained on an open book that sits on a coffee table in front of me. I can’t read the words from this distance but I can at least appreciate that the owner of this house likes to read.

I feel a hand gently grip my chin and I find myself looking into those pale eyes as he grants me freedom of my body. Sam is tense, ready to grab me if I attack but I don’t. I stay in my corner of the couch and pull my legs up, not caring if my boots ruin the upholstery. I drop my forehead to rest on my knees and I would’ve assumed that anyone else would’ve walked away but the vampire doesn’t. He, instead, sits on the coffee table and leans forward so his forearms rest on his thighs.

“I’m sorry I persuaded you,” he offers the olive branch of pleasantness in a small voice, “I couldn’t let you get yourself hurt.”

“Or worse,” is unspoken but I can feel it in the weight of his gaze that’s fixed on top of my head.

“I still can't understand why you care what happens to me,” I say barely above a whisper but I know he hears me.

“I already told you.”

“And I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t have to nor do I expect you to,” there’s an odd heaviness in his words that I also feel in my throat. Rejection and frustration sit on my chest, constricting my breathing but it’s not mine.

“Good to know we’re on the same page.”

“Y/N,” Sam chides me from behind the vampire, “he’s not the enemy here. He can help get rid of Walker like you’ve been wanting.”

“I didn’t mean kill him!” I shout at him, “sure he’s annoying and pushy and the worst hunter I’ve ever seen but that doesn’t mean that he needs to die.”

Sam gives me a blank stare, “how many times has he sent you to do some crazy shit where you’ve almost gotten killed?”

I don’t answer. He’s not wrong; Walker has sent me on several suicide missions, Peggy being the most recent but most certainly not the last. Once again I can feel someone else’s emotions rise in me, squeezing the life out of my internal organs as they try to crawl out. Stealing a glance at the vampire, I see that his face is contorted with anger but he’s trying and failing to hide it.

I swear to all things holy if this is somehow his doing.

“It’s not for certain that Steve will kill him,” Sam adds.

The vampire before me shoots me a concerned look before looking over his shoulder at Sam, “I hope you’re joking.”

“I didn’t say he wouldn’t make him wish he was dead, just that he might not kill him.”

The vampire turns to me again, “it’s up to you, Y/N.”

I furrow my brows at him, confused about how he knows my name.

“That’s the least of your concerns,” he shoots back as if I’d said it out loud. I didn’t think I had but I shake it off.

“Give me the anti venom first and then I’ll decide.”

“That’s not how negotiations work.”

“Do I look like I give a fuck? Anti venom and then I’ll decide if I’m going to sell my soul to the devil.”

He rolls my eyes at the dramatics of my statement, “it’s not that easy.”

“It really is.”

“No it’s not,” he says sternly and I want to fire back more but he continues, “Helmut was right. Whatever anti venom we find won’t work on you. What you need is damn near impossible to get unless you’re willing.”

“And what do I need to be willing to do?”

Sam tenses and shoots nervous glances between us. I narrow my eyes at him and then look back to the vampire, repeating my question.

“Drinking the blood of the vampire that infected a moral can reverse the turning process only if they’re in the midst of it.”

“Peggy’s dead, how does that help me?”

The vampire doesn’t seem to even register that I asked a question, “Do you know what mates are?”

I blink at him, “excuse me?”

“Do you…”

“Yes I know what they are, why?” I snap and interrupt him.

Annoyance flashes in his blue eyes, “the mating bond doesn’t awaken until a mortal has completed the process. There have been a few cases where it can happen during. If that happens, the blood of the vampire mate can reverse it but it severs the bond completely and can kill the vampire. It’s like taking out our hearts and expecting our blood to keep pumping.”

“Well you don’t have a beating heart so…”

“You get the point,” he snaps back.

“What does this have to do with me?” I ask while looking between him and Sam. The latter is already looking at me with a mixture of sadness and… hope in his dark eyes. Whatever hope he’s placed in this vampire is sorely mistaken and he’d be better to place it in our Guild Master John Walker.

The vampire’s watching me, studying me for any indication of what I’m thinking or feeling. It makes me uneasy to have his full attention on me but I can’t show it. Instead I drop my feet back to the ground and cross my arms over my chest as I repeat my question, “I’m not a vampire nor am I in the turning process so what do mating bonds have to do with me?”

“You are in the process. Stopped, frozen, or slow, you’re still turning and since you killed the one who infected you, the mating bond is the only way to save you.”

I laugh.

I laugh so loud and so hard that both men flinch. I laugh so long that my chest hurts and my lungs burn. Tears prick my eyes and my entire body aches from how long I laugh. When my laughter finally stops and I’m clutching my sides, I look between the two men. Neither mirror my amusement and it’s only slightly concerning.

“What?”

Sam shakes his head, “this is serious, Y/N.”

“I’m well aware that this is serious but you can’t seriously believe that I would fall for any of the bullshit he’s spewing.”

The vampire flinches slightly, “I’m telling the truth. What reason do I have to lie?”

“Oh just about a million,” I scoff before standing up, “my head is starting to hurt again, is there somewhere I can lay down?”

The vampire doesn’t respond but Sam stands too and leads me out of the room. Hurt beings to deep into my chest and it twists around inside me, causing a deep ache to start throbbing.

“He’s trying to help you,” Sam says softly with an edge of disappointment.

“But why? Sam, he’s Bucky Barnes, the right hand of the Captain’s Guard. He has no reason other than his own selfish ones to help us and I can’t trust just that.”

“Then trust that your mom and I trust him.”

I stop dead in my tracks, “as far as I’m concerned she died that night and your word has come to mean nothing to me.”

[reds-skull]

Not Alive, Nor Dead

[PART 1]

Don't ask me why I wrote chapter two literally a day after the first, it's a mix of the nice comments I got and the fact I'm enjoying myself more than I expected, haha.

Ghost crashes into his desk chair, throwing two folders on the table. One was the Sergeant’s report, which he had to go through and approve before forwarding to Price, and the other…

The other was Soap’s personal file. He technically didn’t have clearance for it anymore, but Price left it on his desk next to the report, and Ghost figured he won’t notice if it disappeared for a couple hours.

Besides… he was supposed to read it before the mission. He just didn’t care in the past.

Ghost opens the file, and immediately gets greeted by a picture of Soap. He’s younger and seemed to be holding back a smile for the photo. 

John “Soap” MacTavish. Somehow, Ghost can’t see how this fiery Sergeant shares a name with the captain.

The rest of the file is pretty standard. Born in Scotland (In a town Ghost never heard of), age 27, enlisted at 16. It gets more interesting when he reaches the Revenant section.

Or, whatever he can see from it. His Reaping, his first death, is completely blacked out. His powers list the explosion immunity and creation, but another line is censored. Ghost feels cheated of information - the amount of red tape around Soap would be concerning, if it didn’t make him that more intrigued.

He flips through his previous missions fairly quickly, not expecting much of it to be uncensored. Lad was SAS before dying, the reports are practically a solid block of black ink.

Ghost continues to the medical reports, fully intending to skip those as well, and he keeps flipping, and flipping, and flipping…

An icy hand grabs at his throat. Frowning, he slowly flips back.

The frozen feeling persists when he starts reading. 4 years ago, mission in Austria. Exposure to thermite explosion, 3 fingers missing and loss of motor function to his left leg. 11 months ago, C4 accident, right ear, eye, and majority of throat missing. 2 years ago, grenade explosion, massive damage to liver and stomach.

Combing through all records, Ghost took a moment to realize no medical procedure was noted. Which means Soap didn’t receive any.

He shut the folder.

Something different from the freezing horror he initially felt started rising within him. It was rage.

The personal folder gets thrown aside, and Ghost focuses on the mission report. Right. Perhaps this will shed more light on what Soap is capable of, because honestly right now he can’t bare thinking about how much damage the Sergeant suffered through any longer.

The report is well-written, as any soldier of Soap’s rank would be. Ghost enjoys seeing just how competent Soap was, clearing rooms at neck breaking speed. What catches his eyes is the reason the explosion at the warehouse happened.

He never did get an answer to that…

As it turns out, Soap did get spotted. But according to the report, it wasn’t a hostile that activated the explosive. No, Soap himself did that. The reason given is “estimated risk to Bravo 0-7”.

…Soap thought he was in danger?

Ghost racks his brain trying to understand why. Did he think Ghost didn’t clear the third floor yet? Did he think… they were going to alert backup?

And he decides to… blow himself up.

He hastily signs the document and grabs both folders. So much information, missing, blacked out, red tape stopping him from understanding. Ghost has long learned that he won’t, can’t understand everything, orders from higher up not to be questioned. But it has never bothered him more. 

Never left this feeling of missing out.

When Ghost reaches Price’s office, the light is on and a lingering smell of cigars wafts even through the closed door. Shit. He’ll have to explain how the amount of folders he took suddenly multiplied.

“Weird how that happens, doesn't it Ghost?” Price shouts from beyond the door.

Bloody hell his stupid mind reading powers can be a real pain in the-

“You better not finish that thought Lieutenant!” 

Sighing, Ghost finally opens the door. “I thought you’re on break, Captain”, he places the folders on his desk.

Price glares at the two folders before he looks back at him, eyebrow raised, “clearly”.

Ghost glares back. Not like he has anything to say to his defence.

Price breaks the tension with a little huff, “You know you could’ve just asked for the file, right? I could tell the Sergeant left an impression on you.” he laughs.

Not needing the Captain to mock him further, he bites back “report’s signed, permission to be dismissed?”

Price smirks and dismisses him. Ghost doesn’t miss the thought that leaked from him, “told you, you two would get along.”

He walks away before Price could read his own.

Smoking becomes less intimidating after you die once. Honestly, if it comes to the point he dies from lung cancer, he’ll be happy.

He’ll take that little comfort either way. Watching the smoke dissipate to the night sky, a handful of stars shining through. Little droplets of rain drizzle on the tin roof above him. It’s almost peaceful. 

Almost. If only he couldn’t hear Gaz complaining from the floor above him.

“Look, he’s doing it again.” the recruit next to him makes a questioning sound, “Ghost, he’s bloody brooding. I swear, he’s been like this even since that mission with the revenant, what’s his name…”

The recruit mumbles something, “right! MacTavish. I’ll pay a good amount to know what happened with him… you think-”

Ghost slams a fist at the tin roof, “I can fuckin’ hear ya Garrick!”.

“Good! Tell me what happened there!”

He throws the cigarette and stomps it. Can’t get a moment of silence around here…

Gaz still tries to interrogate him while Ghost walks back to his room. He would talk to him when he feels like it, kindly suggest to never bring up that mission again. 

Ghost doesn’t need more things to remind him of the Sergeant.

Sometimes he wonders if he ever was as bad as these rookies. Watching one trip on thin air, taking down 3 others poor sods trying to complete a run, he rather believe he wasn’t.

He approaches the 4 idiots, who are now literally shaking while craning their neck to look at their lieutenant. “Well, what are you waiting for? Get up!”.

The rookies finally pull their heads out of their arse and scramble up. While they try to get back on track, he shouts, “five more laps for you four! Get a move on!”.

The ones that finished the training murmur behind him something that sounds like a long list of expletives, maybe about wishing his mother got an abortion or the likes. 

Ghost couldn’t care less. But, for the sake of discipline, he throws a scowl at the group, shutting them instantly. 

It’s on days like these, where Gaz is away on mission, and Price buried under mountains of paperwork, that Ghost’s thoughts wander back to that mission six months ago. To a certain Scottish Sergeant, to daft jokes and a weird shared understanding. Fingers flickering with flames, blue eyes shining with them.

Useless thoughts. All they do is leave a bitter trail behind them.

On days like these, he can’t help but crave bitterness. 

The recruits finally finish their run, and Ghost dismisses them before they can cause more trouble, effectively declaring it “not his problem”. He should be more grateful of Garrick, he’s much better at handling the FNGs.

As he makes his way to the showers, one Private stops him. He looks familiar, but Ghost doesn’t bother learning any of their names.

“Captain Price orders you to his office.” the Private almost sneers at him. Ghost nods and walks away. 

Once, a long time ago, he might’ve put the Private in his place, perhaps when he cared more. Now he knows better. His powers speak loud and clear. If he wished, he could wipe the entire base off the face of this godforsaken earth. It might be because of this fact, most soldiers abhor him.

They can’t help hating what they don’t understand.

Three well practiced knocks and a “come in!”, Ghost stands in front of the Captain. Price looks surprisingly chipper for the amount of files on his desk. That makes one of them.

“To what do I owe the occasion, Captain?”

Price flashes a warm smile (one he would call fatherly if the connotation didn’t want to make him want to puke) “I’m considering adding a new member to the 141”.

His first reaction is ‘fuck no’, and Price’s face sours at that. But Ghost is willing to entertain the Captain, so he asks, “you got any candidates?”.

Price motions to the dozen or so files on his desk, “take a look”.

Ghost raises an eyebrow before sitting down and taking one at random. Sergeant Thomas Anderson, 28. Revenant powers… “Breathing underwater? Really.” Ghost shuts the folder and glances at Price, “I’ll take him when we go on a bust against ultranationalists from Atlantis”.

“Not everyone is as deadly as you, Simon” Price sighs, “go on, check the others.”

Several files later Ghost is left wondering how many practically useless revenants are out there. He’s sure just thinking this is considered some sort of blasphemy among Reapers, but as he wasn’t struck down by an eldritch being yet, it’s safe to say he’s free to continue looking down at them.

He knows deep down it’s not their powers that bother him. Hell, Garrick’s Gravity manipulation isn’t that lethal, but the Sergeant knows how to effectively use it to his advantage.

Ghost simply can’t see himself working with any of them. He understands they’re in desperate need for more taskforce members, no matter how strong its three revenants are, but if they’re about to add a forth, he better be useful.

Scouring the table, Ghost realizes he went through all folders already. Price picks up on that.

“None of them up to your standard?”

Ghost crosses his arms, “not in the slightest”.

He spots a personal file on a cabinet on Price’s left, “what’s with that one?” he nods towards it.

Price turns his head, “ah, he’s currently on a long term assignment. Higher ups aren’t gonna let that one transfer so easily.”

Ghost’s interest was piqued, and he leaned to grab it. Price didn’t stop him, but he had a weird glint in his eyes. Ghost gets the feeling this outcome wasn’t unplanned.

He opens the folder and a pair of familiar blue eyes stare back. He looks up at Price.

The captain tilts his head, “well? In terms of strength, no one gets close to MacTavish. I’d dare say you and him could be evenly matched-”

“I’ll take him.”

Price falters, “what?”

“I’ll accept a new member if it was Soap.” Ghost states, leaving no room for argument. A bubbling feeling of excitement washes through him, in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time. The mountains of questions Soap left behind him come back to the forefront of his mind. 

And he feels… hopeful.

Price shakes the surprise off his features, and he looks tiredly at the file, “...I can’t promise any miracles, but I’ll do my best to get him.” He takes out a well deserved cigar, “I trust your judgment.”

“Thank you Captain”, the words don’t encapsulate just how grateful Ghost is.

“Now scram, I have about 50 calls to make.” Price waves his hand and picks up the phone. Ghost makes his exit before the Captain changes his mind.

Garrick returns from his assignment the following morning. The reason Ghost knows that is he watches the door to mess being slammed open while he tries to drink his morning tea.

“GHOST!” Gaz shouts, swiveling his head side to side, searching for him. Sometimes Ghost wishes he could actually go invisible like some rumors suggest.

But alas, he finds him quickly enough, and rushes to his table, uncaring of the several heads following his actions. 

“Garrick” Ghost greets him, “how was the missio-”.

“We’re getting a new 141 member?!” Gaz cut him off, the excitement in his voice palpable, and he visibly starts floating a few inches off ground. Ghost tries to be annoyed with him, but he always found Gaz’s more energetic approach to life endearing.

“Nothing’s final yet, settle down.”

“But you know who it is, right?” Gaz sits in the chair in front of him, “c’mon, you gotta tell me!”

Ghost considers lying and saying he has no clue either, but he figures he might as well rip the band-aid now.

“It’s Sergeant MacTavish.” he tries to sound bored.

By the mischievous look on Garrick, he knows he failed miserably, “ohoho Ghost… Did you suggest your mysterious Sergeant to Price?” he grins like the menace he is, “seems like you won’t be able to hide what happened on ‘The Mission’ for much longer-”

Ghost slams his mug on the table, “nothing to hide, Sergeant.”

But Gaz is already 3 steps ahead in his brain, “I’ve heard he can create explosions, you think he could shoot up like a rocket? Could work well with my powers…”

Ghost stands up and groans, “he’s not a bloody spaceship Gaz, fuckin’ hell…”

He has a feeling Garrick and MacTavish will get along just fine.

The following days are… weird. Ghost never waited in anticipation for something as impatiently as he does right now. The clock seems to tick at a snail’s pace, and he finds his focus impaired. Thank his Reaper he’s not on a mission right about now…

Price is practically living in his office, constantly making calls and going through document after document. From what he understands, Soap is highly sought after for his explosion immunity, the best defuser there is.

Ghost is bitterly reminded of the huge pile of medical records in his personal file. That taste he rather not chase.

As for Gaz… His excitement grows by the day. It reminds Ghost that while the Sergeant is very friendly and always finds someone to talk to, he’s also one of the very few revenants on base.

He wonders if it feels as alienating as it does for him from time to time.

It’s not for 2 weeks later that he and Gaz are summoned to Price’s office. The place reeks of cigar smoke, and Price himself looks like he’s in need of at least 24 hours of sleep. But a triumphant attitude emanates from him in waves, and Ghost knows before he even opens his mouth what he’s about to say.

“It wasn’t easy, and I had to use every connection I had up there, but I got great news for you lads.”

Gaz smiles brightly, and turns his head to look at Ghost.

“I can finally say Sergeant Soap MacTavish is officially a member of the 141”.

Garrick cheers and floats high enough that Ghost has to drag him down before he slams his head against the ceiling, and sees the Captain’s expression shift.

“But…” Ghost starts for him. Of course this wouldn’t be this simple, nothing ever is.

Price exhales loudly, “Soap still has a couple of unfinished missions he will need to attend before he can join us fully.”

Gaz finally picks up on the mood shift, ‘...he will still be with us on base though, right?”

“Yes”, the Captain scratches under his iconic hat, and not for the first time Ghost wonders if it’s glued on with the way it refuses to fall off, “he will train with us, so take those few weeks as an opportunity to learn to work together. He’s quite powerful, and I think you will find… creative ways to work together.” with that last sentence, he glances at Ghost. Curious.

“When will the Sergeant arrive?” Ghost asks.

Price takes a quick look at the calendar, “3 days, early morning.”

That sends Garrick on a marathon of questions to Price, and Ghost retreats to into his mind.

3 days… 3 days and he will see those flames dance again. That Scottish lilt and crooked smile. 

Ghost feels his mouth stretch in a hesitant smile, as if the muscles almost forgot the movement, and notices Price mirroring it.

Perhaps he could give a chance to hope.

Thank you all for reading and commenting! I appreciate it a lot <3

[joshslater]

A Star is Born

Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

"It's not just porn. The adult industry is much more than that. Unlike Hollywood there is room for more narrow interests, and more diversity in actors. Obviously the revenue per title is smaller, but the production overhead is too, so you could still get some decent cash."

I had changed to my sincere voice, somewhat undercut by the venue and the thumping music in the nightclub, but otherwise I had stacked everything I could against him.

"I don't know, man." He was still unconvinced, but I knew now it was self-doubt, not stigma that held him back. He didn't think he had neither the looks nor the body.

"You're exactly what I need. You don't even have to be naked. $200 for a few minutes of dry humping. Then we can see what the response is."

He sat silent, nodding slightly to the music and making up his mind. "What would your mates say?" I asked, already knowing the answer. In his friend circle he would move up in rank, being seen as desirable and virile.

"Ok, I'll do it."

The first shoot I keep very much on his terms. We have a large couple of warehouses in the old paint factory that closed where we can fit a lot of different sets, though you can't use two sets near each other due to the noise. I made sure the studio was empty by the time he arrived to avoid any second thoughts. I let him use his own clothes for the same reason. We go to the "boy room" set and I hand him a baseball bat. "Just walk in through the door, pick up the bat, put it between your legs, and grind on it for a bit. Just pretend it's the best fucking experience you've ever had."

I take the camera and he awkwardly follows my instructions. It's very stiff up until the bat is between his legs, when suddenly his whole performance changes. He slowly teases the bat in and out, polishes the base of the handle with one hand, keeps the bat in place with both legs and moves his hands like his jacking off a huge wooden dick, rhythmically buckles his whole body while riding that bat, in and out, while his ever louder moans turn into an uncontrolled scream of pleasure as he comes in his jeans.

He's trapped.

He's looking confused, shocked almost, as I wrap up the shoot. He's barely listening to what I tell him about publishing dates and payment details, as he is walking behind me toward the exit with a dazed look on his face. He just can't believe what he had just done. Not the recording of erotic content for the internet, well only partially, but mostly that he would be so good at it. He'd bragged of course to his group of mates what a stud he was, like they all did, but any of the girls he'd slept with would rate him "fine" at best, and he knew that. But here he had been like possessed by a gogo dancer.

There isn't any visible cum stain on his jeans yet when I take the bat from him and tell him goodbye. It will probably not soak through at all, but it will be on his mind all the way home. There will be a lingering feeling of unease, pride, confusion, and horniness that he can't shake over the following days. He'll have boners more often than even as a teen, and jack off multiple times a day. Every time with a big release and trembling orgasm. He might hook up with some of the girls he knows to relieve his constant horniness, and find that he is a much better lover than he used to be, but can't last very long. Most importantly it will only give him a very short-lived relief.

By the time I call him a week or so later he's desperate to film. I ask him to come in later that afternoon, making him disrupt whatever else he has already planned. He shows up right on time though, slightly out of breath, and with a visible bulge in his jeans. This time there are a few people around in the studio. A painter is finishing up the new frat room set, dirtying the area around a light switch with a paint-dipped sponge as we walk by. Once we carefully pass by the "boy room" set a pair of twinks are fucking on the bed surrounded by a cameraman, a boom boy, and the director. He's torn between his old impulse to look away in modesty and his new one to see as much as possible. He doesn't slow down, but he is taking in everything.

I lead him to our private gym. It doubles as a movie set, but all the equipment there is legit and used by all the talent in between shoots. "The guy on top is Xander XeXy," I tell him.

"What?" He looks confused.

"The guy you watched in the room I filmed you in. He's been trending a lot." I can see reality intruding. He realizes this is a business with porn actors doing porny things, seen by the public. "Oh. OK."

He doesn't follow up so I move on to our business at hand. I hand him his next outfit, a maroon sweatshirt, grey gym shorts, white crew socks, and a pair of Nike sneakers with orange details. No underwear. The sweatshirt has a yellow sigil printed on the front looking like any college emblem, unless you read the "Professional Porn Actor" around the rim of the sigil. At first he looks a bit lost, like he's wondering where he'd change outfit, until he realizes we just walked past two naked men fucking.

He gets naked and his dick stands attention as soon as it's out of his briefs. He doesn't look at me, awkward about being alone with a man, naked and with a boner, for the first time in his life. The moment he lets go of the grey sweatpant shorts, the tent his erect dick made collapses and the dick hangs down one of the shorts legs. It's the same size as when it was erect though.

I pick up the camera and start shooting, directing him to get onto the treadmill and start running. His sloppy dick isn't really visible through the thick shorts fabric, but you can see from the movement that it's swinging inside. After that warmup I continue to direct him on what equipment to use, what exercises to do, and with what configuration. Light weights, many repetitions. I however ask him to repeat the sets several times to give me multiple camera angles to cut between. At least that's what I tell him. Then when he is all damp and flush after the thorough session I tell him to start over from the beginning and do all of them once more. This is the only usable footage, because otherwise it would be obvious how much he's changed in just two hours.

He looks about the same on the treadmill, though way more athletic, an inch wider shoulders and a few inches shorter, with his dick flopping around. Then it starts getting interesting. During squats we can see a tent forming, and by the time we're recording bench presses there is a very noticeable straining of fabric going on. Much bigger than was going on before, though perhaps unsurprising given the size of his now much larger flaccid dick.

We move to the locker room set and I have him stretch a bit, feeling himself up after the workout, before sitting down and cool for a bit. Then on the bench he starts to tease out his rock-hard dick from his shorts. He takes the balls out too and just stares at them for a bit. I'm still recording of course, but I haven't told him to do this. He doesn't know why he did it. "It's what would happen in a porno, and we're recording one," is how he rationalizes it for himself. At the same time he wonders why he did it unprompted. Deeper yet he is confused about how his dick is suddenly way larger than when he stepped out of his jeans just hours ago.

He grabs it, leans back against the lockers, and begins to stroke himself. It is already slippery from sweat and pre, and makes a wet noise as he lets his hand move up and down the shaft. As the shoot before he begins to moan loudly, and goes on for a good 5 minutes until he erupts in shot after shot of cum landing on his sweatshirt and his shorts. As before he is looking shocked and confused as I wrap up the shoot and he finds himself on a porn set, drenched in sweat, and with several ropes of cum on his clothes.

He slowly puts his deflating dick back into the shorts while I come to the rescue with a towel to clean up the worst of the cum. I tell him it was great, that he's a real natural, while I nudge him to his feet and walk him back out through the studio. I tell him he should consider doing workouts regularly. That he looked great doing them here and people would love watching him doing more. He's still in that post-orgasm glow, but nods politely while looking at the now empty sets to see if he can get another glimpse of any action. At the entrance I hand him a promo card for the Xander XeXy series and thank him once again. He's well out the door before he'll starts to wonder what happened to his old clothes, deciding to pick them up another time.

He'll be hard again before he gets home, and he'll be self-conscious about the big dick being hard to miss as it moves around unrestrained, bouncing against the fabric of the shorts. Then he'll have a few days of uncomfortable discoveries. He's just as horny as before, but instead of constantly orgasming and getting hard again he's lasting much, much longer. He's not interested in getting together with any of the girls he has on speed dial to ease hard dick issues though. Nor does his usual porn appeal to him. Instead he's just lying in bed, pumping himself for an hour or two until he explodes in loud orgasms. Maybe an hour later he starts firming up again.

He's giving excuses to avoid meeting any of his group of friends. The shirts don't fit his broader shoulders anymore and his trousers either don't fit at all, or show a big dick outline. When he does show up for a night out he finds himself distracted, like nothing he used to like about going out interests him anymore. He's introduced to a new girl. "He records some adult videos," his mate says with a wink. "I can see why," she responds, staring at your groin and licking her lips. She just looks so boring to him. It's getting more and more difficult for him to orgasm and he doesn't even see the point of having sex. He feels like a soda bottle, and masturbating or sex is just someone shaking it without opening it.

He's getting a pair of compression shorts to wear under his gym shorts, and a membership to the cheapest gym within reasonable distance. Something about looking great and others watching got stuck in his head. He's following the same routine as in the shoot, and really putting in an effort. To his surprise he can see some of the other men glancing his way. He likes it. If only they knew how hard he was while they were watching him, he's thinking. Perhaps they too were hard watching him. Suddenly his fantasy is pushing him to the edge and he is overcome with the desire to finish. He runs to the locker room and find the most private place he can, though nothing is truly private there, and starts working his big dick. It's not unlike the latest scene he recorded, but this time there are people within earshot hearing him moan. He's sure of it. His cum explosion is more under his control this time, so he doesn't look unreasonably untidy, at least not given his previous hard workout. Hardly any visible stains that can't be explained as sweat.

The few people in the locker room behaves as if they didn't hear anything, but he knows they would have to. He blushes as he rushes out and jogs back home, his mind again a jumble of emotions. Back home he strips naked, puts on the "Professional Porn Actor" sweatshirt, loads the Xander XeXy video from the business card URL, and coming again several times over the next few hours.

By the time I call him next time he's into a routine. Workout at the gym every day, a run home, and an hour or two of wanking to Xander videos. It takes longer and longer for him to get off. Physically he's changed further. Dropped perhaps another inch, massively improved muscle definition, and a whole lot of extra chest muscles. Most of all though his body fat has continued to climb down, making his face look much younger and leaner. His friends have mostly given up on him, or at least decided to come back later when he isn't so occupied with his latest obsession.

I call him in the middle of wanking, asking him if he wants a supporting role for the next Xander video. I can almost hear his precum drooling. I tell him that it's a bit of a bad boy on bad boy, so he needs to be outfitted properly. Nothing permanent of course, but it would fit the scene if he got some piercings. Doesn't have to be anything crazy, but perhaps a ring in each ear and studs through the nipples. I could of course just do it myself, but I want him to find a place, book a time, feel the procedure, and then anticipate the shoot for a few days.

He shows up on time, hard and horny. He hasn't been able to come for the past few days. He's wearing his new golden earrings, the porn actor sweatshirt, but compression shorts and blue jeans. Xander is already there, shaking his hand and greeting him by name. It always makes such a big impact when the guy you've been masturbating to for two weeks is just as stunning in real life, and knows your name. I quickly move along to our garage set, with a shutter door to the outside, to snap him out of his daze a bit. Partly to be professional, but party to not make him too comfortable with Xander yet. Just before the garage I have them strip and put on the dirt bike kit I've laid out for them. Thick polyester pants, slinky polyester shirts, boots, gloves, helmets, and goggles. All of it Fox Racing branded.

The glossy material of the shirt hangs off of his sizable chest and you can see a hint of the piercings through the material in certain poses, but his focus on the upper pec muscles makes the nipples point slightly out and down. I've told Xander to keep it cool initially, so there's no talking between them. For this shoot I've also gotten a boom boy and a cameraman, so I'm free to only direct.

First I have them mount the dirt bikes, some cheap 125cc ones we got that look aggressive with lots of open space, black mechanical parts, and the rest in striking green for one and blue for the other. Then they ride out a bit, turn around, and we start rolling. They ride into the garage, kill the motors, and dismount. Then they do a bit of teasing each other, while they remove more and more gear. Googles, gloves, helmet, shirt.

He's too into looking Xander's naked chest up and down to notice he is hairless and bronzed. They play a bit until Xander pushes him onto the flatbed with rugs and crap on it. I cut and before we continue with the sex part we need to set up the fixed cameras we cut between. With Xander on break and the rest of the crew rigging I walk up to him and tell him he was great. Then I push him every so slightly on the abdomen and a small amount of oil leaks out of his pores, covering him with a glistening sheen that makes the muscles pop in the light. It'll lock him into that greasy twink look we've been looking for.

[th3w00ds]

Sharper Headcanons

Sharper's a regular human

Although now, due to an experiment gone wrong, he got his arms and his legs replaced with a mix of metal and his own flesh, basically prosthetics

Very advanced ones, as he's a scientist and inventor and made them himself

He can feel through them, and they usually look exactly like regular limbs

That stays true even if others touch them, though you could probably feel the wires and circuitry in his arms/legs if you pressed down hard enough

Even though they do have machinery in them, they do still have human flesh and tissues

Hence in Take Me Anywhere where his body and the wires/circuits seem to be one whenever he's injured

Because, well, they are one

Sharper has a tendency to get hurt on accident a whole lot

That damages his prosthetics and exposes the circuitry underneath them

Which to him hurts just as much as a wound of whatever caliber it is would hurt to a normal human

A master at inventing and chemistry

In fact, once he had a whole company

It was called Sharper Industries. He unfortunately shut down his company after getting very addicted to his own invention: The Sharper Industries Immersion Tube, and the Hallucina-Puff Memory Gas that allowed the tube to work

Sharper hadn't completely made sure that the Memory Gas was perfected before he started producing and selling the Immersion Tube to the public, hence the "Excessive exposure to HPMG may damage some to all brain function" warning on the product

The reason Sharper got so addicted to it was after his ex-girlfriend, Jessica (whom he was on good terms with before her passing) died in a car crash during a storm while going to visit her family

Sharper, even with all his life-altering and potentially life-saving inventions, couldn't save her

Due to all his guilt about the accident and his belief that he could've done something to change it, he obsessively enters an Immersion Tube that he had installed at his home

Just to see her again

Over and over and over and over

Sharper couldn't stop thinking about Jessica and what he could've done to help her, even if he was the head of a wealthy company and, by all accounts from everyone around him, "needed to move on," Sharper couldn't

Not yet

His addiction to the Immersion Tube ended up nearly killing him

Sharper realized this due to his worsening health, worsening immune system, extreme memory issues, frequent migraines, flashbacks, and emotional instability

So he stopped using his Immersion Tube, and shut down his company. At the time it was just an extended leave, but without their founder, the company started to fall into disrepair quickly

By the time we see him in Take Me Anywhere, he's gotten over the majority of his addiction to HPMG

Although Sharper still goes occasionally have withdrawal (I have no idea if this is how addiction works so if I get anything wrong I apologize)

What Sharper hasn't gotten over however is Jessica and her death

At that time, he is now attempting to create a "perfect version" of HPMG in his personal lab

Well

More abandoned warehouse which Sharper has repurposed into his home and current laboratory

Yeah he just kind of found it abandoned, moved his stuff in, and was like "Alright this is my home now, I can conduct my research without interruption!"

Sharper hasn't gotten extraordinarily far in his perfect HPMG research, but has certainly made lots of progress

There was an unexpected side effect of one of his test versions of his altered HPMG

When he took it, all the injuries he had at the time were healed immediately

No matter the severity

While it worked wonders for physical injuries, it didn't work so well for mental ones

He is very, very determined to get there one day, to the perfect version. If not for him, then for Jessica

@nwtbobsessedemo @bondoes-art @themoonisrotting @colourfulmes @nightshade-error @flaming-dolph16

[greenninjagal-blog]

Smoke and Mirrors

Hi :D Who's ready for this monster? Welcome to my Big Bang for this year! Special thank you to @tss_storytime for putting this together and giving me the opportunity and @dragonsarecats for being my amazing fantastic artist partner who created this cover art!

Summary: Roman and Remus don't have and never have had reflections. Logan has been betrayed by someone, but he’s not sure who. Patton's been dead for sixteen years and counting.

Somehow, all of these things are related.

Words: 3637

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Master List

“I’m just saying—” Remus says, almost sounding excited at this new revelation of his, “—the next step would definitely be an apartment building! Think about it, Roman!”

“I am thinking about it,” Roman says, tiredly. “I don’t want to be thinking about it, but I am.”

“So many people live there, you know? There’s, what, sixty units in your building, right? At least twenty of them have got to be families with little brats, then old people with their pets, other college students with friends over. On a Friday like today there’s got to be, like, over two hundred people. And then you have the narrow staircases, which Grandma and Grandpop can’t get down in a timely manner, and I bet with all the mold in the walls—”

“Remus,” Roman says, tilting his phone so that the microphone clearly picks up on how incredibly not-amused he is with the conversation.

“...the elevator is basically already on its last legs. Remember how it shook when I jumped in it last time?”

Roman remembers it really well actually, probably better than Remus, since Roman actually has a healthy dose of self preservation. Remus had just been finishing laughing his nasally, crackling chortle when the elevator doors opened again finally on Roman’s floor, and the sight of the bruising on Roman’s face when he saw him again was enough to set him off periodically throughout the rest of his three hour stay. 

Still, Roman knows that Remus has a point. Not that he’s going to admit it before he’s actually in a casket, because Remus would never let him live it down.

Roman side steps out of the way of a cyclist who seems to think the whole sidewalk belongs to them, and readjusts the strap of his bag on his shoulder that is currently cutting off the circulation to his fingertips. The city isn’t entirely busy, nor the weather too terrible, but Roman is regretting choosing to do the hike back to his apartment building. His knockoff vans are hella cute today, but they were not made for long distance walking, and there’s a rock in his left one that he hasn’t managed to get out no matter how many times he’s stopped to take it off and shake.

“I’m just saying,” Remus repeats, “If I were—” 

“I hate to be the voice of reason here,” Roman says, “but you are not a serial arsonist, Remus!” 

“I could be. You don’t know everything I do in my free time.”

“You don’t have time to be an arsonist. Between all your comic deadlines and the various licenses you have accrued, you don’t spend enough time on this plane of Earth in order to have set fire to anything other than your toaster,” Roman rolls his eyes. “And that’s only when you remember to eat, Rem.” 

Remus blows a raspberry back at him directly into the receiver so that Roman can hear exactly how wet it is and cringe away from it. 

Remus had a talent for getting himself into trouble and trying new things that skirted the edge of legality, but he’d given up fires back when they were tweens. Whoever or whatever was doing it now seemed to be doing it with much more intention: a rental car in a half full parking garage, an abandoned warehouse in the industrial area already set to be demolished, a newly built, still for-sale two-story house in the suburbs (casualty: one, injured six). The most recent event had been two days ago when a department store nearly exploded right as it was closing, killing two employees, three customers, and a firefighter and injuring far more. The fires were slowly getting bigger and gaining more traction, as if gearing up for a grand finale and the news hadn’t been taking it easy.

The police and the FBI were apparently hot-on-the-case and the tip number line was almost engraved into Roman’s retinas from how it was plastered all over the place, begging for Cyra City civilians to stay aware, keep a close eye on things, and report anything that seemed suspicious.

So far no actual details about the whole thing had been made public (on the very valid worry of copycats), but the lack of information had left people far more options to gossip about it. So far Roman’s physical chemistry class was split between it being a handful of rowdy teenagers “rebelling” and it being a serial murderer winding up for an enmasse attack that would go down in history along with the “greats”. Most of the stores had started selling mini fire extinguishers in the checkout lines and Roman’s mom had called last week to see if he had already bought himself one, and Roman wasn’t embarrassed until he answered yes.

But Remus already knows all that, and had texted him a string of mocking emojis until Roman had asked if he should sell it. 

It’s currently sitting in his apartment next to his bed, in easy access if he spontaneously catches fire while sleeping. ((His last hook up had called him prepared, and well… Roman had been eager to show the guy just how prepared he was.))

Luckily, his beloved apartment building is around the corner and he can feel his second wind coming at even the thought of taking his shoes off and collapsing face first into his bed. He starts patting through his pockets for his keys, stalling his walk behind two older women in jogging outfits, and switches his phone to his other hand so he can check through his bag frustratedly. He’s found at least three chapsticks he thought he lost months ago, and his extra hairbrush, and about twenty seven receipts (one of which has the number of the cute barista and he makes a mental note to put that in his phone later). There’s a crumpled flier for some niche religious group that that Roman accepted partially because the guy handing them out looked a bit desperate for interaction, but mostly because they were outside of the boutique Roman likes, blocking the entrance. He tosses that one in the nearby trash can as he walks by.

Roman pins his phone between his cheek and his shoulder, using both hands to sift through his bag. His brain tumbles through the previous conversation trying to remember what they were talking about. 

“Did you eat today?”

“Huh?” Remus says, which is a Remusian for ‘What day is it?’ “Hey, how many people do you think I could murder and get away with?”

“Remus.”

“Probably like fifteen right? At least to start. Once I figured out how to do it. Gasoline and a lighter and I could probably get a full apartment building—”

“Honestly, going from no murder, to a few murders, to about a hundred is an insane jump. Even for you.”

“Well it wouldn’t be a full hundred. At least a few people would get out, right? Unless I barricaded the front doors, or like… chain-and-padlock-ed it closed.”

“The point still stands that— and I can’t believe you’re making me argue this— you didn’t set those fires and you aren’t going to set them in the future!”

Remus makes a disagreeable tone and Roman smiles graciously at the women nearby who probably just overheard that whole conversation and might call the police on him for it later. Lovely. He turns away quickly leaning into his phone.

“In fact, right now I bet I can guess exactly what you are doing!” Roman continues. “Sitting in your drawing chair, with both your computer monitors on. The left one has the sketches for the next page of your comic, half lined, and the right one has the character sheets for Anton and Pryce and the Dragon Witch. Your drawing pad is in front of you, and you’re spinning your pen in your hand aimlessly while we talk, and everything is the same way it was this morning.”

“You forgot the part where there’s a super hot stripper giving me a blowjob right now,” Remus says with the tell-tale clack of him putting down his digital art pen, which is as good as him admitting to it all. Roman pauses just enough to roll his eyes so hard he’s certain that Remus gets the vibe from his own apartment.

“Damnit,” he huffs, checking his pockets again. “Why can’t I find anything today?”

“Are you still looking for that compact mirror?” 

“Keys, now,” Roman says. “But I swear I had that mirror this morning when I left the apartment. I was late because I was cleaning it!”

Or well. Because he was trying to put on makeup via guesswork, but he didn’t need Remus knowing that was the real reason. 

“You know you could have made the jump with the right angle at the windows in your fancy science school, right? No one would even have noticed. All too busy being boring lame losers with no life, just like you.”

“I don’t like traveling without another mirror.”

“Um, hello? Phone screen!”

“I’m not going to leave my phone behin— found it!” 

“The mirror?”

“My keys,” Roman twists his keychain around his hand, and waves at the other college students loitering at the corner before he heads towards the entrance to his apartment building. “Look, Remus—”

“Yeah, yeah, homework, physics, blah blah blah, you’re not getting laid, blah blah—”

“Between the two of us, who walked in on the other in the middle of—”

“Between the two of us who forgot to return my copy of 2005′s Just Like Heaven and made me come get it myself?”

"You didn’t even like it!"

"I don’t like you either," Remus says. "And jeez for someone who looks exactly like me there are some startling fucking differences. Like length—”

“Tony didn’t have a problem with it.”

“I thought his name was Kyle?”

Roman frowns, pulling his key out of the door and catching it with his knee, thinking that night over. “No. He was definitely a Tony. His hair was… you know, Tony hair!”

“The fact that you had to rely on his hair is sad,” Remus states. “You get how that’s sad, right?”

“I’m hanging up—”

“Wait, wait! Just… you’re sure that…you’re not going to, like… burnaliveinafire?”

Roman blinks, and swallows back the ridiculous amount of softness that appeared out of nowhere, and hits like a sucker punch right through his ribcage in a way that is so very Remus.

“I’m not going to burn alive in a fire,” Roman says.

“… promise to jump over the second anything looks sketchy."

"There's, like, nine other apartment buildings and two hotels within walking distance! And like ten others around this district in the city!" Roman says, just short of whining because inside the building there are people who recognize him and he does not need them thinking all he does is whine and complain. At least the air conditioning in the lobby is running, offering relief from the horrible ten minute walk he was forced to endure. He does not get how normal people do this, all the time, every day!

"Fourteen, actually. I looked it up this morning and I don’t need your fancy math degree to know that’s a one in twenty-five chance. That’s a non-zero percentage," Remus counters, with that mocking tone that borders on awe because even after all this time he can’t imagine how Roman had gone from center stage to knee deep in calculus problems, willingly. He’d only made the mistake of asking Roman once, and since then both of them pretend that Roman had always dreamed of solving differentials. 

“It will take hours to find something that’s close to your apartment,” Roman says instead.

“At least you’ll be alive,” Remus says.

“Fine, fine….are you still wearing those dog tags?”

Remus makes an affirmative noise and Roman sighs. They had been polished relics of their childhood: something their parents had insisted that they have at all times for emergencies and that Roman and Remus had complained about endlessly. They hadn’t been allowed phones until they were nearly twelve years old because every argument of “we need it for emergencies” was countered by “you have necklaces that allow you to travel miles in a handful of inches”.

"And don’t use the elevators at all,” Remus adds. “I’m serious about this. They’re deathtraps in a fire. I’ll come over there and hide all your mascara.”

"Yeah, yeah," Roman stifles a yawn. "And if something happens, meet at that ugly gas station at the state border between us, don’t tell anyone where we are going, and don’t accept any rides from strangers."

"Don’t make me sound like Mom."

"Nag me a little less."

"Bitch."

"Dick."

"Dork."

"Geek."

"Loser."

"Dumbass," Roman says, far more affectionately than he meant it to come out as, and so he clears his throat quickly and he heads towards the elevator. “I’m hanging up now. Remember to eat something and I’ll see you in two days.”

“Two days? What’s.... ah, fuck me,” Remus says. There’s a loud creak of leather and Roman imagines Remus throwing all his weight back in his chair and staring at the ceiling as if he’s personally challenging fate itself. He breathes out heavily in a way that ironically mirrors how Roman’s own bones feel at the realization.

“Another year,” he says.

((He does not ask if Roman ever thinks it will get easier to bear. Roman does not answer him that no it probably won’t ever. It doesn’t make either of them feel better.))

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Roman says, forcibly shoving away the deary aura that descended on them as easily as he could. If he takes a breath and swallows away the lump in his throat he could pretend that they were talking about visiting each other for a birthday celebration.

He might not ever get to be an actor, but he’d always had a passion for acting. Is it any wonder? When he’s playing a part, he can shed the skin of a no-named nobody from somewhere so remote no one thinks it's a real place, and he can be someone with a name standing on center stage.

Roman breathes out so heavily that he almost misses Remus’s quick response.

“I already attempted to swan dive off the roof into a spoon today,” his twin says, flippantly. “Bruised my eye and split my lip and probably broke my collar bone.”

“Wait, what—” 

“Later, Prince Charmless.”

“Remus, you did what?!”

But by then he’s talking to the end call screen on his phone, staring into the picture of the flaming dumpster that he used as a profile picture for his idiot brother, with his heart racing. Logically, he knows that Remus is joking.

Probably.

Uh, maybe? 

Roman suddenly remembers a lot of leaping off the backyard shed until Dad came out screaming at them red in the face with worry, followed by tag games that ended with a leap through a window wrong and three hours worth of sitting still to get the glass shards pulled out of his arms, and then racing through the upstairs hall to jump the stair railing into the strategically placed hand mirror to make it to school on time.

In all honesty, Roman bets that Remus did try it, as part of a morning routine that their parents hadn’t been able to beg out of him. One would think the first time the jagged edges of a break had shredded his skin, Remus would have learned to be more careful, but somehow it seemed that Remus had fallen in love with webbed cracks in his mirror.

Roman sighs, placing his phone into his pocket. And then he presses the elevator button and leans against the wall next to the panel to take off his shoe and look for that stupid rock again. 

His keys jangle in his other hand, annoyingly loud in the otherwise still entrance alcove. It’s times like these that he can appreciate that most of his neighbors dislike the other people in the building and therefore make extra effort to not be caught outside.

The only person Roman really ever has to worry about is the guy on the third floor who he thinks might be a weed dealer and is constantly hinting at giving Roman a first time discount. Great guy, really! He just always manages to catch Roman right next to a reflective surface. It’s pure coincidence that he hasn’t noticed yet.

The elevator dings and the doors roll open with a gentle rumble that does not betray any of the unreliability of its innerworkings. Every other week it’s out of order and Roman’s pretty sure at least 80% of the building has complained to the owners about it, but the solutions never last more than another few days.

Roman doesn’t even usually take the elevator! But the walk was long, and he lives on the top floor, and serial arsonists aren’t going to set fire to his apartment building in the two minutes it will take to get to his floor. 

It’s fine.

Roman slides on his shoe and hobbles into the elevator, breathing in the musty stench that smells like it’s coming from the corpses that might be buried under the building. Part of Roman entertains the idea that ghosts haunt only the elevator, sadly floating around and gaining their small enjoyments from watching people get stuck in between floors when it inevitably breaks.

Roman hasn’t done anything to annoy the spirits recently, at least to his knowledge, so he should be okay. 

He leans back against the railing just in case though.

It takes another long moment for the elevators to start closing again; definitely long enough that Roman gets the impression that he shouldn’t have gotten on at all. The longer it stays open the more likely it is for someone else to suddenly show up and want to get on as well. There are only about three things Roman can think of that are worse than being in an enclosed space, with a stranger, while his compact mirror is MIA. 

Last time something like that happened, the other person got agitated enough that Roman had seriously thought they were going to attack him. Roman knows he’s unsettling to be around; it’s not simple to catch what is off about him at first, but most human brains can pick up that something is distinctly wrong. Knowing something’s wrong with a situation, but not being sure what and being trapped in a small compartment without a sure way to defend yourself? Yeah that’s a recipe for disaster. 

Across the alcove, the door to the stairwell opens just in time for Roman’s heart to leap right into his throat: his brain screaming that oh hey! People to join you inside your small box that Remus just told you not to get into! Even when it wouldn’t make any sense to go down the stairs just to take the elevator back up.

There’s three of them, all dressed in the very uniform pest control jumpsuits that make Roman’s insides shrivel slightly. He’d been meticulous about keeping his apartment clean and if he saw a single cockroach, Roman would be turning into the next arsonist, no other incitations required.

They’re all carrying various equipment items: a thick duffle back with the pest control logo (an ant ironically burning under a magnifying glass), a bulky backpack that nearly doesn’t fit through the doorway, and a thick leather briefcase that seems out of place. The first guy is saying something in a language Roman doesn’t recognize, with a smile on his face that is very charming, despite him being at least a decade older than Roman, as he holds the door open for the others. The second rolls her eyes, tugging the brim of her hat lower over her head.

The third has a scar from running from the middle of his left cheek all the way down his face to his neck in a way that barely seems more than a few months healed. When he makes direct eye contact with Roman, the man’s thin lips twisting into a grin, like he knows how fast Roman’s heart is beating at the sight of him. He waves and Roman catches sight of a cheap industrial bike lock in his other hand.

Please please please, don’t suddenly realize that needs to go back upstairs, please don’t get in here, pleasedonotcomecloser—

But in the end the doors close fitfully, locking out that man and his smile and his friends, and Roman sags against the railing. He presses a hand to his chest trying to regulate his panicked heartbeast back to something manageable and sustainable. 

Say what you will about Remus, but he knows best how to make Roman paranoid for the rest of the day.

The gears shudder, and the mechanical whirl of the elevator fills the whole area as it begins its ascent. Roman pulls out his phone again, swiping through the notifications that he accrued during the walk. A few responses to his Snap Chats streaks, three emails (two junk and one from a classmate asking about studying together for the test, which would be great, if Roman hadn’t already turned her down twice), a reminder to play one of his mindless phone games, and something must have happened in the group chat he has on instagram with a few other Math majors. Roman double taps the notification and swipes in his passcode (it’s an R, it’s always been an R. Remus has been able to hack into his phone since they were eleven, but Roman is horribly, secretly afraid that if he changes it now, he’ll forget it by tomorrow). 

The elevator shudders. 

And somewhere, distantly, Roman thinks he smells smoke.

[Next Chapter? Find it on Ao3 now!]

[xylaes]

August DWC 2024 Day 5 - Mistake

Xylaes couldn’t help the overwhelming feeling of disappointment after learning that Garren didn’t wish to be a part of the mercenary crew anymore. Truth be told, he expected it. The two didn’t exactly have the best father-son relationship, and he didn’t make many friends among the crew. Why would he want to be around people he didn’t like when there was another, better choice?

Garren deserved some peace in his life for once, and staying in Bel’ameth kept him safe and hopefully away from danger. He had his own home, new friends, and a new life, and Xylaes was truly happy for him. They didn’t spend as much time together as he would have preferred, but it was at least a work in progress. He didn’t expect forgiveness anytime soon, if at all, but he would at least try his best not to make any further mistakes and respect Garren’s choice. But the offer was open should he change his mind, Talonoa made that clear given their relationship.

There were some parts of Xylaes that didn’t want to return either. He had a great thing going with Ouro and made more gold helping him than he had anywhere else. However, there was still a part of him that craved that military-like environment, with practices that were much more legal than what he had been doing on the side. It was good to keep up appearances. Mercenary work under a reputable leader and maintaining his host duties for The Red Moon kept prying eyes and ears away.

There were other, just as complicated reasons as well that he wasn’t sure would ever be resolved at this point. How strange it was to be so distant from a person you were once so close with, only to be forced back together - and probably quite soon at that. He had considered reaching out to Fio, he was the one that had initiated the space after all, so the ball was metaphorically  in his court. Yet so much had changed for the both of them in the time in between, and he wasn’t entirely sure that the ball was still in any court. It felt different, he felt different. Something to face at some future point in time, no doubt. There was no use speculating now.

He dropped his cigarette on the ground, toeing out the cherry before joining Ouro inside one of his giant warehouses filled with weaponry sold to military and mercenary alike. Business had certainly been booming lately. “What do you need me to do?”

Ouro spread his arms open and stepped forward, flashing Xy an uncharacteristically friendly grin. “I want you to pick whatever you want, free of charge. You’ve earned it, and it seems as if you’ll be needing it soon.”

Pollux had warned him of Ouro’s temper and mood swings, yet Xylaes had yet to see something he didn’t understand or couldn’t handle. Or perhaps it was because the two were so alike in many ways that they found it easier to get along. Xylaes stared at him for a moment, before turning his gaze to the largest collection of weapons and ammunition he had ever seen in his life. He was well overdue for some upgrades, and right now he felt like a kid in a candy store. 

Mentions: @garrennorassin @fio-renze @talonoa @ouroandar

@daily-writing-challenge

[iztarshi]

Day 1: Helpless

“I wouldn’t have expected that to affect Shredder,” Donatello says thoughtfully. “Bebop and Rocksteady, obviously, but Shredder was already human.”

“We knew it wasn’t retromutagen, or we’d be turtles right now,” Leonardo answers. “I suppose there’s no reason it would only affect mutants.”

“I wonder whether we’d have been better off as turtles,” Donatello says. “According to Krang it’s going to wear off in twenty-four hours, swimming around with empty heads could have been a nice break.”

“No way, dude! Check us out, we are ready to party,” Michelangelo puts in, spinning enthusiastically to show off his hawaiin shirt.

“Then again, some of us always have empty heads,” says Raphael. Personally he is not happy about this at all, although probably happier than he’d be if he was a turtle right now. If there’s anything he’s thankful for it’s that they were still in disguise when Bebop and Rocksteady messed up and flooded the warehouse with whatever that stuff was. He feels quite exposed enough without his nice, friendly shell wrapped around him without literally being naked. When he lifts his hand he can see five pale brown fingers, thin and fragile. It’s weird.

“But, like, we gotta take advantage of this,” Michelangelo is continuing. “Shredhead’s already vanquished for the day, April’s not stalking any gangs, we’re not gonna explode… right?”

“As far as I know,” Donatello says.

“Donatello, you are so reassuring,” Raphael tells him. Right, Michelangelo’s been human before. He even fought as a human. The thought sends shivers down Raphael’s spine and he can feel his spine, the sensation of it pressing against his skin with all the hairs above it on end. If a villain threw him into a wall right now it would be right there. On the surface. With all his nerves wrapped around it. He backs casually into a wall.

“I hope April’s not in any trouble. We’re not much use to anyone right now,” Leonardo says. He unsheathes a sword and looks concerned when his hand’s grip leaves its point wavering and askew. “We should train.”

“Why?” asks Donatello. “By the time we’ve relearned our weapons in new bodies it will have worn off.”

“Yeah!” Michelangelo says, grabbing Leonardo’s arm and leaning up into his face. “Let’s just take our minds off it. I know where there’s a concert.”

“Well… I guess there’s not really anything else we can do…” Leonardo says, in the hesitating tone he uses when he knows they shouldn’t really stop for pizza but is going to be persuaded anyway. “And it would be interesting to see how people treat us when we’re not turtles.”

“We’re still turtles,” says Donatello. “Underneath.”

“Come on, compadres, let’s party.” Michelangelo grabs Leonardo to solidify his agreement and pulls him out of the warehouse. Donatello follows them and, after a moment to peel himself off the wall, so does Raphael.

Outside the warehouse there’s a chill wind blowing through the evening streets. There’s also Donatello, starting at his arms in fascination.

“What, did it just hit you you’re not green?” Raphael puts a hand on Donatello’s shoulder and tries to ignore the give under the cloth of his shirt instead of the leathery resistance of scales.

“My hairs are standing on end,” Donatello says. “Gooseflesh. Which is an odd name for such a mammallian experience.”

“Weird. You’d think humans would react less to cold than we do,” Raphael says.

“Well, I’m sure we haven’t been fully cold-blooded since our mutation. But humans do generally handle cold better than we do, this is just one of the ways their body does handle cold.”

“Dudes, forget the science lesson,” Michelangelo calls.

There aren’t many people on the street which is good because Raphael’s struggling not to flinch every time they pass one. This is stupid, he’s not this nervous when they’re in disguise, tonight they’re normal humans and have nothing to fear except… muggers. This is New York. When he’s in disguise he’s still a turtle underneath, not in the way Donatello says they still are, but in the far more reassuring way that means someone hitting him will find him unexpectedly hard.

A man in a long coat pushes past them, shoving Donatello — distracted by the streetlamps coming on this time — almost into a wall. Raphael grabs him before he can hit it and then wonders why his heart is beating so fast. He’s seen April shoved into walls before. He’s acting like humans are made of tissue paper.

He yanks Donatello to his feet and yells, “Hey! We’re walking here!” after the human’s retreating back.

“Are you all right?” Leonardo asks, coming back to look Donatello over with an anxiety that makes Raphael feel a bit better about his own reaction. “What were you hanging back for?”

“I was trying to make notes on whether the colours look different,” Donatello says, sheepishly. “But I don’t know.”

They set off again with Michelangelo still leading but Leonardo now following behind them like a sheepdog. Raphael tells himself not much can happen under the eye of their fearless leader and tries to relax.

“Guess we’d better get used to that happening,” Raphael mutters. “Since I don’t suppose we’re going to a nice classical concert with nice cosy chairs instead of the kind of concert where we’ll be squished by a million humans.”

“Put a sock in it, wouldja?” Michelangelo says, stopping to scowl at him. “How often do we get the chance to mingle?”

“Maybe I don’t want to mingle. Maybe I just want my shell.” Which would have sounded like typical Raphael grumbling if his voice hadn’t gone rather squeaky on the last word.

Michelangelo’s expression softens and he glances uncertainly at Leonardo who says, “Let’s go home.”

“But -” Michelangelo says, crestfallen.

“I’m not saying we have to stay there. We can have a break and a snack, maybe change into something more appropriate for a concert.”

“If we’re going to mingle with humans we shouldn’t really be carrying weapons,” Donatello puts in.

Leonardo looks like he regrets saying anything about changing before valiantly continuing with, “Exactly. Let’s go.”

Leonardo’s leading this time, so Michelangelo falls back to the rear and surprises Raphael by wrapping his arms around his back from behind. He can feel his spine relaxing with the warm, heavy buffer of Michelangelo between it and the world and gives Michelangelo’s arm a grateful pat.

It’s pretty sad that for once Raphael has the chance to go anywhere he wants without issue and instead he’s glad to be back in the sewers. Home, sweet home.

In the disguise room, Raphael grabs for a leather jacket. Leather’s tough, not the way his shell is, but at least the way his skin normally is. Donatello starts looking at leather, too, while Michelangelo, apparently happy in his hawaiin shirt, goes to fetch them snacks. Leonardo follows him out maybe to help, maybe to put his swords away and kiss them goodbye.

Looks like it’s neither, though, since Leonardo returns with a large square of something that looks like very shiny plastic with chicken wire embedded in it and starts rummaging through their backpacks.

“That’s my experimental steecrylic,” Donatello says, reproachfully.

“I’m just borrowing it,” says Leonardo, finding a backpack it will fit in and coming over to loop it over Raphael’s shoulders. “It’s really tough. I smacked it with my sword hilt and it didn’t affect it at all.”

“How many things in my lab did you test by hitting them?” Donatello demands, before leaving to see for himself.

Raphael reaches around to knock on the steecrylic. It’s pretty solid and, yeah, he does feel better for having it there. “Could do with some cushioning,” he says, taking it off to tuck a few shirts into the backpack around it. Leonardo smiles at him way too fondly and he ducks practically behind the backpack to hide from it.

Michelangelo enters the room with — what else? — pizza and and asks. “Are we good to go once we’ve eaten?”

“Yeah,” Raphael says. “Let’s mingle.”

[cat-eared-dollwitch]

[My name is Molniya. I ripped this free from our head.]

The impending assault on our position weighed heavy on my mind. Too many civilians. Too many injured. If the enemy sent in anything resembling a trench-jumper squad or larger, I didn’t think the four regulars and I would be able to stop them all.

I stood still for a moment. I could utilize… unconventional combat tactics to draw their attention. A blur of white and olive drab ripping bloody red holes in their line would certainly give them some pause. I looked down at the rifle in my hands, lost in thought. Then after a few seconds of contemplation, I checked the magazine and chamber.

I looked towards the woman who looked to be the impromptu leader for the mass of terrified and bleeding people. She was at the main door to the half-collapsed warehouse, watching the road like a hawk. She was pretty in that sort of way you would think of a sunset as. Like a technicolor sky, right before the world started to go to sleep. She had to be pushing her fifties, if the crows feet at the edges of her tired eyes were any indication. I called out to her, my voice raspy from slight disuse.

“Doorkeeper.”

She tore her eyes away from her watch. “Yes?” she responded, focusing on me with a frown. “They send them off younger every day, don’t they...” she mumbled to herself.

“Do you know how to handle a rifle?” I asked, ignoring the silent quip.

“I was in the last war, girl. I know my way around.” the sunset of a woman told me.

That was all I needed to hear. “Kill anything that comes within 50 yards. We’ll handle the rest.” I offered her my rifle. She took it in her slightly less calloused hands with a look of confusion.

She cleared her throat. “I’m fairly certain you’ll get more use out of this thing than me.” she told me.

I broke eye contact to look down the road she had been watching. “Too heavy. It’ll slow me down.”

“Darling, you’re gonna get yourself killed.” she said, worry more than just creeping into her voice. I looked back at her again.

“I will be fine,” I said with whatever confidence I could pull together. “I was never the best shot anyway.” Then, I gave her the closest thing I could approximate to a wink.

She simply blinked at me, then shifted the gifted rifle into the crook of her arm, checked the chamber, then racked the slide.

“Just… be smart, kid.” she mumbled, shifting her eyes back to the road.

I gave her a nod, unbuckling my ammo belt and handing it to her as well. “I will try.” I said, giving what I hoped would be interpreted as a meaningful look. Then I turned away and started walking towards the road. Towards the enemy.

“The names Madiha, kid,” she said, then cleared her throat. “What’s yours?”

I answered. “L.M.S.—077”

“I’m not calling you ‘Seven-Seven’.” Madiha said.

I turned back to her, slowing my pace but not stopping. “Why not?”

She frowned again. “I know you have a name. All the enhanced soldiers I knew had names.”

“I—“ I stopped myself for some reason, my feet staying grounded. I felt.. bashful? No. Maybe? I couldn’t be the judge anyway. I huffed out a breath of air. “My name is Molniya.” I said, looking away.

The older woman chucked, genuine amusement breaking through her exhausted demeanor. “Well. Lieutenant Molniya, it’s nice to meet you.” She paused. “Be smart about it, but go give ‘em hell.” she told me. The way she spoke made me feel that she was intensely aware of the circumstances. She knew there was only one way out. I could appreciate that.

“I will, ma’am.” was all I could manage, then continued my march.

“And make sure you stay alive.” she shouted to me once I hit the road itself.

I didn’t reply. I simply kept walking.

[25origami]

Lore on Beedabop

I think it's official: Ever since we did Heat Waves, every one of us secretly wanted some lore for Beedabop. Well, official lore I might not have, but I do have some pretty neat fanlore for the little dude!

Beedabop's real name is B33-D-B0P and he originally was just a construction worker, providing extra muscle for moving heavy things. Then, he was sent to go grab some extra supplies at one of his company's old warehouses in Wasterra. To help him on the journey, one of the mechanics gave him a built-in set of speakers so he could play music all the way there to keep his energy up.

However, when Beedabop made it out all the way to Wasterra, he ran into a problem. As Dancity, the Danceverse he's from, didn't have too many hot days, he didn't have extra solar-plating to keep him from overheating. And unfortunately, he got a little too hot and that caused his battery to drain quicker than it should. Right when Beedabop got to the supplies and was gearing up to take them back (And mind you, he didn't KNOW his battery was dying on him), he went into low-power mode and fell asleep where he stood.

And for all we know, that could have very well been the end of him, had it not been for a little unexpected help. Discoball, for whatever reason, happened to be a-whizzing through Wasterra on a little trip for fun when he flew by the warehouse and saw Beedabop all sad and asleep.

He decided to give the robot a second chance. Running to go find Fix (Built For This's coach, and YES, that name is confirmed canon!), the two went back to Wasterra and helped to fix Beedabop back up again! Discoball even set a little bit of Flow coursing into the robot's system, providing that little bit of extra personality that Beedabop is now known for! And, Fix let Beedabop come work with her at her shop, so now he gets to help repair other robots as well!

So yeah, there you have it people, my unofficial fanlore for Beedabop! Feel free to share your thoughts AND... I would LOVELOVELOVE some more Just Dance characters I can do more of these Lore Drops for! So please, provide the suggestions and I'll see what I can do!

Also... pssst @lyndexv I did promise you this, so I figured I'd tag you.