#angst

[maxivstappen]

𝐅𝟏 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔

featuring ; max verstappen , lando norris , oscar piastri , charles leclerc , carlos sainz , lewis hamilton , george russel , daniel ricciardo , franco colapinto

🎙️:: a maxivstappen post ?? in 2025 ??? what’s going on

ANGST | MASTERLIST | TEXT MASTERLIST

🎙️:: reblogs are heavily appreciated as always, thanks for reading !

[jaggedamethyst]

not in that way (part two)

bucky barnes x fwb!reader

content: as both of your best friends, steve tries to get you and bucky to bond

warnings: 18+ minors dni, smut in an elevator, fingering (r!receiving), discreet, mutual pining, angst, not proofread I'm lazy and tired

notes: thank you guys for the response to the first part...what the fuck?? everything i write for bucky goes insane and i didn't think people wanted more but i got too many messages not to keep writing for him.

ps: wanted to post this tonight… so it may not be seamless, but i will edit when im fully awake bc im half asleep dn

series master list

。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆　 。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆

The next time you saw Bucky was the following day. He was seated next to Steve as the pair of them lounged in the grass at a park near your house. Steve and you came here a lot—him making a reason to escape Avengers duty and you simply being within walking distance. 

“Hi.” You offered an awkward wave to the men, sitting down on the throw blanket they’d laid in the grass. 

While Steve greeted you Bucky hardly acknowledged your presence, averting his eyes to watch his friend next to him. Steve dug into a bag beside him and pulled out a few small notebooks. One of them was noticeably more worn; you recognized it as his own sketchbook. 

In his free time since being off ice, Steve found solace in drawing the world around him. Between each image would linger small lists of to-dos, figures of speech he had to know, and bucket list items he hoped to complete one day. He was almost finished with this one, keeping it on him to use at his leisure. He wanted to offer the experience to you both as well, his best friends. 

“I got you these,” Steve passed you and Bucky each a book. “I also have some of my favorite pencils here.” He grabbed a handful and let them fall in front of you. “Whenever I’m feeling...overwhelmed or anxious I just,” he exhaled a deep breath, “I just put something in here. It helps.” 

You and Bucky watched him intently, nodding at his explanation. 

He continued, “We don’t have to talk—you guys don’t have to…but maybe we could just do this together?” 

“I’d like that.” You spoke first, grabbing a few of the pencils and an eraser. 

“Me too.” 

Bucky spoke. It was low and filled with apprehension, like he was testing the waters of what it was like to use his own voice. You whipped your head to him at the sound, arching your brow as his covered hands reached for a book and pencil. He sat for a while, though, just looking between you and Steve without putting anything down. 

As time passed you chuckled at your paper a bit, drawing a rough picture of Steve’s concentrated face. He was quite fond of birds, you realized, and he would often draw them. Their presence was fleeting and he loved that challenge, the idea that one moment they could be here and the next gone. It was similar to life in that way, how the people he loved most would be with him and then not. 

The greatest joys of his life were when a bird would return, perched on the ground in front of him. He found that his life in particular was like that. Just when he thought Bucky was gone, he came back. He was able to finish his drawing now, and you were an amazing addition to the artwork. 

“So,” Steve clasped his hands together, “Who wants to show theirs off?” 

You perked up and excitedly flipped your with a laugh, pointing to Steve’s upturned face in the sketch. 

He immediately laughed and snatched your book, eyeing the scratch before looking up at you. “No way we sat here for an hour and you drew me in your book.” 

“Believe it,” you shrugged, “I’m an artist.” 

Steve scoffed playfully before tossing the book back to you with a light underhand throw. “What about you, Buck?” 

He’d been into it by then. You weren’t sure when he started to actually draw but he wouldn’t look away. His brows were pinched and he pulled at the inner skin of his cheek in concentration. You and Steve exchanged a look when he didn’t reply. 

Steve outstretched a hand toward the book, “Bucky-“ The harsh movement of Bucky pulling his work back toward his chest cut Steve off—he held his hands up in a surrender. “Sorry, buddy. You okay?” 

“I’m good just…got kind of invested.” 

You nodded, observing the way Bucky still clutched the book. “It’s really relaxing Steve. This was a great idea. Right, Bucky?” 

“Right.” He looked between you and Steve before closing the small book and tucking it into his jacket’s inner pocket. He moved to stand suddenly backing toward the road, “I’ll be in the car when you guys are done.” 

He was always like this, pushed people away.

Steve looked to you when Bucky was out of earshot. “Did I say something?” The look on his face was one of pure confusion and concern. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t push it. At least he actually put pencil to paper, you know?”

“You’re right—this is sort of a milestone if you think about it.” 

“I agree, big step for him.” 

On the way back to the tower you let your mind be on Bucky again—the way he so quickly let the good moments be pushed away by whatever small thing bothered him. 

There wasn’t much talking as the group of you got into the elevator, save for Steve making a last-ditch effort to get you and Bucky to talk again. 

“I have a few things to do, but feel free to wait around and we can hang out again later.” He stood facing the elevators closed doors with a stoicism he always had. 

Neither you or Bucky spoke as Steve stepped out of the elevator—his words seeming like an order rather than a random comment. He had that authoritative way about him.

A few seconds after, the doors shut and allowed the cart to spring into action. It made you wobble a bit, the startling movement making you both off balance briefly. 

When he regained his composure Bucky finally spoke, glancing over at you. “Today was a good day.” His voice was filled with unease, not having a moment alone with you since the day prior. 

You nodded, “It was. I had fun.” It was fine, entertaining the small talk. “You have fun?” 

He looked over to you as the tension he’d been holding slowly dissipated—you had that affect on him. Bucky was instead filled with nerves as your eyes rested on him. His lips parted to speak in response but he couldn’t. Not when you were looking at him so fondly, actually interested in whether or not he enjoyed himself. 

All he could muster was a tight nod, assuring you that he had enjoyed himself, before looking ahead to the elevator doors. Then they jolted again, this time stopping abruptly at the pull of the emergency stop button. 

He looked over at you again but this time in confusion, concern even. “What are you doing?” 

“Why are you being weird?” You tucked yourself into the corner, covering the button so he couldn’t try to leave. You knew, of course, that had he tried he'd be out of here faster than you could even process. But the fact that he hadn’t moved an inch said enough to you. 

“I’m not. I’m being my normal self-“ 

“Normal for you isn’t…whatever this is.” You looked him up and down, “You’re more—more reserved, methodical. You’re not a jittery person, Bucky.” 

He let out an amused scoff, “I’m only jittery because we’re stuck in an elevator.” 

“You could get out and you know that.” You crossed your arms, “You just don’t want to.” 

“That’s not it-“ 

“Bucky?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Move me.” You stepped off the wall and inched closer to him. “Move me out the way and press the button.” 

He swallowed but didn’t move—like you expected. Suddenly, you broke the eye contact. He watched you turn and push the red knob back into place. 

As the metal box started to move again you scoffed at him, purposely avoiding eye contact. His breathing sped up, suddenly enticed to prove you so extremely right. 

“Fuck it,” he grabbed your hip with a single had a let his lips fall onto yours. He’d simultaneously pulled the button with a free hand, distracting you by how eagerly he’d started kissing you. 

The startling jolt of the elevator and Bucky combined sent you back into the side wall, colliding with the long bar with a hiss. Bucky didn’t stop, swallowing the sound with his own mouth on yours. He was needy, pressing his tongue into and through your lips. He’d waited so long for this, and it was absolutely worth it. 

You were completely insatiable. You let Bucky use you, a fondness for the feeling now. The both of you moaned into each other, carelessly wrapping yourselves in one another. You snaked your hands up to his face, pulling him in impossibly closer. You could feel his stubble on your face, suddenly smiling at the burn you’d have between your thighs with him settled there. He felt your smirk and pulled away to look at you. 

Buck smirked, too. You were in a daze, swaying on your feet as your eyes pulled back into focus. 

He watched you leaned into the wall, lowering his head. The layered top of his hair fell over, covering your view of his beautiful face. He stayed looking down but spoke in a low tone, “Take off your pants.” 

“Make. Me.” You smiled, repeating yourself slowly. 

He made a show of lifting his head and letting his hair settle back into place. He was in that damn jacket again, always was. You stayed watching him, tilting your head in amusement as he shrugged off his jacket and let I fall to the floor. Even slower, he took off his gloves. You’d never even actually seen both his hands, only hearing of the metal arm that rested beneath his clothing. 

He let his hand flex in front of you, gulping at how quickly he’d decided to show you this part of himself. Bucky didn’t think twice, actually, completely motivated by the opportunity to be close to you. He kept eye contact, hands on his hips and moving forward until your chests met. 

“I have no problem taking matters into my own hands.” With that he simply moved a hand to your pants button. You could tell he was proud, bobbing his head lightly at the way he could so easily strip you without even looking away from your face. You cracked a smile at the way he slid your clothes off, leaving you bare on the bottom. He let you slip your shoes off too, still chest to chest. 

He kept looking at you, spreading your legs with his thigh. He ignored the way you were dripping, sliding one of your legs up onto his waist. He kept his grip there, firmly holding you. 

“Don’t move, I got you.” 

He slipped two fingers into you slowly, pumping in and out at a torturous pace that immediately had your jaw dropping. The sight of you unraveling was amazing and he kept his eyes locked with yours until they fluttered shut. 

You felt helpless, completely entranced by his fingers rubbing your walls. Your breaths came out ragged, “We just—we don’t tell him okay?” You shook your head, eyes opening slightly at Bucky. 

“Mhm, yeah…no Steve.” Bucky looked at you, eyebrows pinched and whimpering. “It’s nothing-“

“Right.” You moaned between each word now, bouncing with his harsh movement. “Nothing.” 

He kept going, speeding up at the squelching sounds that was now like music to his ears. He could tell you were struggling, teetering on the edge every few seconds but not quite exploding. The continuous heat made it feel like you could pop at any moment. It was too good. He was too good. It felt cliche to let this overtake what was blossom for you both—the transition from acquaintance to friend. 

But you couldn’t help it. 

You’d been holding onto the bar on the wall, but the position was a lot. As he pressed into you over and over you started to lose balance, hardly standing on the toes of one foot. He kept going even as you shook. He felt your body sliding, hardly keeping yourself up anymore. Your hand fell to the side and accidentally highlighted over a cluster of the floor buttons, illuminating them in an irregular pattern. 

Bucky chuckled but quickly readjusting without missing a beat. He nudged your body into his arm more, completely holding you up with ease now. You felt like a ragdoll and it reminded you so quickly of the sheer strength of the man that was in you now. You could tell with his hand jacking into you regardless, the flesh of him flexing into you so tastefully. 

He suddenly stopped, slipping out of you as you gripped his next for more leverage. He again moved you with ease, putting you into his right arm now. His head tilted, ready to see your reaction to his metal hand filling you. 

You gasped at the cooled tips of his fingers teasing your hole, just barely entering before he pulled back out. He could tell you were sensitive now and savored it, only letting you feel him when you calmed down from his slow pumps before. 

He let you whine like this for a bit longer for adding a finger, surprising you with three fingers ramming into you. He was completely soulless about it now, mouth agape at the way your body reacted. He knew you were close and urged you on. 

“Doing so good.” He nodded, “You gonna come soon?” His tone was almost mocking, your condition evident. Suddenly you snapped, head falling into his neck. 

“Yes, yes, yes…” You couldn’t help but repeat to yourself, whispering through the writhes into his palm. 

Your hips rolled and he met you with a soft kiss into your temple. You slowed, then, coming down from the intensity of the ordeal.

You breathed into him without a word, smirking at the man in from of you. Bucky let you down, grabbing your pants for you and sliding them onto your now wobbling legs. He nudged your shoes with his feet before kneeling down and sliding them on, patting your leg when he was done. You were in another world, only slipping back to him at the sound of the elevator returning to motion.

You let out a laugh at the elevator slowly stopping on a random assortment of floors. At a higher one Bucky finally stepped off, turning back to look at you for a second. You hadn’t expected anything more; he was often wordless and he proved you right the night before…when he left so carelessly. 

“You coming?” 

With a ding the elevator doors slowly moved to close. Through them you watched Bucky, standing and looking at you expectedly. “Just did, actually.” 

He choked at that but jerked forward, putting a hand between to doors to stop them. “So is that a yes?” He tilted his head back, “Maybe watch a movie or something?” 

You intended to head home at first, not expecting him to extend this hand. This wasn’t like him—his usual closed off self. Admittedly you enjoyed this better. He now had a willingness that never was there before. It was jarring—the way he seemed to do a 180 from last night. 

You reasoned that maybe you could enjoy yourself and finally be the friend Steve needed you to be—to love his friend the way he did so many years ago. For Bucky it was grasping at straws; he wanted to keep you around in any way he could. He would never be Steve—could never be the image of a perfect man that you deserved. 

We’re better as friends. 

He repeated the mantra in his mind, affirming himself despite part of him saying otherwise. He could stand be this with you, friends with something more every once in a while. Hell, every day if you let him. He settled so you wouldn’t have to. You didn’t deserve someone like him, an undeniable shroud of darkness that clouded over your blinding light. 

“You know what, why the hell not?” You stepped off the elevator cart and brushed by the man. “I get to pick the movie though.” 

“‘Course, doll.” 

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(for some of you it may not let me tag, check ur settings or if anyone has advice on how to fix it lmk!!)

[brightreminder]

There was once a demon.

His name, well, I'll leave you all to guess it.

If ever caught emotionally vulnerable in front of his angel, he would immediately try to bluff it by pointing out that it was his lot in life as a demon, but I disgress.

This particular demon was in his kitchen, resting his arms and head on the counter and being generally miserable when there suddenly came a flash of lightening, followed by the sound of thunder.

He did not twitch.

Someone knocked on the door "rap rap rap".

He did not move.

The door opened, revealing a wet, bedraggled and soot-covered angel.

"Go away" said Crowley.

The angel just stood on the porch. Crowley looked up and recognised the angel. "Aziraphale? Urgh I'm not talking to you."

The angel took a hesitant step inside, and seeming to rethink his choice, he took a step backwards.

"Nope, you're staying here. At least close the door, you're bringing the draught in".

The angel came inside. No one made a sound, except for the rain lashing outside.

"I thought you left," said Crowley, eventually.

"I thought you'd never come back. I thought that you were only fit to be with Heaven, considering thats what you want. ARE YOU HAPPY NOW, AZIRAPHALE? DID YOU FINALLY GET WHAT YOU WANT? Reigning above everyone, all high and mighty, acting like the Supreme Archangel and "changing the world" . Were you able to change the Archangels' minds, hmm? Did they listen to you and heed your advice? Well? Not gonna react, eh? What's the matter with you? "

Aziraphale shuffled closer and opened his wings.

"No.." said Crowley. "No way, this cant have happened, nuh uh, he stubbornly shook his head. "How did this happen?" He asked in a worried tone.

Aziraphale broke down. Crowley kneeled and cradled Aziraphale among his black moth wings.

🪽

he fall on my demon till i disgrace

[monzabee]

fashion emergency - a. hotchner

criminal minds masterlist || part of the nanny series

Summary: hotch’s nanny is back with everyone’s favorite hotchner and a go-bag.  

Pairing: aaron hotchner x nanny!reader

Word Count: 0.9k 

Warnings:  none  

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

Preparedness is something crucial in Aaron’s line of work. So much so that he has a to go bag packed at all times, under or near his desk, with clothes packed with their back-ups. So, imagine his surprise, when he has to leave on a case in thirty minutes, and he realizes that he doesn’t have his bag with him.  

“You owe me, big time,” You grumble over the phone, “Jack and I were just about to go to the flower market.”  

He hears Jack in the background. “Hi, Daddy!”  

“I am your boss,” He reminds you with an eyeroll you can’t see and a miniscule grin that threatens to take over, “but thank you. I appreciate you bringing my bag to me.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” you huff, but there’s no real irritation in your voice. “Just know that Jack’s demanding ice cream as payment for this little detour.” 

Hotch chuckles softly, shaking his head. “I’ll allow it.” 

“Smart choice, considering I was going to get him one anyway.” He can practically hear the smirk you have on your face, which isn’t surprising at all to him considering the fact that you spend majority of your free time making fun of his grumpy face. 

Before he can respond, Jack’s voice comes through again, full of excitement. “Daddy! Can we get the purple flowers today?” 

Hotch feels his chest tighten with something warm. “If that’s what you want, buddy.” 

There’s a muffled squeal of happiness before you return to the call. “Alright, we’ll be there in twenty. Try not to look too helpless until then.” 

“I don’t look helpless,” he mutters. 

“Eh, you kind of do,” you tease before hanging up. 

Twenty minutes later, the BAU bullpen is buzzing as you stroll in, Jack in tow, clutching a small bouquet of purple flowers. To your surprise, Aaron is already waiting for you in the bullpen—with the rest of his team.  

“Oh my God,” Penelope gasps, grabbing JJ’s arm. “It’s the tiny Hotchner! And her.” 

JJ suppresses a laugh. “You act like you’ve never seen them before.” 

“I’ve seen the kid,” Garcia whispers, eyes locked on you as you make your way towards the bullpen, “but she is an enigma wrapped in a mystery with a dash of Hotch’s undivided attention. Oh my God, look at those heels! I would kill for them!” 

Before JJ can respond, Jack spots the team and immediately breaks into a run. “Uncle Spencer!” 

Reid barely has time to react before Jack crashes into his legs, hugging him tight. “Hey, Jack,” Spencer says, crouching down. “Did you bring me flowers too?” 

Jack giggles, shaking his head. “Nope! These are for Daddy.” 

Garcia clutches her chest. “Oh, I’m deceased.” 

The entire team watches as Jack tugs Hotch’s pant leg, proudly holding up the bouquet of purple flowers. “I got these for you, Daddy!” 

Aaron kneels, taking the flowers carefully from his son’s small hands. His normally serious expression softens, warmth seeping into the sharp edges of his face. “Thank you, buddy. They’re perfect.” 

Jack beams before turning back toward the team. “Uncle Derek, did you see? I got Daddy flowers!” 

Morgan chuckles, crouching down. “I did see, little man. You’ve got good taste.” He winks at you. “That your influence?” 

You smirk. “I do have impeccable taste.” 

Garcia practically vibrates with excitement beside them, giving Morgan a look that says they are definitely going to talk about this later. “Jack, sweetheart, tell me, what’s your secret to being this adorable? Is it genetic? Because if so, I demand a DNA sample for science.” 

Jack just giggles, hugging the flowers to his chest as Hotch stands back up. 

You step forward, holding up the go-bag. “Your precious go-bag, safe and sound, Mister Boss Man.” 

Aaron takes it, shaking his head at your theatrics. “Remind me to hide this better next time.” 

“Oh, please,” you scoff. “If it weren’t for me, you’d still be wearing that god-awful backup shirt you’ve had in there since before I started working for you.” 

Morgan raises an eyebrow. “Wait, wait—Hotch, you forgot your go-bag?” 

The team immediately zeroes in on the statement, eyes darting between the two of you. “I didn’t forget,” Aaron corrects, sighing. “Someone took it to—” 

“To do your laundry,” you interject, hands on your hips. “Honestly, I cook for you, I clean for you, I look after your kid and still, I don’t even get one thank you.” You let out a scoff, turning to Jack, “Can you believe this guy?” 

Aaron exhales, looking at Jack, who is too busy now that he’s happily chatting with Spencer about how flowers grow. When he turns back to you, his eyes soften slightly. “Thank you.” 

Your smirk turns into something more genuine. “You’re welcome.” 

Jack tugs on your sleeve. “Can we get ice cream now?” 

Hotch nods. “Go ahead.” 

Jack cheers before grabbing your hand, already pulling you toward the door. As you walk away, you call over your shoulder, “Don’t get shot while I’m gone!” 

The bullpen erupts in quiet laughter as Hotch sighs, shaking his head. Morgan claps a hand on his shoulder. “Man, you sure you don’t have a secret girlfriend?” 

Hotch gives him an exasperated look. “Drop it, Morgan.” 

Penelope grins. “Oh, we’re never dropping this. I’m gonna make cupcakes so that you can take them home with you when you’re back.” 

“Garcia, you really don’t have to do that.” Aaron tries to argue, but she is already walking down the hallway.  

As Aaron turns back toward his office, he catches sight of the flowers still clutched in his hand. He sighs, but there’s a ghost of a smile playing at his lips as he follows the team toward the jet, the sound of Jack’s laughter still lingering in his ears. 

[w2soneshots]

i’ve can’t stop thinking about an idea i have in my head, is it possible for a george fic but and if your are missing your family and getting really upset and george comes to comfort you?? in inside btw!!

Cameras off -George clarkey

words: 0.6k+

warnings: angst/comfort.

notes: thank you for the idea girly, this is cuteee! I did write it as a shorter blurb since I’ve already done one INside fic (though it ended up being a little longer than expected)😌🫶🏼. Enjoy!!💘

The group sat in the living room, now not as many as the beginning of the week but it was still loud. Your head ached as PK started shouting -unintentionally- about something you weren't paying attention to, though in that moment it was the last thing you needed.

You got up without a word and took yourself into the makeup room, where all of the girls get ready in the morning. Sitting on a stool, you took a deep breath, trying to calm your emotions as the thoughts in your mind started to consume you.

"Hey?" A hand on your back startled you, causing you to jump slightly. "Sorry, you okay?" George asked quietly, a softness to his voice that you hadn't heard before.

You nodded, not fully trusting your voice. "Do you wanna go outside? The team will let you if you need a second." He was being so sweet and it was just making it harder for you to hold your tears back.

"Yeah, can you come with me?" You asked, without thinking. They usually didn't let two people go outside at once, to avoid interesting conversations not being filmed.

"y/n and George to room nineteen," the intercom voice spoke before you could say another word. You looked at each other. "Come on." He reached his hand out for you to take once he'd stood up. You took it and he lead you to room nineteen, everyone else still sat chatting away in the main area.

One of the welfare people stood outside the door once you entered the hallway. "Hi," the kind woman began, "Tobi saw some of your conversation, if you need to you can go outside with George. They won't show any of this if you don't want them too."

You let out a slight breath of relief. "That'd be great," you replied quietly. "Okay," she nodded, "follow me." She lead you and George to the private terrace then checked you were okay one last time before telling you to take as long as you needed.

The both of you sat on the outdoor sofa they had and you breathed in the fresh air. "So, what ails you?" He asked in a doctory voice, lightning the mood. "Just- I'm just overwhelmed I think. There's no peace and I like my alone time, you know?" You looked to him.

"I completely get that," he reassured you, "there's a lot of big personalities. Plus, being filmed constantly doesn't help the situation." You nodded, looking down at your lap then you spoke again, "it's also so awful not knowing what's going on outside, like if everyone's okay." A tear slipped down your cheek.

George felt for you and he was feeling the exact same. He shuffled closer to you and slowly put his hand on your knee. "Want a hug?" "Yeah," you whispered tearfully before leaning into him. He wrapped his arms around your shoulders and after a few silent sobs you calmed.

"Sorry," you mumbled as you pulled away, wiping the few tears you'd left on his hoodie. "Don't worry about it. Feel better?" He kept his voice soft and calm as he spoke. "Much, thanks for being my therapist," you smiled as you tried to make yourself look normal and like you'd not been crying.

After a few more minutes of quiet you felt ready to go back into the house. Just before you opened the door you went to kiss George on the cheek -to say thank you- but he turned and you ended up kissing his lips. "Oh- that- oops." You both burst out laughing, nether of you were mad about the kiss.

The last few days you spent most of your time together, wether it was sat next to each other on the couch, switching beds so that you slept in the corner next to his or him spending his morning at the makeup table talking to you while you got ready.

You fancied George and he fancied you, so when you finally got out of the house and he asked you out obviously you said yes.

[thebluediner]

a/n: im bored, lazy and tired so...

TEXTS BETWEEN YOU AND BILLIE

[lemonmarquee]

this is going in my hall of fame

𝙧𝙪𝙣𝙖𝙬𝙖𝙮𝙨 | eddie munson x reader

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 | maybe you're a little spoiled, but the fact of the matter is, you're used to getting what you want. you want eddie, and he wants you— that means you're going to do whatever it takes to stay together. if only you knew how far he would go to keep you.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 | 8.6k

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 | smut (18+ only; including some dubcon, fingering, unprotected sex, slight dacryphilia, and referenced loss of virginity), graphic violence/murder, kidnapping, abusive parents (verbal and briefly physical), innocent reader, innocence/corruption kink, assorted crimes escalating in severity, controlling/toxic relationship, starts consensual gets fucked up quickly, yandere!eddie, romeo and juliet goes bonnie and clyde

THIS IS A DARK FIC. eddie's dark, smut's dark, whole thing's dark (by the end at least). it's not for everyone. if depictions of SA, murder, and manipulation sound like they might be triggering for you, please do not hit 'keep reading'.

"That boy is no good for you," she hissed.  "That boy is no good at all."

"Mama, don't say that!" you whined, sounding just like the impetuous child she'd accused you of being moments earlier.  "He's good to me and he loves me!"

"He's good to you because he wants something from you," she insisted.  "He says he loves you because—"

"He doesn't just say he loves me," you interrupted.  "He really does, Mama."

"Oh, does he?" she sneered, stepping up closer to you.  "He doesn't only love you with words, does he?  What else does he do?"

Her line of questioning made it obvious that she already knew.  The terror of that realization made your eyes sting with tears.

"Don't tell me you spread your legs for trailer trash," your mother warned, and your fists clenched at your sides.  Rage gave you the courage to look into her eyes and you found her own fury there— but it couldn't beat yours, not when you had your love for Eddie in your heart, telling you what to do.

"He made love to me," you informed her though your teeth, "and I—"

You didn't get a chance to finish your thought before the back of your mother's hand collided with your cheek, spinning your whole head to the side.  It stung especially hard where her massive diamond ring had cut your face, and when you pulled your hand away from where it held your tingling skin, you saw little dots of blood on your fingers.

You started to sob loudly, so much louder than you already had.  You were crying so hard you couldn't even form words.

"Okay, that's enough," your father decides, getting up from where he'd been sitting in his chair, staring disapprovingly at all that had been going on.  When you told your parents that Eddie Munson was your boyfriend and that you would not be attending equestrian summer camp in Cape Cod this year because you wanted to stay with him, your mother was the one who had flown into hysterics while your father had just sighed and sat down, looking overwhelmed.  You didn't see him looking like that too often, since he was such a respected businessman who handles so much every day, but it made sense that he was out of his element here.

"Daddy," you sobbed, running to him and colliding with his sweater-vest-clad torso, "Daddy, please, I love him…"

"I… I know, sweetpea," he sighed, "but… sometimes what we feel and what is expected of us don't….match up."

You buried your face into his chest, soaking the argyle cotton with your tears.  "Daddy, he's not a bad person.  He's so kind and he takes care of me—"

You heard your mother scoff, but thankfully she didn't interrupt you.

"You'd like him if you met him," you promised, pulling back enough to look at your father with hopeful, if teary and bloodshot, eyes.  "Daddy, if you really gave him a chance—"

"Sweetpea," he said, such an adoring pet name losing its charm when he said it so sternly, "it's too late for that.  You had sex with this boy, didn't you?"

You choked, looking away.

"Just don't make me go to camp this year, please," you sighed.  "Please, Daddy, I wanna stay in Hawkins—"

"So you can do what?  Spend more time with this boy who doesn't even have the respect to come speak to me himself and ask me for permission to court you?" he frowned.  "Ride around in his decrepit van?  Get pregnant?"

You let go of the tight hug you'd had him in; you'd spent your life crying to your Daddy about whatever upset you, and up until now, you'd pretty much always gotten your way.  Eddie used to make fun of you, call you Daddy's little girl, call you spoiled rotten— but you never really understood what that meant, until now.  Until you felt so stupid as you realized he wasn't as kind as you thought he was.  He'd buy you anything, he'd let you skip a Latin lesson because you wanted to run around outside or not eat your greens because you didn't like them, but that wasn't love.  You always thought he was proud of you, and that was why he liked to show you off at debutante balls and dinner parties.

But it had never been about you… it had been about him, and his perfect family.  His beautiful wife and demure, well-behaved daughter.  You were more like a porcelain doll to him, dressed up in little silk outfits and put behind glass.

You stepped back, bewildered and heartbroken by the way he was looking at you.

"You asked not to go to Cape Cod this summer?  You won't," he informed you, but his tone made it obvious this was not going to be good news.  "You'll go to a Catholic program for wayward girls—"

"No," you blurted out, under your breath.

"In rural France—" he continued.

You couldn't breathe, you felt like you were going to faint.  "No, no no no…"

"—where you can practice your French, relearn your morals," he added, especially pointedly, "and spend time with the nuns.  They'll set you straight."

"Daddy, no!" you yelped.  "I won't go!  You can't make me go!"

"I absolutely can!" he bellowed in return.  Daddy was scary when he was angry, his voice was loud and echoed around any room, and you'd always run away and hid when you heard him yelling at a business partner who made a mistake or a housekeeper who broke something… but the way he spoke next was nothing like that.  No yelling, no stomping his foot or pointing his finger, just a red face and breathing heavily through his flared nostrils.  It was much scarier.

"If you act like a whore, you get treated like one," he informed you with searing coldness.  "You remember that when you're with that boy, telling him that you will never see him again—"

"I hate you!" you choked out with your sob, shoving your father away before running for the door.

You heard your parents calling after you, but you tumbled out onto the porch and down the steps, grabbing your bike where you'd left it leaning against the whitewashed wood.

It was sort of tricky to ride a bike while constantly wiping tears away, but you made it all the way to Eddie's trailer without falling off.  You nearly jumped off your bike to run to his door, never properly braking and just letting it fall on its side— the little bell dinged quietly when you dropped it, like a weak protest to the mistreatment, but you ignored it as you stumbled up to Eddie's door and knocked frantically.  

It was a little too cold out for just your yellow dress and a cardigan, but you hadn't been planning to be out this late.  You'd been planning on getting out of going to summer camp in Massachusetts, going to bed with a smile on your face, and waiting until after school tomorrow to tell Eddie the good news.  God, you were so stupid…

Shivering and clutching your arms across your chest, you knocked rapidly on the door again— and Eddie finally swung the door open.

"I was just— oh, princess, what's wrong?" he asked, reaching for you instantly as you started to cry harder again.  "Are you okay?  Please tell me everything's okay…"

"Everything's…" you started, sniffling and trying to compose yourself enough to speak intelligibly while he ushered you inside, "everything's gone wrong, Eddie, it's so wrong…"

"Hey, shh," he soothed, pulling you into him and guiding your head to rest on his chest.  His hands rubbed your back and you sighed, melting into him.  "Just tell me what happened."

"I-it was going to be a surprise," you explained.  "I was going to get out of equestrian camp this summer, and I was going to stay here— with you!  We were gonna have the whole summer together… a-and it was gonna be perfect." 

Eddie sighed; he must've realized where this was going, to a certain extent.

"But when I asked my parents if I could miss camp and stay home, they… Mama knew, she asked about you right away… I'm not much of a liar, Eddie, you know that."

In fact, he told you all the time: I know something's wrong, don't try to pretend.  You're not a very good liar, princess, I know you want me.  Don't lie, princess, I can tell you're getting wet…

"She said the most awful things," you whimpered, "and Daddy… he said he was going to make me go to France, just to keep me away from you.  H-he called me a whore."

"He what?!" Eddie snapped, lifting your head away from his chest to look down at your face with wild eyes.  "Princess, how could he say that to you?"

"I— I don't—"

You stopped when he reached up, holding your face and carefully swiping his thumb over your right cheek.  You remembered there were cuts there, and you glanced down at the floor sheepishly, focusing on his dirty combat boots standing on either side of your shiny white Mary Janes.  "Did he hit you?" Eddie asked, seriously and softly.

"No…" you whimpered, getting nervous to tell him the truth as he waited silently for the rest of your answer.  "Mama did."

He sighed slowly, saying so much with just one breath.  You'd realized you'd never really seen him angry before, not genuinely.  But the weight of his breath showed how furious he was.  "Those people…" he trailed off.  Shaking his head, the anger seemed to fade and he gave you a gentle kiss right on your wounded cheek.  "This pretty face, all cut up… it's just not right, princess."

You shut your eyes as he kissed your lips next, as tender and gentle as ever.  If only your parents could see this, if only they could understand how sweet and patient he was with you, then maybe they wouldn't be trying to ruin your life.

"I can't let you go back to that house," he informed you.  "If you go back there, they may not ever let you back out again— they won't let us see each other again."

You blinked up at him as he carefully wiped your tears away.  

"So, don't go back," he pleaded.  "They'll hurt you again— I can't let that happen."

You chewed your lip for a second.  "Eddie, I can't stay here, they're going to send the police for me— they probably already have…"

"Then they won't find us here," he decided.  "We'll go somewhere!"

"Where?"

"Anywhere!  Wherever you wanna go.  We'll drive there together and it'll be the way it's meant to be— us, just us."

He pulled your face closer and kissed your forehead, squishing your cheeks in his ringed hands.  "Eddie," you mumbled, wincing playfully.  "Are you offering to kidnap me?"

"Offering?  Princess, I'm deciding," he grinned, grabbing you at your shoulders as you started to laugh a bit through your tears.  "Just tell me where we're going."

You bit your lip as you thought about that.  In a way, you were proving your parents right: this boy was about to steal you away, take you far from Hawkins in his beat-up old van, with no money and no plan.  

"Come on," he encouraged, "you know just as well as I do that we're meant to be together.  Forever."

It was a promise you'd made, just before he took your virginity.  You were raised to believe that was something you saved for your soulmate, and though you knew it was certainly not what your parents would want for you, not being married yet didn't bother you much.  Before Eddie, waiting never felt like a chore— and then suddenly it was excruciating, and he'd stopped you from taking things further more than a few times due to his fear that you would regret him being your first time.  And then there was that perfect night, just over a week ago now, on a blanket by Lover's Lake.  It was everything you thought it was supposed to be— sweet, sensual, beautiful— and so much more.  And you'd sworn then that this was it, that there was nobody else for you and that you'd hold each other for the rest of your lives.  Maybe it was your girlish naivete, but in your mind it was all but an engagement.

And this?  Escaping together, fleeing your parents and Hawkins and everything you'd ever known?  This felt like eloping.

You looked into Eddie's eyes, warm and brown and waiting for your answer with that sparkle in them like almost always.  "Um…" you stalled, "well, when I was little, my whole family went to the beach in California.  I've wanted to go back, see the ocean again…"

He grabbed you by your face again and kissed you, eyes shut tight; you could taste his latest cigarette and you could smell his aftershave, you could feel his optimism in the way he moved his lips against yours.

When he pulled back, he had another massive smile on his face that made the anxiety just melt away in a moment.  

"Everything's gonna be alright now," he promised.  "It's gonna be how it's supposed to be: us, together, with nobody there to stop us."

You nodded, still sniffling as you recovered from crying, and smiled as he kissed your tears away.

"I-I'm just gonna grab some stuff," he decided, "and we're gonna leave tonight.  We'll be in California by Saturday."

~ ♡ ~

Not having had a chance to pack your own clothes, you'd been borrowing Eddie's for a while.  You didn't exactly feel like yourself in a Motörhead shirt, but you loved being wrapped up in the smell of him.

That first night, Eddie had driven for fifteen hours straight before you insisted that he get some rest.  The mattress in the back was straight from his bedroom in the trailer, so it brought some much-needed familiarness to such a foreign situation.  

Breakfast at hole-in-the-wall diners all along the highway, stops at scenic outlooks and parks where you could stretch your legs, nights spent pulled over in the woods so you could sleep in peace (or, maybe, not sleep at all)… it was all a routine now, and the luxury of your old life was just a collection of memories now.

At times, you missed your family, your friends from school, your room and your shower and your favorite stuffed animal.  But being with Eddie all the time was worth it, and you’d seen more of the country than ever on your road trip adventure.

“Can I help you find something, sweetheart?” a woman asked, and you turned to see an employee with a plastic name tag— DARLA, it read— watching you peruse the aisle of pre-packaged snacks.

“O-oh, no, thank you,” you smiled.

“You seem pretty young to be here by yourself,” she noticed.

“I’m eighteen— and I’m not by myself,” you assured, “my boyfriend’s here— he’s just using the restroom.”

“Oh, I see,” she nodded.  “Your… parents know you’re here, don’t they?”

You wrinkled your eyebrows together.  “Of course,” you lied, “we’re driving to visit them now, while we’re on break from college.  Wh-why do you ask?”

“I’m sorry to pry, honey,” she sighed, “I just saw something on the news, and you look a little bit like this missing girl out of Indiana—”

You didn’t even hear what she said after that, you didn’t even stay to listen— you stormed across the gas station store, towards where a small TV mounted under the corner of the ceiling was showing the morning news.  It was just politics at first, until the banner across the bottom of the screen changed to DRUG DEALER KIDNAPS INDIANA GIRL.  You nearly screamed when you saw a picture of you, and a picture of Eddie, next to each other in the superimposed graphic.

“This news coming out of Hawkins, Indiana,” the reporter read, “the parents of an eighteen-year-old girl—”

Eighteen, as in, an adult, who left consensually, you wished you could yell at the TV, but all you could do was start to numbly cry.

“— are asking national authorities for assistance in locating their daughter, who disappeared from their home Wednesday evening.  Local police suspect that a known criminal in the area, Eddie Munson— who is also missing— may be responsible and is wanted for his potential involvement.”

You saw the door to the men’s room start to open, and before Eddie could walk out, you dashed over to him and shoved him back in, locking the door behind you.  “Hey!” Eddie protested, though he gave you a tilted grin as you pinned him to the wall.  “Hey,” he purred, apparently misinterpreting your intentions with locking yourselves in the bathroom together.

“Eddie, oh god,” you breathed, “I—”

“What’s wrong?” he asked, reaching down to hold your face.  “Did something happen?”

“I— the news,” you managed to choke out, “we’re on the news, they’re saying you kidnapped me—”

“Well, I mean,” he shrugged, “I sorta did—”

“Eddie, please,” you whimpered, “this— this is really bad… the police are looking for us.  Both of us.”

You weren’t sure how this happened, but you could guess; the Hawkins police probably, rightfully, told your parents that a woman of majority leaving her parents’ home is not a crime, and neither is having a boyfriend that they dislike.  And then your parents flashed their money around until someone listened, and they managed to convince some sheriff that because Eddie had a past with the law, you were in some kind of danger.  And then they took their money to any news station that would take it, and spread the story across the country.  You were supposed to make it to the beach today, but you weren’t sure if it was safe to go anymore, or where this news was being shown…

“I don’t wanna go back,” you cried quietly, and he clicked his tongue sympathetically as he pulled your head into his chest.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he promised, “you’re not going back.”

“They’re gonna find us, Eddie, they’re gonna take me away from you—” you began to rush, your head swirling with thoughts and your heart pounding with anxiety.  He grabbed you by the chin and forced you to look up at him, and you tried to calm yourself a little with your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Nobody can take you away from me,” he insisted sternly.  “Ever.  Do you hear me?”

You nodded, and he softened a bit, kissing your forehead as he wrapped his arms around you.

“We’re gonna work this out,” he stated confidently.  “We’re gonna figure something out, okay?  And everything’s gonna be how it’s supposed to be.”

Quickly, he had a plan, and he told you all you had to do was keep watch.  He told you to stand near the back of the gas station, and stop anyone from coming to where he’d parked the van.  He never told you why, but you figured it would make sense soon.  Nervously tapping your foot, you tried not to look suspicious— or noticeable at all, really, with your face all over the news now— and waited for Eddie to finish whatever he was doing.

You could hear what he was doing, but you couldn’t quite tell what it was… just random clinking and banging of metal, not much to work with.  “Okay, finished,” he announced, and you turned the corner to find him smiling as he stared at the back of his van, a screwdriver tucked under his crossed arms.  “Voila!”

Stepping next to him and looking at the back bumper with him, you reacted instantly to the sight of a Nevada license plate.  “Wh— how did you—?” you began, but you glanced over to a beat-up old truck with a missing tire that was apparently abandoned behind this gas station— specifically, you saw that it suddenly had Indiana plates.

“It’ll slow them down,” he promised, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and giving the top of your head a kiss.  “Told you I’d work it all out, didn’t I?”

You swallowed, a little nervous to know he’d had to take these measures for your sake.  Up until now, you hadn’t actually done anything wrong… this, though, was an actual crime.  Still, a lot of people do little things like this— like dealing weed, like making an illegal U-turn or being late to get their registration done.

That was what you kept telling yourself as you sat in the passenger set, legs curled up to your chest while you bit your nails and blankly watched the Nevada desert roll by: that this was normal.  That this was all fine.  Not great, maybe, not ideal; but fine.

“Hey,” you heard Eddie’s voice, and it tore you out of your thoughts.

“Huh?” you mumbled, and he kept his eyes on the road as he swatted your hand away from your mouth.

“Don’t do that,” he corrected.

“Sorry— m’just nervous,” you admitted.

“What for?” he wondered.

“I mean— this is all pretty crazy, Ed,” you admitted.  “I knew my parents weren’t going to understand, but getting the police involved?  I just didn’t think it would be like this…”

“Listen, princess,” he sighed, “I get it.  It’s scary— and your parents, they’ve been, like, over you your whole life, telling you what to say and how to dress and how to conform and everything… so they seem like this huge threat, like you can never really escape them, right?  But you can.  You did.”

He gave you a glance, as long as he could while driving on the highway, and you offered him your best I’m-totally-not-freaking-out smile in return.  

“And the cops?  Cops are no big deal,” he scoffed.  “Deal with ‘em all the time.  Still, if you wanna throw them off a little more, I could always do something to, you know, look different—”

He reached up with one hand to tousle his mane of wavy hair for a second, and you gasped.  “No, Eddie,” you interrupted, “not your hair— you shouldn’t have to do that.”

“Okay, okay,” he smiled, “you’d miss it too much, I know.  So would I.  Maybe we should cut your hair, though…”

You nervously reached up to your own hair, suddenly self-conscious about it in more ways than one.  “You think so?” you pressed quietly.

“I mean, if you’re up for it,” he shrugged, “but like I said— we’re gonna be fine.  It’s really not that bad, princess— people go ‘missing’ all the time, and they’re really just going somewhere new like we are.  And speaking of somewhere new…”

He pointed to the road ahead, and you saw the sign: Thanks for visiting Nevada— and then you saw the next one— Welcome to California.

“We made it,” he smiled.  “Just a few more hours until we reach the ocean.”

But the sun had already set, and the last tints of orange were leaving the sky— the desert would be in total darkness in less than ten minutes.  “Should we pull over for the night soon?” you asked.  Something about being late made you especially nervous, even though if you were thinking more clearly, you might’ve realized that night was the safer time to travel while on the run from the law.

“If you want to,” he offered.  “You wanna cuddle, don’t you?”

You nodded, and he smiled wide.

“Of course you do,” he hummed, “just lemme find a good place to park the car and we can go to bed, okay?”

When he pulled off the highway, kicking up clouds of red dirt with his tires on his way to a good, shady spot to rest for the night, you leaned back in the seat and shut your eyes.  It’s going to be okay— Eddie said so, it’s really going to be alright…

“Come on, hop on back,” he suggested as he put the car in park and turned off the engine and headlights.  You climbed over the console first, plopping down onto the mattress in the back with a sigh.  He smiled at you as he followed you, climbing on top of you as his necklace dangled over your face.  With his hands on either side of your head, he bent down to kiss you, sweet and familiar; it made you feel better, and took your mind off of your worries.

You reached up to start trying to push his denim jacket off his shoulders, and he moved his kisses down to your neck.  “Oh!” you gasped when he grazed his teeth over your pulse.  It almost hurt, it was almost too much— but then again, you were wrapping your legs around his hips, so it must not have bothered you that much.

A quiet, but deep, chuckle from him echoed inside the crook of your neck, just before he pulled away to look down at you again.  “You look so good in my clothes,” he smiled, reaching up under the borrowed shirt to touch your waist, “but you look better without them.”

You giggled as he helped you take the shirt off, groaning a little at the sight of your bare chest underneath.  He instantly latched onto one of your nipples, swirling his tongue around it as his hands held onto you a little tighter, and you relaxed into his embrace with a sigh.  

“Princess,” he mumbled against your skin, reaching lower to start tugging your panties down, “fuck, you’re beautiful.  And you’re all mine, huh?” 

“Yeah,” you breathed.  “Yours— forever.”

You’d started saying that, since the first night on the road; you were just so ecstatic to be together, not having to hide it anymore or worry about your parents or sneak out quietly in the middle of the night.  The problem was, that was sort of what this thing had become, in the end: hiding, worrying, sneaking in the middle of the night.  Wasn’t that what you were doing right now?

That thought fell to the back of your mind as he gently opened your legs, taking off his own clothes hastily before slotting his body right up to yours.  “Eddie,” you moaned as he slid his cock over you, soaking his erection quickly in your arousal.  You never kept your resolve for long when he teased you like that.  “Please, I-I need you…”

“Where?” he asked.  “Where do you need me, princess?”

“M-my… in my—” you choked, struggling to say the word.  You managed to get it out (he’d been helping you get more comfortable with all this, slowly), but only when you whispered it: “my pussy…”

He laughed a little, and it made you feel even more insecure until he pushed his cock inside you— and then you weren’t thinking about anything else but how incredible it felt.  “Aw, so innocent,” he cooed, staring down at you with half-lidded eyes as he began to move his hips back and forth.  “Not as innocent as you used to be… guess I ruined you, didn’t I?”

You whined.  “N-no, you didn’t— you made me perfect, Eddie…”

Laying down over you, he kept himself propped up on one bent arm as the other reached for your thigh, squeezing the delicate skin every time he filled you to the brim.  “Fuck, you are perfect,” he agreed, “and so tight for me, always… still feel like a virgin, princess.”

You moaned far louder than you meant to when he started to suck on your neck, reaching up to grab onto the backs of his shoulders as your back arched harder.

“Y’don’t act like one anymore, though,” he added with a short laugh.  

Grabbing your hips, he pulled you up to meet his own, forcing you to take him deeper than before— and you choked on your whine, digging your nails into his back. 

“Not too much, is it?” he panted.  “You can take all of me, right?”

Admittedly, you hesitated, but you did nod and he kissed your cheek.

“I know you can,” he agreed.  “Such a good girl for me, yeah?  Gonna take all this dick in your little cunt?”

The next thrust hit so deep, and so hard, that tears immediately sprung to your eyes— but you nodded again.

“C’mon, baby, say it,” he encouraged.

“I— I’m gonna take it all,” you promised, your own voice higher and more wavering than you expected it to sound.

“Yeah you are,” he grunted, fucking you faster, and you buried your face in the space between his neck and shoulder— you gasped in breaths against his skin, and he held you a little tighter.

His pace was speeding up, making your whole body rock as it was forced to go limp.  “E-Eddie,” you sobbed.  He started to kiss just under your jaw, and you knew that he knew how close you were— and yet, you still felt the need to announce it.  “I’m gonna come, Eddie!”

“Shh, I know,” he soothed, “let it happen, princess— just come on my cock, fuckin’ soak me.”

Whimpering, your thighs started to shake and your head fell back.  It gave him the perfect view of your face: he watched you with dark eyes and a mouth gone slack as he fucked you through your orgasm.  He told you before that you scrunched your whole face up right before you came, and that he thought it was adorable.  You were still a bit shy about it, but you did like knowing that he loved the way you reacted to how he made you feel.

“That’s it, fuck,” he praised, and you felt his fingertips dig into your skin a little harder.  He slipped one arm under your neck, grabbing you at your shoulder, and used it to keep you steady as he started fucking you even harder, and faster… just ruthlessly, really.

“Eddie!” you shouted.  You were trying to get him to slow down, but the words just wouldn’t come out, it was all screaming moans as he relentlessly slammed into your spot— more sensitive and swollen than ever, having just come and all.

Hoping to get your message across non-verbally, you reached down and tried to push on his thighs, but he was so much stronger than you and it didn’t seem to deter him at all.  “You can take it,” he insisted under his breath, his own groans getting louder as he chased his release.

You dug your nails into his skin, not even really intentionally— you just needed a break, just a moment to process everything.  Your eyes were shut tightly, but you heard him growl as his hands moved down to yours.  He grabbed you by the wrists and pinned them down on either side of your head, rubbing his thumbs over your palms soothingly.  

“Don’t fight it,” he ordered, “I know what you need.”

And god, he was right— he changed his pace, slower if not quite slow, passionate and focused.  You breathed more naturally then, giving into the onslaught of sensation while he kissed you again.  His kiss was just as gently dominant as everything else, his tongue exploring deep into your mouth— like he was trying to taste every sound of pleasure you made.  You were babbling your affections from the moment that he broke away from your lips.  "I love you, Eddie," you sobbed softly, "I love you so much…"

"Shh, I know, princess," he whispered back, "I love you, too."

He didn’t take much longer to come, filling you with a long, low groan and a whisper of your name.  He released your wrists eventually, opting to hold you tightly instead.  In a moment he seemed to gain all his energy back, rapidly shifting from panting and exhausted to peppering kisses all over your face.  “Eddieeeee,” you whined, but you were laughing, too.

“Love you so much,” he mumbled.  “God, you can’t even imagine how much.”

“I bet I can,” you replied.  “I bet it’s how much I love you.”

“No, no— more than that,” he decided.

“What?!  Eddie, don’t say that,” you frowned.

“It’s true,” he insisted.  “I love you so much that this pretty little head of yours would explode if you knew—” he accented his statement by holding his fingers up to the side of your head and spreading them, making a pshh sound through his teeth to do his impression of an explosion. 

You laughed and shoved him lightly on his bare chest.  “You’re silly,” you mumbled, laughing more as he nuzzled his face against you, tickling you with the tip of his nose and his fluffy hair.

That was the way you fell asleep, tangled in his arms.  You never slept as well as you did when he was holding you, even on a ratty old mattress in a beat-up van in the abandoned desert, even separated from your loved ones and so painfully far from home.

~ ♡ ~

The knocking didn’t wake you up— only Eddie grabbing you and shaking you awake, whispering to you in a rushed voice, made you begin to stir.  “Princess,” he snapped, and you awakened as quickly as you could.  It was still pitch dark outside… except for the flashlight shining into the driver’s side window.

“E-Eddie, what’s going—?” you started to ask, but he pressed a finger over your lips before pulling the blanket up to your neck.

“There’s a state trooper outside,” he informed you, just as there was another knock on the window, and your eyes went wide but you remembered not to say anything.

“Stay in the van,” Eddie hissed.  “Don’t move or say anything until I come back, you hear me?  Stay in the van.”

You nodded quickly, blinking away the watering of your eyes.  He gave you a quick kiss on the forehead before he tossed the blanket over your face and hopped back up into the driver’s seat.

Another knock on the window made you startle with a jolt under the blanket, but you did your best to stay perfectly still and completely silent.  “I’m sorry, sir— is this a no-parking zone?” Eddie asked as soon as he’d started rolling the window down.

“That’s not the issue— I was just noticing that your van matches the description of a suspected kidnapping out of Indiana,” the officer explained.

“Oh!  Huh, that’s… actually not that unlikely, is it?  A lot of cheap old vans out there on the road,” Eddie pointed out.

“Yes, but yours has a hole in the bumper, in the same place the one we’re looking for does,” the officer replied.

You struggled to keep your crying silent; was Eddie going to be arrested because of you?  This was all your fault, you knew it—

“You don’t know anything about a missing girl, do you?” the trooper pressed.  “Eighteen years old, about yea high—” you stopped paying attention as he continued rattling off a few basics of your description.  They’d been right on your tail the whole time, hadn’t they?

“No, can’t say that I do,” Eddie answered.

“Well, then it shouldn’t be much trouble if I search the back of your van, right?” 

You shuddered, biting down on the blanket over your head and praying that Eddie would find some way out of this.  “Honestly, officer, it’s a bit inconvenient— I was just sleeping here and now I’m being asked about some girl, but I don’t know anything about that.  I’ve been living out of this van for weeks, so it’s like you’re asking to search my home.  And I really would just prefer to get back to sleep, honestly, I’ve got a lot of driving ahead of me tomorrow—”

“It won’t take long,” the officer insisted.

“That’s not my concern,” Eddie replied firmly.  “You don’t have a warrant and I’d just prefer that you leave.”

“Your lack of cooperation could be considered probable cause,” the officer shot back.

“Only if you don’t care much for the constitution,” Eddie spat.

“And if I call the station and have them run your plates,” the trooper countered, “they’re going to come back to this vehicle, correct?  Not, say, a 1967 Ford that reported its plates stolen this morning?”

There was a silence.  A long, terrifying silence.  Eddie said nothing.  You weren’t even breathing.  The trooper was the one that spoke next.

“Sir, I’m gonna need you to step out of the vehicle.” 

You heard the door open, and shut.  Steps around the vehicle outside, some talking you couldn’t make out.  Knowing you were alone in the van, you let yourself start to quietly weep.  It’s over, it’s all over—

The unmistakable, deafening sound of a gunshot outside made you scream in shock.  “Eddie!” you shrieked, jumping up and using the blanket to cover your nudity as you hastily swung open the van doors from the inside.

You weren’t ready to see it, to see your boyfriend bleeding on the road, to see that cop point the gun at you next— you weren’t ready to imagine how your life would go on without him.

So, maybe it was a good thing that that wasn’t what you saw.  But what you were looking at instead terrified you possibly even more.  Eddie was standing there, holding a revolver, still as a statue as he looked at the officer on the ground beneath him.  The man on the ground was still alive— breathing shakily, wide-eyed and shivering violently as his hands moved towards the growing patch of deep-red blood on his chest, but still alive.  The click of the revolver turning made you look at the gun again, seeing Eddie aim it once more and begin to press down on the trigger.

It was like a horrible nightmare, the way you opened your mouth to scream, but nothing came out.  The second gunshot was so loud, it forced you to wince— which spared you from seeing the exact moment that hole appeared in the trooper’s forehead, the moment his expression went blank and his whole body went limp.

When you opened your eyes again, Eddie was looking back at you over his shoulder.  “I told you to stay in the van,” he reminded you flatly.

“E-Eddie,” you breathed, feeling light-headed and sick all of a sudden.  “Eddie, what… what have you done?”

He turned to face you, stepping over the body and slipping the revolver back under his belt; you instinctively moved back when he took a step towards you, and his expression changed.  “Princess…” he sighed, sounding heartbroken— like he couldn’t believe you were scared of him, but how could you not be?  You didn’t even know he had a gun in the van— you didn’t know he could ever hurt someone.

You swallowed thickly.  “Eddie,” you whispered, one more time.  “What did you do?”

Something entirely new flashed across his expression— it reminded you of the way he looked when you told him that your mother hit you.  But this was much, much worse, because this time, it was directed at you.  “What did I do?” he repeated, livid.  “What did I do?”

You started to cry harder, your ears still ringing from the gunshots, as Eddie stormed up to you, grabbing you by your shoulders roughly.

“I did what you told me to,” he insisted, raising his voice.  “I saved you!  And now you’re looking at me like I’m a fucking monster!”

“No,” you cried, “no, Eddie, I’m just scared— tell me you didn’t really kill him…”

“What are you scared of?” he laughed— actually laughed, at a time like this, though he didn’t seem particularly amused anymore as his lips curled into a snarl.  “You didn’t mean it, did you?  When you said you loved me, you were lying—”

“No!” you denied, sobbing so hard that it was barely intelligible anymore.  “Eddie, I swear—”

“When you said we’d be together forever,” he continued, his jaw tight and his nostrils flaring.  “I meant that, I meant every fucking word, princess.”

“I know,” you agreed, “I know— me too, Eddie, I love you!”

“Really?” he breathed, holding the sides of your face as you sniffled helplessly.  “Do you really love me, princess?  Don’t lie to me.”

“I love you so much,” you promised, “I’ve only ever loved you… I’m just so scared, I don’t understand—”

Your voice was starting to break, and he soothed you with a shhh and a kiss on the height of your cheekbone.  “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he whispered, switching back and forth between each cheek, “it can be scary, being in love for the first time.  I said nobody’s ever gonna take you from me, princess, don’t you remember that?”

You nodded, but when you glanced away from where his eyes were boring into you, you could see behind him the lifeless hand of the man he’d killed, the puddle of blood navigating through the cracks in the dusty orange earth.

“Hey, don’t look at that,” he corrected you, turning your face so you’d have to look up at him again.  “Look at me— that doesn’t matter.  This, you and me, this is the only thing that matters, okay?  I love you.  I love you.”

Swallowing only seemed to make the lump in your throat bigger.

“Do you fucking hear me?” he growled.  “I love you!”

“I-I love you too!” you finally choked out.

He slammed his lips onto yours, holding you there long after you tried to push yourself away from him.  “Now,” he announced when he pulled back, “get back in the van.  We need to go.”

~ ♡ ~

When you got sick on car rides, Mama always told you to look out the window.  Well, you couldn’t see out the window from where you were curled up in a ball in the back of the van, your limp body jumping and swaying each time Eddie hit a bump or a turn— but somehow, you didn’t think getting in the passenger and looking at the desolation of rural California was going to help with this particular bout of nausea.

“Come on, come back up to the front,” Eddie pleaded.  “I miss you, princess!”

You said nothing, burying your head into one of the pillows strewn over the mattress.  It smelled like him— it reminded you of how it felt when you were only safe in his arms.  Now you just cried all the time.

When the vehicle came to a stop, and Eddie got out, you wondered if maybe he was just getting gas.  Until the back doors opened and he stood between them, arms stretched out wide to each handle, giving you a pouty look with a tilted head.  “Poor thing,” he cooed, climbing in with you and shutting the doors behind him.  You turned away, you even tried to scoot up closer to the wall, but obviously there was nowhere else to go as he laid down behind you and started to run his hands over you through the thin blanket.  “I know you’re… not happy right now.  Just tell me how to make you feel better.”

You tried to shrug him away, but his fingertips tickled your waist a bit while his whole body moved a bit closer, trying to coax you out of your hiding place.

“Princeeeesss,” he sing-songed, leaning in a little closer to kiss the back of your neck where the blanket didn’t cover it; you flinched and pulled it up over your head, only for him to yank it off of you roughly.  “Hey,” he snapped, “don’t do that.  Don’t act like I’m not here.  Talk to me.”

Sighing, you rolled onto your back and gave him a quick look— it was all you could stand right now— before you stared up at the rusted ceiling of the van.  “What do you want me to say, Ed?” you breathed.

“I want you to say that you’re not mad at me,” he admitted.  “I want you to say that you still love me.”

You let out a long breath, reaching up to rub your eyes with the lowest part of your palm, just by your wrist.  “I… I’m not mad, Eddie, I’m—”

“Scared, I know,” he finished for you, “you only told me a thousand times.”

You groaned and turned away again, curling up even tighter as he started to backtrack instantly.

“N-no, come on, don’t be like that,” he protested, sliding up behind you and spooning you even though his touch sent a rush of conflicted feelings through your body.  “Princess, please— you can’t do this to me, you can’t treat me like this!  You’re gonna kill me, I can’t take it— I can’t take not holding you, not kissing you…”

To emphasize his point, he started to kiss a trail along your neck; and as much as your mind swirled with confusion and fear and hurt, your body did respond to it.  There was a warmth between your legs, a cry for something familiar and comfortable that only he could provide. 

He turned you on to your back again, looking down at you with a tilted, sympathetic sort of frown. “Okay, so maybe I can’t make you happy right now,” he relented, “but…”

He moved a little closer, holding your waist with one hand as he mouthed at your neck.

“But I know I can make you feel good…”

You turned your face away, but he reached up and guided it back with a hand on your cheek, pulling you into a soft, patient kiss.

“I know you didn’t forget this, princess,” he breathed in between moments of slotting his lips with yours.  “I know you can’t forget that we’re made for each other.  You can feel it, can’t you?  When we make love.  It’s so right…”

You didn’t stop him when he pulled you closer, when he climbed on top of you, not even when he slipped his tongue into your mouth.  You were just about ready to give into it, actually, when his hand started moving lower; and you instantly fought to push his hand away while it was slipping into your shorts.  “Eddie, don’t—” you whimpered, but he brushed your hands out of the way and got back to what he was doing.

“No, don’t do that,” he instructed you softly, “I’m just making you feel better, princess— I’m gonna make it better…”

As his fingers expertly explored you, finding those familiar places right away and exploiting them for all they were worth, you shut your eyes tight and struggled to relax beneath him.  You knew if you opened your eyes, you’d find him there, staring down at you with those eyes.  You could see it all: the way his eyes looked when you first met and he made you feel so dizzy and strange and special; the way they looked when he took your virginity— no, when you gave it to him, when you begged him to have it— that night on Lover’s Lake, under the stars, promising you that this was forever; the way they looked when he told you he was going to whisk you, save you from a summer of solitude in France, that forever wasn’t just real, it was now; the way they looked at you over his shoulder, the gun still in his hand, the world completely still and quiet for a moment, once the sounds of an innocent man begging for his life were silenced.

You didn’t know you were crying, until you felt him kiss your tears away.  “You’re doing so good,” he praised, “just like that— so good for me, you’re so beautiful…”

Hoping for a moment of comfort, you clung to him tightly, the building pleasure forcing you to let all of your emotions out; you sobbed, openly, and let every touch awaken your body and silence your mind.

“There you go,” he cooed, holding you tighter in return, “come on my fingers, princess— nice and easy, you know how, just let go—”

Whining his name, the first one hit you.  ‘The first one’ because, immediately after that, he held your legs open and climbed on top of you and fucked you, taking you to the edge again as you held onto him for dear life.  He didn’t stop talking for more than a moment the whole way through it, promising you that he was going to keep you safe, begging you not to leave him, reminding you of every time you’d told him that you loved him and that you were his.

When he was finished, he kissed all over your shaking body, whispering about how perfect you were.  “Do you feel better now, princess?” he asked quietly when his journey of kisses brought him back up to your collarbones.

“I… I feel…” you panted.  You didn’t know where to start.  “Sleepy,” you finally decided, and you felt him press a smile to your cheek.

“Then fall asleep,” he offered, “I’ll wake you up when we get there, okay?  Get some rest… you’ve earned it.”

You were exhausted physically and emotionally, so it didn’t take more than a minute or so once Eddie started driving again for you to lull into dreamlessness.  Sleep was a welcome reprieve from existence, from thought and fear and pain.  From trying to figure out if you were Eddie’s lover or his prisoner.  From remembering how simple, how idyllic your life used to be— no, not perfect, but much easier.  From imagining what would happen to you if the police found you again; from wondering what would happen to them if the police found you again.

It was just a shame you didn’t get to sleep longer.

~ ♡ ~

“Wake up, princess,” his voice gently wafted into your ear.  “We made it, baby, look…”

You blinked your eyes open, feeling Eddie’s arms wrapped tightly around you— a little too tight.  Maybe he still thought you’d run.

But where would you run to?  All you could see out of the open back doors of the van was ocean, and sand.  The beach was empty; and it was just as beautiful as you remembered.  “We’re here,” he told you, kissing your cheek as he held you from behind, cradling you and resting his chin on your shoulder.  “This is it— me and you, together.  And we can go wherever you wanna go next.”

Shivering slightly, you felt your eyes water again.  “I… I wanna go home.”

You should’ve been afraid that it would make him angry, but by now you were so numb… you just said it without thinking.  He didn’t get angry, though, at least not on the outside.  He just laughed a little and told you, “princess, we are home.”

He seemed to get a little more serious, sighing as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

“You’re my home,” he belabored the point, “you’re my everything, princess.  I know this is hard… love is hard, especially when it’s real.  Just remember that you love me, okay?”

A gentle kiss landed on your shoulder, then your neck, then your jaw.

“Remember when we promised forever,” he continued, and as tears rolled silently down your expressionless face, he pressed his lips right up to your ear to speak directly into it.  “And remember that if your parents come for you, I’ll kill them, too.”

One of the arms that he’d had crossed over your chest reached up, his thumb wiping your tear away on the opposite cheek from where he’d pressed his face up so close to yours— you could feel his hot breath on your skin, and it, along with his body holding yours so tight, kept you from shivering in the chilly morning breeze over the beach.

“You believe me, right?” he whispered, and you nodded slightly.  “Good,” he cooed as he kissed your cheek.  “I love you so much, princess… you can’t imagine how much.  Your pretty little head would explode.”

He held his fingers up to your head, and stretched them out in a mock explosion, hissing the sound into your ear: pshh…

[em-doods]

Oof

[godmadeaterribleerror]

A Long, Long Time

Main Masterlist - Bucky Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, smut (p in v, fingering), light angst, fluff, humor, action, no use of y/n, friends to lovers, post-TFATWS, past Steve Rodgers/Reader, truth serums.

Summary: The truth doesn't hurt. It's not freeing, either. It just sits in your chest, until it's pried out, and you're looking it the eyes with nowhere to run, and Bucky knows you love him.

But he's not running either.

Author's Note: I love making scenarios. I love making Bucky feel loved. Kevin Feige I'm in your walls.

Word Count: 9.2k

You’ve never been good at fighting for things. 

It’s not because you’re weak, or don’t care, or don’t have anything to fight for, it’s just not what you do.

Fighting for things means that you’ve already lost them. That you had something, and you weren’t smart or good enough to keep it, and you’d lost it. Failed. Had a chance to do it right and destroyed it, held something in the palm of your hand and crushed it to pieces.

It’s not logical, or reasonable, but it’s what you do. You’d tried to explain it to Steve once, and he’d frowned at you like you were insane.

“If you had it, doesn’t that mean it was worth fighting to have?”

You’d shaken your head, turning your fork between your hands with a long sigh. “No, it means I had it, then… I guess dropped it. If it was worth having, I wouldn’t have dropped it.”

“What if you didn’t drop it?” Steve had raised his brows, and you’d stabbed your fork into your food, almost chewing right through your cheek. 

“But I did.”

“How about if it’s indestructible?”

You’d given him a flat look. “Anything can be destructible if you’re destructive enough.”

“Then what if someone knocked it out of your hands-”

“I feel like you’re getting too caught up on the metaphor,” You’d mumbled, and Steve had shrugged.

“It’s just not making sense. You’re saying you had it. If you love something, you fight for it. To keep it.”

You’d hummed. “I thought if you loved something, you let it go?”

“That’s a loose rule. You can’t be letting everything you love go, or else you’ll end up alone.”

Maybe you’d just never loved something. Maybe whatever you’d been told to read as love was wrong, or you’re just defective and not capable of the raw, tear-the-world apart love that Steve had been talking about. And everything falls through your fingers because it can sense that, and fighting for it would be holding it hostage.

“You’re not going to fix me in one conversation, Steven.” You’d muttered, kicking his shin under the table. “Eat your pancakes.”

Steve had sighed, but listened. 

Then, years later, he’d gone back in time to Peggy, and you hadn’t bothered to stop him. 

You hadn’t loved him, but it had been the closest thing you’d ever had to something. More than just a body for warmth, more than just flat word for the sake of speaking, more than just company for the prayer of not being stranded. For a very long, long time you’d been certain that Steve had been your shot. That you’d missed it because you had horrible aim and sand for bullets, and now you were alone just like he’d warned you’d be.

And you’d been wrong. You’d been so horribly, impossibly wrong, because you’d been right. All the wires and nerves had gotten tangled and crossed in your body, and you’d been right about the wrong thing, and you’d ended up so lost that the sky had gone black until one star blinked at you, and guided you home.

You’d never loved Steve. He’d never been your shot. 

And when love had hit you—really, truly fucking hit you—it hadn’t been like the train or comet or blow to the gut people had always told you it would be.

It had been clear. The world had gotten sharper, and colors had been more vibrant, and you’d known. 

You’d never been in love before. 

You were in love now.

In half a second, you’d fallen into it, and you’d never be able to crawl back out. You didn’t know how to fight for it, but you could wait for it. You could lie here like you were in a grave and wait for flowers to bloom above you, and then maybe he’d pick them and know you’d grown them for him.

Because Bucky doesn’t know that you love him. You don’t know how to tell him, either, because every other time you’ve said it suddenly seems like at lie, and no words are big enough anymore. 

And Sam had fucked it. One day you’re going to shove him into the ocean or something, because he’d found you after the Blip and told Bucky you were the girl. The one that Steve had found in a crowd and kept, who was smarter and kinder than someone named Sharon, who they’d been supposed to find and take care of, but gotten sidetracked.

That would’ve been like a noose on your heart, in you’d really heard that part of Sam’s sentence. That Steve had told him to find you and look after you, but then left anyway, only for Sam to completely forget.

But you hadn’t heard him.

You’d been staring at Bucky, and the world had been clear, and you hadn’t been sure if it was a ringing in your ears or some sort of fucked up, heavenly choir. 

Maybe it had been adrenaline, in that first moment. You’d told yourself, over and over, that maybe it had just been the rush of meeting him, because Steve had told you so much already.

But then you’d followed them back to New York, and it had been love. It had been long, heavy love that was stronger than anything you’d ever felt, and made you do stupid, pathetic things to just keep yourself in Bucky’s orbit. It started with being whatever he and Sam asked you to be, because you didn’t feel expendable, but you wanted to be irreplaceable. You’d made yourself so useful in every way possible. With research and computers and undercover work where you got to hang off Bucky’s arm and smile at him, and he’d smile back like he loved you, and it was just the job but fuck, it was like a drug.

Being in love had made you smarter, as the months passed. You could do stitches and relocate joints, fly a plane and read in two new languages, and an average hacking job but an outstanding acting one. Your cooking has gotten better, mostly making different kinds of eggs, because it’s something you do with Bucky once a week, and you can play the piano, because he’d mentioned he liked it once. 

You were going to rot away here. Loving Bucky in silence and never saying anything, and it would be a soft and gentle death because Bucky does like you. You’re friends, and he’s called you important to him and yelled at you for being reckless, but not wanting you to die isn’t the same pure, wrathful love you feel for him. 

But you’re the girl. Steve’s girl. That was left behind and fell into Bucky’s care. That he keeps around for you—some unknown shift had occurred, and you know you’re not being allowed to remain in Bucky’s orbit because Steve asked him to keep you there—but as a friend. 

You can be a friend. You can be whatever the fuck Bucky needs you to be, just as long as you’re allowed to stay here.

And being his friend is easy. Doing things for him is easier. Loving him, even in numbing silence, is the simplest thing in the world.

“This is so fucking stupid.” Bucky had grumbled last week, glowering at his paper, and Sam had shrugged. 

“I think it’s fun.”

Bucky had shot him a glare. “We’re using glitter gel pens, Sam, you know this is stupid.”

“I happen to like glitter gel pens.” Sam had shot you a grin across the table as he said your name, and you’d narrowed your eyes in a silent warning he’d completely ignored. “Do you think it’s stupid?”

“The pens or the lists?”

Sam’s grin had grown. “Lists?”

You’d shrugged, dropping your gaze to your own blank sheet of paper. “They’re kinda dumb, but I’m still going to do it.”

“See, Buck?” Sam had raised his brows at Bucky’s scowl, then turned back to you. “How about the pens?”

“I like them.” You’d spun yours between your fingers, trying not the feel Bucky’s gaze over your skin. “But I like glitter, and Bucky doesn’t-“

“I like glitter.” He’d grunted, scowling at his own pen. “But it doesn’t belong in pens. It’s impractical.”

Sam had rolled his eyes. “They can write, man, that’s all they gotta do.”

“Yeah, Buck. You have no whimsy.”

You’d smiled at him, and he’d returned it, but it had been the only smile he’d offered for the rest of the day. 

But the point hadn’t been to get him to smile. It had been to make him do the lists, because his therapist said it was important, and if he didn’t, he’d be in violation of his pardon conditions again. It had taken a very long, tense afternoon to get it done, but he’d handed his list to his therapist the next day, and you’d kept your crumbled in your jacket pocket since.

And you still weren’t fighting for things. 

You think it’s how you ended up here. In this warehouse, your head spinning and everything a little too bright.

You can’t really remember, and this might just be an incredibly odd dream. Your tongue feels loose in your mouth, your skin has an odd buzzing feel over it, and this couch is made of what’s probably velvet, and you’re pretty sure Spiderman is standing right next to you, holding your list.

Your list. He’s reading your list. No one’s supposed to read that list, and you almost broken Sam’s hand for trying, and you know Sam-

“What the- fuck-“

Spiderman looks up at you right as you topple off the couch, his eyes widening his suit.

“Oh, shoot, sorry, ma’am-“

He pulls you back up to your feet, this list still in his hands, and you’d try to grab it but your whole body feels like jelly and mist. Nothing in you but your thoughts, floating around and narrowing in on the list, why does Spiderman have your list-

“What-“ You groan as he sets you back on the couch, closing your eyes to try and ward off the bile rising up your throat. “Why- What is- What happened?”

“Um,” Spiderman’s voice cracks slightly, sounding almost uncertain. “You were poking around where civilians shouldn’t be, miss- And I was looking in the same lab-“

You frown, keeping your eyes squeezed shut. “Lab?”

“Yeah, uh, one of the secret evil government ones-“

“Fuck.”

It’s coming back in small, hazy pieces.

Bucky told you that you didn’t need to do this, but you’d done it anyway. You weren’t recognizable, and you were careful and smart, so you’d be in and out before Sam and Bucky realized you’d gone and the building’s security realized you weren’t there for a meeting.

Something had happened. You’d gotten the evidence you needed, and there had been vial or canister, and you’d knocked it over because your phone had started ringing, and it had been Bucky. You’d think you’d declined the call, or just let it ring to voicemail, but he’d sent you a very angry text seconds later.

He’d noticed you were gone faster than you thought he would. He’d worked out what you were doing, and he was coming to grab you because you were being stupid, and when he’d called you a second time, you’d- 

You’d thrown your phone in panic. It had broken the canister. And everything had gone black.

“Do you, uh,” Spiderman clears his throat from somewhere in front of you. “You look like you remember what happened?”

You give a half-nod, letting out a long breath. “Where am I?”

“You’re in my warehouse.” 

You open your eyes at that, and Spiderman shakes his head. 

“It’s a safe warehouse. Really safe. The safest. You collapsed, ma’am. I couldn’t just, uh- leave you on the floor? Alone? But-“ He looks down to your list, then back to you with an expression that’s somehow nervous through the mask. “May I please ask you a question?”

You can’t really go anywhere. And he’s already read your list, so there’s not much to lose.

“Sure.”

“Does the Bucky from your list have a metal arm? Because it’s not a- uh- I’ve only met one guy named Bucky, and he tried to punch me because we were doing this big fight at an airport, and he had a metal arm, and he’s not- uh- he seemed alright, but it was super complicated, and if this,” he points to your list, his voice growing higher and higher by the second. “Is the Bucky I know, then- uh- Is it?”

“Yeah,“ you let out a long, breath, and something is cloudy over your skull. Your Bucky does have a metal arm. “It is.”

“Oh, okay.” Spiderman blinks at you, then the list. “You, uh- You guys seem close, then. That’s cool.”

For a second, you want to lie. Just say you’re not that close, just co-workers, and Spiderman doesn’t need to be thinking about Bucky because it’s really, totally nothing.

But you can’t lie. The words just die at the top of your chest, and you can’t even bite your tongue and swallow the truth, or you’ll choke on your own spit.

“It’s- I- I love him.”

You’ve never said that aloud before. Not even to the mirror. But Spiderman just shrugs like it’s nothing, and then gestures to your list.

“Yeah, I uh- I worked that out, ma’am. He’s on here like ten times.” Spiderman’s eyes narrow on the paper. “Upstate, where you can see the stars. Bucky’s ass and arms. Candles. My blue vase. The color blue in general. The color brown, too. Bucky’s hair when he actually uses his fucking conditioner. Bucky’s eyes. Bucky when he’s sleepy and his Brooklyn accent slips. Cotton Candy ice cream.” Spiderman looks up at you with a nod. “Oh, that stuff is really good, there’s a place in Queens that makes it, and it tastes like- well, cotton candy-“ 

“That’s nice.” You mumble. “Can you please- just- I already know what the list says-“

“Right, of course, sorry.” Spiderman pauses, bouncing slightly on his feet. “It’s a nice list though.”

You sigh. “I know. That was the point.”

“To make a nice list?”

“Yep.”

Spiderman sounds like he’s frowning. “That’s- uh- Why? I mean, you don’t have to tell-“

“It was for Bucky’s therapy. He had to make a list of all the good things in his life, so Sam and I did it with him.” 

You didn’t want to tell Spiderman that. He’d even been about to say you didn’t have to, but you did. He asked, and if you don’t say the truth, it feels as if all the oxygen will burn up in your lungs. 

That can’t be good.

“Hey, kid?” He sounds like a kid. And if he’s not, he doesn’t correct you. He only nods and takes a step closer, waiting for you to continue. “Do you know what I gassed myself with.”

“Um.” Spiderman swallows. “No? But I have a guess-“

“Is your guess truth gas? Because my guess is truth gas.”

“Yeah, it is. I mean, that’s my guess too. You’ve, uh, you’ve been really honest. Not that you’re not an honest person, I don’t know you, but I’ve asked a lot of personal questions-“

You give him a flat look. “You could stop doing that, you know.”

“Uh- Yeah. Sorry. I will.” Spiderman glances over his shoulder, then back to your list. “He’s gonna be looking for you, right? Mr. Barnes?”

“Probably.” You mumble, and Spiderman’s eyes widen.

“Are you guys, like, together-“

“No, we’re not.”

“Oh.” Spiderman gives you what’s likely meant to be an apologetic expression, “Sorry, that was another personal question. But, uh, if you’re not together, why-“

“We’re friends. And he was-“ You let out a breath through your teeth, and maybe you should just ask Spiderman to put tape over your mouth before this gets worse. “Not happy I was in the lab. And he has to protect me. He promised Steve.”

“You knew Captain Rogers? That’s so-“

“We were fuckbuddies.”

Spiderman’s eyes widen again. “Oh. Good- Good for you.”

He gives you a weak thumbs up, and you manage to pull your arms over your body into a tight hug.

“Do you, uh- Do you want me to call Mr. Barnes for you-“

“Yes, please.”

You list off Bucky’s number, and when he picks up in only seconds, you think you can hear him shouting at Spiderman through the phone. 

If you were lucky, you’d convince Spiderman to knock you out again. To eliminate the truth serum problem by force, and make it so you don’t have to look Bucky in the eyes when he arrives. But you suggest it, get shot down, and don’t push it further.

And when Bucky bursts into the warehouse—Sam right on his heels and looking far too amused for the situation—you really wish you’d fought harder. Fought at all. 

You can’t do this. You can’t listen to Bucky snap at Spiderman for being an idiot and kidnapping you, and watch Sam’s eyes light up when Spiderman explains the whole truth gas thing. 

“So anything we ask her, she’s gonna have to tell us the truth?”

Bucky’s jaw twitches as he glances at you. “Truth gas isn’t real. It’s just the aftereffects being knocked out-“

“It’s real, Mr. Barnes-“

“Only one way to find out.” Sam cuts off Spiderman with a wide grin, saying your name in a mockingly casual tone. “What was the best thing you and Cap ever did in bed?”

“Sam-“

Bucky looks like he’s going to throw Sam into the wall, but he’s too late. 

“Face-sitting.” When this is over, you’re going to shoot Sam yourself. “I liked the beard a lot.”

Sam’s grin looks like it’s going to start glowing. “Damn, good for you girl. You know, if you like beards-“

“Sam.” Bucky’s voice has dropped to almost a growl, and he’s not looking at you anymore. “Go start the car.”

There’s a long moment where they seem to be having a silent conversation—Sam wearing a shit eating grin and jerking his head in your direction, Bucky looking like he’s one brief moment away from strangling Sam with his bare hands—but before you can figure out what’s happening, Spiderman’s tapping on your shoulder.

You manage to angle your head to frown at him, and he’s holding your gaze in the silence, pointing to your list in his hands, then Bucky.

“Does he know you-“

“No.” You cut off the kid’s whisper before he can finish the sentence, because Bucky will fucking hear him. “Don’t say it.”

“Don’t-“ Spiderman pauses, then nods frantically. “Oh, yeah, sorry- Just- This is yours.”

He shoves the list back into your jacket, right as Sam walks outside with a dramatic sigh, and Bucky turns back to you, his expression unreadable.

“You weren’t supposed to go in alone.” He grunts, and you swallow.

“I know.” You give him a small, nervous smile. “Sorry.”

“I- No, you’re not.”

“I am.” You insist, somehow managing to lean forward as he approaches, and something strange flashes over Bucky’s eyes. “I can’t lie, Buck, I really am sorry, I- I didn’t want to freak you out, I promise-“

Bucky shakes his head, running a hand over his face. “Alright. I got you. Hold on.”

You blink at him. “Hold-“

Bucky hauls you over his shoulder without another warning, and you can barely hear Spiderman’s shouted goodbyes and last apologies over the drum of your heart. 

“Bucky-“

“Not now.” He grunts, squeezing your thigh with a hand, and that’s not fair. Your body goes molten from it, and he doesn’t know that, and if he asks why you’re suddenly breathing so heavy you’ll have to tell him that you can feel an ache in your core, it’s all his fault.

Bucky doesn’t seem all that interested in talking, though. There are no lectures about being insane and getting yourself drugged. No snaps or grumbles about not telling him where you were going.

He won’t even look you in the eyes, and it’s a million times worse. He just sets you flat on your back in the car and moves to the passenger’s seat, and Sam’s sympathetic look only makes you taste more bile.

Maybe this was a straw on something you hadn’t thought could break, and he’s going to tell you that you’re done. That if you can’t listen, you’re not allowed in the field anymore, and that’s not his fucking call to make but you know Sam won’t stand against him. You work with Bucky the most, and if he says he doesn’t want you anymore, you’re out.

He’ll still be your friend, but you’ll see him less. No more long train rides or later nights in hotels where you can watch him sleep like a fucking creep, imagining he’s holding you to his chest instead of a pillow. And without you there he’ll meet someone, and she’ll become his world, and you’ll be left with this glass over your heart that only becomes stained with color when Bucky looks at you. You’ll be stranded again, and Bucky will be guiding someone else home, and that grave you’ve dug for yourself will bloom a million times until you’re buried under it, and Bucky never removes the dirt from your lungs.

“So.” Sam breaks the silence, and maybe if you bite off your tongue you can save yourself from what’s coming. “Truth gas, huh?”

“Yeah.” You mumble, feeling the flush heat your face, and Sam hums.

“How’s it feel?”

You pause, but only to find the right word. “Fuzzy. Like- Drunk, but paralyzed and also kind of high.”

“Damn, that sounds nice-“

“It’s not.”

“Sam.” Bucky mutters, and you wish you could see him. If his arms are crossed, if he’s scowling, if he looks revolted by the sight of you. “I’ll crash the fucking car.”

“No, you won’t. Hey,” Sam drawls your name, and you can hear his grin. “You remember Singapore?”

“Yeah, I remember the country-“

“You remember the mission we did there, during the Avenger’s break-up era?”

You swallow. “Yes.”

“You remember how you and Cap vanished for like, an hour?”

“Sam.” You let out a long breath, and try your fucking hardest to dodge this. “You know I do-“

“What did you guys get up to?”

“Sam.” Bucky growls, but it’s—again—too late.

“I made him get food with me.”

“See, Buck,” Sam says, and you can see him gesturing in your periphery. “It’s not that bad-“

You cut him off, and you can’t stop yourself. “Then we had sex. I gave him a blowjob.”

There’s a long heavy silence, and you think they’re doing the silent conversation again. You can feel your every nerve, alight in your body, and if Bucky doesn’t kick you out you might just run away anyways. He can’t want to hear about it. Steve was like his brother, you’re talking about how you used to fuck his brother, and edging dangerously close to a worse conversation where Bucky tells Sam to shut up, and you agree, and when Sam asks why you’re siding with Bucky, you say it’s because you love him-

Sam says your name again, and whatever silent threats Bucky had given him didn’t seem to be sticking. “What would you do if Steve came back?”

“Nothing.”

That’s an easy one. Sam’s asked you that a million times before, and he seems to be convinced that whenever you say nothing, it’s a lie. That you’ve been hiding how you’d break down in tears and throw yourself into his arms, declaring that your love is undying when it’s never even existed at all, sobbing until Steve forgives you for not asking him to stay.

You’re pretty sure that Sam thinks that, if you’d asked Steve to stay, he would’ve. And you don’t really care either way, because he hadn’t stayed. He’d made his choice, and it had maybe left you hollow for a few months, but now you know that what had been a small bullet wound with Steve was really nothing at all.

It would be a gash through a vital organ, if it had been love. It would’ve been your spine out of your body and your brain leaking out of your mouth, your skin flayed by the loss.

Because Steve had only been a compass. You could make another one, or find another one, and it only guided you north. If he came back, you’d only offer him a hug and a smile, because he’d still be your friend but there was nothing more to do.

Not when your heart wasn’t screeching for him. Not when you had a home, and a way back to it that you might be about to lose, and why isn’t Bucky saying anything-

“Why’s that?” Sam drawls your name, and something twists in your gut. He sounds too casual, as if he’d expected that answer. “Thought you were Steve’s girl-“

“We had sex, Sam, we weren’t soulmates-“

The fuckface doesn’t drop. You hope Bucky stabs him. “But you loved him, right?”

“I never loved Steve, he was just-“ You’re going to fuck vomit. “He was my friend, and the sex was good, really good, but it wasn’t love.” 

There’s another silence, and maybe if you do vomit, you’ll choke on it and pass out. 

“Told you, Buck.” Sam mutters, and you frown into the air.

“What did you tell him-“

Sam cuts you off with a chuckle. “Tell ‘er, man, what have you got to lose-“

“Sam.” Bucky grunts, and you can hear his glower. “If you don’t drop it, now-“

“Jesus, hold onto your ass. Here, how about-“

“I’m fucking serious-“

“So am I.” Sam cuts off Bucky’s hiss, humming your name like nothing is wrong in the world at all. “How do you know you didn’t love Steve?”

“It wasn’t what love feels like.” You mumble, and maybe you can talk around this. Answer the questions truthfully, without saying the thing.

“Interesting. And what does love feel like?”

“Good.” 

“What’s good.”

“Love.”

You swear you could hear Bucky snort, or at least cough. 

“Alright, smartass.” Sam mutters, and you can hear him tapping on the wheel. “You ever been in love?”

Fuck. “Yes.”

“How many times?” 

“Once.” You’re going to throttle him. Drown him. Take Bucky up on that crash the car thing, because Bucky will be fine, but maybe you and Sam will die and then you can fucking murder his ghost-

“Anyone we know?” Sam’s voice is far too casual. He knows. You don’t know how, but the shithead knows.

“Yeah.”

“Really?” Sam chuckles to himself, and Bucky better punch him now, before it’s too late- 

“Yes.” You mutter, pressing on your eyelids until you can see little spiraling patterns. “Sam-“

“Who?”

You try to swallow it. You really fucking try to choke on it, to just let it kill you, to bury yourself before this can ruin everything, and Bucky won’t even be your friend anymore-

But you have no powers. No extraordinary will or resolve or healing factor, to flush the gas out of your system at will or bite down that immovable fact. 

It’s more than truth. It’s a tenant, a law, something as simple as cold air will sink and time will keep moving. 

You will. You just will. You’ll always fucking do it, and there’s no world ending disaster to save your from say that you simply do and have and will love-

“Bucky.” 

You think it’s a mercy, how the gas is fogging over your brain. You hear something slam into something else, but the car keeps moving, and a tight silence hangs over the rest of the ride that you allow yourself not to feel. You just keep your eyes closed and pretend nothing happened at all, because you’ve broken it, and you’re done.

It has to be done. Bucky knows, and he said nothing in return. You don’t have to worry about it, because this is going to kill you, but you’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. Bucky isn’t saying anything, and even Sam has stopped talking, and you’re going to fucking wither and fall away into nothing but you’ll be fucking fine. Bucky doesn’t owe you anything. Just because you love him like the water loves the moon and bees love flowers and trees love birds doesn’t mean he has to give you anything in return. 

To him you’ve just been his friend, and loving Bucky might be clarity for you, but for him it’s probably strange. You’re Steve’s girl that got left behind. You’re the little shadow that he’d already been planning on surgically removing from his wake, and you loving him shouldn’t make that different. He’s not going to just love you because you love him. If anything he might think you’re trying to twist his will, make him feel guilty for planning to push you away, force him to let you cling to him a little while longer out of obligation.

The same obligation that has him carrying you inside, when you finally park the car.

He must think you’re asleep. Must not want to wake you and force that conversation, with how he’s holding you in your arms like you’re a damsel or princess, and not just another piece of luggage.

You’re greedy. You won’t pretend to wake up, because you’re greedy, and you want this for just one more second. To let your face press into Bucky’s chest, to smell the coffee on his shirt, and amber of that old cologne he wears when he thinks he doesn’t have mission to do.

You’d ruined that. You’d made him grab you from a warehouse, made him carry you inside, and you don’t know why he’s setting you on your bed with such care when you fucked everything-

This isn’t your bed, it smells like that cologne, and a piney shampoo, and the blankets are thinner than yours.

“I know you’re awake.” Bucky’s voice is low, from somewhere across the room, and you really wish you could sit up. “I’m goin’ out with Sam to check out the lab, make sure nothing else got fucked on your trip. I-“ He pauses, and you can hear a slightly shuffling before he speaks again. “Don’t move. Please. I’ll be back.”

You couldn’t move if you wanted to. The gas is still running through your system, and when the door closes behind Bucky, exhaustion slams into your chest. 

It’s not sleep exhaustion. It’s drifting in and out consciousness, the light of the room seeming to shift as you roll around Bucky’s bed—this has to be Bucky’s bed, and you don’t really want to think about that too hard right now—ending up with your face buried in his pillow. You think you can, at some point, hear people moving around near you, but it’s nothing. The world, right now, is just you, in Bucky’s bed, breathing an imprint of him in as your limbs start to grow heavy, and motion returns to your body.

But you stay in Bucky’s bed. You don’t have the strength to move. Physically, at first, but then that’s just an excuse.

You don’t want to move. You won’t fight to convince Bucky to let you stay, but you also won’t fight to set yourself free before he kicks you to the curb. 

So you just wait. And you’re tired enough that you don’t hear him come in.

You yelp as a big, cool hand presses to your brow, and your eyes shoot open to find Bucky already watching you.

“Lab is fine.” He mutters. “And Sam’s out. He’s walkin’ it off.” 

You don’t respond, and Bucky’s throat bobs slightly.

“I didn’t beat him not. Not go for recovery and shit, but I did yell at him a lot. And he’s sorry. He’ll be bringin’ you cake later, to show it.”

Another beat of silence, and Bucky won’t stop looking at you.

“Ice cream cake.” He grunts. “You had a fever, for a minute. Think the cold will help.” He switches hands, frowning as he scans over your face. “You feelin’ better?”

You let out a long breath, and you can’t do this. You can ride it out, but you can’t do it.

Bucky grunts your name when you don’t answer, his brow furrowing slightly. “I need you to tell me you’re feelin’ better.”

You just blink at him, and give a tiny, weak nod. 

“Are you gonna talk to me?” His voice sounds strained, and you can’t fucking do this- “I- You don’t need to explain, I just want you to stop ignoring me-“

“You were ignoring me first.” You mumble, and you sound like you’re whining. This is horrible, and if Bucky wasn’t going to toss you away before, he will now. “You wouldn’t look at me.”

Bucky’s jaw ticks. “I’m looking at you now, doll.”

“Bucky-“

“Is the truth gas gone?:

You blink at him. “I- Maybe, yeah-“

“Tell me a lie, then.” His tone is urgent, and maybe the gas isn’t gone. Maybe you just finally fell into full sleep, and this is a dream. 

“Um…” You blink at him, your voice barely a rasp. “I can’t think of anything.”

“Shit, how about- Who ate my dumplings?”

“Sam.” You whisper, and Bucky frowns.

“He said you did it, so that’s a lie-“

That manages to pull a weak smile out of you. “And you trust him?”

“I-“ Bucky runs a hand over his face, shaking his head. “You’re right. What about this. What color are my sheets?”

You frown. “You can see them, Buck, they’re blue-“

“I know, you just gotta lie. Say they’re pink.”

“They’re pink?”

“Thank fuck.” Bucky lets out a long breath, watching you carefully as he continues. “No interrupting me until I’m done, got it?”

“Bucky-“

“Got it?”

His tone isn’t harsh, but it’s sharp. Almost desperate. 

You can’t fight.

All you can do is nod, and whisper, “Okay.”

“Good.” He braces his shoulders, the same movement as when he’s prepping for a fight, his eyes never leave yours as he speaks. “I wasn’t ignoring you. I thought- Shit, I was sure I’d fuck something up. Ask why you snuck off on that mission, and you’d say because you didn’t trust me to do it, then I’d ask why, and you’d- goddamn it-“ He cuts himself off with a groan, his word almost pushed through his teeth. “I didn’t want to hear it, doll. I didn’t want you to tell me what I knew, cause then it would be real, and I’d have to live with that. You’re, I never even hoped for it, cause that’s just not how this is supposed to work, and he might have left but he’d have to come back- I woulda always come back for you, wouldn’t have left you in the first place but the kid’s always been a punk, might’ve taken him a second- But you- Wait-“

Bucky reaches into his pocket, and you shouldn’t have agreed not to interrupt him. You’re only half-following what he’s saying, and he’s pulling out your fucking list, and maybe if you can’t fight it’s time to run-

Before you can move, Bucky’s hand lands on your thigh, holding you in place as he scans over the list. Like he’d been ready for you to go. 

Gripping you so tight, he might not want you to leave.

“I don’t think my accent slips that much.” He says, and you swallow. “And I try to use the conditioner, but sometimes I’m in rush.”

You swallow. “Bucky-“

“And that vase is shit.” He puts down the list, looking back to you with a heavy caution in his eyes. “I only made it cause Sam threatened to hide my arm, if I didn’t do that stupid fucking pottery class with him. Not nearly as good as that sunset painting you got in your room.”

“I-“ You take a heavy breath, forcing the words out, slow and neutral. “It’s a nice painting.”

“Sam mentioned Steve made it for you.”

“He did.” You mumble. “During the Blip.”

“But you don’t love it.”

You shake your head, and Bucky’s eyes narrow.

“Really is a horrible vase.”

You only shrug.

“Shit-“ Bucky sighs, glancing to his nightstand. “Can I show you something?”

You nod—words are really too much, too dangerous—and Bucky opens the side drawer, pulling out his own crumpled paper, almost identical to yours, and places it in your hands.

He doesn’t have to tell you to read it. Your eyes are scanning over the paper before you can stop them, and you’re not going to choke on vomit or spit or words.

You’re going to choke on your heart, right in your throat and trying to find a way out of your body. Maybe to blind you, before you can see too much and this all becomes hopelessly reality.

You’d tried not to think about what Bucky’s good things list contained. If you made even a single appearance. It always hurt too much, because what if you didn’t. What if he was apathetic of your presence—not hate, you would know if Bucky hated you—and you’d have strangle your own love a little further, bury it even deeper, wander after him a little more aimlessly, because what was home for you wasn’t anything for him-

“Sam tried to steal this, before I gave it to my shrink.” Bucky mutters. “He’s been trying to convince me to stop making assumptions about you and Steve for months, and his methods started to get out of line few weeks back. This,” Bucky taps the paper, still clenched in your hands. “Was his idea, not the doctors. He’s gonna be so fuckin’ annoying now, swear to god if he hired the spiderkid I’ll rip off his wings and toss him off the roof-“

“Bucky.” You whisper, and you’re worried you’re going to tear the already worn paper. “Do you mean this?”

He nods before the last word is even fully out of your mouth. “Never meant anythin’ more. Didn’t think you’d ever even see it. Or read it.”

You can tell that. His handwriting is rushed, and scratchy, and the words are almost illegible. The header says Good Things - JBB, in big letters, and everything else you have to squint to read.

Bucky likes Sam, but there’s an added note of sometimes in the margins. He likes YouTube, and that has a note as well, explaining there are a bunch of videos about how to upkeep his bike and fuck with the stereo of Sam’s car so it only connects to your phone.

All his items have little notes added on. Bucky likes the flowers in the park, because they make you smile when he puts them in the vase he made you. He likes peppermint ice cream because you always steal some of it, and then give him some of yours. He likes eggs because you make them for him, and the piano because you play it, and Russian because you can read it now, and sometimes you’ll pass notes like teenagers just to piss Sam off, and that makes him laugh. 

And Bucky likes you.

That one is underlined five times, and crossed out, and moved to very bottom of the page with a different header.

Best Things - JBB.

You look up at him with wide eyes, and he looks guarded. Worried.

“You need to say it first.” He mutters, scanning over you carefully. “Because you want to say it. You need to- Shit,” Bucky sits a little taller, his voice hoarse as he says your name. ”You need to want this.”

You can hear the missing word. 

Bucky.

You have to want Bucky.

And you’ve never fought for anything in your life. You’ve been like a chemical, reacting in a chain without any desire or thought to build yourself into anything more. It’s never mattered what you’ve wanted before, not with anyone. Steve finds you, then leaves you, then Sam finds you, then Bucky finds you, and you burst and bounce off of all of them without a thought because that’s what you do. 

You don’t fight for things. 

But you’d never been in love before either, and it’s moving you faster and with more fire than the truth gas had. You love Bucky, so this isn’t blood spilt in his name or a bullet bruising your organs to protect him. No plans or strategies or broken bones, because this isn’t something that can be broken. You dropped it but it’s still fully intact and filled with something better than you’ve ever had before, so you do more than fight for it. 

You’ll spit and bite and snarl to keep it in your hands. You’ll build something out of roses around it until nothing can take it, and then you’ll still defend it with everything you have, because to you it will still be clear and delicate and more resilient than the ocean.

And when you finally speak, there’s something strong to your voice that hadn’t been there before, because you want Bucky to hear it. To never doubt that, at the end of the day, you want him.

It’s clear. And the words flow out of you even easier than when you’d had no choice.

“I love you.” You push up onto your knees until you’re barely a breath away, your body still only steadied by his hand on your thigh. “You. James Barnes. Nobody else. Ever.”

“That’s good.” He mutters, his free hand reaching to cup your face. “Shit, that’s- Are you-“

“I’m sure,” you offer him a small smile. “Don’t ask stupid questions, Bucky.”

His lips twitch slightly, and you’ve never seen his eyes so dark. You can fucking feel it. Across your skin and in your gut, right into your vein and more electric than a storm. If you bother to think back, he’s looked at you like this countless times, but it’s as if one last veil has been lifted, and it’s really written all over his face before he can say it.

“I love you, too.” Bucky says your name in a soft voice than you’ve ever heard, his hand squeezing on your thigh, and you’re gone. Flying and falling and growing into him, up to him, over him.

You’re almost fully pressed over him.

He doesn’t seem to mind at all. 

“I’m going to kiss you now.” He pauses, raising his brows like he’s expecting you to flinch away.

You can’t have that.

Your hands fist in his shirt in half a second, and you yank him down into until you’re certain he feels it the same way you do. That this going to be immovable. You’ll mold into Bucky and climb on to his lap and open your mouth when he groans and presses his tongue on your lower lip, but that will only ever be for him. Your love for him will only ever fucking build, until it’s bursting through the atmosphere and coating everything, and you’re never lost again. 

The kiss deepens from long and slow to almost frantic. You can taste whatever fruit and coffee he’d been having while you were knocked out, and you can feel his every muscle ripping when he pulls you tighter to his chest, and you need him. More. All of it. You can bite at his lips and moan at his tongue down your throat, half claw your way up his body and grind down onto his leg, but you need more-

Bucky grunts your name, pulling back with his hands planted on your hips, and at some point you’d managed to straddle his thigh. 

He’s not letting you move, as he scans over your open, flushed features, and you can’t stop the whine that leave your lips.

“Jesus, baby-“

You let out another weak sound as the ache between your legs becomes painful, and drop your brow to his. “Fuck- Bucky, you can’t just say that-“

He frowns at you, brow furrowing slightly. “What are you- you mean baby?”

“God-“ You whack his arm, trying to roll your hips against him, but you barely even manage to squirm. “You’re such an asshole-“

“Yeah, ‘m sorry, ba- pretty girl.” He’s trying to help you, but pretty girl is worse, and you start to kiss over his jaw just have something. 

Biting and nipping along the line of his scruff, moving your hands under his shirt to trace over his stomach, and abdomen, and-

“Shit-“ Bucky knocks your hand away with a grunt, the metal hand starting to rub firm circles on your waist. “I’m tryin’ to be a gentleman, doll, get you on a date first-“

“Date later.” You mutter, moving one hand back up to tug at his hair. “Want this, Bucky, I- I’ve been- Fuck-“ You yank at his hair again as Bucky growls, attaching his lips to your neck and sucking, wet a long line over your collar bone as he starts to guide your hips back along his thigh. “God, that feels so good-“

“I know, baby.” He smirks against your skin when you moan, and you bury your face in his shoulder. “But we’re goin’ on that date later, alright?”

“Yeah, yes please, just-” you nod desperately, tugging at Bucky’s shirt. “Off, please-“

He leans back for a second, pulling his own shirt over his head before ripping yours off, diving his head to kiss along the line of your breasts and he holds you steady on his thigh. 

You’re going to fly out of your skin. Somewhere in the dizzying, building high of Bucky’s mouth anywhere he can get it, and your arms wrapped around his neck as you grind onto his thigh, he lifts you up for half a second and rips your jeans off, right before guiding you right back to where he’s decided you belong.

Riding his thigh with your cunt forming a dark spot on his jeans, your moans muffled in his chest or swallowed by long, heavy and bruising kisses.

And you’re close. You’re so close, and you can feel his cock straining right where your clit keeps bumping, and he’s started to lick and bite at nipples, and god, he’s so fucking good-

“Think you can cum like this, baby?” Bucky’s words vibrate through your whole body, and you moan against his lips. “I can help you, if you need a little more, all you have to do-“

“Please.” You whisper, squirming in his hold as he starts to kneed at your skin. “Fuck, Bucky, please, more-“

He silences you with another rough, almost branding kiss—as if he’s trying to push himself into your body, when he’s already been there for what may be forever—and grabs your leg, swinging it over until you’re fully sat on his lap, your bare pussy exposed to the air.

Bucky pushes a finger into your cunt without warning, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing harsh, firm circles until your gasping into his open mouth and yanking at his hair, every other strangled sound just another plea for more.

He gives it. Two fingers, pumping in and out of you, and it feels so good, you’re going to light on fire and burn because his thumb is just pressing down on your clit as his fingers crook at rub on the sensitive point inside of you, and he’s so fucking good-

Something white-hot and tight snaps in your core, your pussy starts to spasm and make wet sounds you’d never heard before, and you cum on Bucky’s hand with a high, relieved gasp of his name in his ear, yanking on his hair one last time. Bucky’s groan rolls through your whole body until a small, softer orgasm leaves you shaking in his arms, and when you pulls back, he’s watch you with an open, reverent expression.

Bucky pulls his hand out of your still quivering pussy, his gaze fixed on the wet mess you left all over his fingers, and you almost apologize before you see the expression on his face.

It’s hunger. And when his eyes drop only slightly to his own pants, you can see a large, wet stain around his crotch.

You swallow, looking back up to meet Bucky’s stare, and somehow the love on his face is clearer than before. Almost ardorous, and he’s licking his fingers clean without breaking your stare, and fuck, he’s already pressing right into your inner thigh again-

“You came in your pants.” You whisper, and Bucky shrugs.

“You squirted.” He glances down to his hand, then your parted lips, and his eyes flash slightly. “Can you open for me, babydoll?”

That one’s dangerous. You might do anything Bucky asks, if says it in that low, devout voice and calls you babydoll.

He groans as you obey, wrapping your lips around those same fingers that had been inside of you and sucking, moaning and licking around him, trying to show him what you’ll do for him if he lets you fall to your knees for him, touch him, taste him instead of your own release-

“God, you’re perfect.” Bucky mutters under his breath, and you start to grind down onto his already hard dick, steadying yourself with your fingers dug into his chest. “You want- Shit- I think you want more-”

You cut him off with a moan and a nod, and that’s all it takes. 

It’s almost impossible, how fast Bucky has you tossed backwards on this bed, towering over your naked body for only half a second as he rips his own jeans off, right before falling forward and kissing you until you’re dizzy and melted into the mattress, scraping at his back for more because you can feel his cock, free and big and pressed right onto your stomach-

Bucky rises up with wide eyes, his attention flicking to the nightstand. “I- Uh- Wasn’t expectin’ to do this anything soon-“

“Are you clean?” You trace your hand over Bucky’s jawline until his eyes fall back to yours. “Because I’m on the pill, and the last guy was a virgin.”

Bucky blinks at you for a second, then snorts, dropping his brow to yours. 

“You think you’re funny, doll.” He mutters, kissing slowly along your neck. “But I’m clean, and if you’re sayin’ what I think you are, you’re gonna be feeling me in that sweet pussy for a month.”

You swallow, a smooth shiver moving up your spine. “Promise?”

“Fuck- Are you-“

“Stop asking if I’m sure, Bucky-“

You cut yourself off with a squeak as Bucky slams his cock into you, and your back arches off the bed.

He must have somehow grown from seconds before, because fuck, he’s big. Splitting you open and filling you up until you’re already seeing faint stars, big. Driving you out of your mind just by sitting inside of you without friction, and that thought enters your head and now all you can think about is Bucky moving-

“I’ve got you, baby.” He mutters in your ear, and you must have said that aloud, because he starts to fuck you.

Really, properly fuck you until you can’t really tell where Bucky’s stopping and you’re beginning. Pounding into your cunt, with his skin slapping against yours and a big, rough, warm hand pulling and flicking at your nipples as his mouth attacks your skin, and fuck-

“Bucky-“ You gasp, your words morphing into a whine as he slams into that already raw, abused spot inside of you. “Fuck- I-“

“I know, baby,” He kisses over your face, never breaking pace as he soothes you. “Think you can come again, pretty girl? Gimme once more, before I fill your- Shit- Fill you up like you-“

Bucky groans your name as you squeeze around him, and any deceptively soft words turn in animalistic glowers as he drills into you. 

You’re not sure when you cum. If it’s when Bucky starts to repeat that he loves you, over and over in your ear, his movements growing unmeasured and desperate as his cock stared to slam into your pelvis. It might have been when the metal hand found its way to pinching and rubbing your clit, or when Bucky angled your hips up and started to drill into you at an impossibly deep angle.

But you know that you don’t think you’ll ever fully come down from this high. That even as Bucky paints your cunt white with his own release and a roar of you name, you’re still floating, and everything is just a blur of salt and blue and pine and Bucky and good. He’s leaking down your thighs, but remaining buried inside of you as you both take long, ragged breaths, and he’s good. Warm and sprawled over you, strong and caging you in his arms like you’re a work of art or diamond, all yours and good.

“You promised me a date,” you mumble in his ear, and he chuckled, turning his head to kiss your cheek.

“I did, didn’t I. You think Sam’ll notice if we got out tomorrow night?”

You roll your eyes. “I think Sam is lucky he’s not getting poisoned after that shit.”

“You want me to poison him, doll, just say the word-“

“No-“

“How about head trauma. I can give him head trauma-“

You giggle, running your fingers through Bucky’s hair until you swear you can hear him fucking purring. “Don’t give Sam head trauma. It would make you sad.”

“Shut up.” Bucky grumbles, squeezing you a little tighter. “You never said yes to dinner.”

“Dinner sounds perfect.” You hum, leaning back to smile at him, and there’s the ardor again. 

You’ve never felt anyone’s pure attention do that to you before him. Make everything in you soft and feral all at once, because it will only make you bloom but you’re certain now that you’d rip the fabric of time and space apart to keep it. 

“I love you.” You whisper, and Bucky’s grin splits his face.

Those grins are rare. Teeth and joy and light and all Bucky, more priceless every rare metal and magic in the world.

But they’ve never been rare for you. He’s almost always offered them to you like they were nothing, and if loving Bucky was clarity, admitting it is omnipresence. 

You’re everything, and everywhere, and you love him, and you don’t know how you’d never seen that he loves you back. It’s been written in crude but deep words, everywhere you could ever look.

“I love you, too.” Bucky brushes a little hair out of your face, his eyes almost sparklingly like stars on yours. “Think it’s okay if I show you, a lot, for a long time?”

Your smile hurts your cheeks, and you think the light in your body could outshine the sun.

“Yeah, it’s- please.” You lean up to press your lips to Bucky’s in a soft, slow kiss. “Please do that.”

He smirks, nodding as he tangles his hand in your hair. 

“Whatever my girl wants, I’ll get her.”

“Good.” You whisper. “Cause I’m yours.”

And this is it.

You’re home.

End Note: Sam Wilson and his silly fuckeries. Biggest little brother energy in the world.

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[hyperfixiation-station]

I am like, so sick rn so this might not make sense but-

You gusy know those fics where reader fills im for Soap while he's recovering, or takes his spot cause he's dead, and like the team hates them and then they die or something and they all feel guilty?

Well I was just thinking like, what if they think ykur dead. You get shot and fall, but no one actually checks to see if your still alive, they just leave you.

And then Makarov finds you and, instead of killing you, saves you. He tells you your team left you behind to die. If course, you don't believe him. He's a terrorist and a liar and the ime that shot you... but then he pulls the security footage. And you watch as you fall, and as Proce tells Gaz to leave it and to run. How they left you behind like you were nothing but dirt under their boots. It shouldn't have been surprising with how they'd been treating you since you'd joined.

The next time the 141 goes up against him, you're standing at his side with nothing hut hate in your heart abd a desire to hurt.

[whumpyboo]

do you think that characters who lost their magic powers ever do weird stuff out of habit? like astronauts who will "drop" things in mid air because they're used to stuff floating at zero gravity?

just imagine an ex-telechinetic staring at their mug of coffee for five minutes when they're particularly sleep deprived before remembering they have to get up to grab it.

or someone who used to be able to fly doing an awkward half jump every time they're startled.

a character turning to speak to spirits they can no longer hear about five times a day.

[kiwriteswords]

Yours, Mine, but Never Ours [Aaron Hotchner x Reader]

Masterlist|| Ao3||Word Count: 6.6k|| AN: This is inspired by the gifset of Hotch + his wedding ring last week. I really mulled over the idea of Hotch, his trauma, and likely idea of marriage. I had originally--and really went back and forth on this--planned out a sad ending for this, but I couldn't do that to you all. Tags/Warnings: female reader, established relationship, jack hotchner, mentions of Haley hotchner, fear of commitment, marriage issues, spoilers to seasons 3-5, Derek and Rossi giving Hotch shit for his personal issues, talks of marriage, talks of death, angst, hurt/comfort, anxiety, reader couldn't give two damns about marriage, but hotch is old fashioned and conflicted, happy ending Summary: For someone as traditional as Aaron Hotchner, the topic of marriage shouldn't be one he shied away from. But given his past? Nothing scares him more.

Aaron Hotchner stood at the kitchen sink, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the warmth of soapy water lapping at his wrists.

Golden evening sunlight spilled softly through the half-open blinds, casting gentle stripes of light across the countertop and illuminating the porcelain dishes he methodically rinsed.

Behind him, at the kitchen island, Jack sat with homework spread around him, colored pencils scattered like confetti across the marble surface.

Aaron listened quietly to the gentle rhythm of pencil scratches and Jack's occasional murmurs as he read aloud softly.

"Dad?" Jack’s voice broke through the quiet hum of the dishwasher.

"Yeah, buddy?" Hotch replied, glancing over his shoulder.

Jack looked thoughtful, head tilted slightly, his brow furrowed in a familiar expression—

One he'd inherited from Aaron himself.

"Are you going to marry her?"

The casual innocence of the question hit Aaron like a splash of cold water. 

He paused mid-motion, water dripping from the plate suspended above the sink, eyes fixed on the steady drip-drip-drip into the basin below.

"Marry who, Jack?" He managed a neutral tone, heart suddenly heavier in his chest.

Hotch expected your name to come from Jack, but it still continued to catch him off guard. Jack’s eyes sparkled, entirely oblivious to his father's sudden tension.

Aaron slowly set the plate down, turning off the faucet, and dried his hands carefully with a navy towel. He took a deliberate breath, calming the racing pulse beneath his carefully composed expression.

“Jack…” he hesitated slightly, keeping his tone even.

"Yeah!" Jack interrupted eagerly, nodding vigorously. "I really like her. I think she’d be a good wife for you. And she makes pancakes better than anyone."

Aaron felt the corners of his lips twitch, betraying the smile fighting to emerge at Jack’s earnestness. 

You had become such an integral part of their lives that he hadn’t fully realized how deeply Jack had attached himself to you. Or perhaps, he admitted quietly to himself, how deeply he himself had become attached.

"Well," he began, stepping slowly toward the island, where Jack sat expectantly. Aaron leaned forward slightly, meeting his son's bright eyes. "Sometimes, marriage is… it’s complicated."

Jack tilted his head curiously, brows knitting deeper. "Why?"

Aaron swallowed hard, suddenly conscious of the persistent ache that seemed permanently woven into the fabric of his heart—

A remnant of old wounds never fully healed.

"Because…when you marry someone, you promise to always keep them safe, to always be there. And sometimes…" He paused, gently ruffling Jack’s soft brown hair, searching for the right words. "Sometimes life makes it hard to keep that promise."

Jack’s expression softened, becoming thoughtful and mature beyond his years. "Like with mom?"

Aaron's heart clenched painfully at the simple acknowledgment, but he forced a gentle nod. "Yeah, buddy. Like with mom."

Jack considered this silently, carefully rolling a blue pencil between his small fingers. Finally, he looked back up at his father with steady, serious eyes. "But we still love mom. And I think you can still love someone else too. Like you love mom, but different."

Aaron’s breath caught sharply in his chest. He stared down at his son, astounded by the profound wisdom carried in such innocent words. Jack gave him a shy smile, small but deeply reassuring.

Aaron reached out gently, placing a steadying hand on Jack’s shoulder. He knew he owed his son honesty—

At least as much as he could comfortably offer.

"You know," he finally said, voice soft, vulnerable, and undeniably sincere, "I really care about her."

"Good." Jack nodded firmly, returning to his homework with newfound decisiveness. "Because we both like having her around."

Aaron straightened, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Through the window, twilight began to deepen, colors bleeding into shades of lavender and deep blue, shadows stretching quietly across their small, familiar kitchen.

As the quiet settled once more, Aaron found himself thinking about you, about Jack’s words, and about the soft warmth he'd started associating with your presence. It terrified him, the depth of this feeling—

How easily and completely you’d settled into every corner of his life and heart.

Jack resumed his homework as if nothing monumental had just transpired, the gentle scratching of his pencil filling the contemplative silence. Aaron watched him briefly, a soft, affectionate ache filling his chest, before turning slowly back toward the sink.

In the quiet simplicity of the moment, he knew one thing clearly:

His son was right. You had quietly, undeniably woven yourself into their lives.

And now, Aaron had to figure out what to do about it.

The thought took root quietly, like an errant seed drifting into fertile soil, taking hold in the darkness and growing tangled and stubborn as it bloomed.

Marriage.

Aaron hadn’t intended for it to become something he thought about, but Jack’s innocent question echoed relentlessly in his mind—

At work, in meetings, late at night when he tried to find rest. It threaded through his thoughts when he watched you reading quietly on the couch, when he saw you laughing with Jack in the backyard, and even now, as he stood in the bullpen at the BAU, staring blankly through the window of his office, watching you across the bullpen.

You were speaking animatedly to Garcia, laughing at something she’d whispered. Your hand fluttered briefly to your hair, brushing a loose strand behind your ear—

A gesture so natural. 

So ordinary, yet lately, every little detail seemed steeped in meaning.

He wondered how he’d gotten here—

How you'd become someone he couldn’t imagine living without. 

The idea itself was quietly terrifying. After Haley’s death, after the brutal way that chapter of his life ended, Aaron had silently vowed to himself that he'd never step back into that vulnerability again. He’d convinced himself that emotional isolation was simpler, safer—

Far less painful.

But you were a soft disruption to his hardened rules, somehow slipping quietly through every defensive barrier he’d erected around his heart. 

Now, as he watched you laugh, your eyes sparkling and filled with warmth, he realized with stark clarity that he wanted to spend his life with you. But at the very same moment, something deep and raw within him recoiled, filled with dread at the risk that kind of love presented.

He thought of Haley—

The first time they'd met, their wedding day, the promises whispered softly in candlelight, promises of forever that had ended abruptly. 

Violently. 

Marriage meant vulnerability. It meant offering his heart, wholly and without reserve, knowing how easily it could be ripped away.

“You good, Hotch?”

Dave’s voice broke him sharply from his thoughts. Aaron startled slightly, turning to find Rossi leaning casually in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, observing him with careful eyes.

“Fine,” Aaron answered quickly—

Too quickly, he realized.

Rossi raised a brow, stepping slowly inside the office, nudging the door closed behind him. “You’ve never been good at lying to me, Aaron.”

Hotch sighed softly, rubbing his forehead. “Just...thinking.”

“Must be some pretty heavy thoughts,” Rossi observed, following Aaron’s gaze out toward you. Understanding crossed his face. “Ah.”

“It’s nothing,” Aaron deflected quietly, knowing it was useless even as he spoke the words.

Rossi moved further into the room, settling against the edge of the desk. 

Aaron shot him a quiet look, momentarily surprised. Rossi simply offered a sympathetic smile.

“You’re not exactly subtle, Aaron,” Rossi said gently. “I’ve seen that look before—the one where the past and the future start to blur together.”

Aaron hesitated, the tension in his jaw visible, emotions pressing beneath a carefully maintained surface. “Jack…Jack asked me if I would marry her,” He sighed, “It was just an innocent question. But—” He broke off, feeling foolish.

“But you’re terrified,” Rossi finished quietly.

Aaron’s eyes flickered back out the window. You had moved, crossing back toward your own desk, unaware of the turmoil raging inside him.

He felt selfish, torn between longing and fear, aching for the simplicity of your touch, your warmth, yet paralyzed by the haunting memories of what could happen—what had happened once before.

“Marriage almost destroyed me once,” Aaron admitted quietly, the words barely audible even in the quiet of the office. “Not just divorce—but the guilt, the danger, losing Haley the way I did. Losing everything. Jack almost losing both of us…almost losing Jack. I swore I’d never put anyone else through that. Especially someone I—”

“Someone you love,” Rossi interjected gently.

Aaron drew a sharp breath, giving a stiff nod. “Someone I love.”

Rossi pushed gently, cautiously. “Have you talked to her about it?”

Aaron shook his head slowly, eyes never leaving you as you settled at your desk, pen dancing lightly across paper. He took in every detail—the way your hair fell against your cheek, the graceful slope of your shoulders, the familiar tilt of your head—and suddenly felt the unbearable heaviness of what he stood to lose.

“It isn’t fair to her,” Aaron murmured, voice thickening. “She deserves certainty. Not my fears.”

Rossi placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Aaron, don’t underestimate her. You’re afraid because you’ve lived the worst-case scenario—but you’ve also survived it. You’re allowed to be happy again.”

Aaron was quiet for a long moment, absorbing Rossi’s words, feeling them settle somewhere deep and aching within him.

“I don’t know if I can put her at risk like that. I don’t know if I could survive losing someone else,” he admitted softly. “But God help me—I can’t imagine letting her go either.”

Rossi’s expression softened knowingly, compassionately. “Then don’t.”

Aaron let the simple truth of it sink in, a quiet ache lodged in his chest. His eyes returned to you again, watching as you tucked your hair behind your ear once more, your smile gentle, unburdened.

I can’t lose you, he thought desperately, even as fear tightened around him, relentless and choking.

And he knew—painfully, inevitably—that sooner or later, he’d have to face the possibility of opening that conversation, sharing those fears, or risk losing you anyway.

But for now, he stood quietly in the shadow of his past, trapped between memories of what had been lost and the quiet, terrifying beauty of what could still be found.

hat night, the darkness in the bedroom felt heavier, thicker somehow—each silence pulsing with uncertainty. Aaron lay on his back, eyes tracing the shadowy patterns along the ceiling as he felt your soft breathing beside him. His chest tightened with anxiety, as though every quiet breath was slowly stealing oxygen from his lungs.

He’d always been skilled with words—careful, purposeful—but tonight, they tangled uselessly on his tongue, caught by an invisible weight that felt impossibly heavy.

“Aaron?” Your voice broke through the quiet, gentle and sleepy, as your fingers brushed softly along his chest. “You’re tense.”

His breath stuttered briefly in his throat. Of course, you’d noticed. 

You always did.

“Can’t sleep,” he murmured, voice rough with the edge of nerves.

You shifted beside him, the bed softly creaking beneath your movements. Aaron felt his heart quicken as you propped yourself up slightly, your eyes studying him thoughtfully in the dim glow of moonlight.

“Something’s been bothering you,” you whispered knowingly. Your fingertips drew small, comforting circles against his chest. “You want to talk about it?”

For a long, hesitant moment, he almost didn’t. Aaron feared the weight of what he was about to say—

The risk of shattering everything he’d grown to love.

Yet the tenderness in your touch, the gentle patience radiating from your expression, urged him onward. You deserved honesty, even if he was afraid of what came next.

Slowly, cautiously, he met your gaze. “Marriage,” he said quietly, voice tight and guarded.

Your fingers paused, hovering briefly. Aaron’s heart pounded painfully as silence settled heavily between you. He braced himself for you to pull away, for hurt or disappointment to cloud your eyes. 

He wouldn’t blame you if you got up and left—

He knew what it sounded like, the fear in his voice. 

How could he expect you to stay if he couldn’t offer more?

But instead, your lips curved softly upward, surprising him. A quiet chuckle escaped you, gentle and warm. “Is that what’s been haunting you all week?”

Aaron frowned in confusion, blinking slowly. “You...knew?”

“I had a feeling something’s been bothering you,” you whispered, your eyes gentle, affectionate, reassuring. You shifted closer, your cheek resting against his shoulder, hand gently moving once more over his chest. “Aaron, listen. I understand why marriage scares you. You don’t have to apologize for it.”

He exhaled softly, relief mingling uneasily with confusion. “Y-You don’t mind?” he murmured uncertainly.

You shook your head gently against him, voice quiet yet firm. “Aaron, marriage—it’s just paperwork to me. A certificate. A legality.” You looked up at him, eyes sparkling with gentle humor. “As a former prosecutor, you should understand paperwork doesn’t always mean much.”

A small laugh escaped him—

Surprising.

Genuine. 

Breaking some of the tension that had been suffocating him for days. 

His chest loosened, though the shadow in his mind lingered. “Still,” he continued softly, “most people expect it at some point. A wedding, a ring—something.”

You squeezed him gently, your voice clear and steady in the quiet night. “If I ever married anyone, Aaron, I’d want it to be you. But I’d never ask that of you. I know what you’ve been through. What we have—this—means more to me than vows and rings and certificates ever could.”

Aaron felt something powerful surge through him—gratitude, relief, warmth—and yet something else lingered, stubbornly unresolved. 

He wrapped his arms carefully around you, pulling you close as you settled gently against him. He pressed his lips softly to your forehead, inhaling the comforting scent of your hair.

“Thank you,” he whispered softly, meaning it more deeply than words could express.

You hummed contentedly, drifting gently toward sleep again, wrapped safely in his arms. But as your breathing evened out, Aaron lay wide awake, staring once again at the ceiling, haunted by the visions your words conjured in his mind.

He imagined a life for you—

A real one.

Complete with celebrations and milestones, the kind that were marked by gold bands, carefully spoken promises, laughter, joy, perhaps even children of your own. The thought pierced him deeply—

A life you might never have because of his past, because of his pain, because of him.

He wondered if he was stopping you from the quiet life you deserved. 

The one with a husband who wouldn’t bring danger home constantly. He cringed, thinking of another man’s hands getting to hold him at the end of the night, but this ordinary man could give you so much more than Aaron was comfortable even thinking about. 

Guilt wrapped tightly around his heart, squeezing with a terrible, relentless force. He imagined resentment clouding your eyes someday, silent regrets staining quiet evenings, things left unspoken but deeply felt. The selfishness of it stung sharply.

As you slept softly beside him, trusting him, loving him unconditionally, Aaron silently grappled with the invisible weight pressing heavily against his chest.

He knew you'd meant what you'd said tonight—

He had no doubts about your sincerity. Yet it still haunted him, the fear that one day you’d look at him and realize you deserved more than he could ever offer.

And as he lay awake, your body curled softly, trustingly, in his arms, Aaron realized with an aching certainty:

He'd give anything to make sure you never regretted choosing him—even if it meant confronting every fear he'd ever had.

The weeks turned quietly into months, each day deepening the gentle rhythm between you, Aaron, and Jack. The comfort of routine wrapped around you both, steady and reassuring, but beneath that comfortable surface, Aaron felt himself growing restless—

An anxiety simmering just under the warmth, quiet but ever-present.

It was the milestones that haunted him most.

Like the afternoon Penelope burst into the bullpen, glittering ring catching every light, tears of joy streaming down her face as the team quickly crowded around her.

“I said yes!” she had cried joyfully, throwing her arms around Morgan, who laughed heartily and lifted her off the ground. The bullpen buzzed with congratulations, laughter, and plans for celebrations.

Aaron had watched quietly from the side, heart tightening painfully at your gentle smile and the sincere warmth in your eyes. You squeezed Penelope’s hand, genuinely thrilled for your friend, your voice filled with affection. But as Aaron stood slightly apart, his fingers clenched in quiet frustration, imagining you missing out on that kind of joy—

Of celebrations that revolved around promises he’d silently denied you.

The guilt lingered long after the excitement faded.

Or when the two of you attended a gala for the FBI, and he watched, heart heavy, as you introduced him to a former colleague of yours.

“This is Aaron Hotchner,” you’d said proudly, gently squeezing his arm. “My boyfriend.”

Boyfriend. 

Aaron had almost flinched at the word—

Not because he didn’t cherish it but because it felt so inadequate. 

He noticed the subtle reaction in your colleague’s eyes, the quick glance down at your hand, perhaps checking for a ring. He hated the way you quietly shifted your stance, almost defensively, as though expecting judgment.

Later that evening, in the darkness of the car ride home, Aaron felt you quietly watching him, reading the subtle tension in his jaw.

“Aaron,” you whispered gently, fingertips brushing his thigh, “you know none of that matters to me.”

But he hadn’t entirely believed you, even though he desperately wanted to.

Then there was the playdate at Jack’s friend’s house—

A moment, Aaron hadn’t anticipated hurting him so deeply.

“So, your wife mentioned Jack doesn’t like strawberries?” The other parent had asked casually, unloading snacks from grocery bags.

Aaron’s hesitation had been brief but painfully obvious. “Ah, actually…she’s not my wife,” he’d explained awkwardly. “My girlfriend. She’s—we live together.”

“Oh,” the parent said softly, embarrassment flashing over their face. “Sorry, I just assumed.”

Aaron had waved it away, pretending not to see the confusion, pretending not to notice the way the word ‘girlfriend’ seemed suddenly juvenile or inadequate.

He spent the rest of the afternoon tense, discomfort spreading through his chest, lingering even hours later as he walked into the kitchen and found you preparing dinner. 

Your gentle, easy smile pierced his heart.

“Hey,” you greeted softly. “Did Jack have fun?”

“Yes,” Aaron murmured, stepping behind you, wrapping his arms gently around your waist. 

He buried his face in your neck, inhaling the familiar warmth of your scent, his chest aching quietly.

You’d tilted your head gently back against him, feeling the tension in his embrace. “Everything okay?”

He’d wanted desperately to say yes—

To protect you from his burdens. 

But the words came out strained. “They thought you were my wife.”

Your shoulders stiffened slightly, then relaxed just as quickly. You’d turned in his arms, your expression patient and understanding. “Aaron, we’ve talked about this.”

“I know,” he sighed softly. “I just—I hate the idea of people misunderstanding your role in my life.”

You’d cupped his cheek gently, your thumb brushing soothingly over his skin. “I’m not worried about what they think, Aaron. I know exactly what I mean to you.”

He wanted so deeply to believe you, but even as you smiled reassuringly, he couldn’t shake the fear—

The persistent ache that whispered to him late at night, taunting him with visions of what you might eventually grow to resent.

And in the quiet darkness of his own mind, Aaron found himself caught between two impossible fears: losing you, or selfishly keeping you and robbing you of something you might one day desperately want.

He felt trapped—

Holding his breath, waiting for the inevitable day, you’d finally realize he couldn’t give you enough.

Penelope’s surprise bridal shower had transformed Rossi’s elegant backyard patio into something that looked like an enchanted garden, glowing softly beneath strands of golden fairy lights. Laughter and warm conversation carried gently through the cool evening air, mixing seamlessly with the low hum of soft music.

Aaron leaned back quietly in his chair, his eyes trailing across the table to you. Warm light flickered from small candles, catching softly in your hair and reflecting in your eyes, bright with laughter. You were seated beside Penelope, your hands resting gracefully atop the white linen tablecloth as you listened, fully engrossed in the conversation.

He knew he should have felt completely at ease surrounded by his team—his friends—but the unease he’d been carrying for weeks now seemed even heavier tonight.

“So, Garcia,” Emily called out teasingly, swirling her wine gently in her glass, a playful smile on her lips. “Did you choose the ring, or did you let your man surprise you?”

Penelope grinned brightly, eyes glittering with excitement. She extended her hand dramatically across the table, showcasing the ring proudly. “He surprised me, and he nailed it.”

JJ reached across the table, taking Penelope’s hand gently to admire the sparkling diamond more closely. “It’s gorgeous, Pen. He did amazing.”

Aaron watched quietly, his chest tightening uncomfortably as Emily’s gaze suddenly shifted toward you. “Alright, your turn,” Emily teased gently, nudging your elbow playfully. “What about you—what’s your dream ring?”

He saw your expression soften, eyes brightening as you leaned in closer, not a hint of discomfort or awkwardness visible. Aaron’s heart stalled briefly, his grip tightening subconsciously around the cool glass in his hand.

“Well,” you began softly, entirely casual, oblivious to the fact that your words were slowly twisting something inside of Aaron, “I’ve never really thought about it much, but probably something vintage-inspired. I’d want something delicate. Not too flashy.”

Aaron swallowed hard, feeling suddenly and irrationally nervous, as though everyone at the table might turn toward him at any second, reading plainly the conflict on his face. He forced himself to maintain a neutral expression, carefully raising his glass to his lips to hide his discomfort.

You continued, laughing softly, warmth in your voice, “Maybe something with a sapphire, even. I’ve never really been a diamond girl anyway.”

He caught Morgan’s eyes across the table in that moment—

Dark, knowing, and filled with playful seriousness. Morgan raised an eyebrow subtly, tilting his chin slightly toward Aaron as if to say, Are you taking notes? You better be.

Aaron looked away quickly, the weight of expectation and guilt pressing harder against his chest. He found himself staring into his wine glass, the deep red liquid gently swirling against the sides, feeling profoundly exposed. 

He felt selfish for holding back something that felt so normal, so easy to discuss for you and the others.

You glanced over at him just then, eyes warm, oblivious to the storm brewing quietly in his chest. Your smile was gentle, reassuring—

Always comforting. 

And yet, it only deepened the tightness in his chest, reinforcing his quiet dread.

Morgan cleared his throat quietly, leaning casually closer to Aaron, his voice pitched low enough that only the two of them could hear. “You good, Hotch?”

Aaron forced a careful nod, but Morgan wasn’t easily fooled. His friend’s expression softened knowingly, quietly supportive.

“Look,” Morgan said gently, glancing discreetly toward you, where you continued chatting warmly with JJ, “you know you’ve got something special. Don’t overthink it, man. She seems pretty clear about what matters most.”

Aaron nodded again, eyes still locked on you, heart aching deeply. He knew Morgan was right, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that perhaps you deserved more than he could offer—more than he’d ever be brave enough to give.

And as laughter and excited conversation continued to fill the air around him, Aaron quietly watched you, hoping desperately that he wouldn’t someday come to regret holding you back from the life you truly deserved.

The ride home was unbearably quiet.

Aaron’s grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles whitened beneath the pale illumination of passing streetlights. The silence in the car hung heavy, like an oppressive storm cloud, stifling any attempts at casual conversation. He felt trapped in his own head, frustration gnawing relentlessly at him.

Beside him, your posture was rigid, arms crossed tightly over your chest as you stared unseeingly out the passenger window. Every second of silence made Aaron’s chest feel tighter, every shallow breath adding fuel to the simmering frustration that refused to be contained.

Finally, you broke first.

“Are you seriously going to do this again?” Your voice was sharp, hurt simmering just beneath the surface. Your eyes flashed toward him in the dim light of the dashboard, wounded yet defiant.

Aaron’s jaw tightened, eyes locked forward, voice controlled and low. “I’m not doing anything.”

“Oh, please,” you snapped bitterly. “You’re tense, Aaron. You’ve been tense all night. Is it because of the damn ring conversation? Again?”

His eyes narrowed, fingers clenching tighter around the wheel. “I didn’t say a word about that.”

“You didn’t have to,” you retorted sharply. “You’ve been stuck in your own head for months now. Every time someone mentions marriage, or engagements, or God forbid a ring, you completely shut down. Do you honestly think I don’t notice?”

He exhaled sharply, frustration flaring dangerously in his chest. “You said yourself you’d want a ring. Vintage. Something delicate. Sapphires, wasn’t it?”

Your laugh was harsh, humorless. “Yeah, I did say that—because they asked. You’re making a huge deal out of nothing.”

“It’s not nothing!” Aaron’s voice rose sharply, surprising even himself. His eyes darkened, flickering with something raw and painful. “You don’t get it. You deserve all of that. You deserve someone who can give you exactly that, and I’m the one keeping it from you.”

“I told you,” you shot back, voice thickening with frustration and hurt, “I don’t care about a ring or a piece of paper or—”

“You say that now!” Aaron snapped, his words harsh and unyielding. “But what about later? What about ten years down the line when you resent me for not giving you the things you deserve, the life you pictured for yourself?”

Your eyes widened slightly in disbelief, anger sparking dangerously. “Are you kidding me right now? Aaron, I could die tomorrow. We could get into a crash right here, right now, and you really think I’d be worried about not being your wife? That some paperwork or a damn ring would make a difference in how I feel about you?”

Aaron’s jaw tightened further, breath ragged with emotion. “It’s not about the paperwork! It’s about making promises that I’ve already broken once. It’s about knowing the second I give you that, I could lose everything again. I don’t want that—I don’t want to lose you.”

“You think marriage changes that?” you challenged fiercely, voice shaking slightly. “I see myself old with you, Aaron. You. And that vision isn’t any stronger or weaker because we signed something or because I wear your ring.”

His voice cracked painfully. “You say that, but you don’t know—”

“No,” you interrupted harshly, hurt blazing in your eyes. “You’re pushing me away because you’re scared. Because you think wanting marriage again means risking it all again. Maybe you’re afraid because deep down, you actually want that with me.”

Aaron’s grip on the wheel was nearly painful, his voice dangerously quiet, trembling with barely-contained fury. “Enough.”

But you didn’t listen. You leaned closer, your voice fierce, challenging. “Is that it, Aaron? Is that what scares you? Because at the end of the day, you do want it—”

“Yes!” Aaron suddenly roared, slamming a hand against the wheel in frustration, the words erupting from somewhere deep and raw within him. The car filled with stunned silence, broken only by his heavy, ragged breathing.

His heart was pounding painfully, eyes filled with conflict, pain, and longing as he finally looked over at you, emotion raw and unguarded. “Yes,” he repeated, softer now, voice broken. “I want it. I want you. I want to call you my wife. I want it all, every damn thing that terrifies me, because I want to know that you’re mine—really mine.”

You stared back at him, eyes wide and glistening with tears, your anger replaced instantly by shock, empathy, and a deep, aching tenderness.

“I know it’s old fashioned--I’m old fashioned. But you don’t think that every day I think about wanting to buy you a ridiculously expensive ring? Or sign my entire life over to you? Because you already have it. Paper or not--my life is yours. I want you to have it. Take it.” Aaron exhaled heavily, voice unsteady with vulnerability. “But God, it scares me. It scares me more than losing you, because the moment we make it real—I could lose everything. Again.”

You reached out, your hand shaking slightly, gently resting on his tense arm. Your touch felt like an anchor amidst his storm, steadying him.

“Aaron,” you whispered softly, voice thick with emotion, “you're not going to lose me. Not because we marry or because we don't. I chose you, and I choose you every single day. Nothing changes that.”

He let out a ragged breath, feeling a quiet release in your words, but the fear still remained, tangled stubbornly within his heart.

And even as he pulled the car slowly into your driveway, the silence between you softening, Aaron knew he’d laid his fears bare, his heart open—

Completely vulnerable. 

The words had been said, and now, nothing could ever quite be the same again.

Not much was said--or done--after that conversation. A few goodnights to Jack, the quiet domesticity of getting ready for bed unfolded, but little words were said between the two of you that night. 

Exhaustion weighed far heavier on Aaron’s shoulders and he felt as if he had revealed so much--partly worried too much to you. He didn’t want to push it…push you. 

Aaron woke suddenly, sharply, his breath catching painfully in his throat as his eyes snapped open to the cold emptiness beside him. The sheets on your side of the bed were wrinkled but cool, evidence of your absence already lingering heavily in the room.

A wave of raw panic surged through him, immediate and overwhelming, twisting his stomach into painful knots. Aaron’s heart began to pound fiercely, hammering in his chest as he quickly sat up, scanning the bedroom for any trace of you. But the silence around him was oppressive, mocking, thick with dread.

He called your name hoarsely. 

No response. 

His mind flooded suddenly with memories—

Painful, vivid recollections of another empty bed, another empty room years before, and the heartbreaking absence Haley had left.

He was too late then, too stubborn, too closed-off. He’d pushed Haley away, and now—he’d pushed you away too.

Aaron felt completely unraveled, breath shallow, panic rising painfully in his chest. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, desperately trying to steady himself, fighting the pressure building behind them.

He’d finally done it. He’d pushed too hard, said too much, and now you were gone.

Gone because he couldn’t bend. Couldn’t compromise. Couldn’t allow himself to trust you fully, even after you’d given him everything. He’d selfishly forced you to carry his fears, his grief, his trauma—

And now he was alone.

He had no idea how long he sat there, paralyzed, heart painfully clenched, completely lost in the dark spiral of his thoughts until—

The quiet sound of the front door opening downstairs pulled him sharply from his despair.

Aaron froze, heart hammering with sudden hope. 

Or maybe fear. 

He couldn’t be sure.

A moment later, your footsteps echoed gently up the stairs, followed by the soft rustle of bags and a familiar, comforting scent of coffee drifting into the room. Aaron rose unsteadily, his pulse erratic, relief blooming tentatively beneath layers of anxiety and pain.

You stepped through the doorway, arms full—one hand gripping a bag from your favorite bagel shop, the other balancing a cardboard tray of coffees. When your eyes met his, you paused, startled by his clearly shaken appearance.

“Hey,” you said gently, surprise softening your expression, your voice filled with cautious warmth. “I wanted to surprise you with makeup bagels and coffee. Figured we both needed it.”

Aaron didn’t respond immediately. He couldn’t. He simply crossed the room in a heartbeat, bridging the painful gap between you, and pulled you fiercely into his arms.

You gasped softly, taken aback by the intensity behind his embrace, but your body quickly relaxed against him, sensing something deeper, more vulnerable in the way his arms clung desperately around you.

“Aaron?” you whispered, uncertainly at first, then tenderly as you felt him tremble slightly against you. “Hey, I’m right here.”

He tightened his hold, burying his face against your shoulder, his voice rough and barely audible. “I thought you left.”

You set the bags carefully aside on the nearby dresser and gently cupped his face in your palms, forcing him to look at you. The emotion in his eyes nearly undid you—

Painful vulnerability, haunted by old ghosts, old fears.

“Aaron, listen to me,” you said softly, firmly. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise you, I’m here. I didn’t leave you.”

He shook his head slightly, eyes closing for a brief moment, unable to fully trust his voice. When he opened them again, his expression was raw and achingly sincere.

“You could have,” he whispered brokenly. “You could have left, and I wouldn’t have blamed you. I was—I’ve been so unfair to you.”

You shook your head gently, your eyes filled with quiet strength and compassion. “Aaron, I need you to understand something—I chose you, knowing exactly who you are. Knowing your past, your fears, your stubbornness—all of it. And I’d choose you a thousand times over.”

He exhaled shakily, eyes glistening with unshed tears, his chest rising and falling rapidly as your words sank deeply into him. Still holding his face tenderly in your hands, you pressed your forehead gently against his.

“I’m begging you,” you murmured softly, voice steady and filled with gentle pleading, “Please start believing me.”

Aaron nodded slowly, trying desperately to internalize every word. His heart was still trembling, still afraid, but your unwavering warmth anchored him back into reality.

“I’ll try,” he whispered, the words thick with emotion. “I’ll keep trying.”

“Good,” you breathed softly, thumb brushing tenderly across his cheek. “Because I love you far too much to let you keep fighting these ghosts alone.”

His lips curved faintly; finally, the relief washed over him in waves. He tilted his head slightly, pressing a lingering, tender kiss to your forehead. He silently vowed to himself, again and again, that he would learn to trust—to accept the gift of your promise without fear.

And for the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to fully believe that the quiet future you’d promised him was real. That maybe, this time, the ghosts could finally rest.

Weeks turned quietly into months, the heaviness that had once shadowed every quiet moment slowly lifting, replaced instead by a gentle warmth—

A sense of ease Aaron hadn't felt in years. The ghosts still lingered, but they were softer now, quieter, fading slowly into the background noise of a life filled instead with laughter, steady reassurance, and you.

The team’s latest case had brought you all to Las Vegas. After the successful resolution, Hotch had surprised everyone by suggesting you all take an extra day before returning to Quantico. It was unusual—perhaps even out of character—but the team had been thrilled, quickly dispersing into the bright lights and bustling energy of the city.

After briefly checking in with Reid—who eagerly took off to visit his mother—the rest of the team scattered into various plans. It left Aaron alone with you, wandering the city, a soft and easy silence settling between you as you navigated colorful streets bathed in neon and laughter.

As the afternoon sun warmed your skin, you glanced up at Aaron, catching the thoughtful expression lingering on his face. “You’re quiet,” you murmured gently, sliding your hand into his, fingers interlocking effortlessly. “Everything okay?”

Aaron smiled softly, squeezing your hand reassuringly. “Yeah, everything’s good. Just... thinking.”

You raised a playful eyebrow, gently nudging his side. “You’re always thinking.”

Aaron’s gaze flickered down to your intertwined fingers, thumb brushing gently over yours. His voice softened thoughtfully. “I suppose I am. But today, I’m thinking about something specific.”

Your eyes met his curiously, noticing the quiet intensity and subtle apprehension in his gaze. “And what’s that?”

He paused, taking a steadying breath, his voice quiet and measured. “I’ve been wondering if you’d be open to something.”

Your heart fluttered slightly, curiosity and anticipation sparking warmly through your chest. You nodded gently, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “I’m listening.”

Aaron slowed his steps, gently pulling you aside, away from the bustling crowd, into the quiet shade of a small alcove near an ornate fountain. He reached carefully into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small velvet box, his movements steady but cautious.

Your breath hitched softly in your throat as you watched him slowly open the box, revealing a delicate, vintage-inspired sapphire ring—

Exactly the kind you’d described that night at Penelope’s bridal shower. Your heart swelled warmly, emotion rising suddenly and powerfully within you.

Aaron’s eyes held yours steadily, soft yet vulnerable. “I know I’ve made things complicated. That I’ve let my fears dictate how I approached all of this.” He swallowed quietly, his thumb running gently over the small box. “But despite all that fear, all that worry—I’m old-fashioned. I want to marry you. Not because you expect it, but because I do. I want to do right by you. I want to promise myself to you openly.”

He hesitated slightly, voice quieter, gentler. “So, I was thinking… maybe we should just elope? Here. Today. Just us. No fuss, no expectations—just you and me.”

Emotion tightened your throat, eyes shimmering with unshed tears of joy as you gazed back at him, your voice warm and steady. “Aaron, of course. Of course I’ll marry you—today, tomorrow, whenever you want. I don’t need the ceremony or fuss. All I’ve ever wanted was you.”

He exhaled softly, tension visibly leaving his shoulders, relief flooding his expression as he gently slipped the delicate sapphire ring onto your finger. “Are you sure?”

You laughed gently, pulling him into a warm, reassuring embrace, your voice filled with love, confidence, and sincerity. “Aaron, I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. You are it for me—always have been, always will be. Nothing else matters.”

Aaron’s arms wrapped tightly around you, holding you close, and you felt the steady thud of his heartbeat against your chest. 

In that moment, beneath the shimmering Vegas sunlight, surrounded by the gentle sounds of laughter and splashing fountains, Aaron felt a deep, profound sense of peace.

All the lingering fear, the hesitation, the self-sabotage—

They vanished instantly as your reassuring words echoed gently in his ears, resonating deep within his heart.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, smiling warmly against your skin as he whispered, “Then, let’s go get married?”

And just like that—

Quietly, easily, and perfectly.

You both stepped forward together, leaving behind fears and ghosts alike, moving instead toward the joyful certainty of forever.

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016  @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry @Sweethotchlogy @softtdaisy @superlegend216

[itsaintmebabe]

naked in manhattan ! ౨ৎ

pairing !

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ hockey player! vi x sports med trainer!fem! reader

synopsis !

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ after months of quiet admiration and lingering glances, y/n finally gives up on her crush when vi dismisses her without a second thought, but when y/n’s warmth turns ice-cold, vi finds herself caught off guard, suddenly craving the attention she never realized she took for granted.

chapters !

01. off the ice (1.0k)

02. attention, please (1.1k)

03. iced lattes (2.2k)

more chapters coming soon..!

[yourlocalmushroom]

The Good bye

The Amulet pt1 Damian was nine, and the night was quiet—so still he could hear the wind whistling faintly past the windows of the League’s compound. He slept curled up on his side, his fingers clutching the edge of his blanket, dreaming of chasing sparrows in a garden that didn’t exist

Then he felt it.

A gentle hand brushing back the dark curls from his forehead—rough fingers, familiar, warm. Not cold like Grandfather's or sharp like the tutors. No, these were strong, warm fingers, and Damian instinctively knew who they belonged to.

He sighed softly, eyes still closed, and nuzzled into the palm.

“Akhi...” he murmured, a little smile on his lips.

A quiet chuckle answered him. That low, soothing sound that always made the coldest of nights feel like summer. Danny’s scent was there, too—faint traces of ash, leather, and something soft like old cedarwood. Safe.

“Still wake up like a cat when I pet you,” Danny whispered, voice gentle, thick with something else Damian didn’t understand yet.

“Only when you do it,” Damian replied sleepily, his eyes fluttering open.

Danny was kneeling beside his bed, cloak wrapped around him. The moonlight streamed through the small window, touching his face. He looked tired. Older than twelve. His jaw a little tighter. His eyes darker than usual.

Damian sat up, rubbing his eyes. “What are you doing here? It’s not morning.”

“I came to say goodbye,” Danny said quietly.

Damian blinked. “Where are you going?”

“Ah… just a little trip,” Danny said with a small smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

That was the first moment Damian felt it—that cold, creeping feeling in his chest, like a shadow had crept in while he was sleeping.

Danny reached into the folds of his cloak and pulled out something small. A pendant—an amulet. It was a smooth, greenish-blue crystal set into a metal frame, worn along the edges like it had been touched and held a thousand times. It hung from a fine chain that looked fragile but wasn’t.

He pressed it into Damian’s palm and curled the younger boy’s fingers around it.

“Keep it close, Dami,” he said. “No matter what happens—don’t lose this. Promise me.”

Damian stared at the amulet, then up at Danny.

“Promise me,” Danny repeated, quieter this time.

“I… I promise,” Damian whispered. “But… you’re coming back, right?”

Danny hesitated.

He always hesitated when he didn’t want to lie.

“Danny,” Damian asked, voice small, “will I ever see you again?”

Danny’s eyes dropped, his hand pulling the blanket up around Damian’s shoulders. “Sure, sure you can,” he said. “You know goodbye isn’t forever.”

But the way he moved was different.

The way his fingers lingered in Damian’s hair was different.

His voice didn’t crack, but it shook just a little.

“Then…” Damian’s voice wavered, “Goodbye, Akhi. I love you.”

Danny froze for a second, like he’d swallowed something sharp. Then he leaned in and pressed his forehead to Damian’s.

“Yeah… I love you too, little lion,” he whispered. “More than you’ll ever know.”

And then he kissed Damian’s head, ruffled his curls, and stood.

Damian reached for him. “Wait—”

But Danny was already out the door, quiet as a shadow.

---

The next morning, Damian waited.

He sat on the edge of his bed, the amulet looped tightly around his fingers, watching the door. Waiting for the sound of Danny’s boots. His quiet whistle. His voice.

Nothing.

He waited the day after that too.

And the one after that.

He asked once, where Danny went. One of the older men only grunted and said, “Mission.”

“But he always comes back after missions,” Damian said.

The man looked away.

Damian never asked again.

---

At night, Damian curled up the way Danny used to find him—on his side, hugging the blanket like it was his brother’s cloak. Sometimes he held the amulet so tight the edge bit into his palm. He didn’t mind.

He thought of the way Danny’s hands felt. Strong, scarred—though Danny always wore those gloves to hide the worst of it. But Damian had seen. Once, when Danny was stitching up a cut and thought he was alone, Damian peeked in. His brother’s hands were a battlefield. Little nicks, rough patches, half-healed burns.

And yet, those hands never hurt him. Only ever patted his head, brushed his hair, helped him hold his training sword, or wiped away his tears when he fell.

Damian’s hands weren’t like that. They were calloused from training, yes—but not scarred. Danny made sure of that. Any tutor who pushed too hard found themselves reassigned. Grandfather never touched Damian when Danny was near.

“Don’t look,” Danny had once told him, shielding him from the aftermath of a failed mission. “You don’t need to see this.”

Damian always believed his brother was strong. The strongest. Wiser than the rest. Untouchable. Like the heroes in the stories Danny used to sneak into the compound library for him. A knight in dark armor with a kind heart and rough hands.

He gave Damian a childhood—a strange, quiet, half-secret one—but still a childhood.

He made sure Damian knew how to smile.

So when Danny said “just a little trip,” Damian believed him.

Until he saw the way Danny’s eyes didn’t shine like they used to.

Until he saw how long Danny stared at him, like trying to remember every line of his face.

Until he remembered how Danny’s voice had caught just for a second when he said, “Yeah… I love you too.”

---

Weeks passed.

The other recruits trained. Tutors came and went. Grandfather’s eyes turned colder. Damian trained harder—because that’s what Danny would want.

But he still waited.

He still dreamed of Danny brushing back his hair and humming lullabies only he remembered.

He still whispered, “Goodnight, Akhi,” into the quiet.

And he wore the amulet every single day, tucked beneath his collar, close to his heart.

He would not lose it.

Because Danny said not to.

And because if he held onto it tightly enough, maybe—just maybe—his big brother would find his way back home.

[un-fwuit-un-fwog]

Sometimes, crying is the strong thing.

Part eight of The Rain series

Synopsis: Jamil and Kamil visit The Prefect in the infirmary after Ramchackle's collapse.

TW: Kalim is ooc(? (Personally I think it's just a side of his character we haven't seen), the usual for this series ig

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8 (here), Part 9 (coming soon), . . .

After Idia's visit, you were given another period of rest. The reason was given as not wanting to make you too exhausted with too many consecutive visits in a short period of time.

Your first visitor after your rest period was Jamil.

You didn't even notice him enter. You were only alerted to his presence when the savory scent of a homecooked meal wafted into your nose.

You tilted your head to look at him and were met with the boy's ever-stoic expression. "I know you like that one dish I make, so I crafted up a version of it that would be easier to digest and not too rough on your stomach." He set the insulated bag on your nightstand as he spoke.

You had been given longer to recover than last time, so by now your throat was doing much better. It wasn't in tip-top shape, but it was better: good enough for you to have simple conversations. "Thank you, Jamil." your voice was raspy from misuse and hardly recognizable as your own.

"There's no need to thank me. It was a simple task." Jamil brushes off your thanks and takes a seat in the chair next to your bed. "Kalim will be coming tomorrow, although, I'm sure you've already been informed."

You nod softly at his words. "I was surprised to see his visit listed as after yours."

Jamil's mouth forms a firm line: "Yes, well, this isn't a scenario I was willing to put myself after him in."

His words were spoken in his usual, nonchalant tone, but the significance of them wasn't lost on you. "I'm proud." you smile.

Jamil simply scoffs before taking the bag off your nightstand and pulling out a thermos. "I heard you can't eat on your own at the moment." he explains as he opens the container and pulls a spoon from the bag. He shifts to take a comfortable position next to you on the bed, being sure to be hyper aware of all of your injuries as he does.

He spends most of his visit feeding you and explaining to you the situation with Ramshackle (only after he made sure you were up to hearing it, of course). After the incident, Kalim had demanded a team be brought in to check the remains of the building for any sign of sabotage. He was worried that after the VDC, someone who may have had it out for him had heard of his stay there and his friendship with you and shifted their target to you. The scene was certainly compromised from the initial rain and the use of Leona's unique magic, but there was still plenty to investigate. The moment the team Kalim hired showed up a barrier was put over the scene to prevent any further damage (a spell all the teachers made sure to learn from them (the rescue would have been easier on everyone (especially you) after all if the rain hadn't been a factor.)) No foul play was found in the typical sense. However, there were many 'repairs' that bordered on malice with how poorly they were done. That and the multitude of complaint letters found in the Headmage's office, proving he was aware of the dire state Ramshackle dorm was in, were used as evidence for his arrest.

There's a moment of silence as Jamil packs the thermos and spoon back into the bag before he speaks: "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Many of those letters to the Headmage were from me. I saw the state the dorm was in during the VDC, but I took no action to help you further than simply sending in letters. I'm supposed to be a guard trained for disaster, yet I failed to protect you from one that I so clearly saw coming."

"Jamil-"

"No. Don't. I know what you're thinking. I-. . .I just wanted to get that off my chest." With those words, he abruptly takes your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, and leaves.

He was right. He was trained to be a guard capable of handling any disaster that came his way. He was trained to keep his demeanor calm so as not to cause any extra stress to a victim. He performed his job beautifully in that aspect.

However, the twitch of his eyes as he left so abruptly and the soft choked sounds coming from the other side of the door didn't escape you.

"I hope you know just how warm your food was. How much it made me feel loved." you mumble. Whether or not your words reach him through the door, you're unsure.

Kalim was indeed next; however unrecognizable he was.

His face lacked its usual cheery charm and was instead overtaken by a seriousness you'd never see in him before.

He walked in and stood next to your bed, examining you. Without a word, he sat a small, safe distance from you on the bed.

Just as you were about to speak, he broke the silence: "My family is covering the legal fees that will come with the court case following Dire Crowley's arrest. I'll make sure you get the justice you deserve."

He spoke so coldly that you had to do a double take to make sure this was really Kalim. You knew that he was touchy on the subject of poison: having had people make attempts on his life in that manner before. You also knew that he was the one who ordered the investigation that got Crowley arrested in the first place, but you hadn't expected this change in demeanor.

"You may think I'm going overboard," he mutters "but as far as I'm concerned, his negligence might as well equate to an attempt on your life. Those deserve to be taken seriously."

His expression is cold, so much so it gives you chills. "Kalim." you whisper.

He cuts you off. "I want to." It's like he read your mind.

He gently brushes your hair out of your face and kisses your forehead. Taking one of your hands in his, he rubs gentle circles on it with his thumb. "Rest." he mumbles.

You can tell that his eyes have begun to water. "Rest with me?"

He's hesitant, but he lays down, keeping his careful distance while still holding your hand. The moment his head hits the pillow he's out like a light. You can only imagine how little sleep he's been getting.

As the tears dribble down his sleeping face, you gently reach out to swipe them away.

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@fancyhawk45 , @chloemari-e , @jester-party , @dykyun , @chidorichild , @kaiofechos , @arie2faced , @darling-5yndrome , @pebble-bb , @entidy13, @owl778 , @phoenixiaxia , @blvdmrcnry , @twistedcece , @lunatheroyal , @heartz4aqours , @yukixies , @sugarxrt , @noncreativepage-blog , @sheepchansstuff , @lucky-whispers , @mc-cos-charm , @bluedmonsst , @kyxmlii , @nilladrawsstuff , @abeltownshipslittlebitch , @pro-cat-stination , @creativecupcake , @wishicouldart , @gloomikaze , @marsinrain , @thesarcasticpersonwhoneedss-blog , @pinkytoxichearts , @avalordream , @shatiyuh , @coffee-or-hot-cocoa , @boredselkie , @savanaclaw1996 , @furioussharkcat , @nightshade-clown , @tsxukikami , @itspeanutlove , @mysterypotatoink , @hieratic9 , @91062854-ka , @paintbrushofanimeuniverse , @m1lly69 , @error-raccoon-404 , @the-annie-clark , @madilynnylidam , @losingmybrain