#did you think i WOULDN’T overthink it to that degree??

[frodo-with-glasses]

Not playlist anon (obvious now I guess), but I'm going to jump on the bandwagon and ask you to talk about Little Talks for the game since it's by my favourite band ^^

Oh HECK yes Of Monsters and Men, let’s goooo!

So once again, “Little Talks” is in the playlist more for the overall emotion of the song than for any specific lyrics. There are obviously any number of interpretations you can get out of it—that’s one of the best things about OMAM songs, their artistic ambiguity—but for me, it’s one of those songs that goes into my little list of “this is what it feels like to love somebody with mental illness”.

You may notice that I picked a male cover of the song, rather than just using the original (which is exquisite and has less confusion over that one part in the second verse where the two singers’ voices overlap for one word), because it is meant to be, once again, a conversation between Frodo and Sam. Specifically, I see this as being a sort of snapshot of life in Bag End in that…what, year and a half?…after the Quest had ended and before Frodo left for Valinor. The song is sleepy, it’s tender, it’s melancholy, and it’s deeply unsettling. Whoever the two speakers are, they love each other, but something has gone very wrong in the mind of one of them, and it’s tearing the other one apart.

F: I don’t like walking around this old and empty house

S: So hold my hand, I’ll walk with you, my dear

F: The stairs creak as I sleep, it’s keeping me awake

S: It’s the house telling you to close your eyes

F: Some days I can’t even trust myself

S: It’s killing me to see you this way

For Frodo, Bag End doesn’t feel like home anymore. It’s too big. Too empty. Too full of memories of a past life to which he can’t return. He has constant nightmares and frequent insomnia and can’t always be sure of his own mind. Sam offers what he always has—patient, gentle assurances, and sometimes a hand to hold—but it breaks his heart every time.

Both: ‘Cause though the truth may vary, this ship will carry our bodies safe to shore

Ships. The Sea. The Sea only ever means one thing. It’s a look ahead to the very end.

F: There’s an old voice in my head that’s holding me back

S: Well tell [him] that I miss our little talks

F: Soon it will be over and buried with our past

S: We used to play outside when we were young, and full of life and full of love

Throughout the book, Frodo has a habit of looking into the future with pessimism: he’s miserable, but at least the misery will all be over and forgotten when he’s dead. Even the past is tarnished by the pain of the present; his happy years in the Shire come back to taunt him, dancing just out of reach, where he can’t grasp them again. But Sam looks on the past with fondness and almost aggressive optimism; in the dreary desert of Mordor, he thought back to when he was young, swimming in the farm pond with Rosie and her brothers, and even here he thinks wistfully about the days when Frodo was free and whole and things were easy.

You’re gone, gone, gone away, I watched you disappear All that’s left is the ghost of you Now we’re torn, torn, torn apart, there’s nothing we can do Just let me go, we’ll meet again soon

What is this story except Sam being forced to watch Frodo slowly deteriorate; of cradling his cold body, when he thinks he’s dead, and then watching him truly die from the mind outward, which is so much worse? Sam is determined to lead a good life in the Shire, but Frodo can’t stay here any longer. He has to leave, or he won’t heal. So after walking a long, long road side by side, they’re now torn apart on the pier of the Grey Havens. “Just let me go,” whispers Frodo. “We’ll meet again soon.”

Now wait, wait, wait for me Please hang around I’ll see you when I fall asleep HEY!

The sudden, raucous crescendo here in the original recording just gets me in the throat every time. It feels like love that hurts—raw, roaring, and desperate—when saying goodbye is like a shard to the chest that’s so close to your heart you can’t remove it without risking even worse damage, so it just stays there, and your skin and muscle close and heal around it, but you’re still carrying it with you ‘til the end of your life; and even though you may go for months or years without noticing it, it still pricks and gives you pain sometimes.

(Did that metaphor end up going a lot further than I thought it would? Yes. Am I running with it regardless? Also yes.)

“Wait, wait, wait for me.” It feels like something Sam would want to shout after the ship as it pulled away, but he shut his mouth and swallowed it into his chest, because Rosie was waiting for him at home and he couldn’t go, not yet.

“Wait, wait, wait for me.” It feels like something Frodo would want to whisper from the stern; please don’t hurry, take your time, but don’t forget me.

“Wait, wait, wait for me.” I read something recently that said mortals aren’t actually made immortal by the trip to Valinor; the land is called Undying because it’s full of elves, not because it can grant immortality. I’m not a smart enough Tolkien person to know if that’s true or not, but if it is, that adds a whole other layer of agony: Bilbo would have likely passed away not long after reaching Valinor. And Frodo? Frodo wasn’t exactly a spring chicken himself. He would have been even older by the time Rosie passed away, and Sam took it into his head to leave Middle Earth. After he had found his healing—and met all the elves he wished to meet and seen all of Valinor he wished to see—what else was there for Frodo to hold on to life for?

What else, except for the vague, wild hope of a reunion?

But until then, Sam lies awake in Bag End, with Rosie at his side, staring at the ceiling. And a motif of this playlist is repeated that first popped its head up in “Dear Fellow Traveler”:

“And I’ll return to my beautiful city Black skies will change into blue And though my love is so wise and so pretty Some nights I’ll still dream of you”

I’ll see you when I fall asleep…

I’ll close my eyes and dream of you, until we meet again.

WORD ASK GAME! (kinda!)

[floylia]

ELYSIAN ♫

18. Am I wrong? ✎

“So my manager leaked my information.” It’s not a question anymore.

Scara nods apologetically as if he was at fault, eyes gleaming with genuine sincerity. This is the third time, he’s been vulnerable with you. He guides you up the cobblestone path, leading you closer to the Estate’s courtyard. The sun has already grazed its goodbye, only the moon rests above, gleaming at you and Scara. The darkness along the trees, shrubs, and boulders around the garden is eerie but something about his presence soothes your worries—something about his rare smile, hushed voice, and messy hair.

Perhaps it’s everything about him.

You pause in your tracks, watching over the waves on the beach—hands on the wooden fences standing around the courtyard, “Do you think they’ll believe me?”

“They’ll believe you once you tell your side.”

Doubt lingers, “What if they don’t?”

“Then they’re all fuck heads with no hobbies,” He swerves his head, now facing you with narrow eyes, and brows pulled together, “It’s stupid, how some of them graduated with degrees but have no basic sense of empathy or respect. They’re all entitled, gullible, and hypocritical assholes who use every opportunity to deflect their insecurities on others. It’s a crazy world we live in.”

The scowl on his face is almost laughable—how angry at the world he is on your behalf. You take note of Scara's wrath, experiencing it is not for the weak. Although, you don’t need to worry. His patience for you seems limitless.

“I can’t believe Jean lets you handle your social media accounts. You have no filter.”

He scoffs, “She doesn’t, but I find my way. They have to change the password every other week or else I might be permanently banned on every platform.”

You chuckle at his smug expression, “I want your confidence.”

“You already have it, you just need to use it.”

You avoid his gaze, “You sure do have a lot of faith in me.”

“Because I believe in you.”

For how long? You heard those same words before and they never kept their promises. Your agency, your manager. It was blind trust. Funny how life works.

“You blindly trusted me.”

You didn’t mean to say that. But it can’t be helped. What if one day you disappoint him? Will he leave too, like your manager? Or your fans?

“I knew you wouldn’t do that.”

No he didn’t. What did he know?

“There’s always a possibility—“

“But you didn’t and that’s what matters,” He sighs before running a hand through his hair, “Am I wrong for trusting you?”

You shake your head in guilt, realizing you let your doubts slip. Overthinking kills the mood, “It’s just that—“

“Am I wrong for wanting to be with you?” His voice softened.

You squint your eyes, unsure of what he means. You open your mouth to say something, anything to fill the silence, but nothing comes out.

So he inches forward, his left hand rests on your cheek, the other latches down to your waist, gentle and warm—you lean in to his touch, “Is it wrong to be this close?”

“No but—“

“For once please,” He sounds desperate, “Fuck what they think, focus on me and you. They can all go to hell.”

“So tell me: Is it wrong to need you at every moment?”

Once again you shake your head, this time with no interruptions.

“Is it wrong to be with you? To wake up every morning knowing I’m yours—knowing I can flirt shamelessly without doubting your feelings? Knowing I can write songs about you without hiding my love. Knowing I can feed you my favorite dishes without asking: am I doing too much? Or buy you things that remind me of you because not a single day goes by without your presence in my fucked up head.”

You feel tears welling up in your eyes. Everything is blurry but your gaze remains on Scara. Only him, because it has always been him.

“Am I wrong for feeling this way?” He whispers softly—so gentle that you want to apologize for trying to push him away.

You wrap your arms around his neck, “Kiss me.”

“Can I really?”

“Please.”

He does.

He does like his life depends on it.

Notes:

im on vacation but nothing will stop me from writing 😃

sorry for grammatical errors or spelling mistakes

Synopsis: After 7 years of enduring the media’s relentless pursuit of painting you as a villain, you’re forced to go through an indefinite hiatus with a tainted reputation on your head. However, just when you thought your career was over, a certain 5WIRL member wants you to feature on his solo career. Surely, this won’t affect your reputation once more, would it?

Scaramouche x fem!reader

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[myjealouseyes]

Drabble request from an Anon: do a harry potter x yn where her books fall and she bumps into harry and is super shy

A/N — shy peeps unite frfr 🙂‍↕️✊🏾

Request a drabble here

In hindsight, you should have known better. Overthinking never did you anything good. Perhaps if you could be just a little normal about anything that’s ever happened to you, you wouldn’t have found yourself so lost in your mind in the middle of a crowded corridor. Perhaps if Snape hadn’t made that snide remark about the format of your research paper before dismissal you wouldn’t have found your found yourself running headfirst into the chest of Hogwart's most famed golden boy. Yes, headfirst into the chest of Harry James Potter.

Of all the people for shy, anxious, socially awkward you to run into, It just had to be him. You think you’d rather it have been Malfoy. Sure, he might have hexed you and called you some off-color insult like ‘slugbreath’ or something but that happens so many times a day that bypassers would be over it by lunch. This? You’d never live this one down. You had to minimize embarrassment to the lowest degree. Maybe the rumors wouldn’t be so bad then.

“I-I’m sorry!” You hardly manage to keep yourself from squeaking out your words as you kneel to pick up the books that fell from your arms. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.” You hear his friend from behind him; Ron Weasley snickering and Hermione Granger slapping his shoulder. Your first thought is that you’re cooked. You don’t notice the faint blush that covers Harry’s face or Hermione’s knowing smirk as she drags Ron over to a nearby corner to observe. You’re too busy trying to save your last streads of dignity.

Just when you think you’re in the clear and you might be able to salvage this situation, he bends down to help you. Your hands shake as they make contact with his; a single brush as he hands you his half of your books. “It’s fine. You’re fine.” He offers his hand as he stands straight again. You swear you hear traces of reassurance. It makes you might just curl up into a ball of blushing nerves. You can’t stand Yourself for it, but you take his hand. It’s warm and soft and it makes your entire arm tingle. You stand slowly, avoiding his wonderful eyes at all costs. “Um, thank you for—well…” you wave your hand awkwardly. You hear him chuckle, and your cheeks heat up quickly. You’re still expecting some sort of mockery from him but when you finally meet his eyes he’s all smiles. Genuine ones. You don’t break away from his eyes until you’re half way don’t the hall. He stares in yours just as long.

[reidsbookclub]

Yours Truly Spencer Reid x fem! reader WC: 2555  fluff pure fluff tw: mentions of Gideon's death

AN: ending is a bit rushed but when I copy & pasted here I accidentally deleted it and couldn’t recall everything I wrote 😩

It’s been three months living with the knowledge that Gideon is no longer there. His conversation with Rossi was haunting him in the middle of the night. “I know I’m not being very rational,” he had told Rossi, “but I think about him all the time. And I knew he was always out there, now it just feels empty.” Rossi’s words still echoed in his mind. “Maybe you’ll find something else to fill the empty space.” He couldn’t even begin to imagine finding anything that would fill the void of now knowing that his mentor would no longer be just a call away. He needed to find a way to feel close to him, so he put pen to paper and did what he knew best: he started writing Gideon letters with the intent of them being addressed to fire. He put pen to paper and tried to connect it to the cloudy thoughts of his brain. After a couple of hours he fell asleep with the warmth of the fireplace enclosing him in a hug. 

Not even in his wildest dreams did he ever thing that letter would get read and replied to. 

It had been three months since her godfather Jason had passed away, three months of losing the only father figure she had had. If she didn’t know any better she could’ve sworn that he was still around, his presence felt throughout the small cabin she was inherited.  Stephen, Jason’s son, had delivered a letter stating such. The simple letter in the testament read, “Y/N, just know that a very good friend of mine holds a key to this cabin, he might drop by if he feels the need to feel close to me, or just an escape from the darkness of this world. Be kind to him, Dr. Reid needs some warmth, kindness and love in his life.”  

Days later she found a piece of paper on the floor of the cabin. She really needed to seal the mail slot on the door and install a mailbox.  But she couldn’t help but let out a gasp on who sent it, the Dr. Reid in her godfather's letter. 

Dear Gideon,  It’s been three months since you’ve passed and I can’t help but ask why I never reached out to you when you left the BAU. 

Oh. So he’s a coworker. She wondered if he helped found the BAU alongside Rossi and her godfather, suddenly wondering if Dr. Reid had many stories about her godfather’s younger days.  Silencing her thoughts, she continued reading. 

You know how I’m a specialist at overthinking everything and I just can’t help but wonder if I still have a place in the BAU now that you’ve gone. 

Who is this Dr. Reid? 

Gideon I’m becoming a mastermind at vanishing into the deep thoughts of my brain in the middle of the night. Midnights have now become my afternoons. I miss the talks we used to have. If I’m being honest I’m finding it so hard to find my place with the team now that I can’t just hide in your office. Can you believe Morgan invited me out to the club? Me. 

Club? Was Dr. Reid not an old guy like her godfather or was Morgan just being nice and inviting a mentor out to drinks?  Curiosity getting the best of her, she continued reading the letter, hoping to get more answers on who Dr. Reid really is. 

You always used to say my first degree was running away into the deep thoughts of my mind but I think I have added a fourth Ph.D to my resume and that’s being my own worst enemy. 

Multiple Phds? She couldn’t even finish school. Who was this guy? 

You know how hard it is to admit it to myself but I miss you Gideon. Sometimes I still talk to you when I feel like screaming at the sky, angry that you left me with nothing but a letter, just like everyone else that had ever left me did, but I can't be angry at you.  -SSA Agent Reid…. Yes I know, Gideon. I need to make people respect me. So I guess I’m signing off as, SSA Doctor Spencer Reid. 

He wouldn’t need to make people respect him if he wasn’t young? Would he? Not being able to get her mind off the mysterious Dr. Reid, she decided to write him a letter.

Coming back from a demanding case always felt like a relief and the worst thing in the world at the same time. Relief for finally being home and the worst thing because once you’re home, warm in bed, your mind starts reliving every little thing you could’ve done differently. This night would be different. Spencer was greeted at the door by his Russian Blue cat named Atticus and a tea-stained letter on his mailbox. 

Dr. Spencer Reid, I must admit that receiving a letter addressed to my godfather was surprising, I fully apologize for opening and reading your letter, I assumed you meant for no one to read it. Have you ever been to my godfather Jason’s cabin? If you have, then you must know that there is a small town that is 15 miles away. I went there earlier today and down the block from the main road there is a small antique shop. I stopped and entered, always curious about the stories that old items have, who owned them? Were they special to them or just small trinkets, why did the owner sell them? All these questions. No answers. Anyways, there was a box filled with old drawings and photographs. 25 cents each and I couldn't help but buy some because they all reminded me of you.  You must think I'm insane for saying that something reminded me of you when we have never met, so please don’t profile that too much, anyways, these photographs had me imagining things. It's crazy. Heck, I don’t even know anything about you. Yes, I could look it up but where's the fun in that? Is it crazy that I can’t help myself and imagine who you are? That I cannot help but think of all of these little scenarios making a film about your life. I’ve been rambling too much about nonsense so take care Dr. Reid.   - Hope you stay safe  Y/N

Reid read and re-read the surprise letter. Atticus on his lap sleeping. Goddaughter, why couldn't he recall Gideon ever mentioning a goddaughter. Who was she? Based on the letter she rambled…a lot and got excited about the most random things. Reid let out a soft giggle startling Atticus. “I think…I think I want to write another letter, Atticus. She seems fun to talk to, don't you think?” 

Silence. That is all she heard for three long weeks cursing herself for responding to his letter the way that she did.  He must’ve thought she was nothing but a foolish petulant child with her dreaming and fantasizing about different worlds and what ifs. Just as she was wondering if she should write another letter apologizing she heard the unmistakable sound of papers being thrown into the mail slot. “Thank you!” she shouted through the door to the mailman. One coffee-stained envelope standing out over the spam ads she got.

Dear Y/N, I must admit writing a letter to you seems a bit strange so please bear with me if I seem   awkward,  I promise I am working on it. Shit I spilled some coffee on the paper, hopefully its not that noticeable. Who am I kidding of course it will be noticeable. Well I am hoping you like coffee smells. Ms. Y/N I hope that the letter I sent you did not cause you any more grief, and please feel free to…how did you put it? “ramble much about nonsense” to me at any time. I thought it was cute. Well now I am thankful you cannot see the blush I have because Derek is sure making fun of me at the moment. I’m sorry that it seems like forever since you last replied to me but the case we had was taking a toll on me and I couldn’t seem to taint your sunshineness with the darkness of the case. I just wanted to let you know that the way you make time disappear everytime i re-read your letter brings me calmness, and brings me hope that maybe someday we could become friends. Please always continue telling me about the little what if scenarios that help you make my life seem more interesting than it is. I find it adorably cute that you do these things. Now I can’t help but wonder if you will think I am just a boring old man that sits in the corner of a dark room– I promise I am not. Anyways, a little about myself I have a cat named Atticus, I enjoy stimulating my brain by learning new things which is how I got three Phds. You can always find me with coffee and a good book and—fucking hell I sound boring as fuck and you give off the impression of being this magnetic carefree beautiful person.   Great, now I am overthinking everything I have said so far – everyone knows that afterall i am a specialist at doing so.  Thats all for now  Sincerely, Spencer Reid. 

She couldn’t help but giggle. All throughout the letter Spencer sounded just like the type of person that she would love to get to know further. Someone that in another life would be considered a tortured poet, living amongst the rest of them in the peacefulness of the lakes, someone that would be rubbing elbows with Wordsworth and Austen. As she re-read the letter she was trying to ignore the blush that spread across her cheeks at Spencer using the word cute in reference to her. One thing was certain that she would be holding on to her pen-pal because for some reason he made her feel a way no other person was able to do. 

It had been two months since the initial letter that started this newfound friendship Spencer found himself in. The only thing that has kept him going were the weekly letters that Y/N has been sending him. They’re weekly letters always bringing a smile to his face and giving him the necessary “push” in between cases. This new letter brought an even bigger smile to his face and the sudden urge to finally drive up to that cabin and meet the person that has been holding his mind captive all day. 

Dear Spencer,  How is Atticus doing? I know you were planning on adopting a kitten to keep Atticus company while you are away. May I suggest a cute little white cat? Or a ginger cat? Maybe one named  Arlo or Agatha or something old  literature sounding. How have you been? Are the headaches gone? Today I went down to the small village that is close by and there is this new coffee place and I couldn’t help but think about how much you would like it. Would you be interested in ever meeting me there? Keeping this one short and sweet because i did kinda sorta just ask you out and anxiety is at an all time high  - Y/N

There was one thing that Spencer learned that night and that was that for the first time in years he allowed himself to hope that maybe just maybe the person he was falling for was falling right alongside him. 

Girls night. Oh how she missed her friends ever since moving into the cabin. It had taken a lot of convincing but she had finally managed to get her friends up for the weekend. In the middle of drinks she started gushing about Spencer and their friendship. She was telling her friends about the cute pen-pal she had and how she had taken the leap to ask him out. “Ha. What a loser do you really think that and FBI agent will take the time to come and meet someone as boring as you?” Her so-called best friend Lindsey had said, her words ringing in her ear drink after drink. How could she be so foolish thinking that a guy as smart as Spencer would ever confess his love to her. It had been a cold reminder that she was not the exception, that after years of this happening she had not learned her lesson that fairy tale endings did not happen to girls like her. So, for the first time in the two months they had been communicating instead of answering his letter she burned it, eventually leaving him at the coffee house waiting, glued to his chair instead of meeting her for the first time. The following week the first of many daily letters arrived in which he kept asking her why. 

Dear Y/N, Did I do something wrong? Did you move on? Help me because in my mind I'm still at that coffee shop collecting dust wondering where you are, wondering why you didn’t show up. If you ever think you may have got it wrong and want to meet, I will be at that coffee shop every Friday at 7 waiting for my sunshine to show up.  Yours truly, Spencer 

Three weeks. It had been three long weeks since he had heard from her, so he decided to take the initiative and for the first time since Gideon’s death he used the key he had left him. The drive to the cabin was filled with anxious thoughts. Would she be happy to see him? Did she meet someone while they were writing letters? 

Walking into the cabin he could smell something baking and the unmistaken sound of laughter coming from the small kitchen, making his way around the cabin he caught a glimpse of her dancing around the kitchen, “wow you are even more beautiful than I ever thought.” he said catching her off guard. “Who the fuck are you and how did you get in here?” she yelled “Oh–i–right yeah i – Spen–Rei–Doctor” he let out a puff of air, “Hi, I’m Spencer Reid. Gideon actually gave me a key to this place.” he smiled softly as crimson crept across her face. “Oh, hi wh–a–what are you doing here?” “I was worried about you” he mumbled

“Oh” In any other situation awkward silence would have followed but not between them, instead fits of laughter happened. “I’m sorry I blew you off Spencer” taking a deep breath she continued, “its just… a friend reminded me that girls like me don’t get the cute guys” Taking a step close to her spencer began rubbing circles in her wrist with his thumb “Y/N whoever said that is not a friend. I fell for the personality that shined through the letters we exchanged, I couldn’t care less about what you looked like you were already perfect in my mind and now that I am seeing you I can confirm that you are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met” They spend that whole weekend together, the days consisting of  baking, stargazing and teaching Y/N how to play chess and nights filled with cuddles, kissing and watching movies together.

Read my master list here Join my taglist here Constructive criticism always welcomed on my ask box!

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[hanibalistic]

#6F417E | EARTH-42 MILES MORALES.

genre | fluff / reader is gn

synopsis | miles found you fainted in an alleyway one day, except you died two years ago.

word count | 3090

warning | everything i know about e-42 miles morales (and just this spiderverse) is from the movies 

note | tentatively there're 5 parts to this story... thank you for reading :)  

parts | one, two, three, four  

The streets in the morning were less eerie than at night, which you supposed was a given fact. It was like that back on your Earth too. One significant difference you found between your Earth and this Earth was that, while both were crowded, the general architecture of this Earth looked like they were on its last leg. There were more old and rusty gates than reflective and clean glass doors, and most buildings were held together through an abandoned construction process with no safety measures taken. 

Miles told you once that if the buildings hold, they hold. It took you a while to let that mindset sink in. When you realized your overthinking wouldn’t magically strengthen the morale around this place, nor would it collapse one of the dusty-looking buildings as you so feared, you stopped thinking too deeply about it. You would get jumpy occasionally, though, like if a few steel construction poles holding a balcony together start shivering in the wind. He never visibly laughed, but trust that he was always amused at your caution. 

“What about this one?” you asked, holding a sweater before your torso and turning to him. “I like this one. It’s cute!”

Miles peered at you, his hands shoved deep in his jacket pocket where he was safekeeping the money his mother gave him to do clothing shopping with you. The corners of his mouth pulled into a frown immediately. “It looks tacky.”

You mirrored his frown, but yours were defeated rather than mischievous. “You have something mean to say about everything.” 

“For good reason,” he said with a shrug. “You have terrible taste.” 

He wouldn’t be too wrong about that. Fashion was never your forte, but you did wonder if it could be when personal interest and financial budget were no longer an issue. You laughed under your breath; that felt like a faraway dream. Carefully putting the sweater back on the hanger, you made a point to scoff directly at his face. 

“I really don’t see how that’s tacky,” you said. “Is the sweater tacky, or am I?” 

“Oh, I can’t answer that,” he replied with a faux sympathetic smirk. He bent to your eye level and added, “Won’t wanna be mean.”

If he was taunting you, playfully so, it wasn’t successful. One thing you learned about Miles in these past few months of living with him was that he was all bark and no bite. All you have to do is level his stare for just a bit too long for comfort—you squinted your eyes, your nose scrunching as an afterthought, then abruptly stomped a foot forward. He immediately jumped back, but he did it to avoid hitting the tip of your nose with his, not because you successfully scared him. 

His eye twitched in dismay when you smiled triumphantly before turning around and running out of the store, dropping a quiet trail of snickers through your lips. Miles faintly clicked his tongue into a grin, which he had to physically rub off his face. After spending these months with you, save for the paranoia-inducing glitches you have been doing occasionally, he has mostly settled with your presence being a constant.

There was a spot for you in his twin-sized bed, at the dining table in the living room, and even on the chores list! Your prolonged stay was not anticipated, nor was your infiltration into his life to such an intimate degree. At some point, Miles completely tore his walls down to let his heart run astray, and the first place it ran to was you. The only issue now was whether you returned his feelings, and that was a question he couldn't even begin to pick apart. 

"It's so nice to put a face to a name.” Seconds after he left the store, he could recognize a voice. "Oh, yes. Miles talks about you all–" 

"Gwen!" 

Realization hit him with the hallucinated impact of a train entering a pitch-black tunnel. He bolted out to the street where you and his partner in crime (literally) stood, his arms stretched out so he could cover your ears just before Gwen could finish her sentence. You looked up just as your shoulders were hunched at the icy feel of his hands, and you saw Miles utter something through gritted teeth at the bemused girl you just met.

“You’re not funny!”

“Thank you, Miles. I try my best,” Gwen retorted with a satisfied smirk, then her gaze bounced down to you, and she scoffed in disbelief. “You’re right, though. They do look exactly alike. It’s uncanny.”

“They’re the same person,” he clarified, “just from a different Earth.”

“I know,” Gwen shrugged, “but you’d think they would at least have a different style.”

“They’re wearing my clothes. How would you know?”

“They’re wearing your clothes?”

Miles pursed his lips as he let go of your ears, subconsciously rubbing them through a brief caress before his arms fell to his sides. You widened your eyes in surprise when the cold Brooklyn air and the chattery street returned to your senses; it didn’t occur to you how much pressure he applied to muffle your ears until sounds came back to you. Shifting his weight and heaving a dramatic exhale, Miles let his friend know how little bullshit he was willing to take from her this day, especially when it came to jokingly expose his feelings for you. Gwen’s smirk stayed for a moment longer before she narrowed her eyes and gave a knowing nod; it was all for good fun. She understood the implication of someone like Miles falling in love.

“What are you guys up to?” Gwen asked, changing the subject. 

“We’re buying clothes,” you replied, clarifying with an indignant huff. “Or we would be if he wasn’t vetoing everything I suggest.”

“Their taste is awful,” Miles retorted without looking at you. He was speaking to Gwen. 

“A tacky shirt means I won’t have to take from your closet anymore,” you said, exasperated. You threw your arms up to smack his face with the overly long sweater sleeves before rolling them back up to your wrists, where you folded the hems twice to keep them from sliding over your hands. “Look at your clothes! They’re big on you, and they’re big on me!” 

Gwen pulled a face in agreement. “You do like oversized clothes, Miles.” 

“Thanks for the unsolicited input,” Miles smiled, “much appreciated.” 

The tension zapping between their fake smile and glaring stare was palpable. To your dramatic lenses, at least. You switched between the two of them, your eyes darting back and forth as your mind raced to find some kind of a conclusion to their relationship. If Miles was in love with the previous version of yourself, and they have since died, then the next possible candidate would likely be Gwen depending on how closely related they were. Or perhaps you were wrong all along! Miles told the truth when he said he was only good friends with ‘you’ because his heart belonged to this girl across from you!

“What are you two?” you asked, promptly breaking their eye contact.

“Oh? We–uhh,” she awkwardly tugged a piece of hair behind her ear and glanced at Miles, “we work together?”

Miles frowned at Gwen for a split second before he nodded. “We work together.”

“Colleagues!” You crossed your arms and stared off into the distance. You ignored Miles when he began asking questions about what you were doing. “Colleagues… there is much to discuss… yes.”

“What?” He waved his hand in front of your face. “What are you yapping about?” 

“I think someone is getting the wrong idea about us,” Gwen said, failing to hold back a chuckle. She watched Miles roll his eyes as if you’ve always gotten the wrong idea about everything and smiled faintly to herself; she had not seen him this expressive in a while. Having a paralyzed face was his thing ever since grief took over. Looking away, she directed the conversation to you instead. “Hey, how is the glitching treating you?

You clapped your hands suddenly and tilted your head, ignoring the way Miles jumped in disbelief that you responded to Gwen and not him. You had no idea she knew of your glitching, but if Miles trusted her enough to let her on your identity, she must be someone you could count on. Nodding, you looked down at your hands and grimaced. “They’ve slowed down, thankfully. I don’t like the feeling of it.”

There were no words to describe how the glitching felt because you simply were not for a moment. It was the act of your existence being pulled apart manifested into a colorful and pixelated view for a third-party observer. The dimensional sight of it tricked people into thinking there was an experience to undergo, but there wasn’t, technically. You were glitched out of existence and then glitched back into reality. Your body and soul were pulled apart at the seams, separated into atoms and molecules of nothingness, and your mind wasn’t fast enough to catch up with its erasure that for a split second, you understood your oblivion before being forcefully put back on your feet. 

You were thrown into uncontrollable sobs the first few times you glitched. The process was all but a mere few seconds, but the aftermath was Miles staying up all those nights until you fell asleep first, holding his breath whenever you stirred in your sleep, and wishing he was capable enough to stop your face from getting stained by tears. You have mostly gotten used to the feeling, but that did not eliminate the grotesque urge to barf every time you glitched.

“Hmm…” Gwen rubbed her chin in thought at your reaction. She has been helping with figuring out what to do to stop you from glitching entirely, but the urgency of it all greatly stumped her thinking process. She worked well under pressure, not one of her friend’s many paranoid rambles about you dying. “The multiverse is difficult to figure out, but I think I have a few ideas I’d like to try.”

Miles turned to her with anticipation. “You have something?”

“It’s not a definitive something,” Gwen said as she stepped away from his prying eyes. “It’s more of a hypothesis.” 

“We can test it out,” he urged, eyes glimmering unfamiliarly. “Having something is better than nothing.”

“My problem is more about [Name] being the only person who can prove that what we made worked,” she said with a shake of her head. “I will not have them wear something that might kill them.”

There was a downward shift in the air as the Brooklyn cold froze over. Your eyes darted about at the drop of tension. The change in Gwen’s voice and how Miles’s feet shuffled so he didn’t have to maintain an awkward standing position were not lost on you. There was a shared sorrow that neither has opened up to you about. With Gwen avertinig her eyes and the gentle drop in her confidence, you couldn't have been mistaken that she also knew you well before you died. Deducing from her last sentence, these two might be why you met your end. 

“We should give it a try anyway,” Miles muttered. “If it works, it’ll really help them.”

You halted the inward debate on whether you should give a say in their conversation. You couldn’t begin to understand the science they would have to figure out to stop your paranormal glitching, even if they decided to discuss the plan with you. It still surprised you that Miles has the smarts good enough to be on his way to prestigious universities. He has been so regular—he went to school, lazed about the chores, and was afraid of his mother for reasons you now understand. Either way, your best bet was to trust that these two only had your best interest in mind. 

You smiled at Gwen and gave her two encouraging thumbs-ups when she glanced at you with what you could consider millennia of uncertainty. Her stoic brows relaxed as nostalgia packed her body into itself upon getting hit in the face, once again, with your familiar features. Two years of unresolved grief and self-blame, two years of longing for a friend, and everything dissolving into one innocent smile and two thumbs-up. Miles did not overstate his whiplash when he saw you because she was feeling it too. 

“I’ll gather everything I have and bring them over tonight,” Gwen said. “I have some stuff to do, so I’m gonna go. I’ll see you tonight, Miles, and, uh–“ she waved, for a farewell that felt long overdue–“goodbye, [Name].”

Her soft features remained in your head as her back faded into the crowd. The noticeable sorrow in her eyes whenever she looked at you further reinforced your assumption that you two, at least, used to be friends. A sense of pride for yourself from this Earth blossomed deeply in your chest, and you felt giddy knowing that you could maintain a genuine friendship with Gwen. But, more than that, you admired how her face glowed even under the chillingly dark sky and how her voice spoke like the texture of crumbled silk being smoothed over with a kind hand. Her delicate features plagued your head because you thought she was pretty. 

“I like her,” you said with a small smile playing on your lips. 

“I do, too,” Miles hummed in acknowledgment. He reached down to grab your hand so you wouldn’t get a chance to run off again, and you let him. “Not in the way you think I do, though.”

Question marks popped into the crease of your forehead as you looked up at him, acting incredulous now that you found out your self-curated romantic fantasy based off of one simple interaction between two people whose relationship you have no detail on read like an open book to him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he retorted as he raised your intertwined hands to point a finger at you. “You need to stop acting a fool.”

You squeezed his hand extra tight and huffed in dissatisfaction when he was barely affected by your abysmal strength. Taking a deep breath, you forced an embarrassing, wise chuckle and said, “Love is supposed to make you do stupid things.”

“Tell me when the love is there.”

“Ugh,” you groaned and pursed your lips to silence yourself. Observing passersby as a distraction, you managed to keep quiet for a few stores before bashfully inching closer to Miles, who sighed knowingly. “You really don’t have any feelings for her? Not even a little?” 

“No.”

“Ugh!” Your groan was less annoyed this time. “What a waste! I don’t understand!”

“You’re really hell-bent on this,” he mentioned as his legs stopped. He turned his body to you with wilful ignorance that he was forcing both of you to block everyone from walking down the middle of the street. He raised a brow, questioning. “I don’t like her like that. What don’t you understand?”

You felt a rare intimidation through his gaze, so you looked toward the direction Gwen left, chasing the image of a girl you tried not to feel envious of. Miles watched your eyes soften, but it was not the cause of relaxation but rather deep thinking that you forgot a world was happening around you. He waited patiently for you to return to him, anticipating your words. He always anticipated what you have to say, about anything, to the point it was foolish that he would wait for you to point out to him that an apple was red and a banana was yellow. 

“I don’t know,” you whispered loud enough for him to hear. “She’s so pretty.”

The thought that it never crossed his mind might baffle you, but it never did. Gwen was pretty, but to Miles, that was an undeniable fact rather than something sentimental. Or, at least, it used to be. The fact that she was pretty immediately became a jagged blade that threatened to cut your perception of his feelings for you after what you said. He was less than fond of it, and, unfortunately, he also has no idea how to keep you from being cut with it. 

It was a shame that you couldn’t see him the way he saw and knew himself. 

How no matter the tap water he splashed on his face and the flower-scented soap he applied on his hands, the only thing to truly rinse him of the grotesque, metallic stain of a purple mask was the double weight on his bed. How taking his prowler suit off could never rid him of the criminal identity the same way he could forget about it when he sat before the television folding laundry with you. How the heavy stomps of his feet treading down a path of crime and the terrified breathing of almost having his life taken from him could be so easily drowned out by the seamless way his voice weaves into the sound of your laugher as if you two were made for each other. 

You didn’t know the way he ached to sink himself into your presence, to relearn the world through your eyes and let you remind him that an apple was red and a banana was yellow, and how he would carve your face into his own so he would never forget you after you leave this Earth.

Miles’s heart was rebirth into the shape of yours, and you thought Gwen was pretty.

“There is nothing to it,” he said, clutching your hand to never let go. “She’s pretty. It’s empty.”

You slowly turned away from the street to look at him and smiled at his serious reaction. The dim sky tore open to let the sun kiss you, a tenderness he yearned to give you but couldn’t muster up the genuine courage to, so he only stared at you with endearment written all over his face in a language you haven’t learned to read. 

“Come on, let’s go back to get the sweater you want,” he muttered.

“You said it was tacky.” You followed behind closely as he dragged you by the hand.

“Exactly,” he mused, “you two are a perfect fit.”

You squeezed his hand in retaliation, but all he could feel was how perfectly they fit together. Maybe even better than you and that sweater.

[archiepudding]

A Little Surprise

Atsumu takes you on a little arcade date, but your little surprise is certainly more entertaining.

Pairing: Dominant! Atsumu Miya x Female!Readee

Warnings: 18+ Sexual content, swearing

There was too much to look at. Rows of machines burst with an array of neon cyan and pink, while glowing screens bombarded your view with every other colour. Polished floors lined the narrow pathway that was surprisingly scarce of customers on a Sunday evening. Your hand was cosily interlocked with Atsumu, his large hand easily swallowing yours. You squinted in the low light, searching through the claw machines that line the right side of the arcade, yellow plush Pikachus and the harsh blue of Sonic commandeered most of them. A few teens stood huddled in the back, yells belching out through the arcade as you watched them race against each other, your legs tensing for them at how close the race came.

On your way out, you linked your fingers with Atsumu once again. Your arms brushing against each other. Stepping out into the bitter evening chill, the small child within you could no longer be held back.

“Squirtle!” You tugged him back, letting go to put your hand on the icy glass. “They hardly ever have him! And he’s the last one!” You turned to face Atsumu, your lips already pouting.

“It’s three degrees… and you want me to play on the one machine that's outside?” His expression was deadpan.

You chewed your lower lip. “Please?”

Atsumu sighed, loudly, dragging his feet as he came to join you. He held his hand out and you placed the slippery cold coin into his palm. Although he seemed reluctant at the start, Atsumu had become more and more determined, jabbing at the buttons and slamming his foot against the machine when the claw would drop the desired prize. Thirty minutes had gone by and he hadn’t even noticed that you slipped away, returning with two cups of warm coco. 

“Here.” You grinned.

He blankly accepted, his concentration never wavering. He took a quick slurp and tried his luck again. 

Realising that he was likely in this for the long haul you take it as another chance to look around, hoping to find something to surprise him with in return.

You felt a little bad, as your mind wandered back to the boy outside the arcade, but you’d hope your trip wouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes, your legs carrying you through the busy bustling Tokyo streets. Your eyes went wide, staring up at the seven-story building, the windows filled with a collection of undergarments that caused your pink cheeks to glow red. Your feet carried you from floor to floor, and to be honest with yourself there was at least one item on each floor that made your eyebrow raise at the thought of Osamu in the bedroom. You laughed at the different options available - dildos in the shapes of carrots or eggplants, leather catsuits and corsets all making you envious of the mannequins. 

Interestingly, you found yourself scanning over the collars. The lewd thoughts in your head are already running wild. Not overthinking it, you grab a few more items to make the night more enjoyable, but as you go back to the counter your attention is brought to the colourful selection of vibrators. A display advertising a small curved pink one. Tucking your bottom lip between your teeth, you reach for a box, keeping the newly bought items close to you as you make your way back. 

You had taken longer than you expected, your phone reading quarter-to-nine. You’d been nearly an hour. Your heart pounded in your chest. Why hadn’t he called? Did he think you left him? 

Just when you thought your heart had stopped, you heard a bellowing cheer. Followed by the familiar smile beaming at the slightly disfigured blue turtle. His eyes sparkled, and you couldn’t help but smile at the childish grin of self-satisfaction that plastered his face. 

“I knew I’d get it!” 

You blinked up at him, taking a few steps forward.

“You’ve been at this for nearly two hours.” You squeaked.

He handed you his winnings, but before you could take it he pulled it back, pushing his face closer to it.

“Well I can see why no one wanted him,” he turned it towards you pointing at the toy's face, “it looks like it’s had half its face melted,” he turned it back to himself, “and then went ten rounds with Bakugo.”

You snatch it from him, your face contorting when you get to inspect it yourself. “Oh god.” 

“I’ll see if they can switch him out for a new one.” Atsumu went to take it back but you pulled it into your neck, scowling at him.

“No!”

He holds his hand out, his face serious. “Give it.”

You shake your head.

“Y/n!” 

You shook your head faster, taking a step backwards.

His face softened before he tried to resume his composure. He wiggled his hand, silently repeating his original question.

“It gives him character!” You protested.

He caved, turning his hand to invite you to take it. You did, immediately retracting.

“Oh my god, they’re freezing!” 

Placing your gift under your arm, you take his hands in yours, pulling them back towards the arcade machine to get out of the way of the crowded space. His hands were lightly pressed between yours, his skin red but incredibly soft. Atsumu couldn’t hide how happy he was in that moment, his eyes tentatively watching each movement. Everything seemed to disconnect, his world solely consumed by just you and him.

“What?” You giggled, glancing from his hands. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

You were sure it was just the winter breeze but the tips of his ears burnt a deep red. 

His voice was low. “You know I have another way to warm these up?”

You tilted your head, your eyes narrow with confusion and curiosity, but they quickly changed when you felt the freezing tips of his fingers sneak up your shirt. His icy claws clamping either side of your waist. You gasped. A breathy squeal escaping your lips as you wiggled out his grip. Atsumu bared a toothy-grin, his hands slapping on to his knees as he hunched over.

“That’s not funny,” you attempted to hide your own laughter and slapping his shoulder. Atsumu pulled you close to him, your chest now flush against his, “they’re so cold!”

“That’s what happens when you spend two hours in three degree weather trying to get the girl you love what she wants.”

He goes to kiss you, but you pull your head back, your hands gripping his biceps tighter. Your eyes searched his, wondering if you had misheard him. 

Your voice was weak. “What did you say?”

He raised his brow, only one. “That - that’s what happens when you-”

“No. The last part.” You smiled, moving his hair to the side.

“You mean me trying to get the girl I love, the creepy ass teddy she wanted?”

Your smile grows wider. “Yeah. That bit.”

“You like the sound of that, huh?”

You hummed in agreement, slowly bringing your lips towards his. You could feel yourself melting away until the sudden stark cold feeling had snuck its way onto your back. You slapped his shoulder.

“Stop it! Here!” You unzipped his coat, “how do you like it?” You pressed your hands onto his stomach, his muscles contracting from the cold. He let out a small puff of air, but his composure never wavered. 

“Not sure this was what you were going for, but it’s just making me want to take my clothes off.” 

“Oh really?” An evil temptation ran through your mind. “Well, then maybe you’ll want what I went to get you then.”

Keeping your hand where it was, you hand him the bag with your free hand. Briefly checking over your shoulder you position yourself so only you can be seen from the street.

“What is it?” He asked.

“Take a look, but don’t pull anything out.”

Curiosity peaked in his eyes as you watched him open the bag, his eyes almost bulging out his head. He frantically searched around him, clearly paranoid of any prying eyes.

You watched his Adam's apple move sharply and he cleared his throat. “W-Where did you...erm. When?” 

“While you were getting this guy.” You pulled the toy out from under your arm, placing him into the bag. Your eyes flit down his body, your hand stil against his skin.

Usually you would be a lot more modest, but the way he looked at you just made you throb between your legs. You slowly dragged your fingers down, stopping just at the waist of his trousers.

“Careful doll. Someone might think I've corrupted you.” He smirked, pulling you closer to him. 

Reaching up to his ear, your hand makes its own way to the zip of his pants. 

“Then why don’t you discipline me?” 

Getting in a more comfortable position, you pressed your palm against his bulge. Atsumu leant his head back, a white fog releasing from his mouth. The sight of relief causes a smirk to twitch on your face and you remove your hand. Attempting to compose himself, Atsumu grabbed your arm and dragged you to the nearest taxi, throwing you in. 

The low lights made it easier for your hands to wander to Atsumu’s thigh, not allowing him to return the favour. Leaning across, you press your lips to his, the pressure a lot rougher than usual and your hands dip into his pocket, taking his phone out. He looked at you curiously. 

“Unlock it.” 

His hand cautiously took it from you, the screen lighting up the dark uber. Atsumu’s gaze was hard, though you were sure it was more fear than confusion. You chose to take your time, carefully setting up your little surprise further. Turning your head to the side, you pass the phone back to him. 

“What did you do?” He asked.

Silently, you lean forward, pulling one of the boxes out the bag and placing it in his lap. 

“Really?” His voice was just above a whisper.

Confirming his suspicions you take his hand in yours, directing it to the top of your trousers. Your fingers dancing around the drawstrings and loosening them.

“Check for yourself.” You instructed.

Atsumu lifted the top of your shirt, allowing his fingers to creep down to your wet laced underwear. His hand lingered there longer than necessary to check, his fingers were still cold, the tips grazing back up and out of your trousers. He took his phone out his lap, the app you were last on already open. 

Unsure if he had figured out how to use it, you were pleasantly surprised by the sudden vibration between your legs. A small hum bounced in the car, your eyes glancing between Atsumu and the blissfully unaware driver. Moving into the middle seat, you placed your head on his shoulder, his hand firmly gripping your thigh. 

Facing forward, you kept your gaze on the road but your mind was anywhere but. Your hand snaked its way up his toned thigh, his hot length rock hard. Atsumu let out a low grunt at the feeling of your touch on him. With one simple ‘pop’ his button came undone, the zip already down from earlier.

His breath was hot on your ear. “When we get back, I’m making use of everything you bought.”

You turned to face him, glancing at his lips. “Everything?”

“Everything.”

His thumb slid up his phone, the pleasurable constant turning into an overwhelming euphoria. 

“Lean into me.”

You gladly accept. Taking the collar of his coat in your mouth, attempting to muffle your moans that were adamant to escape. You started to move your hand softly up and down along his clothed length but his hand gently laid on top of yours.

“I’m not going to be able to last long if you do that, doll.”

You could also feel yourself becoming undone, your hips moving backwards and forward on their own as your body searches for a way to relieve itself. 

“Does it feel good?”

Your slow rhythm begins to speed up, your mind aching for his cock to be between your legs. Nuzzling your face deeper into his neck, his scent is the final tipping point. Your senses seem lost as your legs shake, the knot in your stomach coming undone in your underwear. A shiver racks through your drained body, your weight pressed against Atsumu. 

“I take that as a yes.”

You hadn’t noticed the car was pulling up to the familiar campus surrounding. Atsumu signalled you to get your stuff and you both quickly scampered out the vehicle, both trying to find some money to pay with. 

You barely made it into your apartment before you were stripping each other and your clothes leave a cliche trail to your bedroom. Warm tingles spread through you as Atsumu messes with his phone, the shock causing you to stumble. He steadied you. 

“Get this out and fuck me already.” You begged, a little too desperately.

Atsumu cupped your face, stroking his thumb over your cheek. “Patience, doll.” 

You watched as Atsumu left you, the vibrator almost slipping out from how slick you were, your legs slightly squeezing together. Taking the collar out from the bag, he motioned you to the bed and you obliged. 

“Are you going to cum for me?” He took the collar, the cold leather lightly slapping you as he dragged it down your bare chest, “Are you going to cum all over my dick?” 

The way he commanded the room had you tranced. Your mind was intoxicated with the thought of him. Atsumu let out a low chuckle and crawled to you on the bed, your body moving backwards. Your hands lifted your hair, the collar wrapping securely around your neck, the lead dangling between your breasts. Atsumu leans down and pressed wet kisses against your chest, trailing up to your lips. His hips fit comfortably in front of your dripping cunt, his dick begging to get past your pink obstruction.

“Please…” Your voice was weak.

“Please what doll?”

“Fuck me… please....”

Not wasting anymore time, his hand relieved you from the overstimulating pleasure. Atsumu fumbled with your draw, quickly opening a condom and rolling it down his shaft. His hand pumped a few times before his body came down into you, his dick sliding in with little resistance. Your hands clasped his biceps, his strong muscles sturdy under the pressure as he thrusted deep inside you. It didn’t take long for his kiss to turn desperate, his hand moving gently to grab at your collar as he pushes himself backup. The explicit sounds of skin slapping skin filled your apartment, you both breathed heavy and the look in Atsumu’s eyes could only be described as feral lust.

He pulled out of you, laying flat on the bed and taking the lead in his hand. He fit perfectly inside you as you rode his dick, your hips grinding back and forth. 

“Come closer.” 

You looked at him confused, but Atsumu wasn’t happy with that. Before you could answer, you feel the firm tug around your neck, the leather lead wrapping around his forearm. Your chest fell to his, you both face to face as he bucked his hips up into you. 

“Sorry, I can’t wait.”

“It’s okay.”

He braced his arms around you, twisting you over as the warm sheet contrasted your cold clammy skin, though it was short lived when Atsumu’s hands gripped your ankles, your stomach now pressed against the sheets. The collar slid around your neck, and Atsumu began fucking you deep. His dick reached further and further as he plowed into you. His thrusts were anything but tender, the sloppy actions causing you to almost see stars. 

Atsumu’s mind shot to the little pink helper, his free hand taking it and pressing it against your clit. The stimulation being almost too much.

“Shit. Yes… I think I’m gonna cum!” 

“Shit, I’m almost there too!”

Atsumu’s grip tightens on your lead, your head forced backwards as you try and resist. The lack of oxygen, causing the last of your sanity to dissipate as your body begins to shake. Atsumu felt your walls spasm around him and watching you choke yourself only made the lewd fantasies in his head run wild. At his own limit he knocked into you a few more times, releasing your leash to grip your waist, his fingers digging in just enough to not mark. 

Your torso dropped forward, Atsumu doing the same. The exhaustion was evident in the way you both slowly slid down the bed. 

“You’re really heavy.” You spoke.

“I’m eighty killograms of pure muscle, what do you expect?” 

“Yeah, well you’re squishing my tits!”

He rolled off, wriggling his arm underneath you. Mustering up the last of your strength you shuffle closer to him. 

“We need to shower.” You stated, drawing a small circle on his chest.

“Five minutes.” He cooed, causing you to nuzzle closer to his chest.

“Two.”

“Deal.”

[destinygoldenstar]

I just LOVE this detail in this trailer.

When Bubble literally comes out of Pomni’s mouth to ask “How can we support the production of this cool new show?”

Caine’s response is “Great question POMNI”

Even though Pomni was not the one who asked that question.

This could just be a gag of “Bubble is speaking for Pomni as they came out of her mouth” and I’m overthinking it. That’s probably what it is.

But I think Caine knows Pomni didn’t really ask that, he was just THAT enthusiastic about the promotion. It happened again at the start of the trailer when he ignored her response.

“Hey Pomni! Guess what?”

“No-“

“You’re right!”

And this is perfectly in character for Caine, as he constantly did this in the Pilot as well.

“We should have a brand new adventure for our new member, Pomni!”

“I said that like five minutes ago-“

-

“What do you think of XDDCC?”

“Uh-“

“You’re right, terrible! Let’s try that again!”

-

“Kaufmo abstracted?!! wHy DiDn’T aNyOnE tElL mE?!?”

I think this is such a great way of staying in character for both sides.

It would’ve been so easy to just have Pomni ask the question herself. But the writers knew that would’ve been OOC and Pomni would NEVER ask something like this.

None of the cast besides Caine and Bubble would honestly. The point is that none of them want to be here. And Pomni, despite being new, especially doesn’t want to be here. So they wouldn’t play along with Caine’s enthusiasm, ad or not.

But Caine being A.I, thinks that the humans would be, this plays along with a response that didn’t happen. Because HE finds it as entertaining as he makes it sound.

It’s more so a lack of awareness (how could he?) rather than intentionally silencing opposition. Opposition that he just thinks isn’t there.

Cause humans LOVE adventure, and ads, and merch sales, and internet porn-seriously why does that exist I hate the internet sometimes-

What I’m saying is that it’s showing that even in ads, these writers are getting the characters across really well.

I would say stuff like this makes me optimistic about the series, and… it does. But I’ll still cautiously optimistic.

Indie Animation just has it rough in writing skill in general and there’s multiple examples. That’s just cause writers in major corporations usually have to have several college degrees in the skill to get hired, and indie writers don’t have that burden and can jump right in so they’re often self taught. (But as a self taught writer myself for the most part, this is absolutely not meant to be slander. It’s not a bad thing if you know what you’re doing.)

So, you know, for all we know Digital Circus COULD tank in quality and end up as a trash fire with people complaining and whining forever about how great it ‘used to be’.

I hope that does not happen though and the writers at least are able to tell the story they want to tell effectively.

And so far, it seems like they are. As stuff like this shows that they are taking their time to flesh out the story the way they want to with how long the episodes are coming out, which I personally LIKE, as that means the steak can be fully cooked. And the news that the scripts for the whole series was written before the animations even started IS a good sign, which also means fan demand isn’t gonna plague the script and they’re gonna do what they want, which again, I personally think that’s a GOOD SIGN.

Cautious Optimism on my end. And details like this do emphasize that.

[acopenhagenarmy]

PART 9

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Warnings: bad words and such, a shit ton of fluff as usual and some angst because why the hell not... 

Wordcount: 2,2K

/ Moodboard / Teaser / One / Two / Three / Four / Five / Six / Seven / Eight / Nine / Ten /

Taglist: @purpletaehyung92 @just-call-me-trash-can @undiscovered1personality

His eyes could light up the room, he looked content, happy in this moment. Food splayed out around you, the two of you completely relaxing as you told him all your life had played out so far. It was nice. 

He too told you about him and his life, the dream of rapping and being able to live off of it at some point. Him and the boys struggles when they first started out and the life he had now. 

You cleared off the bed when you finished the food, and laid down, head on his chest as he cuddled around you, resting his head on yours as he played with your hair. 

The first thing that happened was his heartbeat began to beat a little faster than it had just a minute before, and then you felt the sadness that he felt. 

You gave him a minute or two to just dwell in his emotion, think about what he wanted to say before you started to question him.

“Do-” he sighed. “Do you think you’ll ever be able to forgive me?” he said. 

It was only a whisper, but you heard it. The emotions his voice held almost broke your heart in that exact moment. 

“Forgive you? What for?” You asked as you tried to stop the overthinking and anxiety from kicking in. 

“For me, not finding you earlier” this time around his voice almost cracked under the pressure of the fear that slowly creeped in. 

It was obvious he had thought about this throughout the day, maybe even before the two of you met. But he hadn’t had the chase for the feelings to really manifest to the degree where you would be able to feel them. That was until now. 

“Oh my love” you said as you tried to drown out his sadness with the love you already had for him. “There’s nothing to forgive” 

“Are you sure? Cause I felt your sadness that monday you know? The loneliness, the fear of never finding me, and I just… I never wanted you to feel like that. And if I hadn’t been so preoccupied with my own dreams and aspirations I might’ve been able to feel you earlier, search for you” 

You sat up and gave him a small peck before you took his hands. 

“Our mark isn’t ideal, there’s no saying if either of us would’ve ever noticed. But I’m pretty sure that if it wasn’t for this job, these dreams of yours, the two of us would’ve most likely never met. I wouldn’t have heard your song, I wouldn’t have called Hobi, and we would’ve never met” 

He sighed as he hid his face behind his hands. “I know, I just, I don’t like I’ve caused you pain” 

“Just focus on me, in the darkness just the two of us is enough” You answered which earned you a giggle as he pulled you in for a kiss. 

“What?” you asked in between the sweet pecks he plastered all over your lips and cheeks. But he refused to give you an answer straight away. 

“You just quoted lyrics from one of the songs I’ve written about you” he kissed you between each of the words in the sentence. He smiled while he did it, and it made your heart flutter. 

You fake gasped. “So ‘forever rain’ wasn’t the first song dedicated to me?” 

“Nope! now come here and cuddle me, we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow, might be best if we get a little rest” 

It didn’t take long for the two of you to drift off, and being here, in his arms, was the best feeling in the world. You had never felt more safe or more at home. 

The following morning Namjoon had decided that he wanted to surprise you with breakfast in bed. He had no intentions of leaving the hotel room the next couple of days. All he wanted was to get to know you better, especially without the eyes of the world, resting on the two of you. 

Speculations about him finding his soulmate were all over twitter. Someone had spotted him and the boys as they left your school, finding it peculiar just what they were doing at a place like that, so close to one of their concerts. 

That, in combination with the small hints of complete happiness and love from his speech at yesterday's concert, had made army analyze every little second of his performance. 

He had a takeout box in hand as he filled it, and many others to the brim with breakfast for the two of you. 

“You think you’ve had enough pancakes?” Jungkook laughed. 

Shortly after they all heard a loud *smack* followed by a loud and dramatic “ouch” from their maknae. 

“Let him live, Jungkook. Something tells me the two of them are gonna need all the carbs and strength for the day that they have planned” Star said as he passed you all by, just before drowning her ginger shot. 

He couldn’t help the blush that painted his cheeks. The boys instantly started teasing him. But Jin stayed silent. 

It looked like he was in a trance of sorts. Daydreaming about something that seemed important. 

“You okay?” Namjoon asked. 

His eyes were shining like little stars, he looked happier than he had in a long time. And that’s when he spotted it. A small piece of a round pink confetti in his hair. 

“Ohhhh” it was like a lightbulb went off in his head. 

“Yeah,” Jin answered, unable to say anything else. 

“Oh wow!" So she knows who you are? Hell she even biases you?” Namjoon had completely stopped what he was doing, all he could think was how lucky Jin was. 

This made it much easier for the two of them to come into contact with one another. You knew how she looked, and hopefully the two of you had exchanged more than just formalities in the midst of everything. 

“I really hope it’s her Namjoon” 

“I’m sure it is, congrats bro!” He sat down the boxes and gave him a giant hug which the older man quickly returned. 

“Ah fuck… If this is a dream I better wake up before I have her in my arms, because otherwise I don’t think I’ll be able to recover.” 

You woke up in the dark room, with just a small light source from the borders of the curtain. You smiled and stretched your arms over your head, unable to see even those in the dark room. 

“Goodmorning love” you said with a groggy voice. 

You slowly stretched out your arms in the hopes of reaching your soulmate. Morning cuddles, well cuddles in general, were really something you enjoyed. And waking up with him meant daily cuddle sessions. 

But there was nobody next to you, the bed was completely empty beside you. 

You felt anger, sadness, depression and anxiety come crashing over you, all at once. 

It was all a dream, he’s not here, he’s not real… 

Your thoughts overpowered every kind of rational thought you might’ve had in that moment. Instead of getting up, looking for him, you drew the covers over your head. In hopes of shutting the memories of what you thought were your dreams, out. 

You did what you had done so many times where you had dreamt of him, or the mere idea of him. You shut down and hid in the dark, hoping that someday, the dream would become reality. 

Namjoon talked to the boys after he had collected all the food he loved and hoped you liked too. He tried to figure out just how many days they could stay in the city with time off, without it ruining too much of the schedule. 

He could almost see the emotions that were about to hit him, creeping in on him like dark clouds, filled with thunder and sadness. The hit of it almost knocked the air out of him. 

Your loneliness was more severe than he had ever felt, and the feeling of tears staining his cheeks were not to be mistaken. He couldn’t understand why you were feeling like this, weren’t you happy? 

And then it hit him… She thinks yesterday was a dream. 

He quickly threw the take away boxes on the table without a care in the world. And then he set off and ran as fast as his feet could carry him. 

Through corridors and hallways, up the stairs and finally he was there in the room with you. 

His heart broke by the sound of your muffled cries. He didn’t even take the time to turn on the light, in a second he was in the bed right beside you, pulling you close, freeing you from the covers and the dark void that was your anxiety. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m right here” he said as he rocked you back and forth, repeating his words, over and over like a prayer. 

You clinged on to his t-shirt, as you cried, every second inhaling more of his perfume. His arms that held you felt so real, and when you finally had the courage to look up, he was there. 

He took your face in his hands and used his thumps to dry away the tears. “I’m right here, it wasn’t a dream. I’ll never leave you, okay? Never. It’s you and me my love, you and me” 

His voice pulled you back to reality. 

“You’re here?” It was meant to be a statement, but in the end, it sounded more like a question than anything else. 

“I am,” he said. 

The two of you sat there for a while, just staring at one another while embracing. You didn’t want it to stop, you wanted to memorize him like this. The fear filled eyes, that still had that spark of love and adoration. You wanted to get lost in them, drown in them, bury yourself in this feeling. 

“Do you need anything?” he asked as he removed a strand of hair from your face. 

“A glass of water maybe?” 

He responded by kissing your forehead, and then went to pick a cold water bottle out from the fridge. 

“Here” he said as he threw it your way. 

Your man was perfection, he was made for you, there was no doubt. But he could not throw anything, maybe not even if his life depended on it. The water bottle missed the bed by an entire meter, and the hard drop on the floor made the lid fly off of it. 

There was nothing you could do except laugh. And seeing you smile was contagious, and before he knew it, the two of you were laughing together. 

It was perfect, and lifted your moods without the need to talk through the episode right away. 

“Remind me never to do that again” He said in between laughs. 

“Are you always that clumsy?” You asked as you tried your best to get both the laughter and your breathing under control 

“Well the army calls me god of destruction…” 

The absurdity of the nickname made you giggle, just as the two of you had stopped laughing. 

“How many things do you break, for it to be a nickname your fans have given you?” 

“A lot…” He smiled, dimples on display. 

You sighed and took his hand, not ready for him to go take care of the mess he had just made. 

“I’m sorry I scared you… my fears and anxiety got the best of me I think” 

He gave your hand a squeeze. “Please, don’t apologize. I’ve had dreams of you before as well. And waking up from that is terrible.” 

“I’m glad I wasn’t the only one who’ve missed you over the years” 

“Trust me, you weren’t.” 

He bent down, toilet paper in hand to clean up his mess as you watched him. He hummed a little melody, and impressed you once again with his talent. How did I get so lucky?

Oh wanna hear some good news?” he asked. 

You liked this. The feeling of having someone who didn’t judge you for how you felt. The feeling of being able to communicate every feeling and thought you had, was everything you had ever hoped and dreamed to have in your partner.

“Tell me” you said as you hugged one of the pillows on the bed. 

“The girl you met yesterday, the one who dropped the confetti, we’re pretty sure she might be Jin’s soulmate” 

You couldn’t help the way your heart swelled with happiness. 

“Oh my god! You’re kidding!?” You said with as much excitement as your voice would allow you. 

He couldn’t help but smile at your excitement. It was nice to see you were as excited for his brother as he was. Even though you’d only met him yesterday. She’s complete and utter perfection. 

“How do you know?” 

“Well he woke up with confetti everywhere, he had some stuck in his hair when I met him at breakfast.” Namjoon laughed. 

His laugh was slowly becoming your favorite sound in the entire world. 

“That’s amazing Joonie. But damn I should’ve asked her, her name, or at least gotten some kind of information” 

He got off the floor and gave you a peck before trying, and failing, to throw the paper in the bin basketball style. 

“Don’t worry too much about that, how would you know? How would any of us?” 

You nodded along, that was true. “I do have some info though” 

[upon-a-starry-night]

A Perfect Christmas Pt5

Pairing: WandaNat x Reader

Summary: You're used to doing Christmas activities alone- but there's a certain couple who plan on changing that this year, and maybe you'll all get the Christmas gift you're really hoping for!

Pt4

Everyone had been listening to the soft hum of some Christmas jazz when you’d barrelled out of the elevator with a bunch of bags in your arms and a big grin on your face.

“Here we go” Stark mumbled into his 3rd cup of coffee for the morning. Everyone’s attention turned to you as you set down your bags and bounced with excitement

“What’s got you so happy this early Y/n?” Steve was the first to ask, you visibly lit up at him asking

“I was out shopping this morning and- Back. Off.” You cut yourself off when you noticed Stark headed towards the pile of gifts you’d just gotten back from purchasing, the man put his hands up in surrender and retreated back behind the kitchen counter and away from your potential wrath. Everyone in the tower knew not to get on your bad side, especially when it came to holidays.

“Anyway- this girl approached me and told me my outfit was super cute and then she asked for my number!” A loud clink drew everyone’s attention to the sink where Wanda had harshly dropped something. You sent her a curious look but she just gave you a pained half-smile and started cleaning up her mess, Nat walked over to her and wrapped her arms around her waist, mumbling something into her ear.

The sight made you swoon and sting at the same time, which is exactly why you gave your number to the woman at the store. You really had to stop third-wheeling with your crushes, it was becoming unhealthy and frankly kind of sad.

The entire team seemed to look at you with wide eyes, as far as the team knew Wanda and Nat were actively pursuing you- some of them had even bet all three of you were already together and just hadn’t told anyone. It was safe to say they were surprised that you’d given to your number to someone other than the local take-out shop.

“What? Why’s everyone got that look on their faces?” You were confused at everyone’s appalled faces, did they really not think you could pull anyone? Ouch.

“Come on Stark you were just telling me to get a girlfriend already!” Tony choked on his coffee as Nat sent him a harsh glare. In his defense, when he told you that he had meant to make them your girlfriends already.

“Anyway,” You started gathering all your bags on your arms “see you all later” you sent the group a smile, and looked wearily over at Wanda who wouldn’t catch your eyes.

“I’ll be in my room wrapping presents so No. Peeking.” the last two words were punctuated with a chilling smile that dropped the temperature in the room to at least 32 degrees.

—

After your news from the other morning Wanda and Nat were panicking, they thought you were beginning to feel what they felt. Had they been wrong about all the times you blushed around them? All the times you stuttered over your words when they stared into your eyes for too long?

After some overthinking and lots of cuddles later they decided to invite you to decorate some cookies with them tonight, maybe they could pull some information out of you about how you felt about them. The two arrived at your room and were about to knock when you swung the door open. All three of you looked surprisingly at each other. You weren’t expecting to see them and they weren’t expecting to see you…dressed up.

“Oh! What brings you guys to my room at this time of night?” You began putting on the earrings you were going to put on in the elevator as you waited for an answer but all they could focus on was you.

You were dressed up in a beautiful forest green dress, your hair had been done up in a beautiful style and you had a small purse with you which meant you were definitely going somewhere.

“We were going to ask you to join us- are you going somewhere?” Wanda was the first to pull her eyes away from your red lipstick-clad lips.

You frowned at her words “Oh sorry guys, I’ve actually kinda got a date tonight” Nat’s eyes went wide with surprise as Wanda choked, you looked at her concernedly.

“What?! With who?”

“The person from Christmas shopping” you mentioned nonchalantly, carefully watching their reactions, maybe it was just your hopeful imagination but you could’ve sworn you saw jealousy in their eyes.

Your phone beeped letting you know you had to leave and you bid goodbye to both of them waving as you got in the elevator

“Maybe next time!” the elevator doors closed and both women looked at each other in shock.

A date?

Had they already lost you to someone else?

Pt6

[angst-is-love-angst-is-life]

I don’t know if I or anyone else has asked this before BUT what are your Barry Allen headcanons?

Thank you very much for asking! :-D

Ok so someone did— and I apologize to that person because it’s still sitting in my ask box because I couldn’t get my brain to work at the time💀 update: I just checked and that person was you, I apologize

Generally, I don’t have many. Headcanons don’t come naturally to me. Sometimes I’ll be writing and be like “oh. Well that makes complete sense!” And now that’s apart of the story, but it could completely disappear in the next one.

First thing first— he is a bisexual disaster and I think we all agree on this. Mentioned or not, that is and will continue to be canon in every single one of my fics

Mentioned this a couple times but I really think he has some therapy related trauma from when his mom died. Joe sent him (probably against his wishes) and the therapist wouldn’t believe him about Henry just like everybody else, probably tried to gaslight him into believing it as well. And that of course means he refuses to seek therapy in hus adult like even though he DESPERATELY needs it— good gods PLEASE as you can probably see, this one isn’t that fleshed out lol

Thought about this one a lot and I really think he’s still scared of the dark and sleeps with a light/nightlight. Maybe it’s because of Nora dying literally the night he was comfortable with the light being off (I wanna say that was a flashback from 1x10 ‘The Man in the Yellow Suit’) cause everytime I watch that scene my brain just goes ‘oh yeah that’s childhood trauma unlocked right there’. Could’ve easily created a negative association but I might be overthinking that one. However it does kind of lead to my next one

Like our friend Oliver Queen— Barry 1000% has PTSD. He’s displayed multiple symptoms of it throughout the course of the show, most notably in seasons 1 and 2 imo but it’s been a while since the later seasons for me. Just to reaffirm this, I looked it up and he has SO MANY of the symptoms therapy. now. Definitely from the night his mom died and probably some Zoom related trauma (the nightmares, flashbacks in 2x07, his obsession with stopping Zoom etc.) Yeah I’m not a doctor but it doesn’t take a degree to know he has PTSD that rhymed

Andddddd the brainrot has officially spun out. It’s a miracle I got this far.

[pudgy-planets]

This doesn’t feel like a vent post as it is…

I feel like I’m wasting my life.

Yeah, I’m only 20 and I at least have 40 or so years before my body starts saying "health issues HOOHAAHAA."

I went off to school in August of last year. And yeah i did a lot. I saw a lot, it was truly my first time on my own, and it taught the importance of independence. But… I rarely attended events, I didn’t go out much, and my roomie was almost always doing something while I just stuck around in my room in my bed or in my chair doing schoolwork.

This summer and the last few I’ve rarely done anything. I’ve stayed in my room, slept, maybe did some gaming, and rinse and repeat. Everyone’s usually got friends they’re hanging out with, going out to planned stuff, making their own content and producing their own audiences.

And then there’s me. A 20 year old, black trans woman who has difficulty functioning. I’m scared of people and I’m just afraid of being myself because of ridicule. Especially my mom who filled my head with "People are going to laugh at you for doing this" or "I did my best to change the world around you, so you wouldn’t have to feel like you couldn’t be yourself."

I fear dedicated myself to stuff and even starting new things. I have comics, books, video games, I’ve had for months, years even. I got Splatoon 3 in December of 2022. I have never even opened the game on my switch.

Typically I’m the one in my friend group to plan something or ask if people wanna do things. I rarely if ever get invited out to stuff. And while I’m sure I’m not only the human being who feels like this, it just… sucks. And I don’t know what to do about it.

Even getting therapy is a travesty here because it usually falls along the line of "Well… it’s kind of your fault and you should go get a job, because it’ll make you feel better." or "Alright, you’ve trauma dumped enough for one day… I’ll see you in, what 2-3 months? Bye now!"

I can even think in high school where people always joined clubs, or they were always doing something and being involved. And for the life of me, i couldn’t replicate those feelings. Especially in my last two years of high school. I just wanted it to be over and I did not want to contribute any more time than necessary to a place I hated being in.

This may be just an instance of me worrying and overthinking, but… I’m usually always alone with my own mind as my only company and then he likes to call me bad things all the time.

Some people who are younger than me seem to have it figured out, they may not necessarily do, but it feels like that. Which makes me think… Why are we even here?

Gift of life is a beautiful thing, but in a world where individuality and distinctiveness are squashed like cockroaches beneath the boot of a corrupt, crooked, and frankly apathetic regime…

What is. The point? Do we define our own point? Is it just working our behinds off our entire life with the hope of there being some reward or contentment at the end?

People my age are already in debt from banks due to taking out loans for schooling, for jobs they may not even see for within 5-10 years of getting their degrees in the first place.

There are Harvard graduates who are living paycheck to paycheck for medical degrees. Which are not only hard, but they usually pay well.

Which makes me question "Why am I doing Astrophysics." I’m doing it because I’m more passionate about this than any other field. Maybe history and philosophy, but I wanna do this with my miserable life because that’s what I desire.

But is it even worth it? I personally think it’s worth for myself…. But does that truly mean I’ve used my scholarship and grant money well?

I could switch to say engineering, med school, architecture, finance, or even advertising and I’d probably see more money out of all of them than say a doctorate in studying astronomical phenomena.

I don’t even know why I’m talking about ANY of this. Feels like I’m having a mid-life, existential crisis in my 20’s as opposed to in 40’s or early 50’s. I feel like I should still be enjoying my relatively youthful adult years, but I can’t not think of the future. Heck I don’t even sound reasonably articulate here I’m rambling complete and other nonsense, and I’m 100% wrong since I usually am about these things.

I don’t know. That. Sums a lot of how I feel. I don’t know. And I don’t like that.

[roses-for-rosalyn]

The Patrol Tower

Chapter 4

read on archive of our own

other chapters (ao3)

Up to this point you and Abby had gotten lucky weather-wise. It was spring and for the first few days of patrol it was a temperate 60 degrees with a soft breeze. You had solid visibility and the added benefit of the comforting warmth from the sunshine. The city was growing greener by the day, the vibrant foliage taking over the drab ruins of Seattle, it was beautiful. Spring always breathed life into those around you, hope blossomed along with the flowers. The worry for food significantly dissipated, kids got to run around outside reminding people of the hope for the future, and best of all, patrols were a hell of a lot easier. 

As soon as you and Abby cleared the distance from the field to the edge of the city clouds rolled in. Muted thunder started to echo across the landscape and lightning crackled within the dark clouds. Rain wouldn’t be far behind. 

Abby starts cursing under her breath and sighing as she leads the way into the city. You and Abby start walking a bit faster to make it to the city edge in hopes of using some of the buildings for shelter. You each had raincoats, but they would easily get soaked through. From Abby’s reaction to the rainclouds you had assumed that she, like you, had also almost contracted hypothermia because of the thin ass raincoats. 

“If the rain gets to be too much, we’ll figure out somewhere to make camp.” Abby is walking slightly ahead of you, but she doesn’t bother to turn back to talk to you. 

“I would disagree with you and say we should just keep going, but I don’t want to get hypothermia again.” Agreeing with her creates this ache inside of you, it’s almost physically painful. It causes you to grit your teeth and take a breath before continuing. As you are trying to repair your sense of dignity Abby laughs. She actually fucking laughs. It’s brief, but it’s genuine, it’s not at you either, it’s at what you had said. 

“Of course you got hypothermia from rain, but I can’t poke too much fun, I’ve come close a few times myself.” She’s… carrying on the conversation? Jesus she must be as bored as you. 

You try not to overthink it and add, “It’s these useless fucking raincoats.” Abby laughs a little again and the pleasant conversation ends there. 

You and Abby had officially made it into the city, you start walking past old businesses and corporate buildings and you can’t help but marvel at it. Your mind tended to wander when you were in the city, something in you yearned for the normalcy of before. You wanted to know what it was like to go shopping for clothes and jewelry, you imagined what it would be like to be in college. You had been told by older people at base that you were about college age. They said it came after high school, and you got to make friends and go to parties. They said it was like a taste test of adulthood before you were launched head first into a fully independent life. You think it would be nice to have some sort of preamble to independence, you really had no one to rely on for most of your life. You were fortunate enough to live where there were only a few infected scattered around at any given time. You were able to sneak past them most of the time, which was helpful. As a thirteen year old you didn’t have much of a chance against any infected. Once you got older you learned how to kill them if you needed to, but you honestly weren’t sure how you made it as long as you did. You survived practically alone for six years, occasionally bumping into groups of people, some good, some bad. The good ones always seemed to leave you in the worst ways. 

Raindrops cause you to snap out of your train of thought. You switch your backpack from your back to your front to take out the flimsy raincoat. Abby does the same, still a few paces ahead of you. It was kind of odd how she wouldn’t walk alongside you, but you chalked it down for a need for control. If she felt like she needed to lead, you weren’t going to put in the energy to argue. This part of the city didn’t have much shelter from the rain in terms of overhangs or canopies, so if the rain got any worse you and Abby would have to find someplace to wait it out. 

Of course soon enough the light sprinkle turned into a steady downpour. The raindrops collected on your bodies, quickly soaking through the thin raincoats, then your clothes. Abby is trudging on through the cold rain, her sheer determination propelling her forward. It wasn’t until she turned back to check on you and saw your teeth chattering that she started to consider stopping. You wouldn’t dare start to complain, you wanted to get back just as much as she did, but Abby saw you were starting to weaken. Your shivering was taking over your whole body, slowing you down. The way Abby looked at you was revolting. The pity on her face was clear as day, no way you were going to be the reason it took an extra day to get back to base. 

Abby stops in her tracks, turns around to face you and sighs “I think…we’re going to have to find a place to stop.” She hesitates, predicting your stubborn nature. 

“D-don’t be ridiculous, w-we can keep going.” Abby gives you a look, silently telling you to stop lying. 

“You’re shaking so hard you can barely walk. You’re allowed to get cold, you know, you’re only human.” When she says this it makes you realize she isn’t shivering at all, in fact she looks fine.

“How the f-fuck are you not cold?” You ask accusingly, the fact that she seemed unaffected by the rain was pissing you off. 

Abby just shrugs “I don’t get cold much. Now cut the bullshit and help me find a place for us to set up camp.” She starts to walk away expecting you to follow, but you stay rooted in place. 

“A-Abby I told you I’m fine. Let’s keep going please.” Abby turns back around and sighs. She begins to walk towards you, only stopping when she’s inches away from you. You can see every one of her muscles outlined perfectly through her soaked clothing. She towered over you, but you stood your ground, remaining stubbornly in place. 

“Look sweetheart, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Either way we end up setting up camp. Your choice.” She isn’t even phased by your difficult behavior. 

Abby was about ready to scoop you up off your feet and carry you to shelter, until you caved. “Alright,” you sigh in defeat, “Looks like there’s a good spot over there.” You gesture to a small, stand alone building. The smaller the building, the less potential for being overpowered by infected. Abby nods and begins to walk over, you hobble behind her, weakening by the minute. She was right, you wouldn’t have made it, but you would never admit that. You’d sooner collapse on the pavement than admit Abby Anderson was right. 

Eventually you and Abby end up at the front door. The blonde reaches for the door handle and pushes, and of course it doesn’t budge. Almost every door in the city has a blockade of furniture  behind it. She begins using brute force, putting her weight against the door, her muscles straining against the wood. It moves about an inch and Abby huffs in frustration. 

She turns around, scanning the building, eventually her eyes landing on a small window near the front door. “We’ll have to try that window.” She suggests, you nod vigorously, desperate to rest. Abby peers through the window trying to see if there’s any life inside. When she doesn’t see any movement she uses the butt of her gun to break open the window. Thankfully the sound was muffled significantly by the rain, making loud noises in the middle of the city was a death sentence. 

Abby crawls in first, careful not to cut herself on the glass. You follow not far behind, it takes you a bit longer due to your weakening state. Abby offers her hand as support and you’re so tired you take it without question and jump down into the house, your feet crunching against the glass. 

The building is obviously an apartment, this room is the ghost of what once was a living room and dining room. An old couch sits in the middle of the room, a few chairs scattered around it. There’s a small hallway leading to another part of the apartment, probably the kitchen. The blonde moves towards the tall china cabinet sitting in the corner of the room and gets into position to move it to block the window. Before she could start pushing a screech echoes through the building. It came from down the hallway, it was close. Abby immediately halts her movements and ushers you over to her side. You move quickly and quietly across the room, huddling against the wall. You were positioned so if anything were to come down the hallway you and Abby would see it first. Soon enough a clicker stumbles into the room, you’ll never get used to their unsettling movements no matter how many times you see them. You try to breathe, but it’s like you can’t get enough air into your lungs. The creature is darting around making unholy, hollow clicking noises and Abby is just watching, waiting. You’re frozen in fear, feeling pathetic, you can’t even get your shit together, you should be used to this by now. Your breath becomes loud, too loud. Abby looks over at you, annoyed at first, but when she sees your wide eyes and flushed face she softens. Your eyes are glued to the mindless beast, terror taking over your whole body. 

Suddenly you feel a large hand grab yours. You whip your head around and watch Abby guide your hand to her chest, letting you feel her steady breaths. Her warm skin almost shocks your ice cold hand, but the feeling of her strong, solid body against your hand almost immediately grounds you. She moves her head up and down in sync with her breathing to help you find a rhythm, her expression remaining almost neutral. She wasn’t angry or frustrated, her expression made it seem like she didn’t mind helping you, or maybe that’s just what you wanted to see. Your breathing begins to slow and Abby starts watching the clicker’s movements, your hand still on her chest. 

Abby pulls out a makeshift shiv as soon as the creature turns around and nods at you before slowly moving away from your hand and towards the clicker. You watch as she quickly impales the monster in the neck, one last chilling sound escaping from its lips. It falls backwards into Abby and she catches it under its arms. She drags it over to the window, a trail of blood marking their path. The blonde awkwardly pushes the corpse out the window before jumping out and grabbing it once again, dragging the lifeless body to the street. You watch through the window as she washes her hands clean of the blood using the steady flow of water from the gutters. 

The entire action was extraordinarily considerate, but you’re sure it couldn’t have all been for your benefit. No one wants to sleep next to a rotting corpse. 

She crawls back inside and drags the china cabinet across the room to block the window. Once it’s in its place she slides down the wall, a relieved sigh escaping from her lips. After a few seconds she manages to catch her breath. You still haven’t moved an inch, you’re just staring at Abby completely lost in your own mind, shaking like a leaf. 

“Hey,” Abby waves her hand to get your attention, you realize she has probably been trying to get your attention for a hot minute. “You okay?” she asks earnestly. 

“Yeah I’ll be fine.” You still don’t move and Abby can’t hide her concerned expression. 

“Okay.” Abby gives in, she’s not your friend so why even bother? Why should she care? Maybe it was the petrified look on your face. An all too familiar look that she has had plastered on her face throughout multiple occasions. She wasn’t always this composed, this unphased. It took years of incomparable, horrific events to make her this way, it was like calluses had formed around her being, protecting her while also keeping her from feeling. 

You remove your backpack agonizingly slowly, exhaustion taking over your body. You begin to unzip your backpack and it’s almost like you’re moving in slow motion. Suddenly a hand comes into your line of vision, snatching away the backpack. 

“What-” Your words barely come out as a whisper. If this happened under normal circumstances you would have already snatched the bag out of Abby’s hands, but currently your body could barely hold itself up.

You watch as she quickly unzips the bag and grabs out your sleeping bag. You’re immediately confused as to what she’s doing. Is she… helping you right now? She kneels down, rolls out the sleeping bag and unzips it. Abby looks at you and back at the puffy, inviting sleeping bag, indicating for you to crawl into it and fall asleep. With your eyes half closed you still manage an eyebrow raise, suspicious of her intentions. 

“Seriously?” Abby scoffs. “You can barely keep your eyes open and you're fighting me? Come lay down sweetheart, before I regret helping you out.” You sigh and reluctantly crawl into the sleeping bag. Immediately collapsing upon your body hitting the plushy fabric. Your eyes are closed, but you feel Abby gently zip up the sleeping bag. You’re too tired to consider the fact that this small action could mean she might not hate you anymore, instead you promptly fall asleep, sinking into a peaceful oblivion. 

I know it's been like a month since I last updated this, but I hope you enjoyed <3

[cantsleephomesick]

youre embarrassed arent you?

i embarrassed you didnt i

not like the people you knew before

if you had a choice you’d probably run and hide

then close the door

you didnt invite me places

i always asked why

but now i understand 

theres no need to be kind

you would probably tell me that im overthinking

but my family thinks the same

sorry you cant come 

damn what a fucking shame

50 bucks on the table

take off your scarf

i dont know what to say

so i just sit there and laugh

i sacrificed all for you

just do this one thing for me

the memories are clashing

i forgot which one of you mentioned that

but you both would have said that to some degree

what is it you want 

you raise your voice at me

will a dress do

or did you want to get your hair done too

i ate who i am

the world hates me too

because if it didnt

it wouldn’t send me someone like you 

so you were embarrassed werent you 

not like the people you knew before

i wish you would like me for once

i wish I didn’t have to strip myself more

you tell me its love

and youre looking out for me 

but honestly rather be dead 

than free 

HEARTBREAK AND SLEEPLESS NIGHTS OUT NOW

[h2obased]

Another Word For Surveillance - Part 11

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: You asked Bucky out. He said no. Cool. How do you move on? You don’t.

Notes & Warnings:

DNI if under 18 | Fluff, swearing, canon typical violence, some angst, lotsa pining, sexual content

I don’t give permission for my work to be copied/reposted/translated anywhere.

Series Chapters || Masterlist

Another Word For Surveillance - Part Eleven

SWEETS

There’s an open invitation from Steve to run every morning with him around the compound. The most athletic employees, typically ex-military, SHIELD-type individuals joined him a few days a week but never more than an hour per day. The only person who could keep up with Steve’s pace and grueling exercise schedule was Bucky, but even he refused to run everyday. He wouldn’t tell Steve why either. 

You knew better than to bug him - it’s his time after all.

Still, when you wanted to know if Bucky was in the compound, you’d keep an eye on the intersection of Grids 2 and 3, wait for a golden flash to zoom through the path in the morning, and see if that’s followed by dark hair waving wildly in the wind.

And that’s exactly what you did the morning after getting pizza with Bucky. 

You stood by the window next to his old work desk. Coffee in one hand and banana in the other, mentally going through what happened - or because of your overthinking, what did not happen - last night.

You regretted not trying harder to promote your apartment facilities to Bucky last night. You had a functioning coffee maker. A clean shower. A drawer dedicated to KitKats. And if all those things failed, you could have appealed to the gentleman in him and brought up the wobbly shelf - would he be so kind and take a look at it please?

Not that you expected him to make the first move.

And it’s not like you subscribed to a timeline of when you would be ready to try again with him.

You didn’t even need a grand gesture from him.

You just wanted Bucky Barnes in your life.

How could something that was so clear also seem so confusing at the same time?

Sam caught your attention as he sprinted across the field leading to the back of the compound, his shadow crossing with the lines formed by posts that lined the path. If the security manual was to be believed, a 360-degree camera mounted on each post monitored all visitors - official and unwelcome - from the moment they stepped into Grid Five.

Seconds later, Steve, probably finishing his third lap, caught up with Sam. You stood with your back straight, breathing temporarily halted, finger impatiently tapping the cup and willed a third runner to whiz by.

A full minute passed without any sign of Bucky. 

He wasn’t at the hangar either, and the grounds-keeping crew told you it’s unlikely that he’s whacking weeds into submission today because he accomplished all that last week.

“Have you tried texting him?” someone asked pointedly, to which you replied, “No, it’s not urgent,” with what you hoped was a carefree wave. 

As you walked back to your building, you tried to shake off the embarrassment. Of course you could’ve told him you’ve been up all night thinking, and ask him to drop by your floor. Today, if he had time. No big deal.

That text remained in the drafts folder in your head.

Over lunch, you contemplated marching over to the Avenger residence grid and just keep walking until one of Tony’s tiny drones shot you down. You were a little hazy on the security features of the compound’s private area. It’s not like you had a lot of reasons to trespass before.

Your phone dinged and Claire snorted when you practically dived to check who sent you a message.

“Sam says you’ve been stalking me.”

You huffed because Bucky would be correct about that.

“Busy? Need to ask you something.” He didn’t wait for a response. He forwarded a meeting invitation titled “Hangar” - no punctuation, no explanation in the email body.

You huffed again. Were you supposed to guess which hangar in this acre upon acre of a compound he was referring to?

It’s not like you didn’t know what he meant. And you weren’t going to pretend having that knowledge didn’t make you smile ear-to-ear. But if it’s a last-minute invite to a session with R&D or aircraft maintenance, couldn’t he at least add a salutation or something?

Sometimes these 30-minute meetings turned out to be two-hour operational reviews so you wanted to come prepared. Armed with a bag of mini-chocolate bars, you trooped to the hangar section, looking forward to a new project and a Bucky-sighting.  

But it was Steve you found pacing in the room. His sleeves were pushed - not rolled - pushed up his arms, which probably meant he’d been in meetings today. Judging by the starched shirt and tired smile he flashed upon seeing you, it wasn’t just some meeting with four-star generals or state officials who had Nick Fury’s number on speed dial.

“Come in,” he waved you to the only seat with a cushioned back.

“Uh, hi.” You glanced around the empty room. It felt smaller somehow. “How are you?”

He thought about the question. “Old.”

“Mentally or like the arthritis flares up-”

“Bucky and Sam are planning something for my birthday.” His eyes lit up. “Help me find out what they’re up to.”  

“Oh uh-”

“Surely you have strings you can pull around here.” His brows furrowed. “Seriously. They refuse to acknowledge that no fuss means no fuss.”

Before you could reply, the door burst open, revealing Bucky. His eyes met yours for a fleeting second before moving on to Steve. “Good. We can start.” 

The men grabbed the remaining wooden chairs. On your right, Bucky offered a tight smile, which turned into a wince upon taking a seat. That’s when you also noticed the pink cheeks and messy bun.

“Thanks for joining us pal,” Steve drily said, though he eyed Bucky with mild curiosity too.

Bucky shifted his weight slowly. He gestured to the bag of chocolate in the middle of the table. “It’s not an R&D meeting,” he said as if that helped clarify why you’ve been summoned to a tiny windowless room with Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. “May I?”

You nodded idly and watched as Bucky fished a bar for himself before tossing one to his best friend.

Steve caught the foil-wrapped candy before it hit him between the forehead. “I take it Natasha took the news well.” 

Bucky grunted as he stretched his neck.

Steve chuckled. “As well as we can hope for at least.”

“Do you know how high the voltage on those things go?” Bucky flicked a mini-bar, hitting Steve’s chin.

The chocolate missile was ignored. “Everybody knows the bracelets have been upgraded.”

Bucky replied in rapid-fire Russian and his frustration, the narrowed eyes, and stubborn tendril on his jaw, it was all sorts of hot but you weren’t sure if it was ok to laugh about Natasha Romanoff setting electroshock charges on Bucky’s plums. 

Your failed attempt at muffling a snicker shifted the focus back to the meeting agenda.

With a rather authoritative sigh, Steve flipped his laptop to show you a blurry image. “You’re familiar?”

It was a rhetorical question. You didn’t even have to lean for a closer look at the 640px by 400px image.

It’s a crime scene photo from a 2017 assassination in Tbilisi, Georgia - the case Natasha asked you to look into. Off the books because the US government didn’t believe it was relevant to its interests in the region. Natasha saved the case files in an air-gapped computer off-base. You didn’t even dare keep back-up copies with you.

It was nearly impossible not to start blabbing when the two looked at you with kind eyes, respecting your loyalty to Natasha.

Steve tilted his head. “We already know you and Nat were looking into these four attacks.” 

“Three,” you muttered without thinking.

“New confirmed attack. Two days ago, we believe,” he showed you another graphic photo.

The hairs on your arm rose but you didn’t look away from the image. “US soil?” You’d bet that’s enough to scare the government into asking Steve Rogers for yet another favor. 

No one spoke. Nobody moved. One could say both men pretended in unison you weren’t asking for classified information.

“Who’s ‘we’?” You tried again, turning toward the string you could pull.

The sound of metal gears humming gave Bucky away. His crossed arms didn’t do much to mask his distress. His signature “anywhere but here” expression appeared. Like he’d rather be at a black tie event shaking hands with strangers who stared at his arm a little too long than be having this conversation with you right now.

Steve began circling the room. “You were on the right track, you know. About looking at the victims’ profiles instead of the cause of death. If we had you on the field-” 

“Steve.”

The soldiers glared at each other. Their twin telepathy always amazed you, although today there were more pressing matters to focus on.

“What does this have to do with Bucky getting the special treatment from Nat?” 

Five more seconds of staring determined who would finally take your question.

“This became an official mission yesterday. Locate and detain. Ideally.” Bucky spoke calmly, as if the alternative involved sending a person to a spa in the alps.

It felt like you were still missing something. “But she supercharged the shockers. For you.”

“Doesn’t matter-“

“Buck’s taking the case from Nat,” Steve clarified, clicking on another icon to show you the mission report.

“Why?” Did that come off a little pitchy? Nat has been working the case on her own time for at least two years before she brought you in months ago. “No offense,” you added with an apologetic shrug. 

Bucky sat up, placing his palms on the table to balance himself. “For the record, I didn’t take anything. The government, who was glad to remind me about being pardoned, assigned the case to me,” he added pointedly.

With broad, squared shoulders, he addressed you the way a tired school principal reasons with a first-time delinquent. “You’ve been working this with Romanoff for months and I completely understand if you prefer to be assigned to her missions.” He maintained a steady tone but it’s always the mechanical twitch - subtle, but you caught the squeak - that gave him away. 

Your jaw dropped. “You’re kicking me out too.” The realization sent your heart pounding, and the disbelief that followed did nothing to calm you down.

Before either man had a chance to reply, you looked at the ceiling and tried to take a deep breath. “Why? Did I miss something in the intel - which isn’t that great to begin with, just wanted to point it out. Did I set off any alarms?”

You were careful. Natasha drilled that into your unconscious.

“No,” Bucky frowned. “What sort of alarms would you even be setting off anyway?” He asked after a beat, the concern saturating the blue in his eyes, thereby weakening your indignation.

“None.” It’s an oversimplification, but you were trying to keep your spot in the project. “So your first decision after taking over was to take me off the op?” You turned to his friend as if to say “Can you believe this BS?”

Steve completed another slow lap around the table. “For the record, I wanted you to stay.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Four professional hits in a span of five years. More violent. Higher up the food chain. Closer to home. You drafted the brief. You know how sticky this is going to get.”

You sat up. “Then don’t put me on a different assignment.”

Steve gave you a helpless shrug. It wasn’t his call. 

Bucky remained quiet. 

You glanced at the door. You could take the candy and walk out. It’s not like staying in the room to glower at Bucky would change his mind. 

Something clicked as you fumed in silence. Was this why he took you out to dinner? Was this why he didn’t want to step inside your apartment?

“Sweets.” His voice remained steady, compared to your escalating mood. “You know why,” Bucky insisted. He craned his neck, imploring eyes trained on you. 

Avoiding his eyes in this small room - which was really more of a large supply closet - was next to impossible. 

You frowned. You may not be able to ignore that look but that didn’t mean you had to say everything was peachy.

He waited for a few more seconds. “I’m politely kicking you out of the room Steve.” Bucky spoke without taking his eyes off you. 

With only three feet separating you, the intensity transmitted clearly. 

Steve was about to protest but Bucky added a “Thank you!” and that was that. He waited for the telltale metallic click of the door shutting before speaking again. 

“I’m sorry.” His voice dropped, even if you already had privacy. He placed an open hand next to your fist. “Are you mad at me?”

Pretending to be late for another meeting would be the easy way out of this. 

Or you could stay and talk to him. Stay - you wondered if it was possible to choke on your own feelings - and just be in the moment. Weren’t you looking forward to one-on-one time with Bucky the entire day?

Bucky seemed worried but also relieved you hadn’t stormed off yet or confiscated all the candy.

“I don’t like this,” you clarified. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Please stop saying sorry.” You knew he meant it, but letting you work on the case was an entirely different issue.

He nodded and took a deep breath. “I understand.”

Against your better judgment, you glanced at those round blue-gray eyes again. 

Bucky took that as a sign to proceed. “You just turned down an asshole dangling a cushy senior role in D.C. over your head yesterday. Today some better-looking asshole got you reassigned-”

“Hmmm - ‘kicked out’ is more accurate.”

“Reassigned to another op.” He bit his lip to hide a grin because you were letting him get away with the compliment about his looks. 

Being able to make him smile like that was probably the closest thing you’ll have that could count as an enhanced ability. The idea made you giddy as fuck.

Bucky waited for your counter. When you remained silent, he gently prodded your foot with his. “Thought I’m supposed to be the quiet and mysterious one.”

“You think I’m mysterious?”

He laughed. “Sometimes I wish I knew what you were thinking,” he confessed with a shake of his head. A lock of hair landed on the high point of his cheek. Bucky finished three pieces of chocolate before you spoke again. 

“I’m not used to this. And I don’t want to be difficult Bucky. But part of me doesn’t want to let go. Part of me wants to fake having another meeting to go to so I can run away.”

You hoped honesty would change his mind. With a deep breath, you looked him in the eye. “I’d like to stay in this. See this through for Nat.”

He didn’t even blink. “Can’t do that.”

You crossed your arms. “Can’t or won’t?”

When he gave you a measured look, your heart sank. He wasn’t budging. 

“Won’t.” He didn’t look pleased but he wasn’t exactly dripping with remorse either.

Why the hell did Steve think you had a string to pull here again?

“Is it a safety issue or… we share a pizza that I didn’t have to nuke ten times and suddenly we’re not supposed to work together?” Your neck felt warm. “Are you worried about HR policy or - I don’t know. You couldn’t even wait to leave my building last night.”

Realization flashed through his eyes but Bucky didn’t immediately respond. He let you simmer for a few seconds.

“Whoever we are looking for - this asset is a highly-skilled, very unstable maniac. You know this. You wrote the profile.” Bucky retracted his arms when he leaned back on his chair. It squeaked under the weight of the tall super soldier. “I’m not often in a position to make these kinds of calls, but if kicking you out of the op keeps you away from this psychopath, I’m making the same choice every time.”

When a former prisoner of war who was tortured and subjected to mind control for years brings up his ability to choose, there’s no arguing against that. Despite the obvious appeal to your emotion, you couldn’t deny he made a valid point.

“I don’t like this.”

“You don’t have to.” 

“Now I understand why Sam whines when he has to take orders from you.”

He smiled. “Because I make the right calls.”

“But Buck-“

In one fluid motion, Bucky crouched next to you. With his face only inches from yours, you could see the fine lines on an otherwise youthful face, a reminder of all the history Bucky carried on his shoulders. His stubble carved a tense jaw. But his eyes were kind. Even when you were giving him quite the headache right now. 

He took your hand. “I promised you I’ll make things right. I swear to God that’s all I’ve been up to. And if you tell me you don’t know what the fuck I’ve been doing, Sweets, that’s going to end me.”

He stroked your tingling skin with a thumb. “And I need you to let me keep doing that. Because…” He exhaled, his warm hand cradling yours. “I hope one day you’ll believe me when I say you’re all I think about.”

It’s definitely possible to choke on your emotions. 

“And looking out for you is a pretty big part of that,” he added.

Bucky watched you closely and he was generous enough not to gloat when your resolve to be stubborn, to make this difficult as payback for being sidelined, to have the last word, crumbled.

When you reached for his cheek, Bucky leaned into your palm immediately like a man under a spell. “I think-“

“Yeah-“ Your lips grazed his forehead and that caring gesture gave way to the hunger you were both suffering from. 

His eyes bored into yours just as Bucky’s lips pressed into yours firmly, seeking to be as close as possible to you. Bucky pulled you up, backing against the table. His weight pushed the slim desk against the wall, dragging a chair with it as it slammed into concrete. 

Bucky’s eyes dazzled below furrowed brows. “Is this - I mean, I thought-“

You were drunk from his kiss. “I’m ok. Are you ok?”

He nodded frantically. 

You let gravity do the work, leaning into Bucky’s space. He didn’t just meet you halfway - his lips crashed into yours this time. 

When you ran your fingers through his hair and dragged your nails gently down his nape, Bucky responded with a groan and nipped at your collarbone before soothing your skin with his tongue. 

A hand warmed the small of your back. Bucky mumbled feverishly onto your temple. You couldn’t make out any of the words but you understood him.

With his arms wrapped around your body, Bucky held you steady. His kisses lingered, like he needed to keep tasting your lips. You barely had time to catch your breath before Bucky’s mouth claimed yours again. 

He brushed the hair off your face as his eyes took you in, mapping your features with care. 

“Is now a good time for an appeal?” You joked before kissing his throat.

Bucky bared his neck with a low moan. “Sweets,” he begged. 

You couldn’t get enough of his scent. It reminded you of riding his bike with your arms curled around him, his steady breathing bringing you so much comfort.

“Maybe?” You teased right before trailing kisses along his jaw. 

He kneaded your skin, hands locking your hips into him. “I think you should ah, you know, keep trying,” Bucky whispered thickly.

“Ok, I think-“ 

He stole the rest of your words, your stream of thought, with another hungry kiss. 

Part Twelve

Find the other parts here.

Masterlist

[josiebelladonna]

it was 10 years ago

it was 10 years ago that i wrote to ben shepherd.

i’ve been thinking about how to approach this whole entire thing because i have to admit that there’s a lot that ties into it. i can’t just say, “oh, i wrote a letter to him, wing bang boom” because it’s admittedly complicated on my end. writing to ben was like a much-needed light for me back in march 2014 and it was like the beginning of a culmination of something. something admittedly sexual.

so, for that reason, i’m going to get quite tmi about this and i suggest to read at your own discretion.

if you’ve been following me for any length of time, you have probably seen me break down over my sexuality at some point, and i recently started looking into sex therapy to do on my own because i’m tired of hitting my head against the wall about all of this: i figured i have arousal/interest disorder because there’s just naturally having a low drive/interest in sex, and there’s having it down low and it breaks you into a million little pieces. the latter is me.

my tortured relationship with sexuality directly ties into my letter to ben.

he was kind of my first legitimate crush. like, you have your celebrity crushes and your legitimate crushes. ben for me began to blur the line between the two and i realized that a broken mind like myself could indeed have feeling in their heart. it’s not as potent as the whole “love yourself and then relay that to someone else”, but it’s real, though (so don’t ever let anyone tell you that you can’t love someone if you don’t love yourself first because you get a carrot-and-stick situation going which completely defeats the purpose of being in love). it’s real, especially when you make art for them.

i had made a drawing for him that i made only for him. i think i still have it, too, tucked away in a safe place in my room. i remember sharing it with soundgarden fans on fb and telling them of my intentions. something like that is pure and it was the start of something with me: i draw you when i feel something for you. see it as “marge simpson painting ringo starr” as much as you would like, but it’s one of my love languages.

except, in 2013 going into 2014, i was in bad shape on a psychological level. i had depression that had warped itself into anxiety. i was still dealing with anorexia. anything that seemed “off” in any way sent me reeling into overthinking. perfectionist like you wouldn’t believe. perfectionism that brimmed on paranoia at one point. intrusive thoughts, many of which kept me awake at night so i remember dealing with insomnia for a bit. i would argue with myself, usually about him and the fear of being vulnerable to him for fear of rejection.

add to this, i had no idea as to how to get a hold of him. at least not at first: when i’d tell people about what i wanted to do for him, they’d wish me luck. and that was it. no lead-in questions or leads or anything. when you tell people that you want to send a gift to a stranger whom you like, the obvious answer is to find a lead of some kind, six degrees of separation notwithstanding. it wasn’t until my mom looked him up in the white pages on bainbridge island and used a person-finder (which i think is defunct now) for me to find him.

we did that because it’s not like soundgarden has/had something like ten club or metallica’s club where you can readily send fanmail or what have you. i’m just going to say this because on principle i knew it was weird. (i remember finding the eminem song “stan” around this time; then some few years later, the word “stan” came in vogue and i still get this weird chill up my spine thinking about that.) but once we had that lead, i got down to brass tacks.

introduce myself and my background. how i found him and how much he meant to me: his music literally saved my life. the drawing for him… but then there was the fact that i had a crush on him, and the fact that a.) it’s already a big deal for me to admit that to someone as is; b.) people were judging me left and right; and c.) i didn’t know how he was going to react.

i couldn’t admit that to him. i was afraid of confessing that to him. a lot of it had to do with the fact that there was a lot of judgment surrounding me then: because, like i said in how people were judging me, i was so fucked up mentally back then that it seemed like nothing i did was right. i was being asked all these weird questions like, “how do you know this?” and the like, and nine times out of ten, i couldn’t answer it, either literally because i wanted to protect him—i remember a couple of stalkers coming after chris back then, so of course i didn’t want anyone to know everything because people couldn’t be trusted—or because the answer was so complicated that i didn’t feel like elaborating and they wouldn’t understand anyway.

or, worse, people would call me delusional for it and that i needed help. well, no shit, i needed help. but doing that letter was the stepping stone to getting it. it seemed like all anyone wanted to do was hold me back or buy into the whole trope that a woman following her desires was trouble.

so, i kept it to myself and i just… hinted it to him. i never told him that i was attracted to him because i was judged for it enough already. the classic catch-22 of wanting them to know that you have a crush on them but you also risk having them hurt you by turning you down, except the way it happened to me was particularly odd.

and yes, i wound up blaming myself for it, too. i would blame him as well, because i wrote to him four more times after that, that september for his birthday, the next summer after we moved, the week after valentine’s day 2016, and then for his birthday again after chris died. and each time, i vowed to never be like stan. i would tell him how i was doing and i keep it balanced between the two of us—i would also send him little drawings, too.

sometimes i would picture him speaking with family, like his mom or his sister, and they’d be like “aw, ben, she likes you! she keeps writing you, she likes you!”

it’s why when alex entered the picture, i adapted this eddie vedder-type ideology of “if you love or care for someone, tell them”; the threat of the pandemic had a lot to do with it but it mostly stemmed out of my failure to fully tell ben that i liked him, and i soon realized that he’s literally way too dumb to figure it out, either.

and i soon realized that i had made a complete ass of myself, too.

where he had the opportunity to be like joey, alex, eric, or even chris and show himself to me, he never did. he never replied to me. i knew he got my letters because my mom and i would get notifications from the post office about it, and the aforementioned family members, including ione his daughter, eventually started interacting with me (if you can believe it). my last one to him in 2017 was the last time because i was tired and we were all worried about him; in fact, it was summer 2016, i started to feel as though i was being played—that was one of the multitude of things that led to my hiatus in that i had to get away from the things that reminded me of him. i went quiet with the intent of clearing my head and turning over a new leaf. i drifted out to sea and left it in the past, no questions asked; the 2017 letter was meant to be both a means of coaxing him out of hiding as well as a postcard. and though i don’t recall what i said to him exactly, i remember my tone in that one was a bit terse; i kept things gentle and tender, like someone who truly loves you would pull you aside and say that you’re fucking up. never heard a peep.

and it wasn’t until summer 2019 when i found out why.

now i was in the dark on all channels for all of 2017 so i had to dig around to find this once i re-emerged, but there’s an interview of chris and ben from i think april of that year where ben talks about his then-2-year-old son. wait, 2-year-old son? was what i asked aloud.

the kid was apparently born in the summer of 2015, about a month after we moved and a month after my third letter to him. and all of a sudden, it all made sense, especially the weird questions. the gossip i was subjected to in summer 2014, about a week before i saw soundgarden in seattle, made sense, too: some woman messaged one of my friends at the time out of “concern” and diagnose me with borderline personality disorder (to this day, i still wish i knew how to screenshot back then because it’s unethical and malpractice, even if there was something truly that wrong with me), and this was immediately after she went onto my profile to trash my art. and you would think those friends at the time would defend me and dismiss it as malpractice and abuse of ethics—nope. they called me crazy and told me they’re worried for my mental health because a friend to miss armchair psychologist who also happens to be friends with Ben, saw him with a woman in florida and had not a single clue what was happening but put two and two together anyway.

GUESS HOW WELL I TOOK THAT.

and guess how well i took to finding out how ben had a 2-year-old and no one in his family said a single word about it to me… or for that matter, let me down easy and told me the truth straight up.

but i’ll say this…

the day i found this out and began putting the pieces together, through my tears, i opened my sketchbook to that one sketch of joey cradling maya in his arms. the “writing to ben shepherd for superunknown 20” to “now it’s dark” pipeline is one you cannot make up or replicate for that matter.

and i’ll also say that not a day goes by when i don’t think about him. i think of chris every day, i think of ben every day. i saw a picture of him back around christmas and he looks terrible: he had regained all of the weight he had lost during soundgarden’s third act and then some, he’s got little “baked bean” teeth, and his skin is all leathery.

what’s even more sobering is he and alex are literally the same age: ben was born september 20, alex on september 29, same year, 1968. alex, even with his frizzy disheveled hair, pale skin, and big sanpaku eyes looks very cute and like he can be his chubby, round little rosy self again if he does something. ben irreversibly became an old man over the course of a couple of years, and i know for a fact it’s from smoking as well as parenthood: i saw a pic of him in 2019 at the tribute concert to chris followed by ohana fest and he still looked good; i mean, as far as anyone knows, he had more kids.

god, i just.

…

man, you broke me.

you broke me. you broke my heart.

i did what i could with the resources at the time and even though i was too chickenshit to admit it to you, you couldn’t figure it out and you didn’t do shit about it. i kept writing to you because i had my head in the clouds but you couldn’t be mr. down-to-earth as everyone says you are… why? is it because you had a kid on the way and you were nesting and your family is so bass-ackwards that it’s too much to ask to even trust an outsider like myself? would that have made it so fucking hard to relay back to me? bro, i’ll take secrets to the grave with me if i have to.

it wasn’t a silly little obsession like what people think, it was… it was real. what i was feeling for you was real.

i loved you. and even after everything, i still love you, and i could never not love you, either.

…

…

i can only assume that he was scared to sit down and do that for me. so, to that i say that this isn’t hard to follow: i wrote to a guy who wasn’t interested but was too spineless to admit it to me. in fact, that’s admittedly the same vibe i get from alex: there is undoubtedly something here, like i can feel it whenever i see him and hear it in his voice, but that goddamn g*psy just clings to him like that loose hair you can’t see but can feel and it’s driving you crazy. it’s a lot more passionate and intense with alex, too, and that in and of itself is a whole other essay (all i’m going to say about it is at least he’s transparent about how he feels about me).

i can only assume that ben’s baby mama has it worse. one of the things that, to this day still stands out to me from the armchair psychologist incident, was this: “I don’t know how many girlfriends Ben has now”. yeah, and that person claimed to know him. so, in a weird twisted way, i actually kind of feel bad for her. i tried to love the frankenbass but not even the frankenbass seems to know what he wants.

he’s an old man now and he’s probably going to be facing ill health here if he isn’t already. no idea what’s going on with his mom anymore, his sister’s neurotic, his brother’s a.w.o.l., his daughter broke it off with me as per the usual division over the israel-hamas conflict… ugh. and all i can say is welp.

but ever since then, i like to see transparency and authenticity, and i’m suspicious as fuck of people who are “not very social” and “extremely shy and private and avoidant” when it comes to the internet. i can appreciate someone who could care less about it because there are other things in life worth getting upset over, but to be calculating about it, especially when you can find it by a few keystrokes, is a major red flag in my eyes. wonder how we’re feeling with that in mind, ahem.

i try to be transparent about the weight of my heart as well as the weight that surrounds it. and if you have to jump… jump, even if you end up making a complete ass of yourself, because your ass will still be showing anyway.