#doom 2016 smut

[deepcreekvultures-writing]

"Hipsophobia"

Lesley Smith-Juniment x Gn!Reader

Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+)

Word Count: 4.9k

Content Warning: Fear of heights, mild panic-attack, smut, oral (male receiving)

A/N: Writing smut as an Asexual is hard, sorry if it's not very good.

Summary: Lesley has been begging to take you on a hot-air balloon ride for a little more than 3 years. As much as you hated saying no to him, your fear of heights always stopped you from taking him up on his offer. But luckily for Lesley, you can’t resist when he pouts like that.

=======

You thought Lesley was awfully cute, even from 30 feet away. Lost in his own little world, surrounded by the big open space, bracketed in by large oak trees. You stood, arms crossed, the tall grass tickling your ankles as you watched him set up his prized hot air balloon.

Even from this far away, you could tell that he was humming to himself as he twisted a canister into place. He had been all smiles all day, gushing over how excited he was to test out his new balloon. He holds the opening of the balloon open, igniting the burner and pulling it up as the hot air floods in.

He knew what he was doing, that much was obvious, he had been taking balloons up for longer than you’d known him. Still, watching that huge flame so close to his pretty face twisted your stomach. Plus, he had almost dropped the canister on his foot earlier. 

Luckily he was wearing his construction boots rather than his birkenstocks. As much as you thought Lesley was perfect, you had a few qualms with his fashion sense. 

Unluckily, he was wearing these thick, chunky, brown gloves, covering up his perfect, model-esque hands.

You finally approach, keeping quiet as you do so, hands sliding onto his shoulders, up his neck and over his eyes. He completely freezes, hunching in on himself. Lifting onto your toes to whisper in his ear, you let the tension settle before speaking.

“Hey there, sunshine, what’re you up to?” You greet, whispering softly as you try not to laugh. 

Lesley relaxes, letting out a groan, “Do you have to do that? You scared the shit out of me” He lets a soft laugh follow, turning to face you. You giggle, the way he curses always sounds so awkward. It was cute. Your hands gently slide down to his shoulders as he spins around, settling just below his collarbones. 

“Yes I do have to do that, it’s my job, though I am grossly underpaid.” A smile gathers at the corners of your mouth, reaching your eyes as you gaze up into Lesley’s calm face. 

“Oh, are you?” He chuckles, his face glowing in the soft evening light. Underneath your palms, you could feel the steady thrum of his heart.

“Definitely, oh- and undervalued. I don’t think you appreciate me Mr. Smith- Juniment.” Lifting a hand, you poked into his shoulder accusingly. His toothy grin widens at your teasing, his head tilting slightly to the side and he lets out a long exhale. 

“Do you want to go up with me?” He asks, eyes shining brightly in the light of the sun, his skin glistening around the perimeter of his face. He slips off his gloves, tossing them at the basket behind him. They hit the ground with a soft thud.

Your face scrunches, “In that death machine? No thanks, I’ll pass.” though you can’t stay like that for long as Lesley’s smile falters.

“It’s not a death machine, actually, I’m sure you’d like it if you gave it a shot.” He pouts a little, his face slightly flushed in the early summer heat. You frown, your resolve bending a little as the corners of his eyes soften.

“Les, you know I’m scared of heights.” Your voice is a lot gentler this time around. The fabric of his plaid button up is surprisingly soft under your touch.

He frowns, pressing his lips together slightly in thought. “I’ll be with you”

“Well, then I would be worried about your impending doom on top of mine.” You wiggle your fingers, tapping them against his clavicle with the soft pursing of your lips.

Lesley watches you as you think, your eyes cast down to his boots. His gaze is soft, a small frown playing at his lips. He had been begging you to go on the balloon with him since you started working as his client relations coordinator three years ago. Your fear of heights always pushed you from taking him up in his invitation, though you didn’t have any issue listening to him gush about the rides after the fact. 

You wanted to go, you really did. But being suspended hundreds of feet in the air in nothing more than a wicker basket?

No fucking way. 

“Listen, Lesley, I would love to go but-”

“You’re coming.” He interrupts, lifting his hands and placing them on top of yours, stilling your nervous tapping.

“I’m sorry?” Tilting your head and furrowing your eyebrows, you watch as he flounders a bit, looking around at the scenery before settling his gaze back onto you.

“I- well- well, I think you need to get over it.” Your eyebrows raise at that, eyes widening at his bluntness, “Not that- not that I think that your fear isn’t valid or anything! God no- no, I just think that you might be a little too stuck in your head about this?”

Even when you should be offended he finds himself firmly planted in your good graces. You couldn’t help but soften a little more, your resolve cracking at his caring nature. You had noticed in the past few months that Lesley had been a lot better at advocating for himself. 

And apparently he was pretty good at advocating for you, too.

“I guess so, but I feel like this might be a little overboard for getting over my fear.” You glance over at the death-coated balloon standing tall behind the flushed man in front of you.

“But if you do this, everything else will seem so much smaller.” Lesley’s voice sounded like a chorus of bells, his logic was wishy-washy, but he was just so Lesley. 

So perfect. 

“I’m very glad that you’re not my therapist,” You chuckle, trying to ignore the way his thumbs brush against the sides of your hands. He laughs, eyes closing and all, and you break. Your posture slackening as you melt under the rays of his smile. He looked like the break of sunlight through the clouds of a thunderstorm.

Pouting a bit, you sigh, your head drooping to look at his boots again. He stays silent, letting you mull it over as you count the scuffs on the edge of the tan suede. Your core temperature rises as his body heat flows into you, your hands trapped between his chest and his all-too warm hands.

“Okay, okay, we can go,” 

His face lights up, somehow shining even brighter as the sun starts to cascade towards the horizon in the west. 

“However,” You ball up the front of his shirt in your hands, “If anything goes wrong, you bring us back down immediately.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” He nods vigorously, his hair falling into his face sloppily. He pulls away from you, his hands lingering on your wrists before he turns, grabbing his gloves off the ground. 

Lesley slips the thick gloves on, covering up his slender fingers. You almost whimper, frowning deeply at the sight.

He turns on the burner, the flame large and in charge, he waves you over. He had explained how the balloons worked to you before, but this time, he helped you into the wicker basket, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly. 

He hops in with you, hauling the sandbags into the basket before turning to you. “Are you ready?”

You press yourself against the wall of the basket, clearing your throat and shaking your head both yes and no at the same time. Lesley laughs, and it soothes you for just long enough that he can crank the burner without much fuss from you. The hot air floats into the balloon and lifts it off of the ground steadily. 

“Oh my god, oh my god, Lesley, no- No, Lesley, I can’t!” You yelp, sliding down the wall of the basket, looking up at him with wide eyes. You press your hands into the basket, clawing at the material. He crouches in front of you in the enclosed space, putting his hands on your arms, gently guiding you to stand. 

His arm slides around your waist, holding you secure against him as your knees wobble. His gloved hand flattening around the curve of your ribs. 

“You’re okay, we’re fine.” He whispers, leaning forward and pressing his cheek against yours to whisper into your ear. His touch is muffled by the thick gloves, but his hand slides against your back in an attempt to sooth you. 

“I’m gonna kill you,” You grumble, your arms tossed around his shoulders. It took everything in your power to not strangle him in your grip. 

As the ground got further away, your face started to tingle, a wash of numbness falling over you. Behind the cage of your ribs, your heart hammers in your chest, heavy breaths falling from your lips as you watch the terrain drift away. 

“Lesley…” Your voice wobbles, the full weight of your body leaning into him. He responds in kind, adjusting himself to try and hold you up. Your hands claw at his back through his shirt, your panting breaths hitting his neck as your head swims. 

You were going to die. The balloon was going to pop and you were going to fall and you were going to die.

And Lesley.

No, no, no, no. Lesley can’t die, he’s perfect, he needs to live a full life and find someone that treats him right, and have a gajillion kids because there is no possible future that he would not be the world's best father. 

You tighten your grip around him, your thoughts going a mile a minute. They were mostly about Lesley: how to keep him safe in the impending crash, his future kids, the perfect world where you both survive and you have his kids, and the balloon being set on fire. 

The balloon is on fire and you’re dying.

The balloon is on fire and Lesley is dying.

Tears well up in your eyes and you choke out a sob. Lesley’s arm tightens around you, his other hand letting go of the trigger on the burner. He uses his teeth to pull off the fabric glove, securing his arm around you before doing the same with his other hand.

“Hey, hey, listen to me, we’re fine, everything is fine.” Lesley whispers, cupping the back of your head and manually turning you to look away from the ground. Holding you in place, Lesley looks you in the eyes, repeating his reassurance.

“Lesley, I’m scared, this is fucking terrifying.” You rush, your voice and octave shy of a shriek. He smiles in response, cupping your cheek with his warm hand, unobstructed by those gloves you were learning to hate.

“I’ve got you, and I’m not leaving, you're fine, we’re perfectly safe.” His soft voice only served to keep the tears flowing. He uses his thumbs to brush them away just for them to be replaced moments later. His sweetness was pushing you over the edge. 

“If you’re lying and you die, I’m going to kill you” You sob, letting your head fall onto his shoulder. Lesley chuckles at your threat, leaning his cheek on your head as he attempts to take one of your arms off of him. It takes a second before he can successfully pry your iron grip off of his shirt. 

Slipping his fingers around your wrist, Lesley guides your hand to rest on his chest, your palm flattening just over his heart. The steady rhythm is soft, only slightly elevated in comparison to your racing heart. 

“Feel that? We aren’t in danger, I’m not scared.” Lesley says, his voice slightly muffled by your hair, “I’ll let you know if you need to be scared,” 

He holds you flush against him, his hand flattened around your waist. He takes slow deep breaths, coaxing you through breathing exercises. Eventually he slides your hand up to his neck, pressing your fingers against his artery instead. You could feel the thrum of his heart with more clarity now, the vein pushing against your fingers with every steady pump of his heart.

Your body slowly relaxed into his, he was incredibly warm, and his steady, rock solid confidence in your safety gave you the comfort you needed to really try and reign yourself in. 

Your heart syncs up with Lesley’s, the rhythm steady and strong. A long silence follows as you focus on the thrumming of his heart against your fingers. Lifting your head, you take in the scenery, there’s a soft tension in your jaw as you peer over the edge of the basket. The ground was far below, the trees just clusters of vibrant green. You could see Austin not too far off, tall buildings breaking up the flat ground below.

His pulse against your fingers keeps you grounded. A soft breeze brushes over your tear stained cheeks, chilling your skin. Clouds blanket the sky, drifting calmly as the sun begins to kiss the horizon.

“I told you you’d like it.” He grins, his eyes locked on your face rather than the picturesque vision around him. 

“Oh shut up…” You grumble, watching a small cluster of birds circle around each other in the distance. Lesley’s smile softens as he takes in your face, flushed from your crying, blanketed in the warm glow of the setting sun. 

Your fingers adjust against his pulse, the touch gentle as you slide them a little further up, resting just beneath the underside of his jaw. He inhales sharply at the feeling.

“Y’know… I could never find the heartbeat in my wrist.” Lesley breaks the silence, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. His smile is as bright and toothy as ever.

“Seriously?” You turn to look at him again, your eyebrows furrowing a bit, though the tension melts out of your jaw. 

He nods, letting go of you slowly and showing you his wrists. He attempts to find the vein, fumbling around with his fingers, making you laugh. 

“Here,” You gently slide your hands along his arm, one hand moving to cup the underside of his wrist, “It’s right next to your tendon,” the pads of your fingers slide along the tendon in the center of his wrist, making him jolt slightly as a chill runs up his spine. Settling your fingers next to his tendon, you apply a little pressure, smiling as you find it. He shuffles uncomfortably, pressing his lips together firmly in order to muffle the soft noise that bubbles up at the back of his throat.

Lesley follows your lead, pressing his fingers too far up his wrist. You correct him gently, placing your fingers over his and guiding him back down to the correct spot. 

“Thank you, Lesley.” You whisper, looking up at him. He smiles in response, shaking his head lightly. The sun begins to set further into the horizon, casting a bronze hue over his features.

There was no mistaking how gorgeous Lesley was on any given day, but in light of a sunset he was a whole other form of beautiful. The warm light shines over the apex of his flushed cheekbones, sinking into darkness within the hollows of his cheeks. His lips, soft looking and pink, are illuminated stunningly by the sun’s farewell. 

As you gaze at him, your fingers still pressed against his pulse, you could feel it quicken. Your anxiety rears its head and you look around the balloon, the absence of ground starting to freak you out as you realize how high up you are. 

Lesley, takes your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. “We’re fine, what’s wrong?” He pouts, worried that he had done something to upset you. His thumbs slide over your cheekbones, wiping away any spare tears.

“Sorry- Sorry… your heart rate picked up and I was worried that something happened.” You chuckle dryly, taking a few deep breaths. Tilting your head a little into the warmth of his palms

He looks guilty, chewing his bottom lip slightly before speaking “No, sorry, I just- I just realized something is all.” 

Lesley’s eyes are soft and glistening, his cheeks tinted with more than just the sun’s kiss, and his tongue flicking out to wet his bottom lip. Heat pools in your stomach at the sight of him, his messy hair falling over his face wildly.

You lift your hand tentatively, gently pushing his hair back. Attempting to tame the wildness of his hair, your fingers slide against his scalp. In the end, you just push it back, mumbling something about him growing it out.

His hands return to your sides, his touch light as his fingers settle into the curve of your waist. Bringing yourself towards him, the tip of your nose brushes against his lightly. Lesley lets out a shuddering breath at the proximity, his large hands sliding down to envelope the apex of your hips.

Lesley was perfect. In every conceivable way. And god he smelled so good.

He tilts his head a bit, letting his lips ghost over yours. You could feel his breath wafting over yours, shuddering and uneven. Your body gravitates into him, hands sliding along the sides of his face lightly, your nose pressing into his cheek. 

The fact that you were a little more than a thousand feet in the air couldn’t possibly bother you now. Your hands slide down his neck, cradling the base of his skull. In your peripherals the sky behind him is blanketed in a pinky-orange hue, clouds breezing across the scape slowly.

Growing impatient, you finally pull him closer, meeting his lips in a short delicate kiss. It doesn’t last long, and you could feel him chasing the feeling of your lips as you pull away. Lesley pouts a bit, his eyes big and round as they look into yours with a silent plea. You couldn’t help but smile, his warmth lingering on your skin. The heat pooling in your stomach simmers into a white hot desire to kiss him again. It’s almost as if he can read your mind when his arm hooks snugly around the small of your back and he finds your mouth again, capturing it within his. 

Lesley’s lips were every bit as soft and warm as you imagined, fitting against yours perfectly. All the years of longing glances and pent up sexual frustration pours out as you kiss him. His hands press firmly into your back as he pulls a long breath in through his nose. His shoulders droop as he melts into you, your chests pressing together as he holds you as close as humanly possible.

Your perfect, beautiful, gentle Lesley kisses with a surprising amount of force. His mouth moves against yours in an intense rhythm, his tongue teasing at your bottom lip as he envelopes your mouth in his. You sigh into his kiss, and his hands travel up your sides. Bracketing your face in his warm palms. He nudges your jaw open with his thumb, sliding the pad of his finger along the flesh of your bottom lip. 

Your hands find their way down his torso, sliding against his plaid shirt before hitting the hem of his jeans. You hook your fingers around his belt loops, keeping his hips up against you. 

He sucks your tongue into his mouth, sliding his own against it. He breaks the kiss briefly, huffing out a few breaths against your face before diving back in. You let out a muffled yelp as he crashes back into you, your eyes opening for a moment before fluttering closed once more.

Your fingers trail around his waist band, tugging on the loops a little. Your thumb circles the silver buckle of his belt, sliding down the front seam of his jeans. Lesley chokes out a moan, the force of it breaking the kiss. Rather than let him pull away from you, you trail your lips down his chin. 

Leaving hot open mouth kisses down the center of his throat, your teeth gently graze over his Adam's apple. The tip of your tongue circles it twice before dipping down to the start of his collarbones. 

You trace the outline of him through the fabric of his jeans, circling your index finger around the tip briefly. His jaw falls open at the tease, a shuddering groan falling from his pretty pink lips.

Adjusting, you push your knee between his legs, keeping his hips against you as you take your hands off his waistband. Sliding them up his torso, you unbutton his shirt a little further. You push your leg further between his own, grinding against him. 

“Wait…” He gasps out, contradicting himself and letting his head tilt back for you.

You pause, stilling your lips against the warm skin of his neck, “What’s wrong?” You whisper, pressing a small kiss to his throat.

“Are you- are you sure?” His hips slide against yours, his desperation evident. 

“Very.” You mumble, letting your teeth nip their way across his collarbone. Flattening your tongue, you slide it up the expanse of his throat, pausing as you find his pulse. His heart hammers against your tongue, your teeth nipping lightly at the artery. His hand cradles the back of your head, his slender fingers sliding into your hair.  

You take his skin between your teeth, biting gently into his soft skin with all the care in the world. You suck gently on the bite to soothe the small bruise left in its wake. The vibrations of his moans against your lips fuel the fire and winding you tight. 

Your hands slide down his torso again, leaving his shirt partially unbuttoned. You drag your teeth along his pulse, nudging the collar of his shirt aside as you reach his collarbone. Hands resting on his hips once more, you stop his desperate grinding. 

Lesley huffs out heavy breaths, lacking the stimulation his hips were providing. He goes to speak but is stopped by your hand sliding over his waistband, dipping down to tease him again. You pay special attention to his collarbone, leaving the length of him as an afterthought.

He sighs out your name, sounding a little strained at your touch. You detach from his neck, pressing small kisses to the hickeys darkening his lightly tanned skin. Hooking your fingers into the buckle of his belt, you quickly unfasten it. Lifting your head, you press your cheek into his, feeling the burning shyness simmering under his skin. 

Your lips graze the shell of his ear, “Tell me if you want me to stop.” is all you whisper. You turn slightly, kissing along his jawline in slow drags.

He nods, whispering back an almost inaudible ‘okay’ which is quickly cut off by a sharp inhale as you pop the button of his jeans. Your index finger hooks over his zipper, sliding it down slowly. He squirms a bit against you, the slowness of your movements only proving to frustrate him further. 

His hand grips your hair, tugging your head back to connect your lips to his once again. Mouth slotting against yours, his tongue weaves its way into your mouth, sliding along the expanse of your own. His other hand slides a finger along the line of your jaw, brushing your hair out of your face as he envelopes you in his affection.

You flatten your hand, sliding it into his unfastened jeans. He groans into your mouth, his hips moving up to greet your hand, only separated by the thin fabric of his boxers. You could feel his pulse under your palm as you cup him in your hand, your thumb circling the head lazily. Using your free hand to keep him still, eating up his breathy whines as you tease him. You detach your mouth from his, biting your way down his neck. Taking the time to worship his skin, leaving large dark bruises as your mouth dips down to his exposed chest. 

He huffs out into the open air, moaning loudly as you begin to stroke his length through his boxers. He twitches underneath your touch, attempting to grind against your hand to pick up the pace, but you push his hips up against the wall of the balloon’s basket. 

“Stop.” You whisper, taking his earlobe between your teeth briefly. He groans, untangling his hand from your hair to cover his reddened face. 

Stopping your slow ministrations, you kiss down his throat again, over the curve of his collarbone and down his sternum. Lowering yourself slowly, you kneel on the floor of the basket. You free your hand from his jeans, much to his displeasure, but your fingers hook around his belt loops. Tugging his jeans down his thighs, he lets out a small gasp, panicking a bit as he drops his hand and meets your eyes.

You smile up at him, your hand finding him again, leisurely sliding along him through the thin fabric. Sliding his boxers down his thighs to sit along with his jeans, you take in the full sight of him. 

Your fingers curl around him and he sucks in a breath through his clenched teeth. Tracing the thick vein running along the underside of his shaft, you meet his eyes. His hands grip the edge of the basket, his blunt fingernails digging into the wicker material. 

Lesley’s eyes are blown wide, the honey-like color of his irises limited to a thin ring around his dilated pupils. The flushed color of his skin is illuminated by the thin layer of sweat gathering at his temples. He watches you with labored breath as you slowly begin to pump him in your hand. Swiping your thumb over his tip, you use the precum gathering in the slit as a form of lubricant. He shudders, his mouth dropping open as he lets out a broken moan.  

Leaning forward, you slide your tongue along the side of him, the tip running along the pulsing vein. He buck his hips absentmindedly and you flatten your free hand over his stomach, keeping him pressed against the wall. He whines softly, your hand moving slowly along him, your tongue circling around the tip in an aggravatingly slow fashion. You were toying with him, watching him carefully as he writhes.

The noises falling from his lips sounded like the most gorgeous symphony. You knew full well how desperate he was, his hips fighting to move despite your restrictions.

Flattening your tongue, you take just the head of him into your mouth. You quicken the pace of your hand, pumping him a little faster. You drag your tongue along the underside of his irritated tip, sliding it along his slit. 

Lesley chokes out a strained moan, his head falling forward. Quickly pushing his hair out of his face, intent on watching you despite how achingly slow you were going. His eyelids flutter as you take him further, his head sliding along the flat of your tongue. Dropping your hands to gently grip his thighs, your fingernails lightly dig into the flesh. 

Without restrictions, his hips jerk into you, the tip of him hitting the back of your throat. You groan against him, the vibration almost causing him to unravel. Lifting yourself off of him a bit, you push back down, the tip of your nose brushing against his base continuously as you find a rhythm. Dropping all teasing and focusing on his pleasure, you keep your pacing steady, your tongue curling around his head to provide extra stimulation. 

As you push him closer to the edge, his muscles tense and his thoughts go flat. Lesley couldn’t think or say anything, his brain completely fogging over. His vision blurs as your soft noises vibrate into his sensitive skin, his tip sliding between your upper palate and the flat of your tongue. Completely overcome with everything around him, a bead of sweat trails its way down the tip of his nose.  He couldn’t possibly care how loud he was being under your control.

Feeling himself getting closer, his hands find their way into your hair. He gently rakes his fingers over your scalp as his back arches, pushing himself as far into you as he can. Lesley is completely incoherent, words coming out broken and jumbled in between pants and gasps. He twitches in your mouth, his hips stuttering lightly as he orgasms. 

You take it as well as you can, your nails digging into his thighs as you focus on not choking at his release. His knees wobble, and you pull off of him slowly. You take a second to swallow fully, standing from your kneeling position to hold him upright when he wavers. He looked completely fucked out, his eyes swimming as they land on your face.

Clearing your throat, you speak, “God, Lesley, you okay?” The question is accompanied by a light laugh. You lift your hand, brushing a hand through his hair to get a good look at his face.

“I love you.” He pants, leaning in to capture you in a kiss. He could taste himself on your lips, taking the time to rub his thumbs over your cheeks. 

When the kiss finally breaks, you laugh again, “I love you too, Les, now answer my question”.

“Oh! Shit- I’m so sorry, are you okay? I just-” He cuts himself off, floundering a bit as his mind races with the implications of what just happened. His hands keep your face bracketed in his palms, his eyes searching yours in a panic.

“I’m fine, promise,” Nodding, you press a few quick kisses to both of his cheeks. “Are you feeling okay? Lightheaded at all?” You ask, a little concerned considering the altitude. 

He shakes his head, “I’m perfect, great- you’re great, and perfect.” He scrambles to shower you in compliments, peppering your face in kisses in an oddly apologetic fashion.

“Thanks,” You giggle, smiling as he showers you in affection, “Now, can you bring us down? I’d like to take you to dinner.”

[shurisneakers]

a writing challenge? in 2024? you bet

Hi! Hello! Hey!

I've been going through A Time and have chosen to cope by going back to the specific vibes of 2016 to 2018. That happens to include an incredible resurgence in my love for MCU fanfic, the community around it and all the love that goes into them. I've felt a bit distant from here for a while, but I still see so many of my old friends writing, ones who want to get back into it, and a whole lot of new writers I am dying to meet.

I've floated this idea vaguely on my blog and people seem to be interested so I figured it was worth a shot!

So yeah, welcome to Ari's Old School, Nostalgia Jam, Why-The-Hell-Not MCU Fic Writing Challenge 2024!

Prompts, rules and whatnot under the cut:

Requests:

If you could reblog this post to reach someone who might want to participate, I'd really appreciate it! No need to be following me, it's open for anyone.

Reader-inserts, OCs, solo character fics, character x character-- absolutely no limitations

Any and all MCU characters are allowed

Anything above 500 words should have a read-more/keep-reading tab. Series, multi-chapters, one-shots, drabbles, etc etc. The sky's the limit.

Please tag me in your fics (@shurisneakers) so I'm notified of them, and post them with the tag #arisoldschoolwritingchallenge . It may take me a while to get back to you due to the circumstances I find myself in currently, but I absolutely will. Please send me a DM if I haven't responded within 10 days.

Send me an ask with the prompt you would like. Feel free to pick up to 2 prompts

The only thing I request of you: no RPF and no dark fics. Smut is welcome, but non-con/dub-con/incest or anything along those veins is something I'd ask you not to submit for this challenge. Thank you for your understanding!

I know I've called it an MCU fic challenge as it's the community I've grown with, but if you feel like any of these prompts resonates with a character from another fandom, please go ahead and write it. This challenge really is just about the fun of writing fanfic and love for Your Little Guys

No submission cut-off date. Take all the time you need.

Prompts

I've tried to have a mix of classics and uncommon tropes/dynamics, so I hope everyone finds something they connect with!

Relationship Prompts

1. Enemies (taken by @theysaywhatasadsight)

2. Best friends/childhood friends

3. Coworkers (taken by @jaaneymann)

4. Internet friends

5. Neighbours/roommates (taken by @angrythingstarlight)

6. Fake dating (taken by @hungryforpowernotfood)

7. Commuters

Alternate Universe Prompts

1. Florist AU (taken by @hungryforpowernotfood)

2. Showmance AU (taken by @bombsonboard)

3. Social media/streaming/gaming AU (taken by @splintered-emotions)

4. Thieves/Heist Group AU

5. Time travel AU

6. Pirates AU

7. College AU (taken by @lovelybarnes)

8. Apocalypses/dystopia AU (taken by @targaryenvampireslayer)

9. Chef AU

10. Roadtrips AU

Some rarer miscellaneous ones for those who are so inclined!

1. Shipwrecked together on an island

2. Meet Ugly (opposite of Meet Cutes) (taken by @barnesandco

3. Both of you are ghosts but don't know the other is

4. Treasure hunters AU

5. Faking death

6. Professional cuddlers AU

7. Time loops/Groundhog Day (taken by @sxrensxngwrites)

8. Orpheus and Eurydice

9. Villain x hero

10. Hitchhiking

11. Carnival of Horrors

12. Robin Hood

13. Matchmakers AU

14. Insomniac x narcoleptic

15. Intergalactic Coffee Shop AU

16. Doomed By The Narrative

17. Enemies to Lovers to Enemies

18. Subversion of Classic Hallmark Movie Tropes

Dialogue prompts

You can tweak them as per requirements, but be sure to keep the underlying message!

Angst

1. "I should have trusted myself. I should have stayed far away from you." (taken by @waywardcrow)

2. "Has it occurred to you that how I feel matters too?" (taken by @jaaneymann)

3. "We failed. I would do it again."

4. "You do not deserve my forgiveness."

5. "You make me feel so alone." (taken by @reidishh)

6. "I'm not giving up on us." "I did. You should too." (taken by @targaryenvampireslayer)

Crack

1. "Ohhh, you wanna kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid." (taken by @pinkthick)

2. "I think you and I make the worst choices together." "Yeah, but it's always entertaining."

3. "I trusted you." "Terrible decision, really."

4. "I know I'm smiling but I want to push you off a very big cliff." (taken by @pepperonijem)

5. "I'm hilarious." "You're traumatised."

Fluff

1. "This is the only thing I look forward to everyday." (Taken by @bombsonboard)

2. "I think we should do that again. For the sake of the world and my sanity."

3. "You're all I think about." (taken by @waywardcrow)

4. "Don't go anywhere I can't follow." (taken by @iguess-theyre-mymess)

5. "Don't smile at me like that." "Like what?" "Like that." (Taken by @lovelybarnes)

Word Prompts:

Flesh

Strawberry

Bruised (taken by @juvenilearson)

Groovy

Jump

Sunflower (taken by @barnesandco)

Alchemist

Wayward

Offerings

Mischief (taken by @supraveng)

I hope you'll join in! Please do tag anyone you think would be interested, I'd love for this to have as wide an audience as possible.

Lots of love <3

-Ari

[transhuman-priestess]

Hey my favourite mutual how's the smut that comforts the disturbed and disturbs the comfortable?

This is ivy's executive function. It's tied me up and thrown me in the closet. I can hear it out there playing DOOM (2016). Please send help. We haven't written anything in a month.

[laughableillusions]

Roleplay partner wanted!

Hello! My name is Valerian (he/it) and I’m looking for a rp partner (18+ ONLY!) My style is very literate and usually my replies are 2-8 paragraphs. I have many MANY OCs but can also do canon rps as well (canon x OC are also highly encouraged!) I’m looking for someone who enjoys gothic/darker stories. I usually roleplay thru discord because it’s less likely to glitch out on me like tumblr does. I can do mxm or fxm, fxf is a bit harder for me so I usually stay away from it

Fandoms and characters I write for:

- Dead by Daylight (Deathslinger, Michael Myers, Vittorio Toscano)

- The Crow (Eric Draven)

- Skyrim (Cicero, Farkas, Miraak)

- Van Helsing 2004 (Gabriel Van Helsing, Dracula)

- Fallout 4 (Danse)

- Slashers (Michael Myers, Billy Lenz, Brahms Heelshire)

- Resident Evil 8 (Karl Heisenberg)

- FNAF Security breach (Glamrock Freddy)

- Doom 2016 + eternal (Doomguy)

- The Lost Boys (Dwayne)

- Labyrinth (Jareth)

- X-men MOVIES (Wolverine)

- Lovecraftian Mythos (Cthulhu)

I also have many OCs as well! Feel free to interact if you’re interested!

General themes/ideas I love:

- monsterfucking/loving

- slow burn

- self indulgent smut

- enemies to lovers (not just rivals, I’m talking like 2 opposing sides of a war enemies)

- hero x villain

- vampires and werewolves

- mer AUs/mermaids

- angels and demons

- fae/fairies

-Celtic folklore

- corruption arcs

- fantasy/sci-fi settings

- period romances

- angst with a happy ending

- whump with a happy ending

- 70s- early 2000s time period

- Lovecraftian horror (horror in general)

- psychological analysis

[undertale-museum]

Fanfiction Page 1

Page 1 — Page 2 — Page 3

^here

[Updated 15Jan24]

+18 used as shorthand for s3x

*** aka Dead dove do not eat as shorthand for dark themes, kink and/or rough s3x

——————————-

[1] So I think You've Got the Wrong Number

By WhatteauYouDoing (97k)

November 28th, 2015 - June 2016

_Incomplete

Reader, Gaster, Toriel, Sans

~Magi reader pulls Gaster from void~

.

[2] learn to live [series]. (+18 ***)

By I_Write_Sanses_Not_Tragedies

61k words

April 14, 2016 - November 2018

_incomplete

Blue, Stretch, Red

R*pe recovery, domestic

.

.

.

[3] AVA

By Inyahs (356k)

December 17, 2016 - Jan 2024

_incomplete

Anomaly OC, bittybones oc, UTMV ensemble

~ Wise crack hermit goes on adventure with grumpy insomniac bitty~

Note: plot up to Sciencetale lab, lacks character development after

.

[4] sticks & stones (+18)

By oneType (163k)

March 14, 2016 - May 14, 2019

_complete

Stretch, Red, Edge, Underfell Ensemble, Underswap Ensemble

~Stretch gets stuck in Underfell~

TW: discussion of attempted s**cide prior go story

.

[5] Good food, Good friends, Bad laughs

By shyviolet77 (431k)

April 19, 2016 - July 11, 2019

_incomplete

Sans, Frisk, Papyrus

1930s mobtale, Neutral Party Frisk

.

[6] A Puzzle Just For Me (+18)

By neroli9 (696k)

May 7, 2016 - January 13, 2024

_incomplete

Sans, Reader, Muffet, OC ensemble

Mobtale 1930s, exiled royal

Note: very kinky, RACK

.

[7] KR Trilogy (+18, ***)

By Mercy_Run (203k)

October 10, 2023 - Feb 2, 2023

_incomplete

Sans, Red, Edge

idk an sfw way to tag this~ guide

Note: skip wedding, smut from beginning

.

[8] Skeleton Games

By poetax (279k)

November 30, 2016 - Jan 1, 2023

_incomplete

Red, Edge, Reader, Muffet

Feuding neighbors, vampire reader

.

[9] Little Red

By Spectroscope (53k)

@spectascopes

April 15th 2017 - April 14, 2022

_complete

Human!SwapPaps, Human!SwapSans, OC monster

Bittybones, trauma recovery

Note: Stan (H!SS) is trans-masc,

.

.

.

Broken Bones Multiverse [series]

By Lady_kit  (339k)

21 April 17 - Nov 23

[10] Broken Bones

_complete

Stretch, Edge, Blue, Red

Papyrus centric, spicyhoney

- - -

[11] Bone Shards

_discontinued

Stretch, Edge, Blue, Red

drabbles

- - -

[12] Compound Fracture

_2023 Nov

Stretch, Edge, Blue, Red, Slim (Swapfell Papyrus) , Razz (Swapfell Sans)

Papyrus centric, spicyhoney

.

.

.

[13] Ain’t this the life [series] ***

By nilchance (524k)

Date

_discontinued

Sans, Red, Edge

Uptight asshole x shameless tumblr sexy man

(series contains 39 works) -->first

.

 that space pirates AU [series] ***

by nilchance _ 2021 (116k) dddne

- - -

[14] Killing the moon

Red, Papyrus

Brain washing recovery

- - -

[15] starry eyed

Sans, Red, Edge, Stretch, Gaster (AI)

Prison recovery, soulmates, domestic

.

.

.

[16] Doom and Gloom All Up in Your Room

by TrashCollector (95k)

____ - Dec 2023

_

Y/N (room owner), Dust, Horror

Domestic reverse harem

.

[17] Firsts and Seconds

by Skerb (103k)

__ - 2023

_incomplete

Sticks (Farmtale Sans), Bitey/Buddy (Horrortale Sans)

Injury recovery, strangers to lovers

.

[18] Sea of Hope

By Aylish91 (26k)

2021 - 2023 March

Y/N (runaway skeleton), Axe (Horror),

Piratetale, Y/N x Axe

.

[19] Poor Little Meow Meow

By Mystique, TallDumbass (58k)

2022 - October 2023

Y/N (vet), Killer

Fluff and Angst

.

[20] A Lovely House of Bones

By Green_Heart88 (37k)

@greenheartart

2023 - Dec 2023

(Y/N) host, Sans, Paps, Blue, Stretch, Edge, Red

Domestic living + recovery

[joeys-piano]

20 Questions About A Fic Writer

Tagged by @voxofthevoid who is pretty much a writing god as far as I'm concerned. The breadth of his works are wide, and he be doing things for the hell of it.

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

230 since 2016.

2. What’s your total ao3 word count?

841,020. I mostly write oneshots and short stories.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Whatever scratches my writing itch. I used to settle in fandoms when I was younger, but now I wander around and write for whatever catches my interest during that season of my life. It keeps me fresh. I found my insecurities were a lot louder the longer I settle somewhere because it's easier to make comparisons. So I just stroll around. It's a lot simpler life. It keeps me from chasing AO3 stats and lets me write things I wouldn't have the courage to do in other fandoms. So that's nice.

Currently I'm writing for Link Click.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

From Yuri on Ice.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes. Often, I leave long replies that are ficlet length at least.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

My mind tells me those fics are from the Harry Potter fandom.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Maybe you can tell me because I've written a lot and I don't remember.

8. Do you get hate on fic?

Rarely. I've written for ships people have issue with and have not yet received hate for it. It unfortunately happens to my friends and writers I respect, so that sucks. The only hate I've really received was when someone argued with me in the Harry Potter fandom that English Breakfast tea does not exist. And I was so weirded out by the comment that I just deleted the fic for my own mental peace.

Other than that, I don't recall any other hate. I have recieved passive aggressive comments, but those were from years ago. Overall, it's either positive or neutral.

9. Do you write smut?

Maybe once or twice a year. It's not that fun, really.

10. Do you write crossovers?

I used to.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not to my knowledge. I had a request once, but I don't think anything came out of it.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes. Two of them for one fandom. My writing style and process is better suited for solo writing. I've tried co-writing with what I do currently, but it doesn't mesh well.

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

Odazai. I don't write for it currently, but I still enjoy seeing it. Which is something I cannot say for other ships I've done in the past, so that means a lot to me. I might pick up writing for it again if I feel that's my season to do it.

15. What’s a wip you want to finish but probably won’t?

Whatever is in my "Not Currently" folder. I'm of the mind that if a story or idea ends up there, it's a doomed attempt trying to resurrect it. So I let it die. Yeah I'm haunted on a constant basis if I think about it, but that's just life I think. Nowadays I write stories I do carve time for, not ones that I want to carve time for. There's a difference.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Introspection. Rhyme. Character voice. Vibes. My willingness to experiment with my writing and challenging myself to strengthen my weak areas. Nowadays, I write the stories that I write to challenge my technical skills as a writer. It keeps me from feeling stagnant and I often start writing things I don't normally write, but this gives me the mental library of how to do certain things because I've done it before.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Dialogue. Heavy plots. Physical affection in a romantic or sexual sense. Fluff because I get violently ill every time I write it (like covid, the flu, it aggraviates my flares up and that's not fun). Angst because it drains a lot of me and I get tired. So, I realize that limits what I can write, so I try to be really good at what I do write.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Personally, I don't do it. If I have a character speaking in another language, I summarize it through narration. If some words are borrowed, like a good example is names of food or certain phrases, I'm fine with putting that in dialogue. When I was younger, I used to italicize that stuff. I don't anymore unless emphasis is directly on those words.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Vocaloid.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

At the moment, nothing comes to mind. While writing them, I'm sure there was a lot of love because I willingly pulled the stories together. But other than that, I don't have a real favorite.

[theautisticcentre]

Officially taking asks!

Fandoms I'll write for:

The Owl House

Sonic the Hedgehog

Super Mario

Kirby

DC

Fallout

GTA 5

My Hero Academia

Assassin's Creed

Walking Dead (Telltale)

Batman (Telltale)

God of War

Star Wars

Puss in Boots: The Last Wish

Encanto

The Incredibles

Undertale

Five Nights at Freddy's

Dragon Ball Z

Dragon Ball Super

Disney

Pixar

Dreamworks

Illumination

Spiderverse

Amphibia

Gravity Falls

DOOM (2016 and Eternal)

Invincible

She-Ra

Spider-Man games

Hazbin Hotel

What I WILL make:

Fluff

Angst

Character x Character

OC x Character

Reader x Character

Reader x OC

OC x OC

Crack/Funny

Crossovers

Icons

What I WON'T make:

Smut

Yandere

Anything illegal

[afaramir]

20 questions for writers!

tagged by @emyn-arnens literally over a month ago and im finally getting to it now lol much love thank you for continuing to tag me in things even though im the worst at doing them sometimes.

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 65 (15 of them are under my archive pseud though lol)

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 265,381

3. What fandoms do you write for? actively writing for lotr, pacific rim, my secret little marvel rarepair

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? these are so funny they're all my avatar work from before i remade on this blog. well throwback i guess. they're still dear to me.

open arms, atla sokka coming out to his dad

earth system history, atla sokka/zuko college au where zuko is an earth scientist

[redacted h*rry p*tter work from 2016]

love's not for show, atla bato/hakoda sokka creates a master plan to get his dad and bato to admit that theyre dating but they're NOT

knife loves heart, human loves human, james bond 007/q post-spectre fixit fic (my Only 00q and possibly also my only fixit fic?)

5. Do you respond to comments? i try so so so hard but the executive function that allows me to say anything coherent only comes around every so often lol

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? a couple contenders for this one but if we're talking strictly the ending probably i'm not leaving (til we make it home) (exu calamity patia & laerryn / patia & the ring of brass exploring her relationship with love and loneliness and finally being free to express how much she loves her friends only in the last hours of her life and dying happy for it).

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? also a couple contenders for this one but i feel like many of them are tinged with not a small amount of melancholy. so we are going with a big throwback to sun through open windows (atlok mako/wu plotless little morning routines fic that is about nothing in particular but also about realizing you have everything your younger self thought you would never have).

8. Do you get hate on fics? not in a long long time (like probably 7-8 years) thank god!

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? yes although none of it is published (yet). what kind? idk man whatever im horny about this month. ok but for serious. really been into character developing smut. do u know what i mean. i’m telling you something about who each of these people are and how they view each other through the way they fuck. this probably says quite a lot about me

10. Do you write crossovers? i'm not much for the kind where characters from different franchises Interact, but i am partial to taking some guys and translating them to a different setting. ah to put characters in a situation and watch as the fundamental core of their being stays the same....

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? hope not lol

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? not that i'm aware of!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? yes! we have not finished it but it's absolutely CORE thesis-level influential on my entire psyche. even if we never get back to it i'll think about it until the day i die and that is not an exaggeration.

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship? of ALL TIME? i straight up dont know if i can answer this one. ALL TIME???? my long-term emotional permanence is NOT good enough and my recency bias is too strong for this. ok i think the only way i can answer this is with the ship that has gotten the deepest into my psyche and my soul. which is yancytendo pacific rim. they. affect me. on a level i will probably never be able to fully explain. the 'giving a guy built only to be a thematic device a personality and a history and deep gut-wrenching grief' of it all. the 'you are in love with a guy who is doomed by the narrative and despite your best efforts it means that he is a personification of all the grief you carry inside of you' of it all. yancy becket you will live forever in my heart tendo choi you will ALWAYS be famous. augh. yeah i picked right

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

hmm probably something about the way you look tonight, my mallorytanner thesis statement fic, the genesis of which was genuinely a life-altering event to me. i was listening to the titular elton john song walking home from a general chemistry exam in the snow and i was struck so violently with An Image for truly the first time in my life. truly not ONCE before that moment had that happened to me. this was in my freshman year of college this fic has existed in various forms for going on FIVE YEARS. will it ever be done. GOD i fucking hope so. i actually do hold out hope for that one.

the one i am actually hopeless on ever finishing is orogenesis, the sprawling expanded stemverse pianjeong backstory au fic. the whole structure of it is quite clear in my head actually. i just didn't have the life experience to create the plot structure to go with the emotional beats when it generated itself in my mind in 2020-21 and now that i DO have it the problem is that the inciting event is incredibly clear to me and yet bears too close of a resemblance to. personal events and horrors. for me to ever finish it! i'll think about it forever though. creating and writing that au changed my life for real it was the longest thing i'd ever written and the best when i wrote it and it's still very close to my heart.

16. What are your writing strengths? characterization and character development baby. evocative use of metaphor in descriptions of both character and setting. lavish description.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? PLOT. cant create that from my brain and i rarely attempt it. i have plenty of stuff to write about that does not require it. relatedly not great at worldbuilding.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? generally don't do it much except for a stray word or two. i don't mind reading it though! tolkien fic writers who translate full sentences you are god's strongest soldiers.

19. First fandom you wrote for? ough this one will be embarrassing. entering the archive pseud. wait is it also tolkien that's funny. life is a circle in some ways. this is first fandom on my ao3 account btw. the VERY first one i wrote for...i will take that knowledge to the grave.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

ah i feel like my answer for this one changes every time but i can't help it, i love many of my darlings equally. this time im giving the spotlight to life holds onto you, my chris pike & jim kirk post-star trek 2009 fic that is a few thousand words of 'what if your sort of son feared that you thought he was taking everything you ever wanted from you and he is right that you have thought that but you are learning how wrong you are.' i cried in the university library writing it and reread it recently and remembered it was good. recency bias baby

tagging the usual suspects @potatoesandsunshine @aaronstveit

[therealmofamorus]

Ask

OG Stud Crossover

With how much Goblin Slayer and Female Doomslayer have in common, do those that desire GS fear that she will be the one to get him, or are they being too alike make them feel relief? Those like Sword Maiden and Priestess and whoever else.

"I thnk she's one of the few woman who understand my hatred for the goblin and I under her hatred for demons in return...." The Goblin Slayer replied as he stared with intense gaze at the tall amazon-like beast of a woman rip and tear the horde of goblin with her bare hands making him feel something he had thought lost...lust.

[noxturnalmoth]

Hear ye hear ye! I shall now open requests!

The requests will be for fem reader and gn reader only (I apologize ;^;)

I will only work on four universes: Alice in Borderland and Genshin Impact, Final Fantasy VII, DOOM (2016)/DOOM Eternal (2020), Devil May Cry and my own OCs who you will be introduced to very soon (I will get too overwhelmed if I open my requests to more fandoms sorry)

For Alice in Borderland I will write for:

Shuntarô Chishiya

Hikari Kuina

Ann Rizuna

For Genshin Impact I will write for:

Rosaria

Dehya

Beidou

Raiden Ei

Kuki Shinobu

Yanfei

Shenhe

Ganyu

Kunikuzushi/ Wanderer

Cyno

Al Haitham

Tighnari

Zhongli

Ajax/ Childe/ Tartaglia

Kazuha

Ayato Kamisato

Itto Arataki

Dainsleif

Diluc

For DOOM/DOOM Eternal I will write for:

Flynn Taggart a.k.a Doomslayer

For FFVII I will write for:

Sephiroth

Tifa Lockheart

Cloud Stife

Aerith Gainsborough

Zack Fair

Reno

For my OCs I will write for:

Al Abbassi

Odval

Inanna

Ishana

For DMC I will write for:

Dante Sparda

Vergil Sparda

V

Trish

Lady Arkham

Nicoletta Goldstein/ Nico

What I WILL write:

romance and platonic (either family or friend)

fluff

angst

smut (kinks not accepted described in next section)

crack

social media au

song fic

canon violence and dark lore ONLY if the original story uses it for their worldbuilding/ characters

Scalpels and Paintbrushes extras (little moments between Chishiya and reader)

What I WON'T write:

any of these kinks: bodily fluids (scat, blood, sweat, omorashi/urine, puke or anything of the sort), gun/knife play, heavy impact play, slavery imagery, non con, forced consent/coersion, incest

anything non con really (other than kidnapping and stalking TO NON SMUT/ROMANCE PURPOSES, like the character reader likes comes to save them from that not do it to them)

yandere

over use of violence

I will also, later on, start to write about Genshin ocs of mine, we will have 3 lore stories and one big book named The Mother of Misery. So look out for that! They will also be up for fic requests, so once I publish their stories you guys can go ham.

Thanks for your support on Scalpels and Paintbrushes! It WILL continue and it WILL get better!

[crayonwarrior1]

Reviewing Random Stuff I Experienced So They Get Out Of My Head

Deadpool and Wolverine

I've never watched any X-Men movie (especially Logan), Deadpool movie, or any Fantastic Four movie (except that one that was newer and bad). That being said, I used to play the everloving shit out of Lego Marvel: Super Heroes, so I got the gist of it. The combination of buddy cop tropes and super hero movies works well, and Wolverine's genuine contempt for Deadpool is consistently funny. My only real critique is that the Thor joke set up towards the beginning of the film goes nowhere beyond a few callbacks. Overall, it's a very fun movie that's worth seeing.

Deadpool (2016)

After watching Deadpool and Wolverine and enjoying it so much, I decided to watch the original film. It was okay. I'm not a fan of sex in movies (if I wanted to watch smut, I'd watch porn), so the significant number of sex scenes and large amount of nudity really checked me out of the film. The rest of the film is somewhat decent, if not a little boring at times. Every superhero needs a backstory, and I suppose the exposition the movie provides is helpful to understand Deadpool, but superhero backstory movies are generally somewhat boring, and this film follows the trend. It's fine for what it is, but it's probably the worst Deadpool movie (but, I haven't seen Deadpool 2).

Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire

As someone who is certainly not a Ghostbusters fan, it was okay. I've wanted a cool ghost best friend ever since I watched that season of Ninjago where Cole gets turned into a ghost, and that feeling has definitely surged after watching the movie. The main villain looked genuinely cool, but I wish that they didn't ever show the villain closely in focus. Also, the pacing of the movie was definitely off. The main threat only really surfaced in the last 20 minutes of the film. Make the demon take up the second hour of the movie, and maybe it would be better.

DOOM (2005)

This movie is very confusing. Literally nothing happens in the first hour. The Rock is evil for no reason. There's this weird sibling dynamic between two characters that doesn't really matter. The final battle (and several before) are won by grenades (the famous weapon from the famous video game DOOM). The plot is very tangentially related to the game. The film follows a squad of marines instead of one strong one. Overall, it's nothing like the game, and it's not great, but there's worse action movies. It's fine for a mindless viewing.

Weird: The Al Yankovic Story

I've never seen a more dad movie in my life. It's very fun and very weird. I really can't say anything about it, because the plot is so wild. I imagine the Wikipedia page is a fun read, though.

[hansensgirl]

please don’t take him (even though you can).

summary. | She can have anyone she wants, but you can never love again. Not without him.

warnings. | Major angst, cheating, nightmare mentions, anxiety, yearning, nail-biting, insecurities, mental heath issues, mentions of violence, abandonment, implied smut, talk of death, grief, some religion stuff (not major), loneliness, mentions of torture, PTSD, split personality disorder i think, this is really angsty and possibly triggering so please be aware of the warnings! 18+

word count. | 12k.

pairings. | Bucky Barnes x Reader, Winter Soldier x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Natasha Romanoff.

a/n. | THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 6K!!! i love each and everyone so much like serious i will kiss you all!! happy valentine’s day as well!! based off of jolene by dolly parton and love by daughter. thank you to my love @mypoisonedvine for beta-ing and listening to me talk about this fic every now and then! ilysm! this fic is very near and dear to me, so please reblog it 🥺

The Soldat’s sentences are broken, just like he is. The words fall apart as soon as they roll off of his tongue. So much to say, so few words, so little time. His hands are as cold as the bitter Russian winters, as cold as his stare. The Soldat doesn’t know what to feel. He’s as numb as when one’s entire body has been bitten by frostbite.

His voice is deeper than it was for the man he once was. From the screaming, from the crying, from the torture. He has no control, not even over his own voice. He keeps quiet and thinks. He thinks, and he thinks, and he thinks. Something has dawned on the Soldat. He does have control. But for how long? He only has it for a few minutes, maybe even hours. But it’s enough. He only has it until the soul of his mission’s body has left. He only has it until their eyes hold no life in them.

It’s 2014, and the first sentence he has completed is “I love you.”

You can remember it well. November 17th, the snow had fallen early and neither of you were prepared. Milk intended for hot chocolate boils on the stove and the crackle that the fire brings was the only sound in the room. He watches you from afar as you slowly stir the milk with a wooden spoon — the only one that he hadn’t accidentally snapped.

He doesn’t like the cold, he never has. Though he’s always warm, the cold haunts and taunts him. Memories and nightmares come with the snowfall and ice. “Are you okay, Winter?” you ask him, and he snaps out of a blank trance.

Winter. He likes being called Winter, although he loathes the season.

He nods his head after some careful thinking. Through the mess that is his mind, he manages to ask himself if he’s okay. Is he? No, he isn’t. He’s not sure why he nodded, but damn is he grateful for that smile you give in return. One in a million, you’re a burning star. The brightest there is, and the shiniest diamond ever. You’re rare, the person who poets write about and singers cry about. But you’re the only one for him. Only his.

“What flavours, Winter? Would you like to try something new?” you ask him, bringing the heat down and taking the milk off of the stove. Winter gets up from his spot near the fireplace and strides over to you. He likes the way you don’t choke in fear when he walks towards you.

You show him the numerous flavours of cookies you had baked that morning, and allow him to take as long as he’d like to choose. “M…” He struggles to say the word, scared that he’s being too demanding and that it’s a trick. HYDRA often did that. Fooling him just so that they could harm him, even though they never really needed a reason. “You can have anything you want, Winter. Anything.”

You reassure him, hesitatingly putting your warm hands on his warm face. He looks up at you, and you give him a soft smile that makes him want to cry with love. “Macadamia?” he requests politely. You hand him the macadamia cookies and smile, before grabbing one of the chocolate bombs you and he made the other day.

“Would you like to pour the milk, Winter?” you question him, grabbing his favourite mug. It was white and had a cheesy pun that always made him smile. “Yes.” He keeps his answers short, scared that he’ll say the wrong thing, or that he’ll abuse his privileges. The stories… The harsh stories they tell about him contradict him. He looks just like that feared soldier; the one you should run from.

But God, he’s just a broken man. Not too far past repairing, but just enough that it takes certain special tools to fix him. He towers over you like a brute, a powerful stare that would make anyone but you cry. He takes the carton of milk for you, cracking a slight smile when he remembers that you were so weak that your hands would shake when lifting it.

Your heart warms as his lips stretch. Before, you weren’t sure if you even had a favourite sight. But now… now you know. He’s your favourite sight. He pours the milk with shaky yet careful hands, and you envy his strength through your admiration. He stops just at the right time without having you tell him. Independence. He’s learning.

You break pieces of chocolate into the cup and let the hot milk melt the sweet treat, before adding a dash of cocoa powder. You both watch in wonder and awe as the milk turns into hot chocolate. Winter takes his cup from you, and thanks you. “You’re welcome, Winter,” you say, placing your cold hands on the mug.

He watches as you sigh at the warmth, knowing that your body doesn’t radiate as much heat as he does. “S- Share?” he offers you, taking note of how you’re slightly shivering. You nearly choke on your hot chocolate as he proposes the utmost tempting action ever. “My blanket…” He adds on, making you take note of the blanket your father gave you that rests on his shoulders.

It’s not necessary, but it gives him a type of comfort that only you can give as well. “Please?” you ask, shivers crawling up your spine and goosebumps rising on your skin. You walk closer to him, padded feet barely making any noise as they rest on top of creaky wooden floors.

He opens the blanket like wings and takes you under his arm like a bird. Ready to show you the world, even the nastiest bits and pieces of it. He wraps the majority of the blanket around you and he’s infatuated with the relaxation that you radiate. No threats, no impending dooms. You stand side by side, not so silently sipping on your hot chocolate because you love the little smile he gives at the slightly loud slurps.

Winter doesn’t know what comes over him. Courage? Cowardice? A spur of love? His mind is too messed up to think that clearly. He turns you around to face him, the blanket falling to the floor with a slight thud. Who knew wool could be so heavy?

Heavy like your heart. Heavy like the tension that lingers.

Perhaps it’s not courage or cowardice, and in fact, it’s Bucky who used to flirt like a maniac with every girl in the neighbourhood. He bends down and plants a kiss on your lips — at least that’s what he thinks it is. You’re easily goo beneath his coarse hands as they cup your cold face. He doesn’t move his lips and you don’t either. You’re both content with the simple yet unique kiss.

He pulls away and you have to admit — you’re breathless. From both the lack of air and from happiness. It’s rare to have such feelings be reciprocated. “I love you,” he bluntly admits, and never in your life have you been so shocked. “W- What?” you ask incredulously, taken aback yet you can already feel your body, soul and mind taking off to cloud nine.

“I love you.”

He repeats himself and God knows he��s willing to say those three words and eight letters over and over again just for you. “You do?” you ask him, feeling tears well in your eyes. “Yes. I love you. Love has immense, yet measurable effects and changes in the biochemistry of the brain. I mean- my brain? The three basic parts of love are driven by unique blends of brain chemicals…”

He pauses to take a deep breath.

“Every time I look at you, I have the term, ‘butterflies in the stomach.’ It’s caused by a reduction in blood flow to the stomach. I have the strongest urges to protect and love,” he explains with more words than ever.

Never in your life have you ever heard the words that are pouring out of his mouth. “Do you…?” he nervously questions, feeling his heart palpitations speed up at such a rate, it’s like he’s having a heart attack.

“I love you, even more, Winter.”

It’s 2016, and your Winter is almost a different person.

His name is Bucky– James, he tells you. You call him Jamie. Information discovered from trips to the museum and paragraphs of articles and textbooks fill out the blank spaces of his life. Apparently, students learn about him and the rest of the Howling Commandos in school. But you haven’t been, so you wouldn’t know.

The night terrors are tough, but they’ve been slowly improving with you by his side. You’re both broken in your own ways, but you have each other, and that’s enough. He doesn’t mind it when you call him Winter, but you know it makes more sense to call him by his true name. You’re fine with anything, as long as you have him.

“My, my… Did you wake up in a good mood?” you ask him, hugging him carefully from behind because you know that sometimes he doesn’t want to be touched. That’s fine. “Maybe… I was thinking of going out today. Alone. Will you be safe?” he asks you, handing you the best meal he can scrounge up. Biscuits and tea. “Always, because I have you,” you tell him, making him give you a sad smile.

You don’t have a table, so he lifts you up onto the counter that is next to the sink. Inside, there are stacks of dishes. Neither of you have the energy to wash them, but today you will, to keep yourself busy. He’s already dressed; tight red henley on top of two more sweaters that are stretched out over his broad chest.

Jeans that barely fit his thick legs, combat boots that he stole and a cap that conceals his identity from wandering eyes. He watches as you eat, just in case you accidentally bite your tongue, burn yourself or choke. He’ll always be there for you. “Did you eat?” you question him, breaking your last biscuit and handing the bigger piece to him.

At first, he refuses to take it. Doubts from HYDRA still linger, they never can go away even with the most reassurance and love from you. “Please? You can lie and you can choose to not answer, but at least take this,” you beg, placing the half in his gloved hand. He presses a chaste kiss to your lips; the taste of orange pekoe tea making him sigh.

He’s always been partial to green, even though he can’t recall ever drinking it. He reluctantly eats the piece and you stare him dead in the eyes as he does so. “You know I’ll always love you, right?” you speak up once he’s finished. You know all the proper manners like they’re written on the back of your hand. When you were younger, they were.

In loopy cursive. Black Sharpie ink settling into your skin and you can remember the way your father scolded you for doing so. The memory is fresh, fresh like the tears you notice in Bucky’s eyes. He nods, and you down the rest of your tea. You never had a preference between tea and coffee. You were grateful to have either.

They both had their flaws, and they both had their strengths. “And I’ll always love you, лунный свет,” he whispers, closing the space that divides you both. His lips — slightly chapped yet so soft — are pressed against your cold forehead. Your mouth falls open in a gasp, but it’s not one of surprise.

No.

It’s of satisfaction, and you find yourself doing it more often than once. “What does that mean?” you ask him as you trace the teacup with one of your fingers. There’s still a bit of tea inside of it, but it’s barely anything. Not enough to quench a thirst. But since it’s come from him and since his murder-scarred hands made it, it’s enough for you.

Your finger dips, and it’s only then when you notice there’s a small chip. You don’t resent the cup for it, no, not at all. In fact, you find yourself a bit more enamoured with the piece of cheap china in your hands. “Moonlight,” he bluntly tells you, before taking the cup from your hands. You don’t even realize it until he replaces it with his hands.

Oh… He doesn’t like it? Now– now you hold a little bit of resentment towards it because if James doesn’t like it then maybe you shouldn’t. “Why?” you ask as you wrap your hands around his. You lace your fingers together and you can feel the stark contrast. On one hand — your right hand — your skin is comforted by the cotton glove he wears.

On your left hand, your skin is comforted by his bare, rough hand. “Well, лунный свет, what do you think it means?” he asks you in return as you trace the stitches on his glove and the grooves of his hand. “I… I’m not sure. I’m sorry,” you apologize to him. Your head ducks down in disappointment, but not with him. It’s for yourself, as always. “Don’t be, sometimes we don’t know everything,” he tells you softly, “and that’s okay.” His words reassure you as always.

“You’re just like moonlight. You’re wise, the brightest of them all. No matter how small you make yourself, you always manage to make everyone marvel at your beauty. You’re mysterious, always a surprise, but only for some. Your aura– your brightness, it never ceases to amaze people. It helps me through the darkest times. The world needs you, I need you,” he monologues to you, and you find yourself at a loss of words. “James…” You whisper, looking up at him.

His eyes are still a bit bloodshot, but they’re glassy and you can see right into his soul. “I love you, лунный свет, until the end of love,” James whispers to you, and he places a chaste kiss on your lips. “I love you, even more, Jamie, until the end of love. Until the end of time,” you whisper back, shutting your eyes. Bucky squeezes your hands, and you do the same in return. His head slightly knocks yours as he places his forehead against yours.

“Until the end of time, лунный свет.”

It’s still 2016, and you’ve lost your Jamie.

And it’s not like he’s somewhere in a sea of people, or some nook of a large building. No, he’s gone and you don’t know how to get him back. He told you to wait in the park that nobody usually goes to. Well, if you count both yourself and James as nobodies. You watch from afar as destruction and terror rips your home apart, and you pray that James is okay. You need him.

Surprisingly, nobody notices you. You wear most of James’s clothing, as it all couldn’t fit in the two backpacks he packed. You don’t mind, because you’re trying to forget about the small gun that’s in your boot. You don’t even know how to use it, and he knows that. “It doesn’t matter, лунный свет, once they see you with a gun, you’ll automatically be the strongest person there.” His words echo in your mind and so do his actions.

He dressed you in a rushing manner. His eyes kept locking with yours. Through his soft, almost scared complex, you can see the soldier you met two years ago –– only murder in his eyes, ready for a mission.

You bite your nails and try to ignore the screams from passersby “Until the end of time, until the end of time, until the end of time, until the end of time…” You repeat the phrase over and over, hoping the Gods above can hear the plea in your voice. “Please don’t take him, even though you can, please don’t take my Jamie,” you beg out loud, looking up to the sky that greys the same way old memories do.

He’s not okay, he's probably dead… And you left him there to suffer. How selfish could you be?

“Shut up.”

I’m not wrong, I never am. I wasn’t wrong about Father, was I?

“I… That’s different.”

Is it though?

You bite your tongue, whatever snarky remark you just had has now lost itself in the mess that is your mind. You’re conflicted as always. Should you stay, and let Jamie get hurt? Or should you help him? You spend a good few minutes repeating those questions over and over. You feel like you have a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other. You let out a satirical laugh, and you know that you seem insane.

Two days ago, you had brought up a saying to Jamie.

“My father… He had this saying. When someone has lived their full life, but it still seems to go on and on, it means that God and the devil haven’t come to an agreement yet,” you tell him, pulling at a thread that hangs on his jacket. “An agreement about what, лунный свет?” he asks you, looking up from the pamphlet he stole from a museum in a town near Bucharest.

It’s crumpled, but everything is legible still. “Who has to take them,” you smile up at him, and he returns it. “Perhaps, that's what's happening. They’re still arguing, still negotiating. That’s why you’re still here. If one of them were ready to take you, they would’ve done so already. But they haven’t,” you explain to him in your usual soft voice. He once told you that your voice is one of the best things to listen to.

Better than music, better than laughter, better than the admissions of ‘I love you’ you tend to trade.

“Maybe you’re right, лунный свет. You know, you’re different from the rest of us– them,” he whispers to you, taking in the way your face creases in certain spots when curiosity takes over. “How so, Jamie?” you ask him, setting down the needle, roll of thread, and jacket. “You have hope, faith,” he starts, “it’s both dangerous yet helpful. It’s what separates you from the demons of the world.”

“лунный свет!” James calls out. You look up from the ground and the movie of your life with James pauses. “Jamie…” You whimper, taking in his form. He’s bruised and battered, cut up and injured. Just like when you found him on the porch of your home. “Oh, Jamie… What happened?” you ask him, feeling yourself begin to panic. Your heart quickens, and you rush to him like he’s about to die.

“We have to go, лунный свет. It’s a hideout, it’s for your own safety,” he briefly explains to you and he grabs your arm. His grip is perfect. Not too tight, but not too gentle. You can tell he’s scared, but you know he’ll never admit it. “I have to go fight, but I’ll be back for you. Do you know the Avengers? It’s– Argh– We don’t have enough time. But I’ll tell you all about it later, лунный свет.” James is all business and nothing else.

You’re worried, so worried. But you have hope, and you have faith, and you know everything will be okay in the end. “But you’ll stay safe, right, Jamie?” you question him. He doesn’t respond, the only thing coming from him are grunts of pain and puffs of determination. “Answer me, Jamie. Promise me you’ll stay safe,” you demand of him in a strong voice. Never in your life have you ever raised your voice like this, but when it comes to James’s safety, you no longer care.

“I promise, лунный свет, until the end of time.”

It’s still 2016, and your Jamie is going away.

He’s leaving this world, but it’s for himself. You hold back all the pleas, all the begging you have in your body because you know he wants this. He needs this. His train is going to depart soon, off to a faraway land. A cold one, to be exact. You feel tempted to remind him how much he hates the cold, but you choose to keep your mouth shut. You’ve learned a lot in the past few days, more than when you were in high school.

Steve, Jamie’s past, what HYDRA is, the Avengers, the types of evil in this world–– They’re all things you’ve learnt. Your Jamie isn’t a different person, he isn’t. He just has more to him now. You replay the horrific memories of the past days in your mind over and over, even though you hated them. You look through the glass doors, and ahead of you is James in all his beatific glory.

In front of him, though, is the Black Widow. You don’t know if she’s from Jamie’s past, but you know they have a connection. The way they speak to each other; low and soft, just like summer rain. It’s almost the same way you speak to Jamie, but it’s not quite like it. He smiles up at her, and you remember how much you love his side-profile. It’s envious, really. But then again, Jamie is perfect in your eyes, despite his horrors and his scars of his past.

Of Winter’s past.

Your Jamie and Winter have their similarities. You’d make a list, but it would go on forever. You keep your eyes trained on his face, one of your favourite things to look at. Dare you say, he looks at her like no other. You’ve never seen this look on his face. But then again, your Jamie is going away and maybe it’s that impending nervousness. She looks at you. Her green eyes –– ones that just encapture you in the best way possible –– lock with yours. You feel insecure, almost as though she’s judging you.

But one of Earth’s mightiest heroes would never do such a thing.

She’s judging you, you know. Probably thinks you’re some nobody, some pathetic little girl who can’t even defend herself.

“No, she isn’t,”

And how can you be so sure?

Right. How can you be so sure? You watch as she gives James –– your Jamie –– a pat on the shoulder. She walks out, through another door and you feel as though she did that just to avoid you. And honestly, you don’t blame her. You walk in, hesitatingly of course. Each step of yours is wary. Your old, beaten-up sneakers barely make a sound against the floor. Your Father always said you walked like a ballerina and spoke like a princess.

“H– Hi, Jamie,” you quietly greet him. He looks up, his eyebrows drawn together and his lips are puckered in thought. He gives you a small ‘hi,’ and you smile at him. “Are you hurt anywhere?” you ask him, taking his form in again. His cuts and wounds are all bandaged and healed up. You recall the marvel that is the explanation of how he heals so quickly. The super-soldier serum, curated by HYDRA just for Jamie.

“No, Shuri and Helen fixed me up. And now, they’re gonna fix my mind,” he tells you, all while letting out a light-hearted chuckle. You smile again, just to ease the tense a bit. But even you can’t fix it. “I may be back to my old self, but I’m a walking time bomb. I’m dangerous, and I need to heal. For the sake of myself, and others,” he tells you sadly. He looks up at you and he gives you a grin that isn’t his usual happy one.

Yours falls, and his follows. “It’ll only be a year, maybe even a few months. Everyone here is smarter than Tony Stark, they’ll probably figure it out,” he reassures you just like how he used to whenever you got worried. You nod, and it’s just a farce. You’re not sure if you hope he can see through your façade or not. He sighs and looks at the door. The same door that Natasha walked out of just a few mere moments ago.

You don’t look back. You don’t follow his gaze. Why waste your time on something that will hold no meaning in the future, when you have the love of your life in front of you? You tilt your beard and swallow, just the way your mother used to. At least that’s what your father told you. “I love you, Jamie. I’ll always love you, until the end of time,” you whisper to him.

“And— And I love you too, лунный свет.”

It’s 2017, and along with your Winter, they’ve taken James’s love for you.

You don’t blame them. You don’t hate them. They’ve helped James heal, help him be better (even though God has already curated such perfection). The past seven hundred and thirty and then some days have been painful. The past seventeen thousand, five hundred-twenty hours have been slower than ever. It’s not like you’ve been keeping count. No, but Friday has.

The team — the Avengers — don’t allow you to come with them on their trip to Wakanda. You expected it. Ever since Steve and Tony put their differences aside for the sake of the world, you knew you’d be shunned from the team. Wanda, Sam, and Rhodey have tried to be friends with you, but after a debriefing with Tony, they couldn’t even lock eyes with you.

Once again, you don’t blame them.

You stay locked in your room, and you don’t mind it. It’s nice. It is true that people really do look like ants from such a height. You know the glass is bulletproof, but it feels like it’s seconds away from breaking. You love seeing the rain patter against the glass, just like how you love to see the snow melt as soon as it touches the clear surface.

You wonder if they’ve cut his long hair. You love his locks. Strands of brown mixing, the occasional lighter brown strands standing out. You love the length of his hair, too. Reaching just at his shoulders, and even past them. You love the way it tickles your face, especially when he bends down to kiss you.

You love everything about him. You always have, and you always will.

Your room is small. You can’t handle big spaces — Friday tells Tony, and he scoffs. Truthfully, you’re content with anything. He could’ve given you a broom closet to live in, and you wouldn’t complain. But you like small spaces. Big spaces make you feel a bit overwhelmed. Stark Tower has many wonderments to it.

For example — the technology. If you don’t like the scenery of the concrete jungle, you can change it to the view from Tony’s vacation home in the Hamptons. You always did have the wish to travel the world. From the streets of France to the lovely waterfalls in the Philippines. But the thought of being high up in the sky, with the small chance of crashing. It may be one in five million, but you won’t take the risk.

Even air crafts have their faults and flaws. Like having only two or three backup plans, the bathrooms, the limited space, the fact that if you pay extra you get better treatment, and the food options. But everyone looks past these things and they’ve been reduced to small issues that just don’t really matter. As long as the big picture looks perfect, the small details don’t matter.

You wish you could see yourself that way. A beautiful person at first glance. Where your details –– your flaws –– don’t mean anything. Because as long as the big picture is perfect, the details don’t matter. But you’re a detail-oriented person and every single thing matters. Even the little things that nobody will see. If only you could see yourself the way both Jamie and Winter see you. They know you have flaws, like the way you don’t like listening to helpful advice sometimes.

“Ms… Mrs. Barnes?” Friday calls out. You look up to where the voice comes from. Up above you, and a little to the side is a speaker. It’s small, barely noticeable. “Y- Yes, Friday?” you ask her, setting down the old mirror that was once your grandmother’s. It has a few cracks, but they aren’t serious enough to mess with anyone’s reflection.

“The Quinjet with Ms. Maximoff, Mr. Stark, Mr. Wilson, Mr. Rogers, Ms. Romanoff, Mr. Vision, Mr. Rhodes and Mr. Barnes is arriving,” Friday tells you. You swallow thickly — nervously. You may have been preparing all week, but all that effort goes down the drain. Will he act differently? Will he be ecstatic to see you? You ask yourself all these questions, and the answers to them just seem to taunt you.

“Will you be waiting at the entrance for them?” She speaks up after a few beats of silence. You nod before you remember Friday doesn’t have eyes. She can see, but she can’t see. “I will, Friday. Thank you,” you tell her. You set down the mirror with its face on the top of your dresser. You look around and you can just feel as though there is something missing.

Truthfully, you aren’t used to your room. You miss the wooden walls that held scratches from the furniture. You miss the coziness the fireplace emanated. You miss the view of the hills covered in snow. You miss it all. This concrete jungle isn’t made for you — you aren’t made for it. You stand up and with short steps (intentionally short), and the feeling of marble underneath your feet instead of wood works up your nerves even more.

You can hear commotion –– more so people whisper shouting at each other. “God, Rogers, get a grip! You look and sound like an old lady worrying about her grandchildren,” Tony snaps at Steve, before calling out for Friday. “Friday?” he yells, shoving one of his hands into the pocket of his pants. “Yes, Mr. Stark?” she answers back.

“Is the room ready?” he asks her, and the rest of the Avengers take a seat in the living room. “Yes, Mr. Stark. Welcome to the Avengers Compound, Mr. Barnes. If you need any assistance, just call for me.” Friday’s voice is always lovely. She reminds you of an aunt who is always ready to take care of her relatives.

You don’t hear Jamie’s lovely voice and you’re worried. You can see some parts of the living room from your spot in the hallway. “Just try not to kill any innocent people, okay?” Tony sneers, earning a smack on the shoulder from Pepper. Pepper always seemed nice to you, but your encounters with her were usually a bit awkward and short-lived. Steve is ready to throw his shield at Tony and so do the rest of the Avengers who were on the Captain’s side.

“’S fine, Steve. I deserve it anyway,” Bucky whispers loud enough for you to hear. Your heart jumps for joy — your Jamie really is back. You take another step, carefully, of course. “You don’t deserve that… Are you okay, Buck? Do you need to lie down? Drink water? Fresh air?” Steve attacks your Jamie like a mother and you can see why they got along so well in the past.

“I’m fine, Steve. Really. I just want to take a tour of this… this place,” Bucky admits to Steve, and Tony just can’t pass up the chance to roll his eyes. Bucky turns his head around as he takes in the large room. The television was so huge, he feels as though he is at the cinema. He doesn’t turn all the way around, so you must deal with the sight of his back. His clothes are nothing like the clothes he used to wear back in Romania.

He looks like he just attended his own funeral.

“You sure, Buck?” Steve asks him for reassurance. Bucky nods and he thinks about how much he misses his goats. “Alright, but remember to call for Friday if you get lost.” Steve pats Bucky on the shoulder and Tony is the first to walk out of the room, as usual. Pepper follows him, knowing how Tony gets whenever he sees Bucky. “Can I see my room first?” Bucky quietly asks Steve, making sure nobody else hears.

“Of course, Buck. It’s upstairs, is that fine?” Somehow, Steve believes that Bucky has a fear of heights. Though Bucky fell from a great height back in 1940-something, he’s not scared of heights. He’s more terrified of the cold and of trains, especially ones that run between mountains.

“Everything is fine, Steve,” Bucky snaps, growing tired of his best friend’s constant worrying. Steve raises his hands in surrender and you can tell Bucky doesn’t like that. “Hi, Jamie,” you greet quietly. You immediately regret ever leaving your room as everyone whips their heads around to face you. Bucky’s lips fall open in a gasp.

“Doll,” Bucky whispers beneath his breath. You take in his face and he’s just as beautiful as ever, if not more. Wisps of his hair fall and frame his face. He has a slight five-day-old scruff, one that is clean but also slightly messy. You remember the way you would sit in his lap, razor in hand, as you clean up the edges of Bucky’s beard.

He pushes past Sam, past Wanda, past everyone — hell, even past Steve who doesn't take the shove lightly. He nearly trips over the white couch that stands in the way. He comes up close to you, and you look up at him. You watch his eyes — but you don’t look into them. For some reason, you can’t seem to lock eyes with him. “Oh, my doll… I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers softly as he cups your face with his murder-scarred hands.

“Jamie…” You easily mimic his look of shock with a mix of adoration. You’re not sure how you ever said goodbye to the man in front of you — no, the man he used to be.

Now, he’s different. He’s not your Winter, your Winter is gone. They’ve taken him from you, and if it weren’t for the circumstances, then you would’ve fought them until the last tooth and nail. “I’m back, Doll, and ‘m all yours,” he whispers, bringing your face forward to his. You close your eyes and you think he’s going in for a kiss, but he stops when his lips are inches from yours.

“But I need to get better first, Doll. I need to get used to everything, is that all right?” He asks even though he should already know the answer. Right? You don’t know what they did to your Jamie. The rushed explanation filled with words you don’t understand only left you a confused mess. “Of course, Jamie. ‘Until the end of time,’ remember?” You whisper back.

He keeps quiet.

It’s still 2018, and you’re at an impasse.

You loathe impasses. You may persevere every now and then, but impasses just seem to love you. The saying, “you attract what you fear,” is terrifyingly true. You’re scared of impasses. You know they love to knock you down and kick you until you’re sputtering with blood leaking from the corners of your mouth that rarely ever turn up anymore. But they still occur.

It’s been a year and five months since Bucky came home, and each passing day has its difficulties. Whether it be nightmares, panic attacks or intrusive thoughts. But you’ve been there with him for every step. When he didn’t want to go to therapy alone, you went with him. When he couldn’t sleep after a rather gruesome nightmare, you told him some childhood stories. It feels like nothing has changed, truly.

But Jamie isn’t Jamie — and you don’t know what to do. “Jamie, do you want anything to eat?” You ask him, holding a plate of pancakes you whipped up once you knew nobody would be in the kitchen area. “Is– are those pancakes?” He asks you, turning around from his desk. You nod and look down at the impressive stack. Dr. Cho told you to make sure Bucky continues to eat. Sitting on the small table next to you – the ottoman – is a cup of steaming hot tea.

It’s not orange pekoe, it’s earl grey, Your father loathed it, saying that it’s meant for the elderly even though he had a head full of greys and aching joints. You’d laugh him off, but then pour him a cup of green tea. “Yes, some of them have blueberries,” you tell him, stretching your full arms out at him. You see that look of contemplation in his eyes again. “Would you like to eat with me?” You ask, knowing how he can get when those thoughts pester him.

“Of course, I’m all but a gentleman,” he jokes, and you give him a smile. “That you are, especially when it comes to the ladies,” you add, and he blushes. Bucky looks down and tries to hide the shy smile from you, and you allow him to do so. It’s not like you haven’t memorized every bit of Jamie, even down to the small things. “Is there any syrup? I’ve been craving sweets all morning.” Bucky grabs the second plate and he almost hesitates in grabbing a few pancakes.

You turn back around to get the tea, knowing that Bucky wouldn’t feel as embarrassed with taking food. “Here’s some tea, you don’t have to drink it, though.” You set the filled China cup on the glass table and the clink it gives lasts for a split second. “Remember when we would buy about three boxes of orange pekoe tea? Even though it wasn’t the best — especially since it was for so cheap — we’d still drink it like it was water,” you reminisce to him out loud as you take a pancake off of the stack.

There’s silence, and you swallow thickly. “It’s okay if you don’t remember, Jamie, I myself forget a lot of memories too,” you quickly reassure him, fanning the flames before they could even start to burn. “No, it’s not okay… I’m sorry,” he apologizes, gripping the specially made fork tightly. He hates it. It makes him feel like some sort of danger. Someone that breaks people and things so easily.

“Don’t be sorry, Jamie, or else I’m going to have to start apologizing for things that aren’t my fault,” you threaten him, and he cracks a smile. “Alright, only because I know you’re going to become annoying.” He grabs the syrup and drowns his pancakes with sticky delightfulness. “Yeah…” Your voice is all but monotonous with a hint of sadness.

He probably thinks you’re already annoying, you follow him around all the time… Do you ever let him do other things? Without you? Like hanging out with friends, healing on his own, cooking his own food… You’re so clingy.

“Shut up.”

You only want me to shut up because you know I’m right.

“What are you doing today?” you suddenly ask him. You haven’t dug into your pancakes yet, so you stare at the food in front of you with a strong glare. “Uh, well I’m not sure,” Bucky admits, and you only then realize how much you’ve held him back. “You should hang out with Sam, or Steve, or maybe even accompany Banner in the lab,” you suggest to him, looking at his plate. It’s nearly clean, with some streaks of syrups and a few occasional crumbs.

“Sam’s busy training with Steve, and I know Banner works best without someone hovering over him like a hawk — well, more so a raven. I’ll probably just hang out with ‘Talia, she’s been of great help with my healing.” Bucky takes the tea from your side and slowly sips it. “‘Talia?” you ask him. The name doesn’t ring a bell, but you’re sure that it’s a nickname. “Natasha, she went through something similar as me, so I’m hoping she can give me some advice,” he clarifies quickly.

“Oh, that’ll be great for you,” you exclaim to him. “I know… You don’t mind, do you?” he asks with one of his eyebrows raised. He’s never done that before. “Never. Go enjoy yourself, Jamie,” you urge in a soft voice, looking at him from the brim of his teacup. The sight reminds you of when you first moved away from the city.

The sun was rising in the distance. A few clouds shrewd over the lovely sight, but the yellows and oranges were stronger than the greys. From over the horizon, the sun made its way up to the sky. You watched from the porch with a blanket wrapped around your body. You miss those simpler days.

The ones where the only problems you had were the cold weather and the homework your father had given you. Sheets of paper sat on the table in the living room, with your multiplication tables written on them. Your sevens and eights always messed you up, but your father knew you could do it.

“Do you have any plans for today?” He questions, staring into the half-full cup. “I might go to that huge library Tony has, one of the agents was saying they have these seats called ‘bean bags,’ isn’t that funny?” You let out a harmless giggle, one of those small ones a protagonist would have that would make their love interest swoon. “I’ve sat on one. Not very nice. Natasha and I are the only ones on the team who hates them,” Bucky says as his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek.

The other day, you caught him with a mouthful of blood. It wasn’t from a punch in the face or a knife in the guts.

“Oh, maybe I’ll join you two,” you playfully tell him, wiggling your eyebrows to the best of your abilities. Bucky just stares at you, a small glint of humour in his eyes but it slowly disappears and your smile goes away along with it. “Hm.” He downs the rest of his tea and you wonder how he isn’t wincing with pain from the heat. Oh, right, he’s a super-soldier.

Bucky begins to stand up and moves to take the dishes to the kitchen but you quickly stop him. “It’s alright, I can take it,” you reassure him. Without realizing it, your hand strokes the wrist of his bionic arm. You look up at him and smile, instinctively giving him that look you used to give Winter. Bucky hesitatingly shrinks away from you, and your smile drops. Nononono– Too much…

He smiles and walks out the door, not even sparing you one of those lovely second glances. Sighing, you settle the plates upon each other and the tension leaves the room behind him. You’re careful to avoid the syrup on one of the plates. The feeling of stickiness against your dry, cold hands will be unpleasant.

The thought of it has you shivering. A small electric shock climbs up your spine and you’re glad that nobody is there to watch you shake it off. You carefully pluck the fork from Bucky’s plate and place it next to yours. “Hey, Friday?” you call out into the empty room. “Yes, Mrs. Barnes?” she answers, ready to be at your service.

“What books are there in the library?”

It’s been around 92 days since Jamie told you about him and Natasha, and you can feel reality slip through your fingers.

Bubbles of giggle erupt from the common room. Never in your life would you ever have called a living room the common room, but words always seem to stick. Just like the syrup on these plates that just don’t seem to go away. You don’t mind cleaning up after the heroes. You’re glad.

You have something to occupy yourself with, or else there’d be holes in the floor for your incessant pacing. You run semi-lukewarm water over the plates, hoping the dried syrup would melt. You recall the way your father would terrify you into loathing sweets. He’d show you the way syrup would ‘harden underwater’, and he’d tell you that’s what occurs in your blood.

It’s too bad that a few days later, you learned that blood is thicker than water and the world is filled with nothing but lies. It’s scary, really; trusting someone with your whole life while they toy you around like seeing you be oblivious is a pass time.

Your hands warm up under the water and suddenly you wish you hadn’t left your bed this morning. “Bucky, stop, my face is all red,” Natasha demands through her laughs, and James snorts. “So? I like seeing you red, it’s my favourite colour,” he retorts and Natasha rolls her eyes.

You can’t see the playful, friendly banter, but you can hear it. It makes you smile. You love knowing Jamie is having fun, he deserves it. “Hey, you,” Sam greets, walking into the kitchen. “H- hi, do you need anything?” you ask him, halting your movements.

“No, just got done training those new recruits and I’m already fed up,” he complains and you giggle. You know Sam is being light-hearted, so you don’t take his words too heavily. “Well, a busy man like you needs a big breakfast. There are some pancakes over there, help yourself.”

You wait until he busies himself so that you can continue to wash this plate. You look at it — it’s covered in a mix of suds, syrup and water. You notice there’s a small chip on the edge of the plate and you can’t help but wonder where the piece went. If it were a piece of clothing, you would accuse the washing machine. But it isn’t, so you suppose it just went missing.

You place the plate back in the sink and sigh, before grabbing a sponge. The colours always confuse you. How can two contrasting colours go so well together? It’s beyond you, truly. Maybe your grandmother would’ve known, she always did know a little bit about everything.

Maybe she’d know what’s wrong with you.

You don’t say anything, knowing that you might weird Sam out. You roughly scrub the syrup off and it’s a bit too joyful to see it all gone. “Hey, Sammie,” Natasha chirps, patting her fellow teammate on the shoulder. You halt your movements. “Hey, Nat. Are you doing anything today?” Sam asks her, his eyes following her.

“Other than hanging out with Bucky, no, not really.” She tells him. She stands right next to you, a little too close for your personal liking. She opens up the cupboard and you continue to wash the dishes. You ask yourself if she’s watching you, or if she’s judging you.

Looking up, you accidentally make eye contact with her. You quickly look away and you’re not sure if she does the same. “‘Scuse me,” she whispers, stretching over to the cupboard on the other side. You stare straight at the sink, but your eyes fail to miss the locket that hangs from her neck. It’s slightly opened, and it’s absolutely gorgeous. The gold is slightly aged, perhaps a gift from when she was younger. Or maybe she got it recently, and a battle in the fields damaged it slightly.

On the outside of the locket is an engraving. You squint your eyes to read it, as the shaking from her movements messes up the text. “Until the end of time…” You read in your mind, and you drop the plate in the sink. Everyone in the room flinches and Natasha steps away. Sam stops eating and you’re utterly embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you quickly apologize, picking up the plate. It’s not broken at all, but you still feel so guilty.

Natasha looks at you for a brief moment and you look back at her. She darts her eyes to your still hands. If she focuses just a bit more, she could see the way they shake. You look at the locket one more time, trying to see the inside of it. You need to know who’s a photograph she cherishes. You need to know who she cherishes in her heart, until the end of time.

The black and white photo of Jamie moments before he was shipped out reveals itself, and your heart drops.

“Friday?” you call out, setting your book down onto the bed. You place your makeshift bookmark –– a polaroid of Bucky — into the page. “Yes, Mrs. Barnes?” she answers. “Isn’t it a good thing that Jamie is socializing with his teammates?” you ask her, sounding like a worried mother. “It is. It’s just what the doctor prescribed,” she jokes, adding a mechanical laugh to her words. “Well, more so his psychiatrist. Dr. Cho is the doctor he gets his medication from. And his psychiatrist suggested socializing,” she clarifies.

You wonder if she’s against the joke mechanism Tony added to her system.

You laugh, just to ease the tension but it doesn’t do anything since she’s an A.I and you’re the only person in the room. “Thank you for laughing, Mrs. Barnes,” she graciously says as much as she can. “If it’s a good thing, then why do I feel so…?” You trail off because you don’t know any words to describe the emotion you’re feeling. “Anxious?” she completes, and you sigh. “Yes, anxious,” you admit.

“The other day, I was washing the dishes. I could hear James and Natasha laughing. Jamie’s laugh was music to my ears. It was like that song you hear on the radio occasionally, you know? But he doesn’t laugh like that with me, he doesn’t laugh like that with anyone else,” you solemnly tell her. “He spends so much time with Natasha — and usually I wouldn’t mind, I wouldn’t even bat an eye — but it just makes me anxious, Friday.”

Your voice is filled with concern, and Friday herself has never heard you so worried. “She… She had a locket. It was gold and heart-shaped. It had a very special phrase engraved on it, and the picture inside is Jamie.” You swallow thickly as even you can’t fathom the words that are falling past your lips. “I held back from telling you this, but Ms. Romanoff and Mr. Barnes had a past together,” Friday admits.

“Pardon?” you ask incredulously. “Back in Hydra, Mr. Barnes trained Ms. Romanoff. They had secret romantic rendezvous and were in love. Then, when the Red Room and Hydra found out, they were separated,” Friday tells you. “It’s probably why they’re so close, Mrs. Barnes. She’s his most recent relationship before you,” Friday reasons to you. It makes sense, it makes so much sense. “Should I be worried, Friday?” you ask her, smoothing your hands over the sheets that you lay atop of.

“No, Mrs. Barnes. Would you like to know why?” she asks you. “Yes, please,” you whisper, looking down at your hands. They’re sweaty, yet so cold. “Because that was in the past, Mrs. Barnes. Mr. Barnes is in love with you, he’ll love you until the end of time,” Friday sweetly tells you. You smile and then dip your head. Bucky loves you just as much as you love him.

It’s been a month since the talk you and Friday had, and you’re starting to doubt her words.

You lie awake in your bed. Caffeine-provided adrenaline pumps through your veins. This isn’t the first time you’ve stared up at the ceilings since you’ve arrived. Ever since Sam made you a cup of coffee from the new machine Stark bought, the bags under your eyes have gotten worse. You warned Bucky about it and he laughed. Just not as hard as you wanted him to. At least he heeded your advice.

Bucky lays asleep next to you. He lays on his right side, even though laying on his left side would make more sense. Bucky always gets better sleep when he lays on his left. You crack your knuckles quietly, even though you can’t wake him up. He used to be such a light sleeper, only because of the vivid nightmares he would get. You hate when he would get his nightmares. The terrifying images that taunt him would always cause him to have a panic attack.

It’s been over a few months since his last nightmare.

You want to turn on your side so badly–– and you can. But your mind can’t help but make you wonder if he’ll wake up. You look to your side when you hear a snore escaping Bucky’s mouth. You let out a coo, even though you used to think snoring was annoying. Your father’s snores would always bother you. You used to joke and say that one night, he’ll wake the sun up.

You gently turn on your left side and a small part of you hopes he’ll do the same. Maybe then you’ll get some warm cuddles to make your sleep. You shut your eyes because the city lights are far too bright at night. The sheer curtains obviously can’t hide New York’s bustling and liveliness. You slow your breathing down and relax your body. Hopefully, sleep can come to you soon.

Next to you lies Bucky. He’s quite literally in dreamland and he doesn’t want to ever wake up. Everything is so realistic, almost as though he’s living another life when his eyes are closed. He has a smile on his face, one that can charm almost anyone. The last time he had a dream like this wasn’t back in the forties — no. It was last night, and now sleeping is a lot better for Bucky.

Natasha giggles, loudly. It’s a cacophony of different sounds. It’s not fake, like the ones you hear on television. It’s real. It’s so vividly real that it makes his heart swell loudly. He looks to her first, making sure she’s enjoying herself before facing the judging stares from Tony and Rhodey.

His hand is intertwined with hers. He rubs his thumb on her skin and he knows what’s running through her mind. She shoots him a look, one that he chooses to ignore. He gives her a smirk and then brings her hand up to his face. He closes his eyes and presses a kiss on the diamond ring she wears.

The scenery changes.

It’s some time in 1992, and he’s holding onto her tightly. She’s asleep, with her locks of auburn hair spread out against the floor. She lays on his chest, and he makes sure she’s comfortable enough with him. Sure, his spine may ache and his under-eye bags may have deepened but he doesn't care.

“Natalia?” he whispers, checking to see if she’s asleep.

She’s knocked out cold and he’s glad. After what he just put her through, he doesn’t blame her. Hours upon hours of what they both like to call ‘training’ has her sleeping like a baby. He chuckles, and he hopes the rumbles in his chest don’t wake her up.

“Hi, Winter,” she hums, rousing from her sleep.

He curses and she giggles. Natalia rubs the tiredness from her eyes and she stretches as much as her body allows her to. “How long until they come?” she asks him. He looks to the make-shift alarm he stole from a mission and sees an hour marked on it. “One hour, Natalia,” he says.

She hums in delight. “Do you think this one hour will take a while? Or will it go by as fast as light?” she questions. Her accent is heavy, but it’s so beautiful. “Fast. Time well-spent goes by fast,” he tells her. “And how do you know this will be time well-spent?” she looks up at him.

“Time spent with you, is always time well-spent, Natalia.”

You hold your breath. Bucky mumbles sweet nothings to Natalia — Natasha. You want to cry so badly but then again, you don’t want to wake Jamie up from his dark paradise. You try to tell yourself it’s just a dream, that everything will be okay and that there’s nothing to be worried about. But even your thoughts fail to reassure you about the man lying next to you. You don’t know whether you should wake him up, so you bite down on your bottom lip and hope that this whole thing is just a dream.

“Did you sleep well, Jamie?” you ask him, folding his laundry for him. He looks up from the book he’s buried in and nods. “Amazingly, I’m so glad I can finally get some shut-eye now,” he tells you. You hum and Bucky looks at you. “Is everything alright?” he asks. “Yeah. Just peachy,” you say. He mumbles a quick okay and goes back to reading his book.

Jamie has a wonderful attention span, so there’s no reason for him to be stuck on the same page for around ten minutes. You have an idea as to what’s on his mind. Well, more so who. Natasha. “Any weird dreams?” you ask him after a few seconds. This time, you’re pairing up Bucky’s socks. “N– No, I don’t think I dreamt of anything.” He lies through his teeth and you know this because he has a tell.

Whenever he lies, he stares out into the distance. It’s usually to your right, but that doesn’t matter.

“But that’s good, right? No more nightmares.” You hold a pendant in your hand and it’s not yours because you broke your necklace a few days ago.

“That’s true,” he dryly agrees. It has the letter ‘N’ written on it. It seems like it’s new, unlike Natasha’s locket. You place it on the dresser softly. “You know, everything has a meaning. Nightmares, dreams, even dreamless nights,” you start. “I know, some are worse than others, though,” he follows. “Sometimes, nightmares mean change,” you continue.

He nods, but you don’t see it. “When you dream, it might be that you have some wishes or conflicts that have been suppressed,” you sweetly tell him. Bucky looks at you, but your back faces him. “And even not dreaming means something. When you don’t dream, it might mean that your mind is free of all the bad things,” you roughly shut the filled up drawer and Bucky squeezes his eyes shut at the loud sound.

“Sorry…” you sheepishly apologize. “S’ alright,” he smiles. “Well, my burning question relates to that, I guess,” you admit. He raises an eyebrow and you turn around. Your fingers tap against the oak wood of the dresser. Sweat that has built up for the past morning or so leaving an imprint of your fingers on the wood. “Do… Do you remember when you used to call me ‘moonlight’?” you ask nervously.

Bucky pauses whenever small movements he was making and you make direct eye contact with him. You look away immediately, though. “A– As a nickname?” he asks. “Yeah… You’d say it in Russian. There was beautiful reasoning and meaning behind it…” you explain to him. Your voice carries more hope than anything. He stays silent and you shakily exhale.

You know exactly how to pronounce it. “лунный свет.” You look up at him. “I… What was the meaning?” he asks. “I– I have it written down. Just wait, don’t go.” You move towards the bed and reach underneath your mattress. Your father would always hide things like that. Sometimes, you’d catch him placing your works of finger-painting underneath the bed.

You lift it and retrieve your little notebooks. It’s not much, but it’s something. You flip to the page that you wrote on two years ago. You smile once you reach it and turn back around. Jamie hasn’t left. “This page. I wrote it down when you left to go to the market. I remembered each word and I still do,” you cheerfully tell him. He smiles up at you and you hand him the book.

You’re just like moonlight. You’re wise, the brightest of them all. No matter how small you make yourself, you always manage to make everyone marvel at your beauty. You’re mysterious, always a surprise, but only for some. Your aura– your brightness, it never ceases to amaze people. It helps me through the darkest times. The world needs you, I need you.

The words are beautifully written. They’re traced over in black pen and even have little stars scribbled around them. “I said this?” he asks, in an almost incredulous tone. “Yeah, word for word,” you assure him. “This is really sweet, and I probably said this, but I don’t remember calling you moonlight, Doll. I’m sorry…” He sadly admits to you. Your heart drops, but it’s alright. He may not remember it, but you do. Maybe one day he will.

“It’s okay, don’t apologize,” you tell him in a sad tone. You take the notebook back from him and place it underneath the mattress. Jamie watches you as you do so. “Are you sure?” he asks on more time, just to be sure. “I’m sure. Dr. Cho and the others said this is normal, Jamie,” you assure him. “Alright.”

Everything is alright. Everything was alright. Everything will be alright.

You carry the laundry basket against your waist and you can’t lie and say you didn’t just bury your hands between the clothes as soon as they came out of the dryer. The common room is mostly empty. Wanda and Clint are out on a mission. Tony, Rhodey and Pepper are on a trip. Steve and Sam are training recruits. Vision and Bruce are in Dr. Cho’s lab. You assume Natasha is in her room and James is in yours.

But even assumptions can be wrong.

You hear that laugh that’s as soft as summer’s rain — Natasha’s laugh. It’s beautiful, just like her. But you can’t compare her beauty to anything, it’s beyond that. You walk up to the room where you can hear her, and pear through the small crevice the door has. She looks at Bucky with those emerald green eyes of hers. In them is absolute love and adoration.

“лунный свет, you look so pretty when you laugh,” Bucky tells her. She smiles and blushes, before giggling again. “You’re too sweet, Buck,” she whispers. Bucky grabs a hold of her hand, and his thumb rubs against her ivory skin. “Can never be too sweet when it comes to you, лунный свет,” he counters.

Your heart cracks, especially at the seams.

It’s been a week since Jamie called Natasha “лунный свет,” and you’re determined to get him back.

She must know she can have anyone she wants, but you can never love again. Not without him. That’s why you’re wearing a dress you borrowed from Wanda. You bite your red-stained nails nervously. It’s an improvement since your last date night with Jamie. Last time, you both shared a box of macarons that he stole from the grocery store. Underneath the moonlight, he once again professed his love for you. But this time, he gave you his dog tags to wear.

You have them on. They clink with your each and every movement but you don’t mind the sound at all. You spread a blanket onto the wooden floor. It has some similarities to the two sleeping bags you used back then. They were similar colours and took up the same amount of space. You throw some pillows on top, arranging them in a circle. The record player in the corner plays “‘Till the End of Time” by Perry Como.

You hum along to the melody of the song. You remember when Jamie said it was one of his favourites. You jumped in joy because it’s also one of your favourites. You carefully light the candles that are scattered around the room. Friday is already on alert in case one of the flames gets a little too big. You open the box of macarons and place them inside the little circle you have going on.

You set down other food items — such as croissants and a charcuterie board. It was all for cheap, mostly due to the bargaining you did with the old lady at the store. As soon as you dropped the words “date night’, she immediately went with whatever you had to offer. You turn back around and try to search for the scrapbook you have been making for the past two years. You always saved it for something, but that something doesn’t seem to be in your future.

“Where are you, little book?” you ask out loud. Your voice is in a sing-song melody, just like how your father would have his. You search around the dresser. You check in the drawers and the jewelry box but you can’t seem to find it. You decide to check the desk, because if it’s not here then it has to be there. You scan the top of the desk but don't find anything.

Carefully, you grasp the golden handle of one of the drawers and pull it open. The drawer glides easily, and if your father were here, he would’ve marvelled. You don’t find it, so you lift some stray sheets of paper. “Please be here…” You beg out loud. But it doesn’t turn up, and you pout like a little child. You drop the sheets of paper, but something grazes against your finger.

If you weren’t so out of it, you’d probably squeal in fear. Twine that’s pulled at the ends tickles you and you giggle. Your eyes follow to where it comes from, and you find a sealed envelope. You frown out of pure, ingenue curiosity. You pick it up and spin it around in your hands. It’s a beige envelope, one of the many you gifted Bucky on Valentine’s Day.

The twine wraps around it with no useful purpose. Only for the aesthetics. On the back has your name, written in cursive scrawl that belongs to one James Buchanan Barnes. You turn it back around, and carefully open it. Your father taught you that there’s a specific trick for opening envelopes. It was one of the many secrets your family had. And by family, you mean Jamie, your father and your grandmother.

It may not be much, but it’s more than enough.

Inside is a letter. More of Jamie’s handwriting fills your view and you don’t mind it at all. You pull the letter out and unfold it. You start to read it, only taking in the way his handwriting looks. You sit down on his chair and your eyes take in each word.

Dear лунный свет,

I’m sorry. From the bottom of my heart, I’m sorry. You can hate me, you can be disgusted with me. You can do whatever you want. But promise me, you won’t let what I’m about to say hurt you. I’m in love with Natasha. I’ve fallen out of love with you and listen, it’s not your fault. How can it be your fault? You’re perfect. Absolutely perfect.

But I’m in love with Natasha. I have been for the past year or so. When I saw her again two years ago, something inside me happened. I got butterflies, as stupid as it sounds. She’s everything I want, everything I need. We go way back, and she knows me like the back of her hand. I’m sorry, лунный свет. I am so fucking sorry. I know writing this letter isn’t the best way to do this, but I feel the need to do so.

Love,

James Buchanan Barnes.

You can die right here, right now. You wonder if this is some kind of sick joke Bucky is playing on you, but after sitting there for a few more minutes, you realize it isn’t. Suddenly, the candles burning around you are pointless and so is your entire being of existence. You sit there, stupefied and filled with hurt. You let the letter fall into your lap and slip down to the floor, where it meets the wood with no sound.

The record scratches but you don’t even wince. Now, the voice of Perry Como is all warped and haunted. You hate it. You hate everything. You shut your eyes and sigh quite loudly. She took Jamie from you — your Jamie. Your throat tightens up and you feel like time slows down. You break down, the dam crashing down as the water flows at high pressure. It’s all so much at once. Tears leak from your eyes and drip down to the desk.

You hang your head, almost in shame.

Why are you crying? This was bound to happen.

“Can you just shut up for once?” you cry out.

“Mrs. Barnes, is everything alright?” Friday asks. “Yes, Friday. Do you mind leaving me alone, please?” you politely request. Your voice nearly cracks from the tears. “Of course, Mrs. Barnes,” she says, before dinging away. Mrs. Barnes… You’re not Mrs. Barnes, were you ever? She was always Mrs. Barnes, and she always will be. You let out a choked cough, one that uses all the strength in your body that isn’t destined for your crying.

You look down to the opened drawer and then to the letter on the floor. A groan escapes past your lips. It’s one of pure hurt and pain. You can feel your heart shattering into pieces. Each shard cuts your insides and you struggle to calmly breathe. You grab a sheet of paper from the drawer and pluck the pen that lies on the desk. You take a deep breath and begin to write your heart out.

Natasha,

Please, please don’t do this. I know you may be in love with him (which is the best feeling ever, I know), but please don’t take him just because you can. I also know that nobody can control their feelings. But even love disappears one day, right?

You could have your choice of man, Natasha. But I don’t think I can ever love again. Not without him. If only you could see the way Steve, Sam and Bruce look at you. You can have any of them, so why did you choose Bucky? Why are you taking my Jamie from me?

He dreams about you. He calls your name in his sleep. He calls you moonlight and I’m sure you don’t know the true meaning of it. But if you ask, he’ll probably tell you. This is coming off as rude — I know. It’s not what I want but I want you to ask you one thing only.

Please don’t take him, even though you can.

You scribble your name at the bottom of the page. A tear drops from your eyes and soaks into the paper. You re-read each sentence, and with every word, you hate yourself even more. You throw the pen at the wall, not caring that it breaks at the impact.

You want to send it to her so badly, but your father always told you to never fight fire with fire. Would she even listen to you? Probably not, so why try? Jamie isn’t coming back because Jamie doesn’t love you, he hasn’t for a while. You look away from the letter and to the candles that decorate the room.

You’re so foolish, thinking Jamie could ever love you. He did once, but this isn’t your Jamie. Your Jamie is gone and so is his love for you.

You fold the letter up until you’re satisfied. One end slightly overlaps the other but even the smallest things that would usually bother you doesn’t matter now. Nothing does. You bring the letter to the burning candle and let it light on fire. Along with the paper goes your instinct to fight for the love of your life.

You can never love again. Not without him.

[bubblesuga]

Young, Dumb, & Broke

Summary: It doesn't take you long to realize that materialistic possessions aren't what makes a home. Yoongi is your home, wherever he is, you're happy. genre: fluff, smut word count: 2,415 tags: strugglingproducer!yoongi, established relationship A/N: this isn't written with the intent of romanticizing poverty but rather feeling comfortable and thankful for what you do have. As someone who lives in the lower middle class, I've slid my own experiences subtly into this fic. Hope y'all enjoy it:)

There's an art to Yoongi when he's working.

He's...ethereal. Insanely concentrated, like the rest of the world doesn't exist. His eyes and ears are only trained in on the old laptop he bought from a pawn shop for 50 dollars in 2016. It still runs well, after some incredibly tedious upgrades, he managed to make all his programs run smoothly, and has continued to for the last five years. He calls it his baby, 'like a project car, but more useful'.

It's a dewy morning, Yoongi's cup of coffee steaming on the ledge of your shared studio apartment's window. The window doesn't open all the way, only enough to fit the small swamp cooler that you found at a yard sale for cheap. It's an oldie, but it works and that's all that matters.

Though standing in the doorway of your bathroom and looking out into the humble life you've began sounds like a gorgeous day, you can tell Yoongi has noticed you staring by the way he slips his ear phone out of his left ear.

"I made you coffee," Yoongi says, not looking away from his laptop, "we ran out of that creamer shit you like so I put milk and sugar. I hope that's okay."

"That's perfect, baby." a small smile stretches across your face.

You met Yoongi nearly 15 years ago to the day. He went to an all boys school about a mile and a half away from yours (you only know that because you timed the trip each time you went to visit him, thinking that somehow you could make it faster), and it was him who took an immediate interest.

When he first spotted you, your friend had dragged you along to the neighborhood boys' usual basketball game. It was on a tacky green court and the nets were hanging onto the hoops by a thread but none of the boys minded. They all played, and yelled, and cheered, and you were incredibly endeared even at 13 years old. Yoongi noticed you in the group of girls that usually watched him and his friends play, and he didn't stop. His eyes kept glancing to you every chance he got.

Needless to say, your eyes never left him either.

It wasn't until long after school did you and Yoongi really talk. He was working as a waiter in one of his friends' bars. You really only found yourself there after an incredibly long study session in your second year of college. Hoping for a nice drink and some shitty bar food to distract you from the impending doom that is finals season, you instead ended up with Yoongi resting on your chest the next morning on the twin bed in your dorm room. You still remember the soft snores leaving his mouth, and the way he whispered 'good morning' like he had done it to you so many times before. Like his lips had always been yours, like his hand always rested in the crook of your neck, drawing small, comforting circles below the hickeys he bestowed upon you.

Your parents showing up for a surprise visit while he laid against your naked chest was also pretty memorable but definitely not for the same reasons.

"What are you staring at?"

Yoongi's voice breaks your thoughts, his words drifting through your consciousness and gripping your attention.

"Was I staring?"

You had been so preoccupied with your memories that you didn't remember moving across the room and sipping your coffee quietly next to Yoongi. You were staring, but it's hard not to when it's him.

He chuckles for a second, his eyes brightening when they meet yours, "Yeah. You got that crazy look in your eye that you get when your mind won't stop," he closes his laptop, "which begs the question of what exactly is going through that pretty little head of yours."

"Well," you shrug, this won't be new information, "you."

"Ah," he sets his laptop on the chair beside the bed, "as you are on mine, my darling."

"Oh?" you cock your head to the side, "what are you thinking about specifically?" Curiosity always gets the better of you in these situations.

"Hm," god, even the way he hums makes you feel insatiable, "you first."

Rolling your eyes, you sip your coffee again, "I was thinking about how we ended up here."

Yoongi furrows his eyebrows, "I- in like a bad way? Listen baby, I'm working hard. We're going to get out of here soon, I pro-"

"No, no," you giggle, "you know I don't care where we sleep at night as long as you're there. I was thinking about how we ended up in each other's lives. Just by chance."

"Oh," Yoongi seems delighted, "that's much cleaner than what I was thinking about."

Raising an eyebrow, you don't have to verbally ask your question. Yoongi smirks, leaning to your ear and pulling you close, "I was thinking about how good you were for me last night."

Sure, the butterflies swarming your stomach was enough to last you a lifetime, but that didn't stop you from smacking Yoongi's chest lightly. He laughs, "Can you blame me?"

Yoongi's eyes travel over the bare skin of your thigh and you can feel your breathing pick up.

Yoongi has the incredible ability to make you feel secure in every aspect of your life. Even on the darkest of days, where the simple image of your body in the bathroom mirror makes you want to crawl into a cave and never return to society, Yoongi grabs your hand and yanks you out of the seemingly eternal abyss. It's his super power, whether you're dressed up or dressed down or naked, he manages to always worship your body, mind, and soul. You've never felt more loved than now, with him.

His hand brushes against your skin, causing you to swallow. Despite having been intimate with him hundreds of times, he still manages to steal your breath away.

"I guess I can't blame you," you smirk, grabbing his hand and moving it up to your chest, "I am pretty hot."

Yoongi grins, kneading your breast gently in his hand, "There's my good girl."

Finally, he leans forward and kisses you. His tongue tastes of black coffee, a stark contrast to the sweetness on your tongue moments before. His lips are warm, his teeth peaking through every once in a while to nibble softly at your bottom lip. He smiles into the kiss, a low moan falling from the bottom of his throat.

He hums softly, "The things you do to me, darling."

The words ignite a fire in your abdomen, unintended encouragement on his part pushing you over the edge. You're always okay with just a small make out session but now you need him. You need to please him, to hear him whimper beneath you.

You pull away and begin to pull your hair away from your face, "Let me suck your dick."

Yoongi's eyes go wide, "You never cease to amaze me."

"Chop chop, music boy."

Yoongi shakes his head, lifting his hips and allowing you to pull the old basketball shorts off of his body. You move slow, watching as his dick twitches while the hem of his shorts brush against the base. Your mouth begins to water, anticipating the faded out look in Yoongi's eyes that was to follow soon.

Finally, you completely discard the shorts from his body and watch as his dick slaps against his abdomen. He gasps when you grip the base of it, squeezing softly then stroking up and down. His usual calm and collected self disappears the instant that your lips wrap around him. "Oh, fuck."

Your tongue swipes just beneath the head of his cock, his most sensitive area. He inhales, tossing his head back.

The power you feel over Yoongi in this position is intoxicating. Though the basis of your suggestion was to please him, you can feel yourself growing more and more wet as you watch Yoongi. A thin layer of sweat has collected across his forehead, his hair sticking to it. There's redness over the tops of his cheekbones, and his eyes are completely blown out while the watch you.

He reaches forward, tenderly touching your cheek. Though stuffed full of his cock, saliva dripping down and you gasping for air, Yoongi still thinks you are the most gorgeous girl in the world and you can feel that love radiating off of him.

"Pretty girl," he moans, his chest heaving, "always so pretty for me. Do you like sucking my cock?"

There goes that power you thought you had over him.

Instantly, you're soaked. You moan around him, feeling the vein crawling up the side of his dick pulsate in your mouth. He has always had such a dirty mouth.

"Answer me," He tugs at your hair, pulling you completely off of him and making you look in his eyes. He smirks, tilting his head as he takes in your swollen lips and watering eyes, "gorgeous."

"I love it," you breathe, giggling as you watch his hips flex from the way you stroke him, "I love watching you squirm."

"Yeah? Now its your turn."

Without warning, Yoongi pulls himself up and pushes you backward. You let out a squeal, your head falling onto the pillows and the bed squeaking as Yoongi straddles your thighs. He's warm above you, undressing you hurriedly but not missing the chance to massage you on your bare skin. Drawing his rough hands down your abdomen, he stops at your hip bones and spreads your legs apart.

He doesn't give you time to be embarrassed of how wet you are, because his fingers are instantly inside you. Scissoring and stretching your pussy, Yoongi has learned everything he needs to do to make you as comfortable as possible. You toss your head back as his knuckle brushes against your clit, the heat radiating from you evident by the way sweat drips down your chest.

"Are you ready?" Yoongi asks, bending your knees and resting your thighs on his.

"Always." you breathe, and he lines himself up at your entrance.

As he presses in, he leans over and kisses your lips gently. It eases the initial sting, bottoming out quickly and staying there while you adjust. He doesn't start moving when you think he does, instead keeping his cock still and encapsulated by your heat. His mouth works quickly though, a stark contrast to the shakiness his hips feel while you periodically squeeze around him.

He's driving you insane and he knows it from the way you're desperately moaning against his lips. He likes hearing you beg, though, and if that means prolonging the wait for an orgasm, then so be it.

"Please," you whimper, "please fuck me."

"I am." he grins, rolling his hips once then stopping again. His pelvic bone brushes against your clit and you feel an electric pulse swipe through your body.

"No," you plead, "fuck me." You reach down, grabbing his ass in your hands and begin trying to guide his hips in and out of you. He chuckles, "Always so desperate for me."

"Yes, Yoongi. Please."

It's not until your moans turn into a whine does he begin to move. It wasn't slow in the slightest, his hips rhythmically thrusting into you while his kisses turn sloppy. You can smell him, taste him against your tongue and feel him so deep inside you that the feeling is euphoric. You can't compare it to anything else, he's the definition of perfection in everything that he does. You want to stay with him like this forever.

You can tell by the way his thrusts lose their rhythm that he's getting close. His breathing is harsher against your lips, his arms shaking on either side of your head.

"Cum inside me." you say, tossing your head back as you feel the bands in your stomach about to break. With the newfound access to your neck, he instantly sinks his teeth just below the curve of your jaw.

He doesn't seem to think much of your request, continuing to push the two of you to your highs.

"Yoongi," you repeat, "cum inside me. Please, I want you to fill me up."

"Fuck," he growls, "you can't just say stuff like that."

"Yes, I can," Yoongi and you are strong believers in the pull out method. Yet, there's something about right now that makes you want to feel everything he has to offer, everything there is to give. You want him to feel the truest extent of pleasure, down to his primal instincts, "cum for me, Yoongi. Cum."

The desperation in your voice has Yoongi spilling into you instantly, his head burying itself into your neck. The moment you feel him release, the bands in your stomach snap and your orgasm takes over.

He holds you close while you both ride out your highs, repeating your name and collapsing on top of you. The rest of the world doesn't exist in that moment, only you, and Yoongi, and your squeaky bed.

Describing the feeling of the aftermath seems impossible. When the two of you make love, it makes you realize that all of the hardships you've endured are all worth it. That even though you do live in a small apartment with chipped paint and watch netflix off a five year old laptop and both work your asses off just to make ends meet, it's all worth it. His words, his kiss, his love... That's all you need. You could lose everything you have right now and you know that you would still come out on top.

"I love you," he whispers after a while of laying there. His eyes are closed, sleepiness taking over his features, "and I hope you know we can't afford a baby."

You giggle, turning your head to press a small kiss to his temple, "Not yet, no, but I have a birth control that works."

"Oh?" he smiles sleepily.

"Yeah, it's called Plan B."

Even with his eyes closed, you can tell that Yoongi is rolling his eyes.

And so you find yourself with your home, resting on a squeaky bed and imagining the future with the man you love as he falls asleep on your chest. You're not sure where your life is headed, but you know that you'll always have Yoongi by your side, and that's all that really matters.

[roonyxx]

Locked Chapter 4: Steel - Jaw Trap

By @roonyxx and @jay-and-dean

Pairings : Dean x reader ?

Summary : The Winchesters brothers are probably the most dangerous and mysterious criminals of the country, cracking them will require a professional.

This is inspired by supernatural episode 12x09, First Blood.

Serie Warnings : Captivity, Smut (please be 18+), Fluff, Angst, Swearing. Mention of physical pain, of torture and murders. Each Chapter will have detailed warnings.

Chapter warnings : angst, hurt!Dean, talk of violence.

Word counts : 3520

Note : This is a collaboration between both of us. We can’t both edit the same post, so we decided we would post 1 chapter/2 each, like for Firefly.

We both worked as much on this story and it’s the result of both our brains but also both our hearts.

Please, if you want to show love for this story, don’t forget we were together in this.

Locked Masterlist

Want to read more:

Jay’s Masterlist

Roonyxx Masterlist

Text divider by @firefly-graphics

I found something big.

Going through all the accusations against the Winchesters brothers, I found a pattern no one has noticed before. Something that could be a proof of the Winchesters' innocence. Because, after all, they claim that they are.

March 16, 2016. Robert Haligan died inside his home.

March 17, 2016. Harry Gorner died inside his home.

March 18, 2016. Kelly Morrigan died inside her home.

March 21, 2016. Sam and Dean arrived in town.

I look at my notes, at all the deaths I wrote down in chronical order, followed by the dates when Sam and Dean arrived, with, each time, absolute proof they couldn’t be here before, because they were seen elsewhere.

This pattern is too big to ignore…

Most of the deaths occured before the Winchesters arrived, and stopped as soon as they left. 

Sometimes there was another casualty when they were there, but not as much as the time before they stepped into whatever town that seemed doomed.

It is impossible for them to have killed all these people. You can’t kill someone when you aren’t present. And if it was a criminal organization, why would the killing stop each time they show up in town ?

Every file where their name has been mentioned, is oozing with death, there is no denying that. 

Where death is, the Winchesters follow.

Follow or seek out ? Because this pattern, it seems to show that the Winchesters are the cure for the horror that crept into those towns.

Still there exists footage of Sam and Dean dragging bodies around and stabbing people, even records of beheading…

The amount of force and precise skill they must have to be able to chop someone’s head off is frightening.

I close my notebook and put it inside the locked drawer of my desk. I will not tell Agent Camp about this yet. I want to talk to the brothers first.

But I know they won’t open up to me with the guard present. I’ll have to talk to Camp and try to negotiate for a way to get me some alone time with the Winchesters.

It won’t be easy, Camp is old and stubborn. He is stuck in the old ways of the army, convinced that starving Sam and Dean from as much human contact as possible will break them.

The Winchesters are smart and resourceful, they will wait and quietly observe until a crack opens up for them to slip through.

I know they have been eyeing me, looking at my pockets for possible ways to sneak something in or out. They have been timing me and noting when I come. Dean knows I see Sam before I see him, just as Sam knows I see Dean after.

I am surprised they haven’t asked me yet to pass on something to each other. Not that I would do that. I am sure they have plenty of code words to assess the situation.

One word would be enough to break these walls and set a plan of escape in motion.  

But I need to gain their trust if I want to learn more about them. Not just make them confess what we want them to, but reach that truth that I am, according to Dean Winchester, too sheltered to handle. 

So the next step is getting rid of the guard. I can see how Dean keeps up his walls. Some questions he won’t answer, he just casts a glare at that guard and ignores me. 

If I want to move further, the guard must go.

My brain, that some people call highly efficient, has always been my best friend. Of course it is a very possessive friend and it won’t really let me have a great friendship with anyone else, like it won’t let me forget its constant presence… But when I need it, it is always here for me. 

Like right now. 

When I need something to go my way, I always find my path. A few calls to my bosses along the days, a few very well chosen sentences, reports that give only the information that goes in the direction I want to lead them.

Lead the focus of their reflection on what you want to, make them see the problem in a way that only your way could really fit, discreetly implant your plan in their mind, and always make them believe that the idea comes from them. If you need to, try to argument against your own idea so they start to actually fight for what you put in their mind.

“General” I say on the phone, hiding the corner smile on my lips. “If I agree to see Sam and Dean Winchester in a cell alone, I will need to be armed.”

“Of course you will, Doctor” says the Chief of Staff Army, proving to me I could even manipulate my way into the most powerful men of the United States of America’s army. “I’m sending the written protocole to Camp and Sanchez as soon as it is ready, my secretary is on it right now.”

“As you wish, General” I answer with my most submissive voice. 

“Thank you for your devoted service, Doctor.”

I hang up and stay focused on my role. I stretch my back with a straight face and go to Camp’s office. 

When I enter, his features fail to hide his contempt. 

“Agent Camp…” I start. 

“What is it, Doctor” he grunts. “I’m a little busy right now, talk.”

“I will go straight to the point then, Agent” I nod, joining my arms in my back to stand very straight. “The Cabinet of the President and the Head of the Army considered that your way failed.”

“What ?” he gets up to walk around his desk and face me.

“Isolation doesn’t make the Winchesters talk, so this will be stopped. The CSA considers that it makes them feel sheltered and safe. He wants me to access their cells as much as I want, I will need the autorisation pass to their area. I have to be able to take them to my office or even on an outside walk if I consider this can have results.”

“How could privilege have results !” he loses his temper a little, hitting the wood of his desk. 

“I am also going to interview them alone.”

His eyes have a micro-expression of fear. He knows that I know about his little spying, and he just understood how dangerous I am. 

“Oh” he frowns slightly. “Did you do it, Doctor ? Did you make this happen ?”

I let a smile crawl on my face, just enough to let him see I won, but not enough to be heard in a recording or seen on a spy camera.

“I have no idea what you are talking about” I say with an innocent voice. “I have been only obeying orders. Why ? Do you have any personal interest in me being watched by a guard, Agent Camp ?”

I tricked him, and his answers just proves to me that his office is under surveillance.

“Absolutely not, Doctor, why would I ? If you want the Winchester brothers to murder you, so be it. But I won’t be able to guarantee your security.”

Sanchez is not as dangerous as Camp, because he is ambitious and obsessed with action. So the talk with him was easier to lead : He got angry, he insulted me and my methods until I had to personally call the boss of his boss’s boss who, of course, confirmed the order. 

I hid my satisfaction by feigning that I felt trapped between orders I didn’t want and impressive men’s disapproval. Camp looks at me with a knowing look, but if I didn’t make a mistake, and I rarely do, he will never be able to prove I orchestrated all of this like a puppet show.

If only I could play Dean Winchester that easily. The fact that I can’t is the biggest proof that he, and Sam, are smarter than all of those men.

After Sanchez was asked to apologize to me, that I hid my satisfaction, and they both got the written order to give me all the power I need, we walked together to the Winchester's cells. 

“Nothing on the CSA’s order indicates that you can make them meet each other” Sanchez warns me.

“I’m not an idiot” I state, holding my newly-made authorization badge. “Together, they are invincible. I know.”

“Sam or Dean ?” Sanchez grunts, pointing at the doors. 

“Sam first.”

When they open the cell, Sam gets up from his bed instantly, taking a step back at seeing all those men he didn’t expect. 

Everything goes fast, and brutally : They yell at him to show his hand, they yell when they cuff him, they yell… Sam turns his head to me while they all are agitated, pressing his chest on the wall, his smart eyes catching my calm behind all this agitation.

And, just like I expected, he understood that my power is growing, and it made him talk to me a little more than usual. Not much, just a few questions about what all of this was about and how did I manage to get the interviews to be like I wanted, and that he guessed a long time ago that the guard was giving information to someone higher…

It has been a week now that I can see the Winchester brothers alone. And it has been three days since I didn’t put my feet in my apartment. I just stayed here, obsessing about every single murder Sanchez and his men suspect my patients to have comitted. 

I have asked them about each one of them of course. Sam stayed silent as usual, and Dean, who trusts me more, smiled and explained crazy things about monsters.

Today, I have decided to confront him with some pictures, I intend to show him the beheaded corpse of a young man we seem to know for sure Sam is the murderer. 

I wait outside until the guards are done cuffing him, and I enter with my taser in hand. They considered that giving me a gun was a risk of potentially giving one to the Winchesters.

I enter and freeze. 

The guard closes the door behind me, but I don’t sit on my foldable chair as I usually do. I stare at Dean Winchester, sitting on the edge of his bed, hands tied, feet chained, face bruised. 

He looks like he has been beaten violently, and considering none of his hand is bruised, he didn’t get to defend himself or fight back. 

He doesn’t really look at me, almost like he was mad at me, but the truth is I think he is really in pain, his breathing is short and I think, from how he sits, he could have a broken rib.

“Mister Winchester” I frown. “What happened ?”

“I tripped” he states defensively. 

“Dean” I insist, putting the file with the beheaded corpse photo down on the chair to come closer to him, still fisting the taser.

He lets me come closer, surprised by my concern. The truth is, well might I work with serial killers, I can’t stand this kind of brutality. 

I check his face to be sure no injury risks killing him. His right eye is red but not pierced, his lip is swollen and his eyebrow is cut. The side of his face is blue and purple, but I am more concerned about the injuries under his gray overall.

“Were you stabbed ?” I ask, knowing prison culture loves non-deadly stabbing, with little objects. 

“No” he answers, searching my face.

I have never been so close to him… I had never really smelled him or felt his body heat. I take a deep breath, and look away, terribly confused by the unhealthy fascination screaming inside of me. 

I am totally aware that he could break my neck right now but I feel like in front of a wounded wolf that I just couldn't let be trapped in a steel-jaw trap. 

“Do you struggle to breathe ?” I ask. 

“False eleventh rib could be broken, on the left” he says lowly, showing an incredible knowledge of the human body.

He must have been hurt so much, he must have enough medical skills to survive frequent injuries. But by who ? Serial killers’ victims rarely beat or hurt them, right ?

I want to check but if I touch this man, I might be dead before I know what hits me. 

“What happened ?” I insist, searching his eyes so intensely that I catch them. 

Once again, I can see no cruelty, no shiver runs down my spine when the green of his gaze envelops me.

“Ask your grunts, Doc.”

I can hear their laughter from the break room of the security department as I make my way to them.

Stepping inside I see three men sitting around a table that is put in the middle of the room. On the right side are screens that film every angle of the outside of the building and most of its corridors.

I clear my throat to gain their attention and take my time to stare every single one of them down before I start my interrogation.

“What is it, Doc” the middle one says. 

His eyes slowly slide over my body, lingering on my chest area when a sly smirk emerges on his face.

He is the alpha douche of this little group, very fit, big arms and a puffed out chest. The buttons on his shirt are hanging on for life. He is obviously wearing a shirt that is too small for him, obviously on purpose.

“I need a word with the person who got in contact with Dean Winchester” I say in my most calm voice that I can muster up. 

“That would be all three of us” he answers. “Is there a problem?” 

He knows exactly what the problem is.

“I need to know whether mister Winchester showed aggressive behavior towards you, and if you reacted by engaging in this behavior” I refrain from crossing my arms over my chest, from hiding myself from his eyes that keep glancing down to my chest.

He clearly has little self-control.

“We were told the isolation ban was lifted” he begins as he steps closer towards me. “Thanks to you” he gives me a wink and walks right past me, making a point of bumping into my shoulder to walk to the coffee machine behind me.

Asshole.

I turn around to keep watching him as he leans his behind against the lip of the counter.

“So you decided to go in, without reason ?” 

“We were to transport mister Winchester to his shower” he says as he sips from his coffee. “He was resisting us. We just followed our orders.”

He is lying, of course I can smell it so easily on such a weak mind, on that horrible and vain smug grin. Dean is smarter than this. He would gladly take the opportunity to leave his cell for a shower, to see beyond that metal door, to know more.

Dean Winchester, I think, wouldn’t go against the orders and protocols that come from me. Maybe I am wrong, but I think he started perceiving that even if we are enemies, we also fight the same people here…

“Then I will need to see that footage of the corridors when you moved him” I tilt my chin higher, holding his gaze.

“Sorry, Doc. That’s classified, only agent Camp has access to the footage of the halls and showers.” 

I didn’t ask for the shower footage, but his defense shows that they are doing something shady there too. Are they hurting him when he is naked and defenseless in every way ? 

Even if I shouldn’t be emotionally involved in this case, I want to scratch his eyes out, I want to strangle that ridiculously thick neck, I want to punch and kick him for abusing his power, for hurting a man that can not defend himself.

I take a deep breath to calm those raging thoughts. Getting angry, showing that I perhaps care a little too deep about Dean Winchester will jeopardize my work.

“If I can't see the footage, I will have to do my observations through you, I will ask you questions” I state, giving him no room to negotiate. “How was he resisting ?”

“By being a pain in my ass” he answers.

“I will need more detail, Mister…?” I need his name, maybe if his behavior will become worse I can start a file on him, making an idiot be fired shouldn’t be a challenge, It would take me a few days at most.

“Dorrigan” he gives me a smile as if I should know that name.

“We came in and he didn’t get out of his bed. We asked nicely and he still resisted, then we used force” he walks back to his table to sit among his two colleagues and I turn to follow him. “Then the psycho started to lash out at us. We handled out of self defense”

“Mister Winchester fought ? He hit you ?” Dean didn’t have any bruises on his hands. 

He would have if he had hit one of these guys. And if he had lashed out on them, they would be dead. Those fools don’t realize how dangerous the bear they are poking is, and they, of course, totally underestimate me.

“He did, he’s strong, so all three of us held him down” he looks to his colleagues who nod in agreement.

I take in their hands and see they all have bruises and even some split knuckles. They hit him hard…

“I will note it in my observations. Thank you for your cooperation” I say as I turn away from them, no longer able to push those raging thoughts down. 

If I don’t go now, I may cut his throat. Turn to the killers I study, use my high training on self defense, grab this paper-knife and bleed him like the pig he is.

“Oh and Doc ?” I halt in the doorway when I hear his voice and turn a little to catch his eyes over my shoulder.

“If you ever need a break from working” he licks his lips and gives me a smile that makes my stomach turn. “You can always come eat lunch with me” he finishes off with a wink.

I prefer not eating at all, forever.

I turn around slowly, my hand joining before me. My smile is perfectly hiding my rage, and I can see in their eyes that they suddenly realize that they might have gone a little far.

“I am sure that the President of America, the Chief of the Army and the Senators I have a meeting with next week, will be very pleased to know that the so called highly trained soldiers they hired are too busy taking coffee and perpetuating sexual harrassement to do their job properly…” I nod calmly before I walk to the door. “Gentlemen.”

I drop my purse on the table next to my front door and toss my keys in the little bowl. I sigh and look around my apartement, I barely recognize it. 

A layer of dust has begun to form on every piece of furniture. Here and there I can see a piece of clothing and my dishes from last week are still waiting…

Tomorrow. I’ll do all that tomorrow.

I go to my bedroom and strip my clothes, keeping my underwear on and pulling a big shirt over my head, I let myself fall in bed.

I look at my alarm on my nightstand, the green numbers are the only light in my room. 2:43 AM. I can’t remember when I last went to bed before 2 am…

I turn on my back and look up at the ceiling and I can’t help but let my mind drift towards Dean.

What if they are hurting him right now ? What if Dorrigan hurts him even more now that the isolation is lifted ? Why didn’t they hit Sam ? Was my threatening visit enough to stop it for now ?

Knowing Dean, he probably made a cruel joke about them, making them angry on purpose. Like he sometimes does with me, but why ?

I take a deep breath, count to three and exhale. I am a master at dealing with stressful situations. I am. I can meditate slaughters out of my memories, I can listen to monsters for hours and sleep like a baby. 

But nothing seems to take the painful breathing of Dean Winchester out of my ears. 

I grunt and try putting on some musical ambiance to cover it… Now it is his bruised face his appearing on that stupid ceiling. 

I take a deep breath, count to three and exhale again. 

This will be a long night…

[sazc94]

Pietro and Bunny

Here is my second entry for the wonderful @msmarvelwrites 2k Challenge.

This a spin-off from my Bucky fic: The three times Bucky broke your heart. Part 1 linked Here.

It follows the same timeline and explores the relationship of Pietro and Reader (Bunny) More.

Words 4890 ish

Themes. Angst, Suggestions of smut. But mostly lots and lots of fluff. 18+ Because of the smut suggestions.

Part 2. (Part 1)

2015. Pietro and you stayed in touch. Both getting swept away in your busy year. Pietro had gone into Business with Wanda creating a fashion company. His dad was helping to fund the start-up costs, but Pietro was never one to take a handout so worked an extra job, he mostly did courier services. this allowed him to be flexible with his days.

Meaning he was able to pick up supplies and do whatever else it was his sister had him running around the city for. It also helped pay towards the rent of his apartment, his father covering half. One day in the summer when Pietro was rushing around he entered into the Baxter building and literally ran smack into a head of blonde hair.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. This is my fault. I keep getting told I should slow down.” Pietro said bending offering a hand to the woman he had knocked over. “I’m just as much to blame, honestly I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going and all though I may be nicknamed The Invisible woman, I need to remember that I’m not actually invisible” replied the blonde brushing herself down.

She was pretty in that conventional way but her piercing blue eyes drew Pietro in. “Pietro”, he said sticking out his hand. “Susan, but you can call me Sue”, she replied shaking his hand.

Pietro and Susan began dating in the autumn. All though you and Pietro still stayed in touch. The contact was dwindling. He also found it incredibly hard not to call you by your old pet name. “Hey sis, Vis”. Pietro said walking into the small office space they rented in downtown NYC. Wanda was hard at work behind her sewing machine.

“So you’re dating Susan Storm,” Vision said. It wasn’t a question but Wanda’s eyes shot up from her machine to look at Pietro with an acquisitional look. This was news to her. She knew you were dating someone but Susan Storm was practically a celebrity with her brain and looks, plus her high profile relationships with Reed Richards and Victor von Doom. Not to mention her dad was a renowned Scientist too.

“How did you know?” Pietro asked grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl in the middle of the space. “Your pictures from last nights date are all over the internet. Someone called Prez Hilton broke the story” Vision said shrugging. Wanda shot Vision a puzzled look, he may be great with technology and smart enough to work with Tony Stuck, but Vision didn’t usually follow much on the internet. “Ah yes, Pepper Potts showed me how to set up google alerts”. Vision said before heading out the door.

2016

Pietro knew you and Bucky had grown closer over recent months, but it still took him by surprise when he heard from you that you had gotten back together. He knew he had no right to be jealous as it had ultimately been his decision to break up, and he was dating the stunning Sue Storm. But it didn’t stop the small seed of jealousy he felt.

What didn’t help matters was that Sue had been working later and later at the Baxter Building, and getting closer with her ex, Reed. Pietro tried to shrug it off but ultimately after almost a year of dating, he could see that Sue’s heart belonged to another, and if he was being honest. Part of his heart still belonged to his Bunny. So, after a night out in NYC Pietro had kissed Sue Storm goodnight for the final time.

Pietro respected you too much to ruin your newfound happiness with Bucky and it seemed like he had finally turned a leaf over. That was until he got a text from your cousin explaining that Bucky had been unable to get the time off for your Grandma’s funeral.

Pietro didn’t even think twice about using his links to his dad to secure a flight out of NYC for the funeral in September. His heart shattered when he saw you at the airport, with tear-stained cheeks, a red nose, and puffy eyes. He didn’t hesitate to pull you into a huge hug.

“Shhh Bunny” – the old pet name slipping out. “It’s okay, I’m here. She was a wonderful woman. She wouldn’t want all these tears” he said releasing you from his grip. It had been two years since you’d last seen each other in person. Other than the brown in your hair having slightly grown out, no doubt due to your mind being on more pressing matters. You looked exactly the same. His Bunny.

After the funeral Pietro planned to catch the first flight out of Miami back to NYC. With the launch of Scarlett Witch fast approaching Pietro didn’t want to leave his sister to deal with all the pressure herself. At least that’s what Pietro told himself was the reasoning. Truthfully it was that he couldn’t bear to be around you and not be with you.

But when your family had insisted on putting him up for the night and feeding him, he couldn’t refuse.

After the wake when your Mum had insisted on Pietro leaving the dishes, he grabbed two beers from the fridge and went looking for you. He found you sat on the private beach your grandma’s house backed on too.

You sat with one of Bucky’s jumpers wrapped around you. It wasn’t cold but still, you felt cold, so you had grabbed his jumper as a source of comfort and warmth. Pietro stopped for a second before swallowing. This wasn’t about him; this wasn’t about Bucky. This was about you and being there for you whilst you waded through this grief. 7

“Hey Y/N. I thought I’d find you here. Your grandma used to tell me about how she found the sea hypnotising” Pietro said sitting down on the sand before offering you one of the beers he had grabbed.

That night Pietro sat with you in solidarity offering you nothing more than friendship and a pillar of support whilst you cried and then laughed, and then cried some more reminiscing about your cherished times with both your now deceased grandparents.

After Pietro returned to NYC, he put the thought of you out of his head, instead, he turned his efforts to focus on the upcoming December launch party. Thanks to their dad’s connections. Wanda’s hard work and a few strategic tweets and IG posts from a hard-working friend who did add campaign work for a living there was a real buzz around Scarlett Witch.

“Hey Brother, I was thinking of asking Y/N to attend the launch and to wear something from the evening collection for the launch, Jane is in town and already said yes, she’s bringing her Boyfriend Thor, I extended two further invitations to them encase Thor’s brother Loki is around. What do you think?” Wanda said throwing herself onto the grey sofa opposite Pietro. They were at Pietro’s apartment as he had the most amount of spare room.

“Excellent idea, she should bring Bucky too,” Pietro said sipping on his coffee. Pietro wanted to remain in your life and after the funeral, your conversations had been a bit more frequent. Most importantly Pietro wanted you to be happy.

Pietro brought a date along to the event; her name was Crystal and they had been on a few dates before. However, they both had an understanding that this was more of a casual thing and that neither of them were looking for a relationship with each other. Crystal had gone off to schmooze with some of the guests when you arrived. Pietro made a mental note to introduce you both later, he was sure you would both get along with your similar senses of humour. Pietro couldn’t take his eyes off you the moment you entered the event. You looked stunning, Wanda had asked for Pietro’s input when choosing the outfits that You, Wanda and Jane were going to wear. Pietro had chosen a silver two-piece skirt and top for Jane, a scarlet red ensemble for his sister and a Black strapless dress, the top was form-fitting made from chiffon fabric, the skirt cut out the front made of black tulle sparkled with the touches of glitter.

Pietro had chosen the ensembles for two reasons, one they were undoubtedly the showstoppers from Wanda’s evening collection and they all complimented each other well. He made a mental note to ensure Peter Parker got a photo of the three of the ladies together before the evening got away from everyone.

“Bunny! I agree absolutely amazing. Bucky, you don’t look too bad yourself” Pietro said kissing you on the cheek. Pietro was wearing a deep blue suit; it made his hair and ice-blue eyes pop. Wanda had insisted on the blue over a grey suit Pietro had originally planned on wearing. Pietro didn’t miss the smile on your face after they had complimented you, it was as big and bright as it had been that final summer. And you've got a smile That can light up this whole town

After photos and ensuring everyone’s, drinks were full, Wanda and Pietro left the small group of old school friends in the private area of the event and made their way around the guests. The press contained fashion bloggers, small fashion magazines, social media influencers and gossip columnist too. Pietro found his way back to Crystal after he’d finished making the rounds. He was on his way to introduce you when he spotted an unfamiliar red head amongst the group.

Thor introduced her as Natasha, Pietro tried not to give away the surprise in his eyes, but he could sense that there was some tension as you avoided making eye contact with both Pietro and Bucky. Pietro kept his nose out of it for the most part, but when the pair of you said your farewells for the evening, he couldn’t help but assure you that he was there if you wanted to talk.

“Was that Natasha Romanoff I saw hanging around Thor and Y/N’s group most of the evening?” Wanda asked when she and Pietro slipped into the back of the waiting car. “Yes it would appear so, did you know she was coming?” He asked loosening his tie. “Vis said Jane had asked to bring a friend along as Loki couldn’t make it, I told him to tell her it was fine as she technically had four invites. I didn’t realise it was going to be her”, Wanda explained, there was an emphasis on her.

Regardless of her brother's relationship status with yourself she genuinely liked you and always would, her loyalties lied with you and as far as Wanda was concerned, she didn’t even want to know Natasha, something about her didn’t sit right with her from the few interactions they’d had over the years.

“Will Crystal meet you at your apartment? I didn’t see her as we were clearing away”, Wanda said changing the subject. “Huh? Oh, no she’s meeting her friends downtown at the Voodoo Lounge, something about a magic night” Pietro said looking out the window as the streets of NYC blurred into one. He couldn’t help but worry about you, you could put on a bright smile and laugh all you liked, but Pietro knew when you were faking.

2017

The launch of Scarlet Witch had gone better than Pietro and Wanda had hoped. When the label opened up to online orders in February, they had sold out of everything in 30 minutes flat. Now they were looking at opening up an in-person store in the lower east side sometime early next year. Pietro was working late one night in the office when Vision turned up.

“Hey Vision, it's good to see you but Wanda’s not here,” Pietro said sitting back down behind his desk. It was late and the numbers had started to dance around the screen but Pietro was determined to get these figures finished before the weekend. It was the least he could do as Wanda had been working flat out, she insisted on sewing as many of the items herself as possible, and when she had hired two seamstresses, Wanda still checked all their work.

“Thank you, Pietro, but I know she is back at our apartment. It is actually you that I came to see” Vision said. James or Vision as everyone called him very rarely looked nervous, yes he sometimes missed social cues but he was never one to act nervous. Pietro sensing this was important saved his spreadsheets and shut down his computer.

“What’s going on Vis?” Pietro asked walking over to the sofa area where vision, stood awkwardly. “Traditionally, this question would be asked to your father, but as your father was not in your lives much until recent years, I felt it better to ask you” Vision babbled on. Pietro had a pretty good where this was going, but this was Visions plan and Pietro wasn’t about to jump the gun, besides if this was going where he thought it was, it was only right to make him suffer ever so slightly.

“Well Vision, I’m all ears. What is it you want to ask?” Pietro asked grinning. “Well you know how much I adore your sister Wanda, and we have been together a good many years now. So I would like to ask your permission for your sister's hand in Marriage” Vision asked. Vision’s heart was pounding so loud and fast he thought that he might collapse. Pietro’s eyes watered, he was happy for his sister and he was of course going to say yes, but he wanted to have a bit of fun first. He quickly stood and turned away from Vision, heading towards the small fridge of the small office kitchen.

“So you want to marry my sister, are you certain about this Vis? Because once that ring is on her finger, there is no backing down, even if you get cold feet.” Pietro remarked. “I assure you Mr Maximoff, I want this with my whole self” Vison responded. Pietro couldn’t continue with the charade anymore. “Of course you have my blessing Vision, I would be honoured to call you brother,” Pietro said handing Vision a beer.

Vision proposed to Wanda that summer on the fourth of July. The three of them attended Tony Stark’s exclusive fourth of July bash at Stark Tower. Vision had a good relationship with Stark and Pepper was a hopeless romantic at heart. Shortly before the fireworks, Vision and Wanda wandered off to a private balcony three floors above the outside decking where everyone else would watch. Tony introduced the display then the three of them slipped out of the crowd as the fireworks got underway.

Tony had his AI software J.A.R.V.I.S set to record the whole thing. As the firework display got underway. Vision got down on one knee and popped the question. Wanda of course squealed and said yes between tears. That’s when Pietro, Pepper and Tony appeared with glasses of champagne and toasted to the happy couple. “Congratulations Sis, also please let me be there when you call Y/N and tell her, I know she is absolutely going to flip her shit when she finds out,” Pietro said kissing his sister on the cheek.

Sure enough, Pietro was right, three days later when Wanda Facetimed you to show of the ring your excited screams were loud enough to be heard all through NYC. “Oh my god. He did it, he finally proposed! I was wondering if he was ever going to pull his finger out and propose. Oh Wands I am so happy for you, you deserve this” you said. Wanda was so elated she missed the small crack in your voice towards the end of the sentence, but Pietro didn’t.

“Here Pietro want’s to say hi. Go on tell her all about how you had known about this since March! I’m going to get ready Visions parent’s got into town today and we’re meeting them for dinner before they see a show tonight,” Wanda passed the phone to Pietro before heading off to her shower. Pietro had come round specifically to hear the call. Pietro waited for the door to close before he turned his attention back to your face on his sister's screen.

“Everything okay Y/N?” Pietro asked. You sighed before letting your hair out of its ponytail, You were avoiding the question. “Yeah, everything’s fine. I’m tired, going out later with Peggy Carter, she’s the girlfriend of Bucky’s teammate, Steve. We’re going to get some lunch and do a bit of shopping, Steve’s working on some projects and Bucky said he’s running some extra training drills at the stadium. Not that he needs to the season doesn’t start for another two months, oh I’m sorry. I’m wittering on, how are you? Had any good dates recently?” you asked forcing your voice to be light and carefree.

Pietro knew what you were doing but it wasn’t his place to call you out on lying. “Naa, not really. None that would ever go anywhere” Pietro said. The two of you stayed on facetime for a few more short minutes before Pietro reluctantly advised he had to get going to the office.

September 2017

“So Y/N I have a very important question, will you be one of my Bridesmaids?” Wanda asked. Pietro walked into Wanda’s office just in time to hear you scream your response. “OH MY GOD, ARE YOU KIDDING OF COURSE I WILL” Wanda moved the phone from her ears and looked up at her brother who just grinned. “You owe me 20 bucks I told you she would scream,” Pietro said making himself comfortable in the chair opposite his sister's desk.

“ I should be offended, but I’m in too much of a great mood to care” you chuckled. “Oh, is that so?” Wanda teased. Pietro felt sick, had Bucky proposed? Worse, were you pregnant? “I got offered this amazing job opportunity, it would be working for Stark Industries, Pepper Potts approached me directly about it the other week, I shot it down but she called me again today doubling the offer,” you squealed.

The weight that had threatened to crush Pietro lifted, not that his sister hadn’t noticed the change in his complexion a few moments ago.

“Oh my god Y/N, That’s amazing! Are you going to take it? I miss you and would love to have you nearby like old times. And I am not only saying that so you can do my wedding planning for me” Wanda sang. “I don’t know, I said I would think it over and get back to her after the weekend, I’m going to talk it through with Bucky tonight” you replied. “It sounds like a great opportunity Y/N” Pietro responded with earnest.

“Huh, that’s weird, I wonder what she’s doing here,” you said out loud “Who’s where?” asked Wanda. “Oh um nothing, look I got to go I just got to Buck’s and I’m cooking dinner, going to talk to him about Tony’s offer,” you said before hanging up. Wanda and Pietro just looked at each other. Pietro got up to leave but Wanda shot him a look as if to say she wasn’t finished with him.

“You still love her” she spoke plainly. “He doesn’t deserve her. He’s always posting pictures of him and that Natasha doing “Official” Lions events” Pietro replied simply. “You are right brother, he doesn’t deserve her, but like I told you all those years ago. If you had asked her she would have waited. You don’t get to complain that she moved on with someone who was a big part of her life for 13 or so years” replied Wanda.

She was right and Pietro knew it. He sighed before lifting his gaze to meet his sister's cold blue eyes. “You’re right.” He said simply before exiting the room.

Pietro awoke to his phone ringing at 2 am, he wasn’t going to answer it until he saw your name and the picture of the pair of you from Uni flash up on his phone. “Y/N? Is everything okay? It’s 2 am.” Pietro asked rubbing a hand along his face. You didn’t respond.#

“Y/N, are you safe? Should I call Bucky?” he asked urgency surging in his voice. “NO!” you practically shouted. “Sorry, no please don’t call Bucky,” you asked quietly.

Pietro shifted leaning over to turn on his bedside lamp. “Bunny, you’re scaring me, what’s going on?” Pietro pleaded. The comfort in his voice was enough to break you all over again. You started sobbing all over again. How you had any tears left was beyond you.

“I’ll fucking kill him” Pietro growled. Pietro knew, the pictures Bucky had been posting on IG, the tears now, the way you had withdrawn recently. You didn’t need to say it for him to know. “Please don’t, I don’t have enough money to bail you out of prison” you managed to squeak.

Pietro felt his heart shatter, all he had wanted since you two had started dating was to save you from the heartbreak you had experienced in the summer of 2010 and he had failed you. That night Pietro stayed on the phone with you until 4 am where you finally fell asleep exhausted from the day's turmoil.

May 2018

Pietro and Wanda had helped you apartment hunt. They helped decorate and furnish your apartment ready for your move to the Big Apple in January. Wanda had introduced you to her friends slash employees but to Wanda, they really were her friends: Doreen Green, Janet Van Dyne, Julia Carpenter and Laura Kinney. Including you on many girls nights.

Vision and Pietro always walked you home after nights out. Wanda made sure to invite you to brunch with her and Vision when Pietro was attending. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to give you and Pietro another shot, it’s just you weren’t certain he would want you, after all, Bucky had really done a number on you again.

Sighing you picked up your phone and decided to take a leap of faith and text him, the two of you hadn’t spent any time alone together since you had moved in January.

Pietro’s Pov

Pietro’s phone buzzed. You, me and that little cafe in times square tomorrow = date? – Y/N x Pietro was stunned, he was sure that the time for you guys to be a couple had long passed. “Brother, are you listening?” Wanda asked agitated at her brother's lack of respect, the two of them were going through the plans for the rest of the year. Plans for when they would drop certain collections, run certain in-store promos. When they would run online promo’s.

“Sorry, it’s just Y/N just text me, asking me on a date” Pietro’s voice came out dazed. All though Wanda was miffed, she couldn’t help but smile. Looks like Y/N had finally listened to the girls last night when they went out for Monday night happy hour. “You had best text her back then brother” She responded raising her eyebrows at Pietro. I thought you’d never ask. How does 5 pm work? Pietro shot back.

Perfect x Your response came through almost immediately.

Your Pov

You got to the café early, you were too nervous to focus on anything in the office. And as you were only scheduled to work until four, you decided it was just easier to go to the café and wait with a book or something, you had to deal with this nervous energy somehow. You walked in expecting he’d be late, but Pietro got there early and he stood and waved. You walked to him Pietro pulled your chair out and helped you in. Pietro sat down opposite you and shot you a small nervous grin.

“I ordered you a hot chocolate and a cookie, I know how much you like hot chocolate even if it’s warm out like today,” he said shyly. “Thank you,” you said, you felt yourself blush. For goodness sake Y/N this is Pietro, you dated him for three years get a grip you silently berated yourself.

As the date got underway you felt yourself relax and slip into a comfortable bubble, you told Pietro about a recent mishap where one of your colleagues Darcy Lewis had accidentally thrown toner waste all over you.

You couldn’t help but smile as Pietro threw his head back laughing like a little kid. He took your hand and rubbed small circles on the back of it, that familiar feeling made your stomach erupt in butterflies.

I've been spending the last eight months Thinking all love ever does is break and burn and end But on a Wednesday in a cafe I watched it begin again.

December 2017 Pietro’s Pov. The snow was falling, and the streets of New York City were quitter than usual, a sign that Christmas was just around the corner. You had finished for a nice long Christmas break earlier that week and last night Pietro had taken you out for drinks and dinner as a surprise. However, due to the snow the restaurant had been unable to open as staff couldn’t get in due to all the delays on the subway. Pietro had felt crestfallen.

Right up until you had suggested that the pair of you skipped dinner and went back to Pietro’s straight for dessert. Pietro had struggled to leave you this morning. As he only had a few things to deal with before Scarlett Witch shut down for three weeks for a well-earned extended Holiday break he hadn’t left until later that morning around 10:30.

You had once again found your way back to the bright bubbly person you and everyone else knew you to be. Pietro as always being that safe place for you to heal. The way you danced around the kitchen cooking pancakes had Pietro beside himself. You really were ultraviolet. That fire you ignited, Good, Bad and undecided, Burns when I stand beside it Your light is ultraviolet. Pietro thought to himself.

All though you had only been back together since May this time Pietro was never going to let you again.

Pietro was leaving the office for a late lunch when his phone pinned with a google alert. James “Bucky” Barnes announces engagement to Natasha Romanoff! Read the headline. Fuck. That piece of shit. Pietro felt rage on behalf of you. He knocked on Wanda’s door. “Hey, Wanda. I know were almost done here anyway, but I got to go early” Pietro shifted uncomfortably.

“Why?” Wanda asked simply. They were almost done but Pietro was meant to be shutting down the website whilst Wanda finalised everyone’s surprise Christmas bonuses. Pietro didn’t say anything simply handing his phone to his sister. Wanda scanned the headline and the article. Sucking in a deep breath. “Go. I’ve got this. Go check on Y/N” she said her eyes softening.

Pietro practically raced home. Just as he was coming out the subway his phone rang, caller ID showing Sam. “What the fuck is that dickhead playing at?!” Sam asked. Pretty much the entire friend group had cut ties with Bucky after they found out he had been cheating on you again.

“I have no idea, but he better hope to god I never see him, because I will not hesitate to rip him a new one, look I’m just letting myself into my apartment building, Y/N stayed here last night as she didn’t have work today and we’re meant to be going to Stark’s Christmas gala this evening. I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later. Pietro said ringing off before Sam could respond. Pietro knew Sam would understand.

“Hey handsome how was your day?” you asked not taking your eyes away from the street below. Pietro breathed a sigh of relief, he was certain he would have come home to find you curled up in bed, or worse the floor crying. You were happy together but that didn’t make Bucky’s betrayal sting any less.

“It was good, busy” he replied taking off his coat and walking over to join you at the window seat. Wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. He smiled to himself as he caught sight of the kids below. He could faintly see in the reflection of the window that your eyes were rimmed with red.

“How about you Bunny? I saw a news alert. I’m guessing you know about the engagement?” he asked. You hummed a response. Pietro knew you loved him; he also knew that you knew how much he loved you. But that didn’t make seeing you hurt any easier. Suddenly you shifted turning around to face him. His floppy silver-blonde hair covering those beautiful ice blue eyes, they looked at you with such love and endearment, they also spoke a silent promise. You kissed him gently on the lips before standing up.

“Come on Quicksilver let's shower before the Stark Christmas Gala,” you said pulling your boyfriend along behind you shooting him a knowing grin. God, he fucking loved you.

All this time how could you not know, baby? You belong with me

[thrillingdetectivetales]

Author Interview

I was tagged by the lovely @ianandmickeygallavich1​ 

(Throwing a read more in here because this bitch got LONG!)

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

I have 136 works across 45 fandoms, just to give you an idea of what a shameless fandom hopping multishipper I actually am.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

My total WC is 676,938.

3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

By a Thread, By a String, By a Rope The Magnificent Seven (2016), WIP, Kudos: 987

Matinee Suits, 5125 words, Kudos: 947

Careful Application of External Pressure Grimm, WIP, Kudos: 876

This Night Ain’t for the Holy Man The Magnificent Seven (2016), 5578 words, Kudos: 875

Catch It Like a Butterfly Leverage, 1497 words, Kudos: 658

4. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try really hard to respond to every comment, but sometimes they pile up and the anxiety of seeing the number gets to me and I just mark them all read and start over with a clean slate. So, apologies if I skipped you. I promise it was nothing personal, just me trying to practice some fumbling self-care.

5. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Probably Curtain Call, which is a Roy Harper-centric DCU fic exploring his feelings in the aftermath of the 2015 Red Hood/Arsenal run.

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

Pretty much all my fic have happy endings, so I’m not sure which one is the happiest. I feel like that’s a subjective question, haha.

7. Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest one you’ve written?

I do write crossovers! I love crossovers and crack fic premises and wild “okay but just go with me here” scenarios, haha. They’re the most fun to figure out, imo. The craziest one I’ve ever written is probably the Shameless-meets-Ducktales crossover I did for Tumblr Jukebox a little while back, though the one I picked up as a pinch hit for the Crossworks Fandom Exchange just last month, crossing over Brooklyn Nine-Nine with Dragon Age: Inquisition is definitely a contender for that spot.

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

I received a couple of snide comments on a Matt/Foggy Daredevil fic I did under a different name back when I was in college, but that’s about it.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I do! I don’t think I’m particularly bad at it, though I do find it very difficult. I’m not sure what the “what kind” question is asking, exactly, but I actually do a smut writing challenge called Monday, Slutty Monday that includes a list of kinks I’m willing to write. You can give it a gander here, if you’re curious.

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No, though I have had someone ask if they could use the concept of the lover’s noose from By a Thread, By a String, By a Rope for their original works. I said no, largely because it’s a concept I intend to use in my own original works, though I welcome transformative, not-for-profit works to remix or reimagine or play in any of my sandboxes.

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I have! I was lucky enough to have Doomed to Play, a Magnificent Seven werewolf/vampire AU, translated into Russian several years back!

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have not! I am extremely interested, though, as I’m a huge fan of old-school, forum-style roleplaying and I really, really love collaborating on projects, so if you’re interested, please feel free to reach out to me and ask! I can’t promise anything, because I’m lucky enough to live a very full and busy life, but who knows!

13. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

I am not really sure that I have an all-time favorite ship. I have a few oldies but goodies that I revisit pretty regularly, including Harry/Draco, which was baby’s first ship, and Fraser/Kowalski of Due South fame, but I don’t think I’ve ever had a true OTP.

14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

God, so many of them, haha. I’m terrible about finishing WIPs because I have a very short attention span, but I’m not fully willing to write any of them off because I do periodically poke at the GDocs for a lot of them, even if they haven’t been updated in years. The only one I truly don’t foresee finishing is So Let Us Not Be Lonesome, which is a Magnificent Seven ghost/medium AU, and the only reason I don’t foresee finishing it is because I hope to one day revisit it as an original work.

15. What are your writing strengths?

I’m pretty routinely cheered in comments for writing true-to-character dialogue, really lush sensory descriptions, and tempting food descriptions, so I’ll go with those.

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

I tend to overwrite and I really fucking love adverbs, haha. I was a big reader of doorstopper fantasy in my youth, which tend to be really, really purple in their prose, so I lean in that direction. I have a lot of betas whose opinions I trust tell me I go too purple quite often, but I love my descriptive language so I’m not sure it’s a weakness I’ll ever overcome. Let’s call it a stylistic choice, for now, haha.

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I do it all the time, and I really enjoy it in other folks’ fic, so long as the dialogue is something that a non-speaker can still understand from context. I think I probably wasn’t great with that when I first started writing Spanish-speaking characters into my fic, but I like to think I’ve gotten a better handle on it since then.

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

I think it was honestly Ronin Warriors, an anime that used be on Cartoon Network’s Toonami block way back in the day. I had a lengthy and involved Mary Sue self-insert fic that got be like, a few hundred pages long, though it never saw the light of day.

19. What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t written for yet but want to?

The two currently at the top of my list are Ted Lasso and 9-1-1, though I can hardly watch a piece of media these days without seeing something in it I want to explore that the creators didn’t have the time or inclination to explore, or that didn’t fit their narrative.

20. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Oh, this is so hard! I honestly don’t know. I don’t tend to go back and re-read my own fic too terribly often, so I’m really not sure, but I will say that one of the ones I think is underrated is The Lady and the Knife, which is a Luther/BBC Sherlock fic that came about because I got tired of Sherlock stans claiming his behavior should be forgiven because he was a high-functioning sociopath and thought it would be fun to see what happened if he ever crossed paths with someone who was actually a high-functioning sociopath and not just a dick. (Don’t get me wrong, I really enjoyed the early BBC Sherlock and some of the fic is chefkissingfingers.gif, I just really hate it when people require their characters to be morally upright at all times. Let them be villains! Let them be dicks! Don’t apologize for finding that interesting!)

I am tagging @thesummoningdark, @blahblahblahclintnickiscanon, @townhulls, @ksansart @rubinecorvus @persipneiwrites @irolltwenties and anyone else who feels like participating! I have a lot of mutuals who write fic and I’m really bad at remembering everyone’s various handles, so please, if you want to participate but I didn’t tag you, go ahead and do it and @ my ass anyway!

Luh ya bbs.