#i just- how do i find the energy to find any semblance of peace?

[mykonossalome]

looking at pictures of astarion - please restore my will to live traumatised white boy

[fandomxpreferences]

Now Your Mess Is Mine

Masterlist

Pairing: JJ Maybank x female!reader (both over 18)

TW:angst, mentions of abuse, fluff, I think thats it

Summary: In which JJ is touch starved and you take care of him.

Word Count:2.7k

A/N: this was supposed to be short and fluffy but as per usual, it took on a life of its own

JJ doesn't have a lot of things going for him in life as far as he's concerned. He's practically an orphan, he gets fired from every job, and he never has more than twenty dollars to his name. He hasn't done a lot right in his life, but the best decision he's ever made is choosing you. 

He's never felt a touch or a love as gentle as yours. Hell, for the first seventeen years of his life, he doesn't recall feeling anything but a fist. Then you came along, bright as the sun and radiating the most beautiful and intoxicating energy he's ever felt. 

You're always gentle with him, soft hands grazing his body whenever you get a chance. JJ didn't know that he craved physical affection until he felt your small supple hand in his large calloused one. 

He had no idea he loved cuddling until he was surrounded by you as you wrapped around him like a koala, an aroma of tanning lotion and saltwater overwhelming his senses.

He would've never imagined himself the type to take lavender-scented baths until you pulled him into the bubbles with a bright smile, giving him a beard as your loud giggles seeped into his soul and lit him up from the inside out.

Everything about you is pure and wholesome. Light radiates from you, casting away any semblance of darkness that once cast itself over him. You make him a better man, your face popping into his head before he makes a decision. 

He wants to make you proud, to honor and respect you. He wants to be someone you can call yours loudly, shouting it from the rooftops with no shame. He doesn't understand how or why you love him, but he chalks it up to you being some sort of angel.

The rest of the Pogues used to make fun of you two, but they've come to appreciate the way you even JJ out. The two of you are never more than a few feet apart, your bodies always touching in some capacity. 

It makes him feel safe and peaceful. It's the only thing he can think about as he lays on the HMS Pogue with you between his legs and his closest friends laughing around him.

JJ's eyes flutter closed as your nails rake across his scalp and he revels in the sun's rays as they warm his tan skin. He finds himself drifting off when your bubbly laughter floats to his ears and your belly shakes his head as it rests against you. 

It causes a large smile to split his face and he shifts to look up at you. There's nothing but pure child-like joy on your features with your head thrown back, your mouth open and the corner of your eyes creased. 

It's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen and he presses a kiss to your hip bone while squeezing your calf lovingly. It draws your attention back to him and you look down at him with a bright smile. 

"Hi." He whispers and you lean down to kiss the tip of his nose. 

"Hi, handsome." 

You hear Sarah say aww while John B gags dramatically and lift your hand to flip him off. 

"Are you having fun?" You ask and JJ nods with a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

You squint down at him and before you can ask what he's about to do, he's jumping to his feet and scooping you up in his arms. You let out a loud squeal and flail around as your laughter echoes off the water. 

"JJ Maybank don't you dare!" You shriek through loud giggles, but it's too late. 

His feet are already leaving the side of the boat and the two of you plunge into the ocean. You kick your legs as you resurface, wiping at your face and hair while JJ grins like a little boy. 

It's only a matter of seconds before you hear a chorus of splashes and the rest of the group joins in. Before you can blink, there's an all-out splash fight, the six of you laughing and having the time of your lives. 

You're just dodging an attack from John B when you feel strong arms wrap around your waist and JJ takes the brunt of the water being sent your way. 

You turn and wrap your legs around his waist, your arms moving up to hug around his neck. 

"What are you doing, mister?" You ask with a quirked eyebrow and he leans in to give you a sweet kiss. 

"I was starting to have withdrawals, baby. You know I can't go more than a few minutes without feeling you." 

You almost laugh, but the sentiment goes straight to your heart and your features soften. 

"I love you." 

He nuzzles his head into your neck, hugging you tightly against his chest, and places a kiss on your collarbone. 

"I love you too." 

That night as everyone is sitting around a bonfire, you feel worry start to itch at you. JJ went home to get some things, but it's been almost three hours. 

You know better than anyone what his home life looks like, he's collapsed into your arms weeping more times than you can count. 

There's an unsettling feeling in your gut screaming that something is wrong, and with each second that passes it only gets louder. JJ never goes home for longer than necessary, and he promised he'd be quick. 

You're just about to get in your car and go look for him when you hear the rumbling of his dirt bike as he screeches to a halt. The group shares a confused look and you rise to your feet, ready to be near your boyfriend again. 

You stop cold in your tracks when he kicks the bike over, anger clearly clouding his usual light-hearted personality. JJ is like a golden retriever and loyal to a fault, so when he's like this it sends everybody reeling. 

You watch as he knocks over a few more things in a fit of rage before storming inside and you decide to follow. You can hear footsteps behind you and turn to shake your head, instructing your friends to let you handle it.

Your steps are light as your feet carry you up the steps and into the bathroom where you hear the shower running. You open the door as gently as possible, JJ's back greeting you as he stares into the mirror with tears streaming. 

"Hey, sweet boy. You okay?" Your voice is soft as you ask the question you already know the answer to and it sends a pang of hurt through his chest. He hates when you see him like this, weak and vulnerable. 

He wants to be the strong one, your rock, yet more often than not the roles get reversed. You watch him silently, allowing him space to open up if wants to. 

He doesn't say anything as his head drops and you already know what happened. You step into the room fully and close the door behind you, moving tentatively in his direction as if he'll shatter if you move any faster. 

"Let's take a shower, okay?" 

You're so gentle and kind as you say it, and it causes fresh hot tears to gather on his lash line. You know that JJ is touch starved on a good day, but moments like these are when he really needs you. 

You can almost read his mind, aware that he's fighting the urge to put up his walls and shut you out. 

He doesn't want to though. He wants you, he wants your sweet touches and quiet whispers as you take care of him. 

He feels selfish, but he's well aware that while you're fragile as a butterfly around him, you have zero qualms about tearing through his armor like a knife through butter. 

Your touch is featherlight as your hands work diligently to remove his jewelry. You start with his bracelets, carefully slipping them off his wrists before moving on. 

Next, you work on his rings, delicately pulling them off and kissing the pad of each finger when you're done. 

You finally get to his necklace, your breath tickling the back of his neck as you focus on unclasping it and setting it on the countertop. 

He watches in the mirror as you work, feeling an inescapable amount of love weighing down his heart and mind in the best way. 

You slowly turn him around to face you, your eyes meeting his to ask for permission as your hands fiddle with the hem of his shirt. 

He hesitates before nodding, his eyes squeezing shut and lungs stopping as you glide it up his torso and over his head.

He can't stand to open them and see the look on your face. It's not that he thinks you'll be giving him a sympathetic expression, no it's not that. 

It's that he knows you'll have an understanding look, completely devoid of any surprise. He hates it. He hates that you're so familiar with this that it doesn't even elicit a normal reaction anymore. 

The first time it happened, you gasped and tried to conceal the tears that welled up at the sight. The second and third times you still seemed somewhat shocked, but by six months in you were desensitized. 

Though Luke has never hurt you directly, he hurts you every time he sends JJ back to you in this state and he hates his father for it. Hates him for it more than he does for hitting him, for stealing from him, for neglecting him. 

He shudders as your fingers ghost over the fresh bruises on his stomach and ribs, the contact leaving electricity buzzing right under the surface. 

"Oh, JJ. Baby, I'm so sorry." 

Your voice is barely above a whisper and he chokes down a sob. He despises everything about this. 

He wants to throw up whenever you apologize as if any of this is your fault. As if you're not the one thing that single-handedly makes it better. 

He keeps his eyes shut as your lips press delicate kisses to each mark. They're still fresh; swollen but not quite darkened. 

You can see the faint beginnings of bruising, and you know the dark hues of black and purple will spread in the days to come. 

You make a mental note to ice the injuries before continuing on with getting him undressed. 

You're methodical as you go through the motions, stripping him down to nothing before removing your own clothing as well. 

He steps into the water first, and you take his outstretched hand to keep your balance as you follow suit. 

It's silent as the water washes over the two of you, no words need to be said. There's an unspoken understanding for times like this, and you do what you do best. 

You shower him in love and affection, gently washing his body before lathering shampoo in his blonde hair. 

You see the tension dissolve from his body when his shoulders drop as you massage his head, and take your time. You know he needs this. 

You press sporadic kisses to his skin as you follow his routine, and he melts into you. Your lips press right between his shoulder blades, then the back of his neck, then his cheek as he turns to wrap you in his arms. 

He returns the favor, washing you up lovingly and letting you rinse off. You reach to turn off the water like usual, but stop when his hand catches your wrist. 

You turn back to look up at him and your heart shatters at the sight of his bloodshot eyes. 

"Do you think I'm like him? Do you think if I have kids one day I'll treat them the way he treats me?" 

His voice is so meek, and your heart squeezes painfully. This is new. 

Usually, you spend the night drowning him in your presence and the next day, it's like nothing happened. He's never actually opened up about it, and you're taken aback. 

You study his face for a moment, trying to figure out how to respond. Your hands reach up to cup his face and you force him to look you in the eyes. 

"JJ, you are nothing like Luke and you never will be. You love your friends, and you've shown time and time again that you'll do anything for them. You love me in a way I never thought possible. You are the best person I have ever known, and I don't ever want to hear you speak about yourself like that again." 

Your voice is kind but firm, and he sucks in a breath as you continue. 

"If you have kids, they will be the luckiest little shits to ever walk the earth. I know how much love you have to give, and if how you treat me is any indication, your kids would be so loved they wouldn't even know what to do." 

You finish with a searing kiss and when you pull away, his eyes are still shut in bliss. His fingers are digging into your hips, and he loosens up just enough to let you shut off the now-cold water and open the shower curtain. 

"Let's get dried off and go to bed, okay?" You suggest and he doesn't answer, instead just following you into the cold air. 

The two of you dry off and throw on the change of clothes that are now sitting on the counter. 

You assume Sarah or Kie put them there, and remind yourself to thank them later. Once you're dressed, JJ makes his way to the guest room and you shuffle into the kitchen. 

You start rummaging through the freezer to find something you can use as a compress, your hands finally landing on some frozen peas. When you shut the door, John B and Sarah are watching you with sad eyes. 

You give them a small smile and John B nods knowingly. You turn to leave when the man's voice rings out. 

"Hey, thank you." He says and you look at him with nothing short of confusion. 

He recognizes this and takes a step forward. 

"I overheard a bit when I put the clothes in there. You're really good for him, and I just want you to know how much I- we- appreciate you being there for him. He's been better since he met you." 

You swallow thickly and give him a quick hug, muttering a short 'thanks'. You know he knows what you're thanking him for. Partly for the clothes, but mostly for the kind words. 

He squeezes you back and you pull away, heading off to tend to your sweet boyfriend. When you step into the room he's leaning back against the headboard, his eyes fixated on the small tv that's playing some football game. 

His gaze darts to you when he notices you and he gives a heart-stopping smile. You crawl up next to him and place the cold bag on the spot that looks the worst. 

Your pressure is light and that's another thing that eats at him. 

The fact that icing his battered body is second nature to you now makes him ill, but he still lets you do it. Part of him wonders if he should have hidden this side of his life from you, sheltered you from the grim reality. 

A bigger part of him is glad he didn't. He went through this alone for so long and it's nice to have someone that loves him just the same, even after finding out the ugly truth.

He doesn't shy away from the sensation and it breaks your heart all over again. 

You're painfully aware that it's because he's used to this, and you want nothing more than to take him away from all this and give him the life he so deserves. 

The two of you just lay there for a while as you take care of him and he absentmindedly runs his hand through your hair. 

When the bag starts to get warm, you settle down under the comforter, and JJ curls into you. His head rests on your chest and he lets the steady beat of your heart lull him to sleep. 

"I love you." You whisper and JJ tangles his legs with yours. 

"I love you too."

[daytaker]

Could you do headcanons with the MC that's constantly napping and sleeping but somehow can keep up with whatever is going on? Just imagine them sleep talking coherent replies in a conversation during a meeting or doing the dishes with their eyes closed and lightly snoring

The Brothers React to Functional Sleeping MC

If it wasn't for Belphie, this would have confused them all a lot more.

Considering Belphegor's constant napping and occasional conversation contributions through sleep-talk, they are much less surprised by this tendency of MC's than the vast majority of people would be. It's just a natural part of life that some people are capable of sleeping and carrying out day to day activities at the same time.

Right?

(Individual brothers below the cut.)

Lucifer finds it annoying, sure, but at least you're slow-moving. What he really fears is the MC whose intense energy shatters any semblance of peace in this house. At the end of the day, though, he's not doing anything for you that he wasn't already doing for Belphie, so it's an inconvenience he can live with.

Mammon can't tell when you're actually asleep. He's convinced that you fake it a lot, since that's something Belphie is known to do when he'd rather not participate in a conversation. So he's always suspicious when you're able to complete tasks and move around while ostensibly asleep. He tries to catch you off guard and prove that you're not really sleeping, but he's never able to do it. Still, he hates that he can never let his own guard down as far as what he says when you're sleeping nearby, since there's a 50/50 chance you'll somehow absorb what he's saying and remember it in your waking life.

Levi thinks it's cute; at least, at first he does. It's a common trope in slice-of-life anime, having super cute sleepy characters. At the same time, it's a little frustrating, because you tend to just nod off whenever he tries to talk to you for any extended length of time, and he isn't going to play the game where he keeps talking just because you might actually be absorbing what he's saying! If you aren't interested enough to stay awake, he'll just stop bothering you! Hmph.

Satan finds it kind of funny, mostly because of how his brothers react to it. Mammon acting suspicious and nervous, Levi getting his feelings hurt, Asmo fawning over you, and Beel carrying you to and from RAD like luggage. He doesn't have a tremendous amount of interest in you, exactly, but you provide some real entertainment, so he appreciates that. Plus, and big shocker here: did you know cats nap a lot? You gain points in his book for this resemblance you bear to nature's most magnificent creatures.

Asmo thinks it's just precious to watch the human sleep at the table, or at their desk, or on the floor in the library, or on the toilet, or at breakfast, or at dinner, or... Mmm, are you okay, sweetie? You need to work on your sleep schedule. If you're having trouble sleeping at night, you should just come visit him! He has all sorts of ideas for how you could wear yourself out at night so you'll be refreshed during the day! :)

Beel is a little thrown off at first, because in some ways it's like Belphie never left. You'll recall that when MC first arrives in the Devildom, the other brothers besides Lucifer think Belphie is in the human world as an exchange student. So Beel wonders if maybe there was some sort of equivalent exchange shenanigans going on. They sent up a sleepy demon, so maybe that meant a sleepy human had to come down? It's very comforting, at any rate. He makes himself your unofficial guardian, carrying you out of situations where it's not safe to just lie down and sleep, or guiding you back inside after you sleepwalk out of the House of Lamentation.

Belphie is convinced he's met his soulmate, and honestly, maybe he's right. I can only imagine that you're mellow as fuck, probably got over any hard feelings from Chapter 16, and you're fast friends with Belphie now. You nap together all the time. Belphie even shares his secret hiding places with you.

Sometimes you and Belphie have full conversations in your sleep, to the amazement and amusement of the other brothers.

MC: Hungry... Go out 'n eat... Belphie: Snnn.... Jus' stay here... Kitchen... MC: Burgers... Belphie: Too cold to walk... MC: Lazy... Belphie: No, you... MC: Wear a hat... Belphie: Fine... MC: ...Hell's Kitchen in twenty... Belphie: Hmm... *Both stand up and sleepwalk to the door.* Mammon: They're not actually asleep, right? MC: *walks directly into a wall, grumbles about traffic, then continues* Mammon: ....Right?

This is the rare MC that I'd pair with Belphie. Normally I'm a little wary about how that would pan out, but if their relationship is built on mutual sleepiness and shared hiding spots to nap, well. Love is love.

[thoscheienjoyer]

A story where the Saxon Master and escapes Gallifrey and hunts the 11th Doctor down for the revenge of him never trying to rescue him

With Gallifrey sealed away like before and the Master seemingly lost forever in the process, the Tenth Doctor, his heart heavy with the weight of his impending regeneration, had no time to mourn his old friend and enemy. The threat was gone and for a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to hope that the Master had found some semblance of peace, even in oblivion.

However, that isn't what happened, The Master tapped in the vortex refused to die, through sheer determination he found a way to survive. Using his extensive knowledge of Gallifreyan technology, he managed to slip through the cracks of time and space, finding himself back in the universe that moved on without him. He emerged from his temporal prison, his thoughts consumed by one thing: revenge. He had sided with the Doctor in the end, turned against Rassilon, only to be abandoned. The Doctor had left him there to die and for that, he would pay.

After a while he finally tracked down his old nemesis but was met with an unexpected revelation: the Doctor he knew, the Tenth Doctor, was gone. In his place stood the Eleventh Doctor, new face, new mannerisms, yet still The Doctor in his own way. The Master watched from the shadows, seething with rage and confusion. He looked so peaceful with his new friends, how could the Doctor have moved on so quickly? How could he leave the Master behind and simply act as if nothing had happened? He made his move when The Doctor was finally alone, he confronted him burning with hatred and betrayal. "Hello, Doctor," he sneered, stepping out from the shadows. "Did you really think you could escape me forever?"

The Eleventh Doctor turned, his eyes widening in shock. "Master? How did you—" "Survive?" the Master interrupted, his voice dripping with venom. "You abandoned me after I finally stood by your side. Well, I'm not that easy to get rid of."

The Doctor's expression softened, a mix of regret and pain at the phrasing. "I never intended to abandon you, I thought you were-" "Spare me your excuses," the Master snapped. "You’ve moved on while I was left to rot. But now, I'm going to make you wish I didn't survive."

The Doctor stepped forward, hands raised in a defensive position. "Master, listen to me. I truly believed you were gone. If I had known you survived, I would have come for you." He glared, "Would you, Doctor? Or would you have just left me again, like you always do?"

"I wouldn't do that to you, we don't have to be like this, you sided with me, we can-" The Master laughed bitterly continuing to just not let him talk, "You always were the optimist, Doctor." With a flick of his wrist, the Master activated a device, sending a shockwave of energy towards the Doctor. The Doctor barely managed to dodge. "You can’t just waltz back into my life and expect forgiveness, I'll get rid of you once and for all and then I'll be the one moving on."

The Doctor, now on high alert, tried to reason with him. "Master, please. We don’t have to be enemies. We can work together, like we did against Rassilon." "It’s too late for that! You’ve made your choice and I'm making mine!" The Doctor braced himself as The Master forgetting about any device and just angry dove toward him in a physical fight, he was dangerous as always but the Doctor also knew that beneath that anger was the same brilliant, tormented soul he had known for centuries.

As the two Time Lords clashed, The Doctor refused to hurt the other, only holding him back and dodging defensively, which upset the master even more, in a frenzy to end it The Master grabbed a beaker and smashed it to hold it to The Doctor's throat, sitting on top of him to hold him in place. But The Master’s hand trembled as he pressed closer. He could see the fear in the Doctor’s eyes, but also something else: acceptance , like he didn't blame The Master for feeling this way. He had come here with a singular purpose, to kill The Doctor and make him suffer, but now, he found himself hesitating. The Eleventh Doctor’s voice was calm, almost soothing. "Master, you don’t have to do this. I know you’re angry, and I understand why. But killing me won’t change the past."

The Master’s grip tightened on the weapon, his eyes filled with a mixture of rage and confusion. "You left me, Doctor. After everything, you left me to die!" "I thought you were gone," the Doctor replied softly. "I never wanted to leave you behind. I never wanted you to suffer. Please, believe me." The Master’s resolve wavered. He had spent so long fueling his anger, his need for revenge. Yet now, faced with the Doctor’s sincerity it took away from it some. "You always say you care, Doctor. But how can I believe you?"

The Doctor’s voice was filled with such genuine emotion it would be hard to mistake as a lie, "Because I do care, despite everything we’ve been through, despite all the times we’ve fought, you’ve always mattered to me." The hand trembled more violently. Part of him wanted to believe The Doctor, but another part of him couldn’t let go of the pain and betrayal. The Doctor’s eyes pleaded with him. "We can fix this, Master. We can find a way forward together, we could have before. You don’t have to be alone anymore."

With a sudden movement, the Master pulled the weapon away and stepped back, confused by his own emotions. He turned and fled like he's running for his life, not able to face him right now. "Wait!" He started to follow but stopped, maybe he just needed time.

As the Master ran, his mind was a whirlwind of emotions. Part of him wanted to turn back, to accept the Doctor’s offer of reconciliation but he just couldn't let himself. As The Doctor watched him disappear a profound sense of loss settled over him. He knew this wasn’t the end of their story. The Master was still out there, struggling with his own demons and was likely to lash out again but he held onto the hope that one day he could mend things with him.

For now, though, he would give the Master the time he needed. Because despite everything, the Doctor believed in redemption, in the possibility of change. And he would be there, ready to help the Master when he was ready to accept it.

[antianakin]

I always wonder how Obi-Wan might've ACTUALLY reacted if he'd had to deal with a "redeemed" Anakin while both of them were still alive.

In canon, by the time they're reunited post Anakin's "redemption" they're both dead. Obi-Wan and Anakin are both sort-of part Force energy at this point. And so letting go of the pain of Anakin's betrayal becomes a lot easier probably, he's already effectively paid the ultimate price I guess. He can't exactly do any more to make amends, so what would be the point in holding a grudge?

But if somehow Obi-Wan were still alive when Anakin turned back, whether that happens on a canon timeline or earlier somehow, would he truly be able to just stand next to Anakin as though nothing had happened? What might actually change in that relationship?

Because while Obi-Wan is obviously a very kind and forgiving person, there is no way that relationship isn't irreparably changed, if not irreparably damaged. No way. Obi-Wan lost EVERYTHING because of Anakin's selfishness. I fully believe Obi-Wan would willingly help Anakin back from the dark, that he would work to save Anakin if Anakin gave an indication that he wanted to be saved. I could even see Obi-Wan sticking around for a while, trying to repair this relationship into a semblance of what it once was, to rebuild those connections in some way.

But I find it hard to believe that Obi-Wan is ever going to be able to see Anakin the same way. That relationship can never be the same. Anakin will always be the man who murdered Obi-Wan's entire family, who desecrated and destroyed Obi-Wan's home. He can be Obi-Wan's brother and the boy he raised, too, but he'll never NOT be the person who betrayed Obi-Wan in the worst possible way at the same time. He can love Anakin and also just never want to look at his face again. He can forgive Anakin and not want a relationship with him again.

And I find it almost poetic if, after Obi-Wan helps Anakin find balance finally, find peace, and finally fulfill his destiny and destroy the Sith, that Obi-Wan has to walk away.

Anakin's final test, Obi-Wan's final lesson, to let go of each other. To recognize that trying to force something that just isn't going to happen the same way again will only bring them both more pain.

[myownjadedpieceofmind]

It's been a while since I've said anything here...

I still haven't been approved for disability benefits, so most of my thoughts and energy has been zapped by trying to just stay alive right now. Financial issues aren't new, and it isn't like everyone else is doing so wonderfully that I feel like I'm alone in this. No, rather, I know I'm not alone, and in that regard I know my incessant complaints about my situation isn't changing the situation at all. So, I just don't talk about it as much.

However.... this Monday I had an appointment with my primary care doctor to really go over things. The torn hip labrum can't be fixed...or rather, the orthopedic surgeon I saw isn't confident that he can do me any good by fixing it. It seems my skull isn't the only part of my skeletal system that is messed up. I have pelvic and femoral antiversion, meaning...my bones are twisted. My pelvis is tilted, the hip sockets are too big, the hip ball joint is too small, and my femurs are twisted, so when I walk, I'm tearing my own labrum out. My left hip is already full of osteoarthritis, so if they did try to fix the right labrum, I would be putting too much stress on my left hip during the healing process that I'd likely need the left one fixed immediately.

I only weigh 108 pounds. Having me off my feet for 6months to heal from one hip surgery- that may or may not fix the situation- is risky. Add on another 6 months of healing for the chance of the left hip needing fixed immediately, and well.... let's just say, it isn't in the best interest of my actual health. Especially with the added bonus of a cardiac issue.

This is all going on, and then I broke a tooth. I've only got so many teeth left, you know?? So, I've been trying to come up with the funds to afford the dentures that I'm going to need here in about 3 weeks. I go see an oral surgeon next week for a consultation. The lowest price on my bottom denture is $700. That doesn't cover the teeth extraction. That doesn't cover anything but the denture.

I turned 44 on the 3rd. How the hell is this my 40s? Like... none of this is what I expected to be doing in my 40s. I found out that I've been lied to my entire life, gas lit and told that I was the healthiest person in my family. My parents used to brag about how few times I'd seen the doctor , because I didn't need to go, I didn't have anything wrong with me. Meanwhile, my bones were twisting under my skin, my skull had fused together too early and made no room for my brain. The entire time I was growing, I suffered.

And now... I wake up every day knowing there is no escape from the pain. I will live in pain every day for the rest of my life...

Somehow, it's comforting to know I wasn't imagining things when I was younger. I can't fix the situation...I can't figure out how to deal with the relationship I have with my parents. I don't know how to process any of what I have gone through in my life, and it's taken 44 years to be told the truth about the body I've been living in. I'm really proud of myself for having done all the things I've done in life...do you have any idea how much strength it had to take for my twisted frame to balance on stilletos all those years?!?!?!

Anyway. It's too much. I'm overwhelmed and exhausted and depressed and wildly detached from so many things. I'm trying to find a way back to some semblance of peace... I crave peace of mind more than anything.

[onewomancitadel]

been thinking about knightfall and the idea of love recently (not necessarily in a textual or jungian way, but I've been reading War and Peace and thinking about Crime and Punishment) and one of the things I think is interesting about Jaune's slight connection to the paladin and holy warrior motif is that idea of the feminine redemptive energy has a longstanding history within Christianity. so that Jaune can be both in this position of being initially presented as a very masculine holy warrior archetype but then shift towards a much more feminine redemptive archetype like Sonya in Crime and Punishment. not necessarily a textual point, I don't think where Jaune fits in the story is designed to take too much inspiration from those very self-sacrificing archetypes, but I do find it an interesting lens to view him with.

and also obviously I think Cinder is in many ways very similar to Raskolnikov although with a lot less privilege in her life. Byronic heroine and all that. She's definitely in the same position of her injured pride and desire for securing a false persona driving her to ends which aren't good for her. "and the worst part is that you have betrayed and destroyed yourself for nothing!" applies here a bit with that curse placed on her

I just need you to know when I read this I literally said aloud, 'I ADORE you' because yes.

Actually from a Jungian POV, the Sophia - which is the highest point of anima awareness - is actually also the Gnostic conception of the feminine part of God (and part of the human soul), and I always found that really interesting, because obviously with Jaune you do have that mix of the feminine saint and masculine storytelling archetypes. (Obviously there's a ton on the Sophia I can't really get into because of the Neoplatonic tradition, Gnosticism, etc., the relationship of all of that, but it's really interesting lol).

I actually think you make a really fascinating point about that interplay of those two archetypes and it's particularly interesting in the face of audience reception, but most importantly I think it's interesting because of that V5 Haven sequence in particular. You have the masculine self-sacrificial motif which then literally leads to him in a place of physical vulnerability beneath Cinder, where he asserts what essentially amounts to be a type of spiritual authority, intermingled with that self-sacrifice... which she outright rejects, and he eventually turns around and awakens his Semblance helping Weiss. This is why from an emotional perpsective, the Jaune-Cinder interplay is really pronounced... not the Jaune/Weiss romance, and most importantly his wanting to harm her, kill her, and harm himself is totally rejected. I think it's even more than just 'revenge bad', and I don't even think it's just saying that at all - like eye for an eye - I think it's actually going beyond that, with Jaune and Cinder tied together.

So to be quite honest I do actually read those masculine-feminine elements into his character, and particularly that redemptive power. Like you say, I'm not actually sure how much intertextuality is present and what would be conscious influences, but I do think there's room to discuss it. For that matter, a lot of the West's conception of redemption, atonement, and forgiveness, is foregrounded in a Christian tradition, and whilst I don't think R/WBY is ever going to be proselytising in any fashion, I do wonder if they are using bits of it to play with, like Dust.

This is why I really wonder about the textual attitude towards redemption because it seems to be more thoughtful than some people might consider it to be.

I know, again, you mentioned not getting into the Jung, but the thing with Jung is that whilst it is just a really good way to articulate character relationships and represent wants, fears, deepest desires, sexuality etc. through them, a natural consequence is that you get an exploration of gender and gendered expectations of character. This might just be related to sexuality, or in the context of Jaune, you do get that relationship with his family, being a Huntsman, masculine self-sacrifice, feminine redemption, and interaction with his anima who's also responsible for killing Pyrrha... I think there's something intentionally being done by Jaune being characterised with feminine archetypes and Cinder being increasingly developed as a Byronic hero(ine), and I think for Cinder to be redeemed and use the feminine power of the Maiden power for good, they have to come to some balanced resolution symbolically... I'm not saying at all they return to a state of gender conformity, I mean a sense of forward transformation (like with Jung).

"and the worst part is that you have betrayed and destroyed yourself for nothing!" applies here a bit with that curse placed on her

I think you touched on something here really interesting too because sometimes, when I discuss the Grimm arm, I'm looking at it through a very fairytale lens and also through social monstrousness - and to what ends she consented to it I don't know, since she lost her voice - but that drive towards self-destruction for self-creation is still a really interesting part of her character I hope I don't undermine, and I particularly like that ironic snare she's trapped in.

Ummm but I also present to you for consideration:

"You will burn and you will burn out; you will be healed and come back again."

Swoon!

So yeah I actually think you're not wrong at all for considering it, and even if the intertextuality isn't markedly there, I do think there are some... very interesting demonstrations in the text of Jaune and Cinder's characters. Even without that, I think it's really enjoyable to consider, especially from the aspect of feminine power.

Because I actually think that's involved in a lot of resentment for redemption arcs, to be quite honest. It involves feminine emotionality, redemption, forgiveness - not harsh brutality and solving things the violent way. Even 'girlbossiness' and conceptions of female power in a lot of media now is through the masculine lens - a 'strong' female character beats people up. The apparent solution for making good female characters is to make them like bad male characters. I obviously think that's bankrupt from a narrative and moral perspective.

I still like naughty villains who kill people, that's actually not my problem, but it's not posed as the solution to everything (and sometimes there are complicated questions with complicated answers and the necessity of life/death). I also don't, say, think Cinder is too far gone because she killed Rhodes or some nonsense like that. What's interesting to me about her in particular is that her villainy is emotionally and spiritually hollow, and the Jaune/Cinder dynamic is this spiritual vs. physical conflict.

Which is usually what you see in female heroine and male villain pairings! The female character asserts herself over the villain through her spiritual and emotional acuity, which is better than the physical. This is why ships like Reylo sometimes don't make a lot of sense to people because this is actually a rare and weird idea, and more importantly not something traditionally validated by the visual format of action and violence over everything else.

What makes Jaune/Cinder special in this respect is partly because Cinder's in a villain protagonist position, and partly because the spiritual path she could go on to use the power is actually like... exactly the sort of thing you would get with that heroine/villain dynamic, but a little different.

So yeah I think you're not wrong at all for considering those gendered story archetypes and how they play out in the story, it's something I've wondered about for a long time and I'm glad you brought it up. I still agree that the intertextuality may not be totally pronounced, but that intellectual tradition at least has some sort of subconscious influence imo, and the fact that R/WBY plays with gendered archetypes suggests we can speculate.

That was VERY interesting thank you!!!! <3 Hope you have a great day.

[whirlybirbs]

          (  this chapter’s gif by @ransomflanagan​ from this beautiful set !  )

✪   —   VACANT MIRRORS  ;  B.B.  |  5/?

summary: your plan goes to asbolute shit.

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 9k, please pray for my fingers

a/n: there’s action, there’s gunshot wounds, there’s canon appropriate violence! this one has a lot of plot, a lot of action, and i truly want to sleep for seven days after writing this. you should listen to the glass cannon’s club playlist while you read, though, for vibez.

       (   PREVIOUSLY   |    AO3    |    MASTERLIST   |   NEXT  )

You do have a plan.

Maybe it’s a little vague, a little messy, and a little up-in-the-air, but it’s a plan.

Get in, find Kiwi, avoid a handful of unsavory characters, and access the Alexandria Library.

Getting the hell out The Glass Cannon once you and Bucky were in was going to be a whole different plan entirely — one that was more improv than anything else. Hopefully, running a quick facial recognition program wouldn’t take long. With any luck, it would get a hit on any more recent aliases Innessa Sidrova was using after parsing the motherload of information Kiwi held onto with her life.

Kiwi wasn’t always known as Kiwi. She worked at SHIELD, like you, and back then she was known as Suji Awal. She stuck around longer — and she’d stayed on board during the active collapse to do heaven-sent work. It was an absolute Hail Mary, but while HYDRA had tried to purge all of SHIELD’s cloud data to protect their active agents and decades of progress, Suji had beat the hare in the race. Two steps ahead, she’d managed to pull nearly 97% of all confidential data including mission reports, agent profiles, and even electronic correspondence. While the metaphorical fire burned the documents behind her, she’d managed to salvage one of the only surviving, comprehensive looks at SHIELD before the curtain was pulled back to reveal HYDRA’s infection.

It had been used to try multiple HYDRA agents in the wake of it all in the federal courts. It was significant evidence, but after nearly all was reaped from the crop, Suji had taken the aptly named Alexandria Library and gone underground. Now, Kiwi was just another hacker in the thick of it and the Alexandria files were all but whispers.

It’s all about knowing the right people in the end.

Kiwi was a regular at The Glass Cannon. There was a nine out of ten chance you’d find her there. And if you didn’t find Kiwi, you’d probably find Climber and… Well, going to him wasn’t the most ideal situation, but out of the menagerie of acquaintances you’d gathered up throughout the years, you could trust Climber. He’d send you Kiwi’s way if you finally called in that favor he owed you. Either way, you’d find her and you’d get the files.

You just needed to avoid Alexei Gardzov.

Easy. Ish.

In truth, you barely get anything done Thursday — you’re too preoccupied in your head, running over the so-called plan even now as you fold laundry in the basement of your apartment complex.

You’d dug around in your closet, trying to find some semblance of an outfit. It was difficult. It wasn’t like the barely-there dresses and platform shoes were your thing anymore. Back then, your diet was mostly energy drinks and alcohol — in a way, it’s a relief to find that a good number of your staple outfits no longer fit. It made you feel like you really had put all this behind you.

You have.

Sure, it was the Rabbit you were going to have to be for tonight, but you’re not the Rabbit you were eight years ago. Good thing, too. You’re not too sure you and Bucky would have gotten along otherwise. Right now, your relationship with him was the biggest thing keeping you afloat — for the first time in a long time, you feel like you have some sort of purpose, even if it was a vague one at best.

You knew Innessa Sidrova was a threat — and you knew Bucky had to remedy that threat. You knew he felt responsible for creating her, for planting her in a position of power where she could manipulate and control. In truth, there was still a lot of vagueness surrounding his past. He’d made it clear he hasn’t been himself for a long time, but you couldn’t bring yourself to wade through the muck of his trauma to pluck out your answers. It just felt wrong.

If you were to say you hadn’t been tempted to go out on your own and dig, that’d be a lie.

Even now, as you pull out the ink-black top from the dryer and fold it neatly on top of the other pieces of laundry needed for tonight, you can feel it sparking like a lighter in the back of your head.

He was keeping something from you.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

You nearly jump six feet in the air.

It’s Miss Bonnie — and she’s laughing when her feet touch the cold concrete of the unfinished floor. Her basket of laundry is balanced neatly on her hip, and she walks with a smirk on her face. Her hair is piled neatly on top of her head, and as she bends to plop the basket down, she offers a wink.

“I could hear you thinking from upstairs,” she ruminates, paisley and dyed skirts kissing the ground, “Like a little steam engine.”

You laugh quietly into your task. You duck your head and heft a black bra and jeans from the dryer. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

She looks up, eyes moving carefully from the laundry pile to your face. Her eyes glimmer with quiet curiosity. “And a big night planned, huh?”

You snort. “What was the giveaway?”

“It’s always the lacey bras,” she chirps and slides a smirk your way as she waggles a finger at your pile, “And the strappy little bodysuit was a good hint, too.”

You exhale with a laugh, bracing a hand against the dryer. She’s not wrong — you’d really forgone comfort with this outfit lineup. It was temporary, though, and well worth the efforts if it meant helping Bucky tick off a name from his list of amends. You knew how much those meant to him.

“So,” she continues, voice muddled as she continues to load the washer, “I take it this friend of yours is really helping you out of your shell?”

“I guess so. Yeah. It’s — It’s sort of a mutual shell-cracking, I guess.”

“Mm,” a hum, “You sound troubled, though.”

Your mouth opens as your fingers trace the line of the bodysuit. You pause, and you rock back on your heels. Miss Bonnie notices.

She waits patiently, bent at the knees.

“You ever just…” you wave your hand, “Feel like — I don’t know. He’s my friend. My best friend, honestly, and that’s… Really saying a lot. But, there’s stuff under the surface and I know it’s not my business but…”

Out comes a strangled groan.

“What? Like a crazy ex-girlfriend?”

“No, no — I don’t think so,” you mutter, “Wouldn’t surprise me, though.”

“Handsome?” she asks, smiling.

You close your eyes and ignore the smile on your face as you reply. “Yea, handsome.”

“Well, have you tried asking?” she shrugs as she stands, “Not about the crazy ex, but about the stuff you’re worried about? It never hurts.”

“Problem is, I don’t really think it’s too much of my business.”

Miss Bonnie hums at that and presses the start on her washer. She’s quiet for a bit, swaying slightly as she weighs the conversation and you watch — enamored with the older woman’s calm wisdom. She gestures openly with ringed hands.

“I think it’s normal for us to want to know everything about those we care about,” she says, “We want to know how we can protect them, how we can comfort them. But… it comes in due time. All of it does. You’ll find a time when he does open up about the ex, or whatever it is on his mind. You’re friends, after all.”

You’re nodding, chest tight with thanks.

Miss Bonnie’s face is soft.

“You got a picture?” she chirps like a bird looking for a worm, “I wanna see who this little friend is. And if he really is as handsome as you’re suggesting...”

You scoff and lean to dig out your phone.

“Cut it out,” you mumble as she moves closer, “No playing matchmaker.”

“Sure, sure,” she waves, leaning to watch as you scroll through your camera roll.

The only photo you have of Bucky is there from Tuesday night — after he’d housed nearly an entire container of noodles and promptly passed out during the third Lord of the Rings movie. You’d woken up around one in the morning to find that Poke had unceremoniously curled up on top of the supersoldier’s chest. Bucky’s hand was still in the calico’s fur as he dozed, the colors of the TV painting his face all sorts of peaceful. You’d taken the photo, shoving it in his face after gently nudging him awake.

He’s laughed.

You gesture to show Miss Bonnie.

Like ice, she freezes.

You notice a microexpression dart across her face, but it’s gone in an instant. You can’t pin it, but the way she bends to pull the phone closer and zoom in on her face comes off as interest. You blink, label it as shock, and move on.

Her voice sounds different.

“Handsome,” she mumbles plainly, preoccupied with the sight, “I get it now. What’s his name?”

“Bucky,” you say as she hands the phone back, “He’s… He’s a good person.”

Miss Bonnie just nods.

You tuck your phone away and plop your laundry into your basket. Ignoring the sudden quiet that had crept between you both, you haul up the stack and offer her a gentle smile. She’s fiddling with the washer’s timer.

“Thank you, Miss Bonnie.”

“Of course,” she rushes out, smiling gently, “And be safe tonight.”

“I will.”

With your promise, you ascend the stairs.

In that basement, Bonnie McLayne is no more, and instead, Innessa Sidrova remembers that night in Moscow, back in 1975.

She remembers the Winter Soldier.

                                      ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

Bucky calls you three times with no answer.

Normally, he’d just give up — but it was Thursday, and you weren’t answering the buzzer to your apartment either. He tries his best to ignore the strike of panic that sparks in his chest. It could stoke a wildfire, really, but he pushes it down and remembers to breathe. He doesn’t let himself think about what he’d do if something happened to you.

After all, you’re probably fine. Sleeping, maybe. The both of you had a long night ahead.

(Longer than either of you realize, really.)

It’s nearly seven o’clock, and after trying your cell one more time from his perch on your apartment’s stoop, Bucky decides to say fuck it.

A well-adjusted person might frown upon what he was about to do, but Bucky wasn’t exactly well-adjusted, now was he?

He rounds the back alley with long strides and easily finds that, with a little maneuvering, he can hoist himself upwards on top of the nearest dumpster. With a well-timed hop, he can also snag the bottom of the fire escape’s ladder and haul it downwards. The rest is easy, and he’s scaling the fire escape to the third floor with ease before he even knows it.

There’s even a smug little smirk on his face the whole time he does.

Finding your window is a little harder, but Bucky eventually spots Poke’s round little body smushed against the glass — it’s a dead giveaway, and after some prowling, he finds the window to your living room and unceremoniously throws it open.

It’s unlocked, for whatever reason, and he makes a mental note to have a conversation with you about safety and security in the city. After all, you never knew when an ex-assassin supersoldier was going to break in and pet your cat.

Upon opening the window, he pieces together pretty quickly why you’re not answering. Could be the music coming from your bedroom, or even the singing that’s coupled alongside it. From the bathroom across the hall from your room, steam has settled above on the ceiling. The whole apartment smells like fruit and soap and perfume and Bucky’s not really sure how to parse through all the sensory experiences that greet him with he shimmies in through the window, legs first.

All in all, they make him smile.

Bucky shuts the window behind him as he’s quickly greeted by Poke — the calico offers a gratuitous little chirp when Bucky bends to scoop up the cat. Easily, he melts. Poke is purring loudly in his ear as Bucky takes a moment to survey your apartment a little bit closer. Mr. Poke Bowl rubs his face against Bucky’s stubble as the man weaves through the kitchen.

It’s very you.

He isn’t really sure what that means at the end of the day, but all he knows is that he feels at home here. He feels safe. He feels comfortable. He feels like he can be himself. Not James, not Sergeant Barnes, not The Winter Soldier. Not even Steve’s Bucky, but just… his Bucky. Himself. Sarcastic and exhausted and a little cynical.

Bucky lets Poke down on the counter and moves to the fridge.

There’s still beer from the other night in there, tucked in the back, so he makes easy work on popping open a bottle and busying himself with petting a very adamant Poke.

As he sips the Leinenkugel, it’s no small coincidence that his phone buzzes again — for what feels like the hundredth time today — with a message from Janelle.

She was nice — pretty, too. Once upon a time, she would have been his type.

That was before he met you, though.

There’s a little pinprick of mortification at that quiet confession that’s been slipping into his heart more and more in the last few days. You are, after all, his best friend. He’s your best friend. Guilt swims with the feelings that have begun to pluck his heartstrings and he has to admit he’s not too comfortable with the song they play.

His biggest fear is fucking this up.

Fucking you up.

Honestly, his track record isn’t great. The whole defrosted-international-threat bit made it a little difficult to date. Janelle seemed to think the date had gone well enough, though, hence the handful of texts he’d been getting every few hours asking if he’s free.

Like usual, he ignores them.

Exercising his own free will is hard sometimes. Especially when it comes to saying no.

Taking another swig of the beer, Bucky shoves his phone back into his pocket and tucks his fingers back into Poke’s fur. The calico’s tail swings patiently as he sits and watches — and it’s a little weird how human his eyes are for a second there. He mmrrps and lunges for Bucky’s hand when he comes close, bonking his head eagerly against the cool vibranium.

It’s a different sensation.

That’s another big adjustment — learning how things really feel with this new arm. It’s not just handling recoil or gripping knives or throwing punches. It’s the soft tickle of fur, the gentle pressure of a warm rag to clean the joints. Meticulous upkeep wasn’t something HYDRA did often. He doesn’t miss the twinge of pain and molasses-like stickiness that came with a dirty arm. Blood was the worst. Always sat deep in the cracks.

He flexes his fingers. Poke meows again.

He moves to plop down on the couch. Poke follows.

You’re singing, still, to some song that Bucky’s never heard, when you push open your bedroom door and move towards the living room.

You jump six feet in the air and scream when you see him just sitting there, clutching a beer and petting Poke like he fucking lives here rent-free.

Bucky’s reaction is muted, mostly because he’s a little too preoccupied with your outfit and your jewelry and the pink eye shadow that creeps up your brow-bone. There’s glitter on your eyelids and lip gloss on your mouth and he can smell some sort of candy-sweet perfume coming off you. The plunging neckline of the jet-black top is enough to leave him shifting his gaze back up to your startled expression with a tight jaw.

His face is blank.

Then he offers that stupid fucking smile he does. Y’know, the tight-lipped one where he somehow maintains a dead-eyed look the whole time. If you weren’t trying to calm your racing heartbeat, you might have laughed. You hate the white-hot flare it sparks in your chest.

“How the fuck did you get in here?” you hiss, waving your hands.

“We need to have a serious conversation about locking our windows,” he says as he kicks his feet up on the coffee table and wags a finger at you, “Also, what are you wearing?”

“You — You fucking broke in through my window?”

“Yea, well, you were too busy pretending to be Britney Spears to hear me try and buzz up, and my phone calls.”

Sheepishly, you cross your arms. “Nice reference—”

A shrug from Bucky. “Thank you.”

“—Also, what are you wearing?”

He looks down at his usual t-shirt, leather jacket combo. He squints back up at you.

“I’m sorry,” he chirps, “You’re talking to me? Did the department store run out of fabric, Rabbit?”

You self-consciously adjust the plunging neckline of the bodysuit as you frown deeply. “I think I’m gonna skip on the fashion advice from the man who lived in a time where ankles were seen as scandalous.”

“I was born in 1917,” he mumbles as he stands, actively avoiding another pass over your outfit because as much as he hates to admit it, it’s not a bad look on you, “Not 1817.”

“Point being, we’re going to a club. And you look like you’re going to the local Home Depot,” you move to snag a set of dangly earrings that are sitting on the coffee table, “We’ve gotta look like we’re there to party, nothing more.”

Bucky sighs. He finishes the beer, places the bottle down and sheds his jacket. “So, what?”

You pry your eyes away from the flash of skin — his arm, flesh and blood, speaks to how strong he is. And, undoubtedly how easy it was for him to fucking scale three stories of the fire escape to bust in.

“So,” you mumble as you thread the earring in, “I have some of Jaimie’s old shirts. There’s probably something you can use… If they fit.”

Bucky exhales softly. “You kept them?”

“Didn’t have the heart to throw them out,” you reply as you gesture for him to follow you into your bedroom.

The back of your top is arguably more crisis-inducing than the front — it’s an open back, and Bucky settles on admiring the decor rather than the curve of your spine. He has to. For his own fucking self-composure.

Your bedroom is nice — and like the rest of your space, it makes him feel comfortable. It’s all warm colors and posters and plants in the corners. Across from your queen-sized bed, there’s a large desk with a triple monitor setup. That’s where the music is coming from. The little knick-knacks on your shelves and desk make him chuckle.

Then, he stops, halfway to the closet, and stares.

You blink over your shoulder as you bend, digging to the back of your closet to pull out the clear bin you’d piled most of Jaimie’s stuff into after the funeral. After you’d cleaned out his apartment on your own.

He’s looking at the poster — the one from Cap’s USO tour. It’s framed nicely, set up on the wall beside your desk. It’s got a gold frame, and Bucky can’t help but wander closer to look at the signature.

It’s Steve’s alright.

“How much did you pay for this?”

You scoff. Your necklaces tinker together. “Don’t even go there.”

“The jerk signed thousands of these,” he mumbles, crossing his arms as he leans closer, “And still, the fame didn’t go to his head.”

You smile softly, leaning back.

“Jealous?” you chirp, raising your brows as you pretend to swoon, “Oh, Sergeant Barnes, I’d just love to meet your dear friend—”

Bucky’s laughing as you swat at his knee, leaning back on the carpet like a damsel in distress.

“Shut up,” he snorts, “It’s a sore subject for me.”

“Oh my god.”

“I’m serious — do you know how many dates I had to set up for the chump? And then, boom. I’m invisible.”

“Yeah, well,” you mutter with a smile, unclicking the lid, “Some people just like blondes, Buck. I’m sure there were plenty of eyes on you. Stop being so dramatic.”

“Yea, the best friend, sure,” he mumbles at the poster, “Hell, he was taller than me. You know you don’t need to lie to me—”

“Listen, if I was some Lauren Bacall-looking nurse back then,” you wave your hands, “I’d have gone for you. Alright? Stop lamenting and get over here.”

He goes quiet and ignores the warmth in his cheeks. He squats by your side. “Shut up.”

“We seriously need to work on taking compliments,” you groan, throwing your head back, “I’m being serious, y’know, for once. And I’m not just saying it as your friend. You’re handsome and everyone knows it except you, apparently. My neighbor agrees that’s for sure.”

He squints.

You wave it off and gesture to your outfit. “She saw me doing laundry.”

“That explains nothing,” Bucky deadpans, “Literally nothing.”

“I showed her a picture,” you cry indignantly, moving to shuffle through some of the old t-shirts sitting on top of the bin, “Relax.”

He moves to plop down, crossing his legs beneath him. He decides to let the topic die — again, for his own self-composure more than anything. The compliment, though vehemently denied by the worst part of him, is tucked neatly in the homes of his heart. The idea of meeting you, before now, is a little intoxicating. What would it have been like?

Would you have even spared him a dance?

Bucky rubs his cheek. Poke meows and buts the door open with his head.

You’re wrist-deep in the bin when you speak. “He’s obsessed with you, y’know.”

Poke has already taken up a post in Bucky’s lap. Bucky smiles, petting Poke gently with his vibranium hand. The cat seems to like the cool metal. Bucky mumbles softly down to the calico, scritching his cheeks. “I like him, too.”

You pause long enough to try and remember the sight.

Bucky’s eyes find yours, and you’re quick to turn back to the bin.

“Here we go,” you exhale as you pull out the shirt you’d been looking for.

It’s a long-sleeve button-down, one that you can distinctly remember Jaimie wearing to his engagement party’s after-party — a real typical night of Jaimie being Jaimie. It’s black with a barely-there red floral pattern. It’s flashy enough that Bucky won’t look horribly out of place.

The only problem is Jaimie was a little smaller than Bucky.

“Try this on,” you mumble as you dig around trying to find something else in case it doesn’t do the trick.

Bucky catches the silk shirt and gives it a once over. He raises an eyebrow, and deciding against debating this, he simply nudges Poke off his lap and stands.

He moves to your bed, laying the shirt out. On your closet door is a full-length mirror. You want to snap it in half when you accidentally catch a glimpse of Bucky hauling off his black, cotton t-shirt and anxiously fumbling with the buttons on Jaimie’s old shirt. You have to breathe — and remind yourself that that’s Bucky.

Your Bucky. Your best friend Bucky.

When he calls your name, it sounds far away. You’re busy angrily sorting through old clothes.

“I look ridiculous.”

When you turn around, the first thing you notice is that it’s a little tight. Not in a bad way, but the buttons are gapping along his chest, and it’s tight around his arms.

Your eyes widen a little and you swallow. You tilt your head.

Bucky’s frowning.

“Let me see,” you offer gently, standing and moving close, “It’s not that bad.”

“You don’t sound too sure right now,” he mumbles as you enter his personal space.

You’re nimble with undoing the top three buttons — it gives him enough room to move his shoulders, though, and the dip of the shirt along his sternum brings dog tags into view. You reach, momentarily entranced, and read them to yourself.

You smell like vanilla and sugar.

Bucky shifts in his boots.

“Y’know,” you say, moving to the sleeves, “I think this works.”

You roll the sleeves, stopping at his forearm.

When you step aside, Bucky can see himself in the full-length mirror. He looks less than enthused.

It’s not an entirely bad look — he’ll admit that much — but he doesn’t look like himself. No, there’s too much chest and skin and… Christ, this shirt is tight. He does, though, look like some of those trendy folks he sees at Izzy’s bar every now and again. Hipsters.

“I look like a douchebag.”

“That’s the point,” you chirp as you close the box and shove it back into your closet, “Now the outfit matches the personality.”

He swats at your head on the way by. You laugh.

You’ve got boots in your hand, and you land on the bed with a bounce. Bucky is busy fixing his hair in the mirror while you zip up the thigh-high boots. When he turns around, you’re about three inches taller. He blinks, yet again entranced by the outfit.

Then, you’re muscling on the jacket.

It’s neon pink — and shaggy and cropped. It falls just above your waist and swallows you whole. But, Bucky’s attention is mostly on the back.

There’s a large, white embroidered Playboy bunny there, with RABBIT written across the shoulders in a chunky, blackletter typeface.

His brows are high on his face when you turn around.

You freeze.

“...What?” you ask, “Something on my face?”

“Playboy bunny, huh?”

You could smack him. “Weren’t you busy being a frozen dinner when Playboy came out?”

“I’ll have you know,” he says tightly as he follows you out of your bedroom and to the living room, “The Russians enjoyed their fair share of editions.”

“The Russians? Sure, what’s that saying? There’s no sex in the USSR?” you chide, “You can just say Bucky Barnesenjoyed his fair share—”

The tips of his ears are red. You notice. It makes you split into a grin that worsens the pink shade that’s crawling up his neck.

He coughs. “Have you ever considered never opening your mouth again, Rabbit?”

You nudge his arm. “Nah. Bothering you is more fun.”

He shrugs on his jacket, sighs, and decides that keeping quiet is just easier.

However, that’s not entirely your plan — and you speak quickly as you pull your purse over your shoulder. You’re rummaging quietly, stacking your wallet and phone inside. You glance up at him.

“You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he mumbles, bending to pat Poke one last time as you move to the door of your bedroom. He watches you flick all the lights off, and before you leave, you double check the calico’s food and water. He’s got enough for a few days. Bucky leans against the door frame, “Care to run me through the plan?”

Nodding, you move to open your front door.

“It’ll be easy,” you explain as you make room for him, “If we play our cards right—”

Bucky’s stopped, though, and is digging in his back pocket as his cell phone rings. You watch him exhale tightly, eyes on the screen the entire time he squeezes by you and starts down the hall. You make careful note of the delicate scowl on his face, only before you catch Miss Bonnie out of the corner of her eye.

Her door is half-cracked across the hall, and she’s watching.

She offers you a smile.

Bucky keeps walking.

You wave, lock your door, and jog to catch up to Bucky.

“Hey,” you call, “Earth to Mr. Claw Machine?”

His head snaps up. “Sorry.”

“Who was that?” you ask carefully, nudging his arm with yours, “Falcon?”

“I wish,” he mutters as he muscles the cellphone back into his pocket, “I wouldn’t feel so bad sending him to voicemail.”

“Yeesh,” you wince, “Lemme guess, was it the owner of the coral lipstick that was all over your face on Tuesday night?”

Again, that temptation to feel jealousy flares up in your heart. But, he’s here, isn’t he? With you. Ignoring her calls. And probably texts judging by the guilty look that’s on his face. You feel a little bad — but at the same time, Bucky’s a grown man. Maybe a grown man who needs to create some more transparent lines of communication with the poor woman, but still.

“Bingo. I mean — it’s not that she wasn’t great an’ all but…”

You raise both hands. “I’m not judging.”

He sighs raggedly as he bounces down the apartment’s stairs. “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

“What?” you ask with a laugh, “Dating? Yea, it’s pretty fucking terrifying, Buck.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

You hold the door open for him and slide him a pitying look.

“Because I am.”

The walk to The Glass Cannon is spent walking Bucky through the plan — and for the most part, he makes a point of nodding along and listening. His only real anxiety pops up at the mention of Alexei, which is relatable to say the least.

It’s dark, the streets are relatively quiet, and the spring chill has pricked your skin. Your heels click against the pavement, and you stalk along. Shoving your hands in your pockets of the pink, shag jacket, you huff.

You’re starting to feel the anxiety.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re both approaching the blue glow of the storefront.

Computers & Stuff was a family-owned and operated computer shop from the 90s that was taken over by a lesser-known hand of the Russian crime family in New York, the Gardzovs. Alexei’s father is the formal owner of the shop, and his son runs the lucrative activities of the underground club that lay beneath the graphics cards and motherboards.

Bucky, as you both near the entrance, speaks quickly. “Anything else I need to know?”

“Just follow my lead, okay?” you whisper.

The bell above the door dings when you pull open the glass door.

The lighting is sterile and if you’re real quiet, you can hear the dull hum of the fluorescents. The store is empty, save for one man behind the register.

You almost duck out the entrance at the sight of him.

Igor has been a bouncer at The Glass Cannon for as long as you’ve been a patron — and he’s also one of Alexei’s dogs. This part of the plan was something you’d considered only briefly, and for a second, you’re thankful you worried over the million and ten ways this would play out for days.

“Well, if it isn’t the little bunny.”

It’s said with malice. Igor’s tattooed hands land on the counter as he leans.

You, however, hold your head high. Bucky watches as something changes in your posture.

“Good to see you, Igor.”

“Is it?” he growls, stalking around the counter and quickly encroaching on your personal space, “Because I’m pretty sure you’re not welcome here, bunny.”

Bucky gets a good look at the man now — clearly an enforcer. He’s got prison tattoos, a shaved head. The long beard is a weak spot. Doesn’t seem to be armed. Blue eyes flick to you and the way you don’t even flinch when the man leans to breathe right in your face.

You just smile.

“I thought you’d say that,” you mumble, moving to swing your bag to the front and dig your wallet out, “But, I’m not here to cause any trouble.”

Suddenly, there’s a hundred-dollar bill slipping from your well-manicured nails into the vest pocket of the bouncer. There’s a tense pause, then, while the two of you size one another up.

“Fucking your way through college paid off, huh?” he hisses.

You stay quiet.

Bucky, though, moves between you both with a quick shove. Immediately, Igor’s attention goes to Bucky as he sizes him up — he laughs. His nose is nearly touching Bucky’s.

“What’s wrong, pretty boy?”

“You should watch your mouth,” Bucky says evenly, “Or I’ll cut your fucking tongue out.”

You’re careful to hide your expression; the feeling the words stir isn’t one that you’re happy about. This sudden protectiveness, though, makes you feel some sort of invincible.

Igor settles back on his heels.

He steps back.

He gestures to the back room with his head.

You keep walking when he calls out: “Careful, bunny, the dogs are going to be looking for you.”

You grit your teeth tightly and push through the fabric curtain.

He barks, taunting you.

Bucky is by your side in an instant, gaze still rooted over his shoulder at the hulking bouncer. He waits until you’ve settled down until you’ve said his name. His eyes fall to you, then to the stairwell before them.

Above it, in curled neon tubing, reads The Glass Cannon.

The windows are blacked out, but from his spot at the top of the stairs, Bucky can feel the rattle of a deep bass vibrate his ribs.

“Come on. We’re on a time crunch now.”

“Alexei?”

You nod as you lead the way down the stairs. “Word travels fast. We need to be quicker. Stick to the crowds. Remember, we just need to find Kiwi — then we bail.”

Bucky nods tensely.

Then, you open the doors.

Immediately, his eyes adjust to the darkness — neon and strobes and the pulse of purple and pink LEDs make his vision swim. It’s warmer down here, and the stairs leading down into the sub-basement is lined with people sipping drinks and chattering over the loud music. It smells like piss and beer and tobacco.

Again, Bucky watches as the person he knows melts away.

The Rabbit in front of him is different.

You reach, as if on reflex, for his hand.

When you turn around and flash him a smile, he has to swallow down a sudden rise of sheepishness.  

The sea of people part around you, and Bucky realizes quickly that people recognize you. He can see their painted lips moving, muttering things into curious ears about the pink-clad woman in front of him; there are smiles there and frowns, and shock. You’re slow in your descent, making a show of the arrival — all while Bucky begins to piece together that The Glass Cannon is larger than he originally suspected.

As they near the bottom of the landing, he can see out across the floor.

There’s a square-shaped catwalk around the dance floor, laden with dancers on their designated poles. Tables line the outside of the cavernous room, and the bars along each wall are crowded — even still, these glimpses of his surroundings come in temporary flashes of light. The music coming from the center of the dancefloor is loud. The entirety of the scene is raucous.

He can’t imagine you finding solace here.

He tightens his grip on your hand. You squeeze back.

When both of you reach the bottom of the stairwell, the sea of people swallow you in a current of dancing and drinking and laughing, and you crawl into Bucky’s personal space to shout in his ear.

You’re still holding his hand tightly, pressed to his chest, as you lean upwards to brush your cheek with his.

“Follow me, okay?”

He nods.

You begin the methodical crawl through the dancefloor, working your way to the bar — there, you pause long enough to be served a drink that’s as pink as the glitter on your eyelids. The flecks dance in the lights, and Bucky graciously accepts a shot from the bartender who smiles sweetly like honey at you.

You bat your lashes, thank her, and stand gracefully from the barstool.

You take a pointed swig and scan the floor.

Kiwi would be in one of the private booths, you suspect — she was enough of a high roller here. But, with the crowded club bursting at the seams, it was nearly impossible to get to the other side. You sway a bit on your feet, still tightly gripping Bucky’s hand in your own. You refuse to let go.

For your sake and his.

Bucky is a silent shadow, eyes roaming the club — he watches a dancer dip down low and snag a green bill from a patron. Someone beside him laughs loud, another bumping into his backside as you continue to weave to the outer rim of the room. The music is so loud his heartbeat could be mistaken for an 808, and he feels the thrum in his bones.

If he wasn’t so overwhelmed, if he was drunk, maybe it could be fun.

Finally, out of the haze of bodies, Bucky can breathe.

You’re leaning over again, speaking quickly.

“I don’t see her.”

“I can’t see shit in here,” he calls back, eyes moving along the ridge of the room. He scans the booths set into the walls, set up on platforms, and roped off with velveteen, “Where would she be?”

“Hard to tell,” you mumble, “But I think I might need to go to Plan B.”

Bucky follows your solid stare.

In the booth directly across the floor from you, there’s a man in black — black everything, save from his hair. That’s the brightest blue Bucky has ever seen. He’s swallowed by a harem of men and women who are laughing and drinking and dancing, and he’s entertaining. Ringed fingers wave in the air, face split into a laugh so wide he swears it’s a mile long. He’s got glasses on and they’re tinted blue.

Bucky watches carefully as you move to his booth.

It’s like a prey surveying a trap — you’re careful.

Finally, when you stand before it, you let go of his hand.

“Hi there, Climber.”

The whole booth falls silent. The man stiffens, back turned to you totally. Bucky watches as his hands fall and slowly, the man you’d called Climber turns around.

His expression is stone cold.

His voice, however, is as warm as a hot poker.

“Oh my goodness, is that Rabbit?”

He ascends from the booth, platform boots leaving him to tower over you — he’s no small man, either. Bucky watches as he bends to kiss both of your cheeks and hug you tightly. He, however, doesn’t pull away entirely.

“What the fuck are you doing here,” he hisses, “You want to be roadkill?”

“I need to find Kiwi,” you whisper quickly, expression almost begging, “Please.”

He pauses, dimpled chin wavering a bit. Bucky watches him sniff, push his glasses back, and readjust his posture. Climber licks his lips and his eyes dart to Bucky. He’s thinking, Bucky realizes, and after a quick moment of deliberation, he seems to cave.

“Only because I owe you.”

“I know,” you say, raising your hands, “I know.”

In a dash, his demeanor changes once more. He’s flying over to his harem, waving his hands and blowing kisses and promising he’ll be back in a flash. They whine, they moan, but Climber appeases them with another round of jello shots from strobing syringes that a waitress is carrying by.

“Come on then,” he says, “And stop looking like such a prude.”

He begins to weave.

You follow hand returning to its spot in Bucky’s like a lifeline.

You’re sipping your drink, moving through the crowd easily. There’s a slight sway in your step now, and at one point you and Climber even get noticed by a pod of people who recognize your faces. It’s met with laughing and squealing and in the fray, the both of you slip back into the crowd. Bucky is taking it all in, desperately ignoring the tingle of a panic flaring in the back of his head.

Too many people.

Soon, though, Climber is moving towards a side entrance.

It’s a back room.

Suddenly, the dim lights and neon dissolve, and instead, Bucky is flashed in the face with the abrasive sting of fluorescent lights. It no longer reeks of spilled beer, and his boots don’t stick to the ground. No, there’s quiet chatter back here — Climber continues to lead the two of you through a maze of supply crates full of booze and soda.

Then, a right turn. And a left turn.

Someone is taking inventory.

“Kiwi, I know you’re going to hate me for this—”

The woman who turns around is beautiful. She’s in the midst of eyeing an open crate that looks just like the others but fitted with a hollowed center, marking off what looks like an inventory of burner cell phones. Her brown skin is decorated with glitter, her eyes streaked with the same green shade of her tightly shaved head. The green is bright and it reminds Bucky of summer.

Suddenly, her expression sours.

“What the fuck.”

“I know—”

“No,” she snaps, raising her hand and waving to the assistant beside her to take her tablet and make themselves scarce, “You need to get out of here.”

“I need your help,” you say finally, tone heavy.

It’s enough to make Climber sigh. Kiwi watches you, scratches her neck, and swallows.

She meets Climber’s eyes.

Then she breaks.

“Where the fuck have you been, Rabbit?” she asks, worries seeping into her eyes as she pulls you into a rough hug, “We thought you were dead.”

“No,” you shake your head, “But you know I couldn’t be around here anymore.”

“Yea,” Climber snorts, “Not good for your health, huh, love?”

“Alexei still wants your head,” Kiwi chimes in, crossing her arms, “Does he know you’re here?”

“Igor was on the door, so I’m sure he’s heard by now.”

Both of them curse.

Guilt flashes across your face as you screw your eyes shut and nod. “I know. I know, I just… I seriously need your help, Kiwi. It was worth the risk. It’s — HYDRA. I need to tap into the Alexandria Library.”

Immediately, the woman stiffens.

Her eyes flash to Bucky in the corner. He stares back.

“He waits outside.”

“You can trust him—”

“No,” she snaps, “I can’t. And I don’t. And I won’t.”

You give Bucky a pleading look. Between the two of you, a negotiation happens between your eyes. It’s a compromise, and finally, Bucky relents.

“Fine,” Bucky barks, tilting his head and giving you a tight-lipped smile, “Fine. I’ll wait out here.”

“He’s cute,” mumbles Climber as Bucky rounds the corner, long legs carrying him out of the supply room, “Boyfriend?”

“Shut up, Climber,” you mumble, waving your hand, “Just listen—”

“Who is he?” Kiwi asks, eyes still watching the doorway, “And why did you bring him along?”

You sigh, rubbing your brow. “He’s the one who’s trying to find this HYDRA agent. He knew her before.”

“So he’s HYDRA.”

“No,” you snap cooly, “He’s not.”

“So, just handsome, then?” Climber asks, hands waving, “Right. Great. Really making a case for yourself, Rabbit.”

“He’s trying to find a woman named Innessa Sidrova. She was one of the original agents who helped form the American HYDRA cell,” you explain quickly, “I’ve got the GRC breathing down my neck, and… And he’s a good person. He’s my friend. I’m trying to help him, but I can’t do it without you. Both of you.”

Kiwi hums. She sighs. “That explains why you went MIA.”

“Aside from putting Alexei behind bars?” you scoff, “Yea, the GRC played a part in it.”

The three of you are quiet for a moment.

“Fine.”

You look up at Kiwi. Her hands are on her waist.

There’s an immense wash of relief that floods over you at that moment — and from the looks of it, Kiwi can tell. You move to grab her hand, and she grabs back. Both of you smile, and the hug that follows is warm. You’ve missed her. A lot.

“Thank you, Suji.”

Then, footsteps.

That relief is traded in for an anxious backfire of fear in an instant.

It’s slow. Dress shoes on polished cement.

Then:

“Oh, bunny, bunny, bunny. Tsk, tsk.”

Climber and Kiwi’s faces upturn to the doorway and they tell you everything you need to know.

So, you decide at that moment that you won’t be the prey tonight.

You turn around and come face-to-face with a man playing devil.

Alexei Gardzov is a handsome man — a beard and piercing grey eyes. His hair is tightly cropped, and intricate tattoos decorate every inch of his skin. Some of them are new, you realize, and there’s temporary pride that bubbles up at them. They’re from prison.

You almost smile.

Behind him, three goons loom.

“I’ve been wondering when you’d come hopping back,” he croons as he enters the room with the swagger of a man who trapped his dinner, “Well worth the wait, I think.”

His cologne hangs like smog in the air. He strolls up to you, and in a flash, he’s got your hair in a vice grip.

He yanks it back, you grit your teeth.

The barrel of a gun digs into your cheek.

“Climber, Kiwi, and Rabbit,” he sing-songs, “All in one room again like it’s NYU’s 2014 hack-a-thon. Isn’t that cute?”

Kiwi speaks. “Alexei—”

“Shut up,” he snaps, gun moving to flash towards Kiwi, “And stay out of my business, Sujina.”

The gun’s muzzle is cold. He’s rough, and you try to ignore the twinge of pain that comes with his unceremonious yank of your hair. Once more, he tsks. His breath is hot on your face. He smells like cigarettes and whiskey.

“I spent seven years behind bars,” he bites, “All because a’ you.”

“Me? I wasn’t the one trafficking girls—”

“SHUT UP!”

The pistol cracks across your cheek and the cement floor hurtles towards you. The gasp that falls from your lips is from shock; your fingers dig into the cold ground as you try to blink away the blurriness. Your ears ring. Blood drips from your cheek between your fingers.

Again, there’s a hand in your hair.

Now, the fight begins.

Climber and Kiwi are stuck, frozen in fear.

You don’t blame them, because Igor and the others have guns already drawn. One of them, one that’s young and you don’t recognize immediately, has a baseball bat in his hands.

Alexei drags you by your hair as you grimace, refusing to scream. Your heels scrape against the ground as you try to get purchase, but he’s quick to throw you back against the far wall.

“Don’t worry, Bunny,” he smiles, “I won’t kill you. Not right now.”

Then, a kick.

Right to the ribs.

You can’t breathe — you gasp earnestly at the white, hot shot of pain.

“Get up.”

You’re not listening, you’re too busy trying to catch your breath.

“I said,” comes a growl as he reaches, hand in your hair again as he drags you up the wall. Your legs buckle, and you try to hold your chin high as you stumble upwards, “Get up.”

Then, there’s a hand around your throat.

Tight. Too tight. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. Can’t get his hand off your neck, can’t breathe, can’t breathe, can’t fucking think, can’t stand, can’t see, can’t breathe —

“Boss!”

A new voice.

The pressure is relieved for a second.

A new face has run into the room — he looks frazzled, hair askew and gun out. He’s eyeing the scene before him in a moment’s pause.

“Can’t you see I’m a little bit busy?” Alexei snags as you gasp, clawing at his hand. He swings his head to the figure in the doorway with an annoyed bark, “What is it?”

“The cops, boss,” he stammers, “They’re here.”

“What?”

“They’re here for her, boss.”

A slow turn to where his finger is pointing. His gaze lands on you. Alexei laughs.

“Well,” he says as the goon disappears, “Isn’t that just peachy, bunny?”

The choking starts again.

Then, a metal hand.

Vibranium.

You watch it swing, you watch it grab Alexei’s throat.

Suddenly, you can breathe.

Suddenly, Bucky Barnes enters the fight.

You make friends with the ground again as you duck, just as Alexei is rammed into the wall above your head by his throat. As you cough while Kiwi calls your name — you can hear a fight. But everything’s moving slow, and it’s not until the first gunshot that you’re kicked into action. It’s loud. Your skin pricks alive.

Someone screams.

You stumble to your feet, eyes finding Bucky’s form moving quickly between the three goons — the gunshot had come from the pistol that had somehow found its way into Bucky's flesh and blood hand. One of the men is on the floor, suit pants stained with a bullet wound through the thigh. He’s wailing. Bucky doesn’t notice. Or he doesn’t care. Maybe both.

His face is cold.

Another gunshot is fired off, this time richoting between you and Kiwi and Climber and embedding itself into the cement wall overhead. The three of you scream, ducking reflexively.

That’s when Bucky snaps.

“Now would be a good time to go!”

Kiwi’s hands are on your arm as you quickly break through the doorway through the storage room. Climber is following, checking over his shoulder at the carnage that Bucky begins to reap in the room.

He’s hysterical, trying to jog in his white platform boots. “What the fuck, Rabbit!”

Your voice is hoarse. You’re clutching your ribs. “Not now, Climber!”

“I’m parked in the back,” Kiwi says, ducking through plastic flaps as she helps you through the back of the club, “Come on, we’ll go through the trucking entrance.”

You hear Bucky call your name — he’s jogging to catch up, gun drawn in his hand. Seems like he made good work of the others, sporting nothing more than a split lip. You turn, pausing for a moment to take inventory of his well-being.

And that’s all it takes.

Alexei Gardzov, limping, steps in front of you and Kiwi and Climber at an intersection in the hallway.

There’s a gun in his hand.

The first thing you feel is the impact.

Like a truck slamming into you at full speed. For the fourth time tonight, you have the air robbed from your lungs. It’s instant confusion.

Then comes the pain. Hot. Hotter than the sun. Hot like white flames. It tears through your shoulder and all you can do is gasp; you’re sent into a stutter step — and while the world around you continues to move, you’re busy reconciling with the fact you’ve just been shot.

A bullet flies by your head.

Alexei Gardzov drops.

You’re grasping at your chest, staggering, when Bucky breaks into a sprint — but you’re okay. You’re okay, it’s just your shoulder, it’s just your arm, you’re okay, you can feel your fingers and you can breathe and the pain is nearly unbearable but you’re okay.

Then, a baseball bat.

It clocks Bucky directly in the skull. He’s clotheslined.

It’s Igor.

The gun from Bucky’s hands clatters across the ground to your feet, and you’re too busy trying to get to Bucky to realize — but, you’ve got tunnel vision and adrenaline and at that moment, you think a good sidekick doesn’t need anything else in this life.

Igor goes to swing at you, but you duck. Your stiletto crushes through the top of his shoe. He screams and in a flurry of pain and panic, you manage to snag the bat quick enough to turn and clock him under the chin with a roll of the wrist.

His teeth clack together and he falls backward, unconscious.

“God, I really wish you could have seen that, Buck.”

You spit. Blood paints the ground.

The bat clatters to the cement as you fight through the pain. Kiwi and Climber are by your side in an instant.

“No, no!” she screams, “We do not have time for this—”

“I am not leaving him,” you snap, nearly screaming at the woman, “Come on and help me with him. Now.”

After a sigh of resignation, Kiwi shoves the gun she’d snagged from the ground into the back of her jeans. You’ve got your hands around Bucky’s ankles as Kiwi and Climber take his torso — and the four of you make a break for the back entrance. You can hear the cops outside now, and there’s the chatter of Russian following you into the back parking lot.

“Hurry up!”

“He’s not exactly light as a feather, you know!”

“Shut up, Climber!”

You’ve got Bucky halfway into the back seat of Kiwi’s white Cadillac when another bullet whizzes by your head.

“Fuck.”

Kiwi hops into the driver’s seat as Climber scatters to hop the hood and throws himself into the passenger's seat. You lean, clinging to the door of the backseat as Kiwi peels out of the parking lot. It swings wide open and you curse loudly. You can see Alexei’s men watching from the back entrance, shouting in Russian — so you muster all your strength to pull back and throw the door closed as Kiwi’s car bounces over a speed bump and rams through the parking meter’s gate.

In the rear window, the front of the club is surrounded.

Red and blue lights illuminate the street — but Kiwi is quick.

No one follows.

And when she finally makes it to the Manhattan Bridge, you exhale.

Bucky’s head is in your lap. He still hasn’t come to — there’s blood coming from his nose and you’re worrying. You lace your fingers into his thick, brown hair and chew your lip.

Kiwi’s voice pulls you from him.

“When were you going to mention the vibranium arm, huh?”

You laugh. It’s more of a breath of air than anything. Your head rests back against the seat. Your shoulder is still on fire. You’re hot, but cold. You’re bleeding still. Your ribs aren’t right. You know that.

“I can’t believe he shot you,” Climber mumbles, “He fucking shot you.”

“And your boy toy shot him,” Kiwi says, sparing you a look in the rearview, “So you better pray he’s dead.”

You ignore the commentary.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere safe,” she says, accelerating into Manhattan, “Where I can get you those files and you can keep your head down.”

Sounds like a plan.

Better than the one you had, anyways.

[omg-imagine]

Distraction

Pairing: Johnny Silverhand x female!V

Summary: Johnny distracts V the best way he knows how.

Words: 3.1k

Warnings: language, smut (oral + rough sex, choking)

A/N: Please don’t mind the weak plot, this was just an excuse to write p*rn featuring the only character I want to romance in the game but can’t. Also, for the sake of this fic, let’s just say he can touch V and vice versa :)) Hope you enjoy!

V was pissed.

No, she was beyond pissed.

And when V’s beyond pissed, she’s sure to let the whole fucking world know.

“Tone it down, princess,” Johnny cuts in once he’s heard enough of her long-winded rant.

V stops her relentless pacing around the apartment and shoots a menacing glare towards the rocker.

“I warned you not to take that job from the start. Now, look at you, bruised up from head to toe, and cheated out of your eddies.”

“That son of a bitch promised me half the cut,” V recalls bitterly, her chest heaving from the fierce anger spreading all throughout. “I’m gonna make sure Cruz regrets asking me for help.”

The merc stalks off to her stash, muttering low under her breath how she plans on raising hell the next time she crosses paths with him. As V polishes her guns (something she typically does to calm herself), Johnny approaches the small room to the side with the same cocky attitude that would surely piss her off even more.

He can’t help himself at times; he sure does love pushing V’s buttons.

“You done whining or what?”

Rolling her eyes, V turns her head to see Johnny standing there as he takes a drag on his cigarette. Normally, she doesn’t mind him smoking around her, but after an exhausting night where things didn’t work out in her favor, she was quickly reaching her boiling point. “You better clean up all that ash on the floor when you’re done.”

“Since when did you start caring about this shithole of an apartment being neat?” Johnny comments, more so as a tease, and this earns him another scowl. “Don’t waste your energy on Cruz. He’ll get what’s coming to him.”

“Didn’t know you believed in karma,” V adds, narrowing her eyes.

Devilishly, he smirks at her, tossing the cigarette butt to the floor then crushing it with his shoe. “Hon, there’s a lot of things you still don’t know about me.”

“Yeah,” she agrees before brushing past Johnny. “I’m heading out.”

His figure glitches momentarily, reminding V that he was nothing but a ghost residing in her mind, despite how real he feels. Even if she wants to leave this “shithole of an apartment” for some semblance of peace and quiet, she knows Johnny will only follow. He’s tethered to her for what could possibly be the rest of her life.

And yet, no matter how big of an asshole Silverhand was, she’s grown fond of his presence.

Not that she would mention it out loud. Ever.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Out,” V simply states, wondering what the point in Johnny asking her that question when he could easily find it out for himself was.

It’s truly unfair how he can read her thoughts, but she can’t read any of his.

He chuckles low. “Gon’ pay a joy toy to fuck tonight?”

“No, I’m going out for a drive, distract myself from that shitshow earlier. You better leave me alone.”

“Well, I’m a little insulted,” Johnny snorts, feigning offense. “I thought you liked my company.”

“I’m tired of your company. You never shut that mouth of yours.”

Before V could head to the door, she feels a metal hand encircling her wrist, holding her in place. She glances behind her, meeting Johnny’s deep, dark eyes, which hid a multitude of secrets. It’s been a while since she has felt a touch that wasn’t full of malice. Though his palm is cold from the material it’s made out of, a distinct heat spreads through her body—

It was a familiar warmth, one that radiates from V at his mere touch.

And when Johnny’s lips curl into a shit-eating grin, she knows that he has sensed it too.

“Shut my mouth? I think I can do something else much better than that.”

Johnny’s gravelly voice fuels the desire burning deep within V as he pulls her closer, her feet moving at their own accord. “God, I wish you came with an off-switch.”

“Don’t pretend you’re not enjoying this little game we’ve been playing.”

V doesn’t respond, her pulse quickening with anticipation. She lets out a shuddering moan when Johnny leans in, his hot breath grazing her silky skin before his lips crash against hers, possessively. He floods V’s senses all at once as he hungrily kisses her, letting him take the reins.

It would be a lie for V to say she’s never pictured a moment like this. A moment where she finally succumbs to Johnny’s charm and allows him to lay claim on her. It’s always been a constant dance between the two, a chemistry disguised as indifference, a craving left unspoken. Amidst the degrading insults and the snarky attitudes, deep down, they have always wanted the same thing—

To fuck each other’s brains out.

“Still tired of my company, V?”

“Just shut the fuck up for once and take off your pants.”

The grin on his face hasn’t disappeared. It only grows broader. “Ask, and you shall receive.”

Johnny roughly grabs V at the waist, his fingers curling underneath the hem of her shirt as he pushes her towards the bed. His mouth latches onto her neck, no doubt marking her for all of Night City to see.

They fell onto the mattress without finesse, similar to how V kisses Johnny feverishly, all tongue and teeth. Void of tenderness and only driven by the urgency of lust. She was too distracted by her want to care for the taste of tobacco from his last smoke. The hands traveling every inch of V’s frame lights up a fire in her, bringing a high that no drug on the black market could ever do.

Surprisingly, Johnny allows her to take the lead for a bit when she straddles him, his hardening cock pressing up against her aching cunt. She gages his reaction as she grinds on his clothed erection, a wicked smile forming to the sight of him being teased.

“You like that, huh? Fuck, I can’t wait to have you inside of me.” She feels herself growing wetter and wetter, losing patience just as swiftly as the man under her.

Without warning, Johnny flips them both over, the length of his body now pressed against hers from above. He wastes no time peeling V’s shirt and bra off, pausing for the briefest of seconds to admire her bare breasts. His cybernetic hand squeezes one soft mound as his lips descend on the other. She moans, and they were pure music to his ears, sounds that were so beautiful he could write endless songs about them.

“J-Johnny,” V stutters out his name, unable to contain herself anymore. She doesn’t remember the last time someone has quickly reduced her into a mess, and desperately she wanted, needed more.

The way his name trembles from her mouth drives Johnny into a frenzy, simpering at the fact he really hasn’t done much yet, but it was enough to leave V quivering. She looks too sinful beneath Johnny, too delectable. He’s well-aware of how long she’s gone without sex, and he’s now bent on ending that sad streak of hers.

Hastily, Johnny removes V’s pants and underwear in one quick go, his gaze devouring her beauty like a starved man staring at his meal. “Wow, you’re fucking drenched down there.”

“Fuck,” she gasps, one hand reaching forward to grip at his lengthy locks as soon as he delves in to taste her dripping nectar for the first time.

“You enjoying yourself there, baby?” Johnny’s inquiry needs no response. He could already tell she is solely by the way her eyes flutter shut, her head lolling to the side.

One lick. Two licks. Three. He surely knew how to work that deft tongue of his.

Johnny’s cock continues to throb in the confines of his trousers as his lips encircle V’s swollen bud, but he doesn’t end there. She wants more, and he’s willing to give her just that.

More.

V squirms when two chrome fingers enter her heat, stretching out her walls to prepare her for the serious pounding coming up. She’s lost in the sensations, unable to form a coherent thought or word. Johnny’s tempo was slow at first; tantalizing, nearly torturous. But once he starts moving faster, pumping even harder and reaching that sweet, sweet spot of hers, she begins to pant wildly as she fucks herself on his hand to get more friction.

“Holy shit, you’re a goddess,” he croaks after pulling back to study the needy woman looking back at him through half-lidded eyes. V is tight around his fingers, and he could only imagine how it would be like with his cock buried deep inside her instead.

Each rough stroke of Johnny’s digits against her wet walls brought V closer and closer to the brink of orgasm, her moans increasing in both volume and frequency. He urges her to let go, whispering into her ear how he wants to see and feel her coming. The gruffness in his tone turned her on even more, and V soon finds herself falling over the precipice, flushing hot with euphoria as Johnny watches, awestruck.

Satisfied, he beams at his work, which was only half of what he intends to do this evening. Being gracious, Johnny gives V an ample minute to recover, using the downtime to wipe the glistening wetness coating his beard before tasting the juices he’s collected.

Delicious, he thinks. She tastes as good as she looks.

V eventually comes back to her senses, propping herself up on her elbows as she gazes at Johnny with an almost dazed expression. “Perhaps the rumors are actually true.”

“Which one?” Silverhand asks, ridding himself of his clothes at the foot of her bed.

V pauses prior to answering, the sound of metal clinking filling the air as he unbuckles his belt, stripping off his leather pants afterwards.

“That you’re the best pussy eater in town,” she then reveals, glancing up briefly to see the smug look on his face before her gaze falls to his groin again.

Of course, Johnny chooses to go commando, and no, she wasn’t shocked at all.  

Silently, she marvels at the dick nestled in a thick bush of dark hair. Girthy and long with a slight curve upwards, the thought of it being inside her, barely fitting, made her mouth water. He wasn’t lying when he casually mentioned having an impressive cock.

It definitely did not disappoint.

“Oh sweetheart, that was nothing,” Johnny declares before climbing back on top of V, settling in between her legs. “The main act is just beginning.”

She doesn’t wait for Johnny to kiss her. In an instant, V’s lips were on his, her tongue pushing into his mouth, faintly tasting herself at the same time. Meanwhile, Johnny grips the base of his leaking cock, rubbing its engorged head against her slick folds that had her breathing heavily. V cants her hips impatiently, and through their kiss, he chuckles at her eagerness.

“So desperate for my cock, aren’t you?” Johnny husks mockingly. “How badly do you want me, slut? I wanna hear you say it.”

A moan escapes her throat at his words as he rubs his tip against her clit. V wants him so, so bad that she’s begging incessantly, something she never does in any of her past fucks. Usually, she was in complete control, never the one to relinquish her power.

Maybe that was the reason why V was utterly drunk with pleasure from this steamy session with Johnny. It’s good not to be in control for once.

“Shit, Johnny. Please, just fuck me already. Fill me up,” V pleads, now helpless at this point. She has to come again, this time around his cock. She repeats her keening over and over again, hoping that it was enough to feed into Johnny’s ego and finally show her mercy.

“Well, since you asked so nicely…”

Tugging at his cock, Johnny forces V’s legs to spread wider as she waits for him, mesmerized. Her pussy was soaked from his ministrations, but when he starts pushing into V, the burning stretch of her walls trying to accommodate his thick length leaves her in tears.

Those tears, however, weren’t entirely from the pain. V was also shedding tears because of how full Johnny makes her feel.

“Fucking hell, V,” he groans as she clamps down on him. “You’re so fucking tight. Damn, why didn’t we do this sooner?”

“We were too busy pretending to hate each other,” V replies, digging her nails into Johnny’s back when he begins to move.

His thrusts are slow but rough— as if he’s getting accustomed to the wondrous feeling of being inside of V. It doesn’t last long, though. Johnny has always been a hard and fast kind of guy, the one that does two or three more rounds before passing out. He’s bragged about his amazing stamina as well, and despite V believing she could match it, she probably won’t be able to tonight.

Not when he’s fucking her into the mattress like this for their very first time together.

Johnny’s brutal pace doesn’t falter. He pounds into V harder, faster, rougher; as if his life depends on it, the obscene sounds of flesh slapping against flesh bouncing off every corner of the room. His slick pre-come mixes with her honeyed essence, allowing him to seamlessly reach the depths of her center. Sweat drips down the side of his face as he maneuvers his mechanical hand to wrap around V’s delicate neck, adding pressure when she doesn’t resist.

“That’s it, baby,” Johnny growls next to her ear, rolling his hips as he squeezes her throat tighter. “You’re making me feel so good. I’ve always known you were a dirty whore.”

V’s gasping and thrashing, but she doesn’t want him to stop. She loves the rush of blood through her head far too much, especially with Johnny slamming harshly into her. It gives her a thrill she has never experienced with anyone else. Pretty sure he’s ruining her for others.

But whether this was part of his intentions or not, V doesn’t know. Nor she cares enough to figure it out.

“Fuck, you’re such a good girl for me, V. Look at you, taking all of my cock like the fucking slut you are. You’ve wanted this for a while, haven’t you? You practically dream about me every night, and don’t you deny it.”

She doesn’t. Johnny was right, though it doesn’t really matter at this very second. His hold on V loosens for her to speak, and she inhales as much air her lungs could possibly take. She could feel it again, the ultimate high she’s been chasing once more. Johnny’s shaft dragging against her pulsing walls brings her even closer to it, building up the pleasure rising in the pit of her stomach.

“I-I’m close,” V warns, the pressure inside her threatening to break free. “Shit, Johnny, I’m gonna come soon.”

Johnny’s hips jerked harder, causing V to cry out. “Yeah? You’re gonna come? Don’t worry, I’m gonna make sure you come on my cock.”

Halting, he drapes her left leg over his shoulder, allowing him to slide in deeper than he has before. Johnny then pushes his metallic thumb into V’s mouth, and without prompt, she swirls her tongue around it, coating it with her saliva. Not missing a beat, his movement resumes, all bruising and all punishing. He brings his wetted finger on her sensitive pearl, stroking it as if he’s playing his guitar on stage.

The change in angle proves to be the final straw for V, who’s litany of high-pitch moans spurs Johnny to fuck her even more forcefully. Again and again, she takes everything he gives her, and in turn, she encourages him to follow her into the abyss. Her pussy caresses his cock with every frantic push and pull, and she notices how he’s gradually picking up speed, losing his rhythm in the process.

“Your cunt belongs to mine now,” Johnny mutters, gritting his teeth, and it’s becoming clear to V that he’s holding back just for her. “Come on, V. Let go, let go for me.”

Lust-blown eyes lock with V’s own, wordlessly urging her one last time to come undone. Several sharp thrusts later, she finds herself clenching around Johnny’s cock, her orgasm shooting through her like a rain of bullets. Unabashedly, V shouts as her vision whitens, intense waves of ecstasy washing over her shaking body. She’s too absorbed in bliss to realize right away that Johnny was still in her, dick hard and ready for a similar release.

Once she finds her bearings, V grinds her hips against Johnny’s, and immediately, his nails dig into her as he begins to move inside her yet again.

“Don’t stop, Johnny,” she purrs, watching him fuck her with both fast and long strokes. “I want you to cum deep inside me, baby. Shit, I want it so badly. Please, give it to me. Please…”

With a strained moan, Johnny suddenly climaxes, snarling as he shoots searing ropes of his thick, creamy cum into V, painting her inner walls with white. His features contort with pleasure as he throws his head back, his breathing shallow and ragged. When his heart rate returns somewhat back to normal, he slowly pulls his softening cock out, smirking at the sight of his load dripping out of her.

Afterwards, he flops down beside V with a huff, joining her as she stares blankly up at the ceiling. Johnny clears his throat as he shifts closer to V, who instinctively rests her head on his chest. His cyber arm curls around her, and she sighs deeply, seemingly content.

“How about that for a fucking distraction?” He says, recalling how the two of them got here in the place. “Don’t even have to go on a ride to clear your mind. Feel free to ride me instead.”

V laughs at his jest. “It was a great fuck, the best one I’ve ever had if I’m honest. But I’m still going after Cruz.”

Johnny hums in response, seeing V’s weary eyes growing heavier. “Fine, but just to let you know, what happened between us isn’t a one-time thing.”

“Fuck, I hope not. You’re stuck with me till the end of the world, buddy.”

“It’s a good thing you have an amazing pussy then.”

V smacks him lightly as exhaustion begins to take over. Sure, she was still pissed she didn’t get her eddies, but at least now she knows the prick named Johnny Silverhand was surprisingly a cuddler.

And that piece of information was worth gold.

Permanent Tags:   @penwieldingdreamer @keandrews @feminine-machinegun @fanficsrusz @thehumanistsdiary @flaminasteroid @rowserein​ @unaspiringwritings​ @planetkt​ @breakthenight​ @baphometwolf666 @rdjloverxxx

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

i am BEGGING you for a part two oh my god i am in shambles…. i am too weak for angst 😭😭😭 THE SOFT GLANCE??? BYE. I AM GONE. /lh

- 🍒

eeeee i'm excited because i had a lot of ideas for this and i think it came out pretty good!! it diverts from canon (obviously) but i'm proud of how it came out >:)

did this get out of hand? probably but it's FINE because it's good <3 dw comrade i'm weak to angst too

Part One is right here!!: Golden House is Falling Down

~ * ~

The Sky's Tears (Part Two to "Golden House is Falling Down") Foul Legacy Childe x Reader Gender Neutral (pronouns not mentioned) Hurt/Comfort Warnings: Descriptions of pain, injuries, blood, rain, thunder, lightning, fear, anxiety, mentions of death, crying, diversions from canon

~ * ~

It was the rain that woke you. Seeping between the cracks of stone above you, it dripped and fell, landing with a small splash on your cheek. You had frowned in your unwilling sleep, your body urging you to stay unconscious. Then it had happened again, and again. The single drop had strengthened into a small stream of water trickling onto your face, persistent in its endeavor of waking you. You groaned in irritation and wiped at your cheek, but the miniature waterfall was stubborn, more stubborn than you ever were. You couldn’t blame it. Water always goes down after all. With a frustrated string of select words, you crack your eyes open and find yourself face-to-face with a large slab of stone. You furrow your brows, confused- you don’t recall falling asleep in a cave. The stone was smooth- much too elegant and orderly to be part of a regular cavern. What was it? Part of a building? Then why were you just getting rained on? The rain sounded rather close- you can hear it pattering on the roof of whatever structure you were inside. The ground was damp and gritty, a stark contrast from the polished walls around you, and dim light filtered in from the side your back was facing. Curiouser and curiouser, you prop yourself up on your elbow to roll over. Only to gasp and jerk as pain shoots up your legs. You fall back to the ground immediately, eyes wide with shock and horror. As your flesh and bones become re-accustomed to one another, you’re made increasingly aware of the dull pain settled in your body, flaring up whenever you do more than move your head. Memories resurface, paining your mind as well as your limbs. There was a fight in the Golden House, between the Traveler and Childe. You were there. You watched as some foreign power took control of Childe’s body and turned him into a monster, and as a burst of electro energy combined with hydro to strike you unconscious. Then everything had gone dark. Now there was no one- only you under a mysterious ruin, barely protected from the icy rain. Gingerly, you feel around your stomach for a gash or injury, only to find a firmly wrapped bandage. Your eyes widen, then you sigh in relief. Thank goodness for the haste of the Traveler- although they were nowhere to be seen, you were sure they had made sure to at least wrap your wound before being pulled away to something else more important. Your worries for them were next to none- they were the Traveler, savior of Mondstadt and quite possibly Liyue. They could take care of themself. You smile for a moment, but then your mouth drops into a worried frown. Childe- where was Childe? You can’t remember what happened to the Harbinger. You need to find him, even though he nearly struck you dead. Inhaling a deep breath, you stiffen yourself and force your body to turn over, to face the weak light shining through the rain. Your bones sing out in pain, as if they’ve been stiffened and frozen so they’re brittle, so brittle they’d snap at the slightest movement. But they don’t, even if they feel like they should. You drag yourself into a standing position, using the slippery walls as support. As you limp out of the curious cave, the heavy rain chills and numbs your skin, washing away any semblance of warmth you might’ve collected from sleep, and you look around to get your bearings. All around you are the crumbled remains of the famed Golden House. You quickly clap a hand over your mouth to suppress a scream, but nothing comes out, your voice seemingly gone from the feeling of dread in your stomach. The eternal vault and world’s supply of mora, gone. Rubble beneath your feet. You swallow thickly and shake your head, letting your gaze wander to try and calm the anxiety in your veins. Something vaguely shining catches your eye, and you shuffle closer to have a look. A thick, sticky liquid coats the ground underneath more ruins, a blue dark enough to be black and oddly glinting, like tiny stars flashing through the night sky. There’s more before you, a disjointed trail that leads into the trees, the rest of it washed away by the storm. You have a sickening idea of what it might be.

Gritting your teeth, you straighten and stand again, following the starry patches into the nearby forest. Here the path is more clear, a bold arrow of deep blue and dancing lights pointing your way. It’s a long journey up and down and around, the trees providing you constant support through your own pain. The slash on your stomach stopped bleeding, but the dried red still mocks you as you take one step after another. The sky occasionally flashes with lightning and thunders at you threateningly, but too distant to reach you. And the rain never relents. The scattered stars lead you to a cave- a real cave, good and proper- that offers you shelter from the crying clouds above. But you see nothing, and feel like crying yourself. Something blinks at you. You squeak in fear, jumping away from whatever it is- you can see its claws, sharp and true- and press yourself against the wall, unwilling to go back out into the rain. One eye stares and creeps closer, and you vaguely wonder if it’d be blinking or winking. There’s a deep, rumbling growl from the darkness as it approaches, and you shut your own eyes, too weak and injured to fight. A warm, clawed hand gently cups your face, and your breath hitches. A thumb carefully rubs your cheek, and the growl filters into a strong purr. And suddenly, you know. It’s him. It’s him. Your eyes open as quickly as they had closed, and you find yourself staring up at an enormous, monstrous Childe, almost the same as he was in the bottom of the Golden House. Up close, you see differences. What you thought was a cape is now a pair of sparkling wings, laying flat on his back, and dried cuts litter his body. He’s kneeling towards you instead of floating, and his mask has changed just barely, but enough for you to notice. He’s smiling, looking at you with a soft, fond expression. You reach up to hold his face as well, and he leans into your touch, purrs becoming steadily louder. A single tear rolls down your cheek, and he whines in concern, but you simply wipe it away. You can’t cry. Not now. A silent question hangs in the air, and when you look up, you ask him with your eyes. What happened? He simply shakes his head- he doesn’t know. But he can’t change back. Suddenly he leans in and presses his face to yours with a quiet whimper. He’s scared, just like you are. But you offer a moment of respite to calm him, although you can see how his claws clutch the ground and how his shoulders tense. Snuggling closer, you bury one hand in his fluff and place the other in his own, humming at how warm he feels compared to your rain-slicked skin. You feel his hand gently clasp yours, and the other curls around your waist as he carefully sets his head on your shoulder. As you pet his fluff and make your way up to his mask, you can hear his purrs resume as he and you both begin to drift into a cozy, peaceful sleep. Outside, the windy rain becomes a dancing melody, and the world allows a brief moment of bliss.

[wordsnstuff]

Guide to Drafting

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Planning v. Discovery

The first thing you must decide when you embark on the journey of drafting a story is how you’re going to get it done. Typically, there are two groups you can fit into, though most writers are somewhere in between. There are writers who plan meticulously before they begin writing to create a very clean first draft, or there are discovery writers (otherwise known as “pantsers”) who find more success in choosing a premise and then using a zero draft to explore the idea before gluing down any details. You are most likely someone who falls between those two methods. Some initial planning to feel familiar with your idea before you do some of the planning through the writing itself. Having some semblance of a method will help you narrow down your own process, which is immensely important if you want to get any substantial project near completion.

Consistency

Drafting is a difficult process because it’s either the revisitation of ideas you’ve already had, or the generations of ideas in quick succession. If you want to have a draft in a reasonable amount of time, you must develop a consistency in your writing. I won’t say that it must be a strict routine because time management can be a luxury, but you must make the consistent effort to write, and keep it in the forefront of your mind. Even if you don’t write every day, it should be something you try to make time for every day.

Know What You’re Trying to Accomplish

To get a draft done, you need to set expectations for yourself and they must be realistic. That doesn’t mean they have to be easy, or an amount of work you’ve been able to accomplish in the past. Considering how much time you dedicate to writing and your skillset, it should be a goal within reality. In addition, you must accept that you cannot create a masterpiece in one draft. For each version of your story that you write, you must have a focused goal, such as maintaining consistent characterization, making the plot concise and engaging, or making the prose more fluid and efficient. If you have a specific and attainable goal that you can accomplish in a reasonable amount of time with a fair amount of precision, each draft will be better than the last.  

Designate Work to Phases

As mentioned in the last section, it maximizes your time and effort to have specific and attainable goals for each draft. This doesn’t mean that you rewrite the draft each time (though that is very common amongst writers), but that you designate tasks to draft versions. I find it very helpful in clearing my mind and soothing my perfectionist anxiety to make a “schedule”, outlining what I’ll accomplish in each version following the zero draft. For example, my draft schedules usually end up something like this:

Zero Draft: Main plot line, basic characterization, key world building

First Draft: Finalize Timeline, research for world building, structure

Second Draft: (Rewrite) Plot Development Fine Tuning

Subplot development

Foreshadowing

Build up to climaxes

Tone & Pace

Third Draft: (Intermittent Rewrites) Character Development Fine Tuning

Backstory

Subtextual Development

Making sure motivations are clear

Relationships between characters

Reinforcing character arcs

Checking dialogue

Fourth Draft: (Give to Beta Readers) World Building & Prose

Descriptions & Flow

Finalize settings

Checking grammar & punctuation

Reader Immersion

Fifth Draft: Incorporate Beta Reader Feedback

Write for Yourself First

In what some call the “zero-draft”, there are no rules. This draft is purely for your eyes. It’s you telling yourself the story for the first time. So, you don’t have to write in chronological order, or know the right word you’re looking for, or take a break every time you run into a problem. The purpose of the zero draft is to get a rough idea of as much of the story as you can and avoid getting snagged on minor details. This part is important. A lot of writers like to outline meticulously before they begin drafting and if that works for you, that’s great, but the majority of writers who attempt that get stuck in the planning phase, or burnt out on their story before a word of it exists. The easiest way to avoid those two situations is to do a zero draft, which can be as long or short as you want if it provides a skeleton for you to add meat to later.

Common Struggles

~ How do you estimate the number of words/chapters?... That depends on the genre, mostly. However, that’s usually something you decide in the second draft and beyond, and it can vary because of factors you haven’t got locked down until the plot and character arcs are firm or final. This is also something you’ll probably do a lot of tinkering with, and receive feedback on, especially from beta-readers, who can advise you on where natural breaks could occur from their perspective.

~ Why, after planning everything out, do I always struggle to write the draft?... 99% of the time, it’s because you’ve either burned yourself out, or accumulated too much pressure. When you put that much effort and time into a story, you can either slip into a headspace where you feel little excitement about it because you’ve already done all of the problem solving and had all of the revelations. It’s usually beneficial at this stage to take a step back (even if you’re not burnt out) and give your story some space, so that once you come back to it, you’re enthusiastic enough to fully realize your vision. If instead you’re struggling to write because you feel a lot of pressure to do justice for a story you’ve put so much love into already, take a step back, remember that the first draft is just for you, and work on letting go of the idea that the zero draft is meant to serve any purpose beside simply existing. 

~ How do I come up with the necessary scenes to move the story forward between major plot points?... Most writing problems can be solved by asking yourself the right questions. When you’re trying to figure out what your reader needs to see next in order to effectively set up the next major event, ask yourself “What would happen between event A and event B that would add context or make event B more impactful?”. Treat it like a real situation and try to map out all of the tiny, notable moments that would take place between the major plot points, and then assess those moments on the basis of how impactful they would be to the coming scenes, and whether they can add context, set the tone, or aide in the rising action.

~ How do I balance sticking to the draft and following my own creative instinct in the moment?... This is a judgement call. Sometimes you’ll realize that maybe you should have just stuck to the outline, but remember that you can always go back, rewrite, test things out, etc. Always save every version of every scene, just in case, and go wild. Don’t be afraid to take detours just to explore. The writing process is anything but linear. 

~ How do I maintain momentum in my writing progress when I constantly have distractions or other responsibilities that take priority?... Work at it. There’s no magic trick or piece of advice I could say that gets rid of your personal responsibilities. Write when you can, don’t make excuses on top of the reasons you have no control over, and remember that you create your own deadlines and expectations. Be kind to yourself, do what you can, and don’t spend potential writing time punishing yourself because there isn’t as much as you’d like. 

~ How should I designate space (words/pages) to specific scenes/description/conversations, etc?... Trust your instinct and remember you can always cut/add later. In the earlier drafts, I’d advise you try to create as much material as possible to work with, and in the later drafts, be ruthless when determining what is necessary and adds value, and what doesn’t.

~ How do I finish a draft if I regularly lose motivation or interest in my projects?... Accept the fact that motivation is fickle, and that no writer in history has ever maintained “inspiration” for any project from the beginning to the end. There are going to be days where you’re like “ugh this is not what I want to do right now”, probably more than there are days where you’re stoked to work on your project, but that’s reality. If your goal is to finish a draft, you must recognize that writing is work, and nobody wants to work all the time. Try to supplement the lack of motivation by setting a positive and enjoyable routine so that, even when you’re not particularly motivated, you still know that your writing time will be peaceful and comfortable. 

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[alonfic]

forget the world

pairing: todoroki shouto x reader genre: established relationship au | fluff wc: 1,763 description: despite all the obstacles life has to throw at you, there’s comfort in knowing that home actually feels like home for once; also, that you have your boyfriend Shouto’s arms to take refuge in. author’s note: i honestly just wanted well-regulated, temperate cuddles with shouto. also backrubs. yes <3

Today is an unbearably long day. 

It’s one of those days that goes beyond words and replays in the back of your mind, with needless postulations of what-if’s nagging you as you walk through the paradoxical door. Somehow the reminder that this is both a familiar and unfamiliar entryway slips your mind in favor of exhaustion and starvation for your boyfriend’s touch. 

If you were paying any attention to that realization, you would’ve been a little proud of yourself from graduating from the first-time cohabiting couple anxiety to finally accepting this new territory. But you don’t. 

You don’t rejoice in the fact or relish in it so much as you douse yourself in scalding hot water to baptize yourself from the work grime, because all you can think about is Todoroki and what it’ll be like to settle into his arms. His perfectly well-regulated and temperate arms that you’ve sworn he’s perfected to your respective likings over the two-year long course of your relationship. 

Just the prospect is enough for you to saunter back into the room, despite your hair still being a little damp. Another small win you don’t think too much about is how you hardly have to attempt to navigate the dark room without help from any light; it’s a step up from a few weeks ago when you were constantly bumping into the bedside table.

A part of you then wonders if he’s still awake, though when you really think about it, you’re almost certain that he would be asleep by now. Considering it’s much later than your usual arrival time, you would be surprised if he was still awake. 

When you hear him stir before you’ve even touched the corner of the comforter, you’re shaken from your thoughts.

“How was your day?” he asks, with his voice a touch closer to sleep than usual. It’s not rare for him to be so tired, being third ranked Pro Hero and all. He’s a busy man, so you’re still a little surprised that he’s been awake every night since you’ve started living there. Tonight, especially. 

“It was long,” you mumble. Your next words are all intermingled together from how your jaw hardly wants to keep working anymore. “M’tired.”

Even in the faint wash of moonlight spilling in from the half-open blinds, you can see that his eyes are closed. He still looks as handsome as when you first met him, probably even more so now. This time he looks more relaxed, save for the slight crease in his brow that gives you the impression that he seems to be a little more awake after hearing your response. 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says, while raising the corner of the comforter, “was work crazy for you again?” 

You accept his invitation; while he remains on his back, you settle partially atop his chest, your left leg almost immediately entangled with his, and part of your right side still touching your side of the bed. It’s second nature to wrap your arms around his waist and find ease in the way his heart flutters, like a tether, keeping you from completely losing your mind. But what damn near throws you over the edge is the way his arms wrap around you, as if to keep you from falling apart entirely. For once, you feel whole.

You don’t realize there’s a tremble in your voice until you try to answer his question, and the moment you hear it, you try to nod in its place. 

“Hey,” he rubs your back with what you’ve identified as his left hand, the slight warmth being a dead giveaway. “What’s wrong, love?” 

It’s no surprise that life has been rough for you as of late. Between moving in together for the first time, recovering from a particularly nasty cold, juggling graduate school applications, and thrusting yourself back into work, most of the overwork is from your shitty manager and another part of it being your pride; it’s all an unfortunate combination that has left even Todoroki disgruntled. But because of the moving newness, you can tell he’s been trying to help your transition to the best of his ability. And you hate that all you can think about is work and school, and how the future is so painfully uncertain, while your present is right here. 

“M’sorry, Shouto,” you say, with tears prickling the corners of your eyes, after regurgitating the same spiel of how hectic and understaffed work was, all while your boss got to sit upstairs without a care in the world because that’s how crappy he is. Of course, you don’t want Todoroki to see you crying, least of all over this, but one of his fingers catches your chin and you can feel his thumb wipe away a stray tear. 

“Oh baby…” He pulls you in closer and squeezes. His other hand is still on your back, now rubbing circles. It’s a nice attempt to soothe away the anxieties and overwhelm, something only he’s ever been able to pull off with you on a handful of occasions. 

“What are you sorry about? You have no reason to be sorry.” His tone is so matter-of-fact you almost want to laugh. You actually do when he mentions how it’s your boss who should be sorry for overworking you. “What? It’s true.”

You can’t help but crack a small smile after a while. How cute could your man possibly get? His earnestness has always had a way with you; it hasn’t once wavered in all your time together, and that kind of consistency is something you never thought you needed until you met him, moments like this remind you how lucky you are. 

“You always seem to know how to make me feel better, you know.” 

“Yeah?” You can see the corners of his lips turned upward, and it compels your smile to grow a little more. 

“Yeah.” 

“I’m glad,” he says, meeting your eyes, though his smile doesn’t waver. You love being privy to the sight; his smile is another thing you love so ardently about him. “I’ve been trying. I’m sorry that the last couple of weeks haven’t been the easiest and that this place doesn’t feel like home for you, yet.”

You want to protest, of course, though there is some truth to his words. It has been hard. Probably harder than it should’ve been, but with work, getting sick, and application, you felt like you were playing in an entirely different game. You didn’t think life would be so hectic when it’s been only easy with Todoroki, but you know he’s been trying. 

Despite his previous routine of instantly falling asleep before you moved in, you have noticed him making an effort to stay awake long enough to at least bid you a good night or ask about your day. It’s an endearing gesture that warms your heart, one that you know is a direct by-product to the move and his attempt at getting you to feel more comfortable in the new space. 

Another thing he’s done (that you appreciate immensely) is letting you redecorate the space—this is one that Uraraka hasn’t stopped gushing over because she’s been fighting with Midoriya over their decór for ages. The bedroom—in all its grandeur and spaciousness—and really the entire apartment had already been equipped with modern furnishings from the beginning of Todoroki’s lease on the place. He hadn’t felt any inclination to change anything, up until you started living with him, and then he offered to let you personalize the place in whatever way you saw fit. For you, that looked like incorporating more photos of the two of you as well as you two with friends, and a few knick-knacks here and there on the now-filled bookshelves. 

They’re small reassurances that he is happy you’re here, that even if work is shitty and school applications are a pain in the ass, he at least wants you comfortable in your now-shared place.

“It’s okay,” he says, like he’s mentioned many times before, not that he’s all that bothered anyway, because still, he wants to reassure you. “And it’s also okay if this doesn’t feel like our place yet.”

“But it does.” And you mean it. 

While the thought hadn’t fully hit you as soon as you walked through the door at first, it seemed to materialize right this moment. The last thing you want to do is make Todoroki feel like you’re still some foreign invader in your shared home. Yeah, it’s been a huge change to go from a couple who slept at each other’s places to reconvening in one space where all your things congregate together, but it’s a change of pace in your life you feel the most at ease with. Most especially, if it means coming home to him. 

“Really?” He sounds genuinely surprised, and you feel the sheepishness rising back up again. 

“Yeah, if anything, this has been the most apparent thing to me today. All I could was, I want to go home, to you, and be in your arms because today was so shitty. Today didn’t feel like I was just going back to your place anymore. It felt—feels—like our place. Our home.”

 “I like that a lot. The sound of our home.” 

“Me too.”

“Is there anything else bugging you?” he asks, wanting to be sure. The gesture makes your heart swell, how thoughtful he can be, how hard he tries to fight for some semblance of peace out in the world, and of course, your home. 

You think about it. You really do. If there’s anything worth wasting your energy on, but you don’t want to disrupt this moment. You don’t want to keep giving your workplace—temporary as it is—any more of your time when you’re here. And anyway, any inkling of what could have been the culprit seems to dissipate the longer you remain in Todoroki’s arms.  

“No, I’m okay. I can forget all the momentarily shitty things when I’m here with you. That’s usually the easiest part. The best part too.”

You can make out his smile, beautiful and so his, before he presses his lips to your forehead. If there’s anywhere you would rather be, it’s here.

“I love you,” he exhales, squeezing you once more. He continues to rub circles into your back, sometimes alternating between patterns; always, adding a touch of warmth to combat the particularly chilly air. 

You squeeze back, relishing in it all. “I love you too.”

And for once, everything else drifts away. Just you and him. 

[thebangtantale]

The truce - part one

✿ Pairing: jungkook x reader

✿ Genre: Enemies To Lovers!AU - Fake dating!AU

✿ Summary: Jungkook is the very last person you want to spend your precious time with. But what happens when the universe keeps putting him in your way ? As if being your partner for a semester project wasn’t enough, he also needs you to be his stupid fake girlfriend.

✿ Warning: angst, LOTS of insults and that’s about it for this one

✿ Rating: NSFW

✿ Word Count: 4.1k

✿ Status: In progress

✿ Masterlist ✿

✿ A/N: Hello lovelies. This is my very first work I’m posting on Tumblr. I like to write for myself but I thought maybe I could share it, if it can make just one person happy. If anybody is reading this, I hope you like it. This first part is not getting too much inside the depth of the story yet, but it’s coming very soon. I also want to add that English is not my native language, so my level of writing is certainly not the best as I might make a lot of grammar mistakes and all that stuff. Plus, I’m sorry if the expressions I use get repetitive, but I struggle a little to find my words in English sometimes as my vocabulary is not as developed as it is in my mother tongue. I hope you can understand and that you’ll still be able to enjoy :) -Violet

part one - part two - part three

It was a well known truth that Jungkook and yourself shouldn’t be put in the same room more than 2 minutes together if you wanted a semblance of peace. The main reason being that you couldn’t be together without throwing yourselves at the other’s throat. It was never really violent in a physical way, even if you sometimes end up pushing each other with a little bit too much fervor, but more of a constant bickering with quite fierce remarks.

You would be lying if you said his words didn’t have an impact on you. His comments always seemed to cut deeper than it should, and maybe it was the reason you hated him so much. You don’t even remember how all of it started. You’re not the type of girl to have bad acquaintances with anybody, even less to have an enemy. The last time you had this type of relationship was when you were 12 years old, when this stupid girl said even more stupid things about you to the entire school. You can still remember how you made her sob in front of half of the school after confronting her about what she had said. After that, you promised yourself that you wouldn’t make people cry if you didn’t have any good reason, not that you didn’t have any at the time, you really did, but you didn’t like to have a negative impact on another person’s life. Ever since, you tried your best to keep a good distance from people you felt off, and that’s how you stayed far away from problems and any negative energy.

Talking about Jungkook however, you could never stay far away from him very long. Even with all the efforts in the world, it always seemed like the universe wanted you to get back to his presence. And you despised every second of it. Every time the two of you would meet, it’d always end up in one of you being more hurt than the time before, and it would be a mission to try and be the one with the worse remark later on. And each one of you being extremely competitive, you can only imagine you both did an excellent job at it. The only thing you could agree on was that you disagreed on everything. It was always on shallow stuff, like the right way to cook the ramen or which wine to buy for the night, but it would constantly turn out really bad. At first, you didn’t even had anything against Jungkook, but your relationship still turned into this mess, and it appeared none of you was willing to do the first step towards peace any time soon.

The way you ended in each other existence perpetually was probably one of the universe greatest joke. At first, you met him at a party. Then again at another one. It’s the third time you met him, to yet another social gathering, that you decided you didn’t like him after he got particularly rude to you. Usually, you would do everything possible to stay away from someone like him, and it seemed like everything was falling into place because you were getting tired to attend all these parties all the time. And if staying home could help you not to see Jungkook, you surely wouldn’t go anymore. Yet, the universe had other plans.

It was at university that you saw him again a few weeks ago, getting a catch of his sight in the sunlight for the very first time. He seemed different here with a pencil in hand rather than a beer. This day, you surely didn’t except to see him in a classroom, even less yours. You didn’t had any time to let these thoughts get any further, the professor announcing that duo needed to be made for a semester project, a collective sight getting out of the students lips. You didn’t think too much of it at first, you would probably have to do it with a random person and would result in you doing all the workd by yourself, as usual. Not that you minded, you liked having things under control, and your grades certainly were not one of the exceptional thing you would let other take over. And if you had to do the work of two persons by yourself to maintain your control, you would do it without the shadow of a doubt. But when people got in pairs in the amphitheater little by little, you realized things wouldn’t go as planed. It wasn’t a big class and the duo were getting together quickly. Scanning the room, your gaze met the one of the only person that didn’t got paired up yet, and of fucking course it was Jungkook. It was the first time you regretted not to have tried to befriend the other people of your class. It surely was not the last.

When sooner that week, your best friend told you she was organizing a little dinner at her boyfriend’s apartment on friday night so that you could meet his best friend, you surely didn’t think you would meet your classmate there. Yet, there you were, wondering how the fuck you ended up in Jungkook presence, again.

Of course he was one of Namjoon’s best friend. It would have been a miracle if he was nowhere near your sight for more than two days in a row. Because, obviously, you had to meet him all the time since the start of the stupid semester project. Turned out Jungkook was as much of a control freak as you were and was also very serious about his grades. You tried, you really did try to convince him you would do an excellent job, that he didn’t have to worry about anything. It didn’t work. It actually made the opposite effect desired. He got so competitive, determined to show you how much of a perfect student he could be, that the both of you were now meeting almost every single day to work on the project. More than half of your time spent together being wasted to fights and bickering. And things were getting worse and worse, to the point it became unbearable for the both of you. This very morning, you two agreed to stay far away from each other for the week-end until the next monday, none of you wanting to stain the expensive library books with the other’s blood. It would give you time to reconsider your plan to murder him.

That’s the reason why you were so irritated this night when you saw him. Jungkook made you absolutely furious the same morning before finding this little agreement and the only consolation you had found for yourself all day long was that you would spend a nice night with nice people around even nicer food and wine. So when you entered the open living-room of Namjoon’s apartment and that your eyes met Jungkook’s one, you didn’t know if you were going to commit a crime or pass out.

You did your best to keep an impassive face, but it was hard to do so when Jungkook was looking at you with a stupid grin. After saying hello to Namjoon, you ended up in front of him, not knowing if you should say hello or just plainly ignore him.

« You’re not gonna say hello to me Y/N ? » He said as you walked away after you went with the latter.

« You guys know each other ? » Namjoon said, surprised.

« Yes we do. » « No we don’t. » You both glared at each other, it was not off to a great start.

« We don’t. » You repeated, making Jungkook chuckle.

« Come on Y/N, don’t be a liar. You’re ugly when you don’t tell the truth. Of course we know each other. »

« Go fuck yourself. And if I believe it hard enough, maybe I will wake up one morning, and your entire existence would only have been a nightmare. Oh dear god, how do I dream about this day. »

« So you dream about me huh ? »

« Shut the fuck up, that’s not what I said. » He chuckled again and you took that for an answer.

« So you do know each other… »

« Jungkook is my stupid semester project partner. » You mumbled, turning away to go to the kitchen where your best friend was opening the bottles of wine you brought.

« Oh ! So it’s actually you he’s been talking about all this time ? » Your attention immediately turning back to the two boys seated on the couch.

« Really, he’s been talking about me ? And what nonsense did he spit out ? »

« Well actually, he didn’t… » Jungkook didn’t let Namjoon finish.

« All I said was that you were the worst partner I’ve ever had in my entire life and that I wish you would fall into a manhole on your way home every night. »

« You fucker. » You sighed, going to the kitchen, not wanting to waste any more of your time with the stupid boy. Lili, your best friend, was waiting for you patiently with a glass of wine, desirous to know more about what she had just heard. She knew you had a partner for a project and that you despised him quite a lot, what she didn’t know was that it was Jungkook. And it got her very, very curious. That’s how you ended up with your second glass of wine in hand, back resting on the kitchen counter after telling the entire story of how you and Jungkook met to her, leaving you to wonder why, out of all the people in Seoul, did Namjoon had to have Jungkook for a best friend.

If you listen to what Lili just told you, Jungkook is a very charming person that is very kind, funny and always here when his friends need him. You could simply not agree with this. You have to admit that Jungkook is indeed charming, but certainly not for his personality. You’re not blind, the man is pretty. He is, in fact, very much your type when it comes to physical attributes. He’s tall, has dark hair, ears pierced and tattoos all over one of his arm. He almost always dresses in entirely black attire and his body looks like a fucking sin. But as if that was not already enough, he also has the face of a fucking angel. You don’t like him, that’s for a fact, but you are not a liar. Okay, you might have lied a little bit sometimes, but that’s only little white lies when you’re around Jungkook. You can’t help yourself, the man just drives you crazy, in all the fucking meaning of the term. But because you are an honest person, at least to yourself, you have to admit that Jungkook is probably the sexiest man you have ever laid you eyes on.

Unfortunately, the man has an horrific personality, and after what Lili just said to you, it seems like he only does when he’s with you. So as much as you want to lay your eyes on him until your panties are soaked, you also want to throw yourself out of the nearest window. Because, why, out of all the people, did you have to find yourself an enemy in the god-like man in front of you. It appears he also found an enemy in you, and you wonder why. He apparently is nice to everybody else, why the fuck does he have to be this stupid fucker with you then ? You don’t have the time to push your thought any further, your reflection cut short by the man in question.

« Do you like what you’re looking at baby ? » Your cheeks instantly heat up, and you internally congratulate yourself to have decided to wear foundation today. You didn’t even realized you had been staring at Jungkook for the past 5 minutes, and he surely did notice. His sassy comment makes you want to snatch this grin out of his face.

« I’m sorry, I was just wondering how could you be so full of yourself when you literally look like that. » A grin now taking a place on your face. His stare quivers for a second before regaining composure. You did lie, again, but it drives you crazy how he always calls you baby, it used to be you favorite pet word, but in Jungkook’s mouth, it sounds different, and you hate how it makes you feel.

« You know, I’m not going to display my full potential for you, you barely deserve my presence. I’m certainly not going to show you the best of me, baby. » For a second, you let yourself wonder what he could be like when he’s being the best of himself. You know he was not lying before. He never makes any effort to be someone you could appreciate and you don’t hold it against him because you don’t either. As much as you try to, you can’t picture him any other way. Jungkook only exists in your mind the way he does in reality, and it’s not a good one.

Before you have time to answer, the dinner is ready and Lili calls both you and Jungkook to gather around the dinner table. The dinner goes quite well considering the circumstances. Jungkook is indeed very nice, just not to you. You do try to hold yourself a little bit for the sake of Namjoon and Lili, and maybe for your own too. It has been a long week and you don’t want to spend your Friday night bickering about useless things with Jungkook. And it seems like he tries to contain himself too, because, even if he’s not the nicest person to you, he’s not as much of a dick as he usually is. And you’re thankful for it. Because you’re grateful for the effort Lili and Namjoon had put into this dinner, and you know that, as casual as they made it looks, tonight is important for them, their own best friend finally meeting each other. You don’t want to ruin the night and it looks like Jungkook doesn’t want either.

A few hours later, you’re drunk, and everything around you seems a little better than usual. Jungkook even seems much nicer, almost likable, and as soon as the thought come to your mind, you immediately put your glass back on the table in front of you, thinking that you have definitely drank enough tonight. This kind of things wouldn’t cross your mind usually, and after reflecting for a second, your realize how late it is, and how much wine you drank. You decide it’s time for you to call it a night, thinking that Namjoon and Lili might be tired too.

« I’m going to go, it’s getting late. » You say.

« Already ? » Lili asks, a little bit sad.

« It’s only… » Namjoon pause for a second while checking the time on his phone. « Oh, it’s already past midnight…»

« Time passes by too quickly when we’re with people we love. » Lili reflects and you can’t help but hum in agreement, time did pass by quickly tonight, and even if you hate Jungkook, you surely love Lili and Namjoon very much.

« I’ll go then. Thank you so much for tonight, it was delicious and I had a great time, as usual. » You say, a smile plastered on you face while standing up. You start to gather your belonging you laid around the living room.

« How are you going home Y/N ? » Namjoon asks.

« Oh, i’ll just take the subway. »

« You are NOT taking the subway alone at this hour. Plus you’re drunk. There’s just no way I’m letting you go home like this. » Lili directly interjects. You think about it for a second and resign.

« Yeah, you’re right, I’ll just take an uber. Don’t worry my Lili. » You say while taking her in your arms, hugging her close.

« I think I should go too, I have stuff I need to do tomorrow morning. » Jungkook says and you plainly ignore him, taking Namjoon in your arms saying goodbye to the man you almost consider like your brother.

You’re slowly putting back on your shoes while chatting with Lili when you hear the two men arrive.

« You’re not going to wait for me so we can leave together baby ? » Jungkook says, his signature grin plastered on his face.

« Shut up, I’m too tired for your bullshit right now Jeon. » You don’t give him one more second of attention, saying you last goodbye to Lili and Joon, before leaving the apartment in half an hurry. The last thing you want is to find yourself stuck in the elevator with Jungkook.

But you do end up with him in the fucking elevator. The man is damn quick, or maybe you’re really slow when you’re drunk, guess you’ll never know. He doesn’t say a thing and instead wear his stupid cheeky grin, knowing how much it riles you up. To make time go faster, you make it your mission to find an uber before arriving to the first floor. You look, again and again, but there’s no driver available before at least 30 minutes. There’s absolutely no way you’re going to wait 30 minutes for an uber when you could be in your bed in 15 if you took the subway.

When you get out of the elevator on the first floor, you’re surprised Jungkook still hasn’t opened his mouth to say stupid shit. Instead, he follows you outside.

« Are you following me, you freak ? »

« Why the fuck would I even want to follow you ? » He asks, with an air of disgust.

« I don’t know, you tell me weirdo. »

« My car is parked further down the street. »

« Okay. » You don’t really know what to answer, it is a valid point to want to get back to your car, you guess.

When he sees you don’t stop in front of the building and continue to walk down the street, Jungkook curiosity is peaking through.

« What about you ? Are you so stupid you ordered your uber half a mile away from here or what ? »

« Fuck you, and no I know how to use my fucking phone, thank you very much. I’m taking the subway. » You don’t hear any answer coming from him and you thank all the gods that you’re finally done with him for the night. Suddenly, a hand wraps around your wrist and yanks you backwards. The gods are visibly not with you tonight.

« What the fuck Jungkook ? » You almost shout in the street.

« You, what the fuck ? You said you were going to take an uber. » Looking at him, it looks like he’s almost concerned.

« Why do you even care ? »

« I don’t. But Lili does, and you said to her you weren’t going to take the subway. »

« I know, but there’s no fucking uber until like 01:00 AM and there’s no way I’m waiting this long. Do you prefer me to go home walking ? » You ask, impatience painted on your face.

« What the fuck, no, I never said that. » He’s getting angrier at every word you say, but you’re too tired and drunk to give a single fuck about the way he feels.

« Then let go of my fucking wrist and let me take the subway. » You try to pull your hand out of his grip, but he’s too strong for you and he quickly pulls you even harder, his hold almost painful, and starts dragging you on the sidewalk.

« Jungkook ! Leave me the fuck alone ! » You shout, not giving a damn if it wakes up the neighbors.

« You’re not taking the subway, and you surely are not going home walking by yourself. » He says, yanking you further down the street, his catch too strong for you to try and get out of his hold. But you’re stubborn and you try to get your wrist back to yourself once again, only gaining a hold from Jungkook that’s even firmer than before, becoming too painful. His fingers are starting to bruise you and you feel the burn on your skin.

« Jungkook… Please, let go of my hand, you’re fucking hurting me. » Your voice almost breaks, and when Jungkook turns around and see your eyes slightly glistening to the reflection of the moon, he instantly let you go.

« I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. » He pause for a second, analyzing your face. « But, you’re too headstrong for your own fucking sake Y/N. »

« Why the fuck do you care ? » You’re both staring at each other, the hot wind brushing you skin, making both your hair twirl a little.

« I told you, I don’t. But if something happens to you while you take the subway, it’s going to be on my fucking conscience. And Lili would never forgive me. » You don’t even know what to respond. You just stare at him, dumbfounded. The man really just cares about his image.

« Come on, I’m taking you home. » Gently, he grabs your elbow and makes you walk in the direction of his car. You don’t say anything, you’re tired and you want to go to bed. And if it can appease Jungkook conscience to take you home, who are you to say no ?

He finally stops in front of a car a few steps further down the street, and you can’t help but be surprised. This Mercedes is way too expensive for a student.

« Did you steal the car of your mom or something ? » He laughs and take the keys out of his pocket, opening the car quickly. He takes a step forward and opens the passenger door for you to get in.

« Shut up and get inside. »

« Yes dad. » You both laugh as you get inside the car. The mood shifts a little for a second, and it’s almost nice to be around him at this moment. But you know Jungkook, and you know how things works between the two of you. It’s a question of time before things heat up again.

The inside of his car smells like a mix of leather and his cologne, and your head is spinning at the scent. You’re such a fucker for man perfume, it’s actually embarrassing. You observe Jungkook while he takes his time to get in place behind the wheel. He looks fucking sexy like this with his hair pushed back and his sleeves rolled up, his tattoos in full display. Fuck, the man is sexy. And fuck, you’re drunk. Suddenly, your head snaps to him, urge sipping through your entire body.

« Wait Jungkook ! » You almost shout before he starts the car.

« What ? » He sees the panic in your eyes and wonders which demon has possessed you all of a sudden.

« You drank alcohol tonight, didn’t you ? You can’t drive. »

He stares at you for a second before he answers. « Do you think I’m fucking stupid Y/N ? »

« Well, yes I do, but it’s not really the subject here. »

« Fuck you, you brat. And yes I drank, but only two glasses of wine and it was three hours ago. I think we’re fine. » He says, clearly pissed by your behavior. But you don’t care, you sight in relief, thank god, he’s not completely dumb.

Jungkook came to your apartment before so that the both of you could work on your semester project. So, when he starts to drive, you don’t bother telling him any directions for the way back. He’s a big boy, he’ll find it by himself. You let yourself relax, watching the sight of the city flying by the window. Little by little, your eyes starts to fall shut, letting your tiredness get the better of you.

A gentle hand suddenly rest on your knees and it’s only then that you realize the car has stopped. You immediately open your eyes to see Jungkook already looking at you.

« We arrived dumbass. »

« Ah, what a nice way to wake someone up. I bet all your conquests must love it. » You say as you remove you seatbelt.

« Don’t worry baby, I keep my gentleman’s ways only for you. » He says with a grin, winking at you.

« Well, you see me reassured. I almost got jealous here for a second. » You snap his hand out of your knee and open the door. Before getting out of the car, you turn to face him.

« Thank you for not killing me on the road, I appreciate it. » You says as you quickly get out of the car and close the door behind you. You hear the window of the car’s door open.

« Are you implying that I don’t know how to drive you fucker ? » He shouts so you can hear from the distance.

« Yes baby ! » You shout back with a huge grin on your face.

« Next time, you’re fucking walking you stupid bitch. » He bites back, the shadow of a grin on his face. You show him your prettiest middle finger before looking for your keys in your bag. It’s only when you’re inside your building that Jungkook finally drives off.

[hobiiwan]

fire • dincember: day 4

or

the five times you catch him staring;

the one you do something about it

pairing: the mandalorian x reader

summary: the five times you catch him staring and the one time you do something about it ( 3/6 )

warnings: none

word count: 1k

notes: ayyYe look who finally got off her ass to write this!!! sorry for the long hiatus, this is what happens when u don’t outline your fics!! also shit’s been wild with the pandemic and school work. this is day 4 of dincember - fire. enjoy!

part one part two

you don’t know how long you’ve been walking

you know you should probably be keeping track of the trail the mandalorian is so intent on sticking to

in case you need to make a quick exit

sure, he’s made it clear that he has no immediate plans on killing you

but still, call it a force of habit

it’s always good to have a plan B!

though, instead of plotting your escape path, you find yourself glaring at the back of his head

the setting sun rays bounce off the reflective surface and into your eyes

you wince once again, reminding yourself to pay attention for maker’s sake

you’re painfully aware of the biting cold

the trees don’t serve to be of much help either, the leaves have all fallen and the non-existent tree canopy does nothing to keep in any semblance of heat

your hands raise to tighten the scarf around your neck you grumble in annoyance behind your helmet

“please explain to me again why you needed me to track your bounty with you?”

he remains silent, weaving through the tree trunks with the same vigour as when you started your journey

you already know the answer, but if he’s going to drag you into a freezing woodland for god knows how many hours on end, you may as well get some entertainment

for some reason, the mandalorian doesn’t trust you

shocker

you haven’t given him much reason to do so, but he would argue that you haven’t done anything to persuade him otherwise

that one time where you slipped out of his line of sight to get something or other definitely did not help your case

“Suffering together just seems counter-productive, you know? I could be doing much more back on our ship, in the warm, might I add!”

he scoffs at that, “you’re crazier than I thought if you think I’d leave you alone on my ship.”

you take great offense

“what, like I’m going to steal it?” 

he stops in his tracks

you can feel the deadpan as his visor tilts towards you

you shove him back into pace with a roll of your eyes, “fine.”

he only lets up twice throughout the journey, allowing you to catch your breath and for him to scope out your surroundings (it’s bleak— dead trees for as far as the eye can see, and then some)

you collapse onto a nearby log and the feeling of the frosted surface bleeding into your trousers makes you wince

yeah, you’re a bounty hunter— what about it?

Mando returns and tells you that the log you’re sitting on will be where you sleep tonight

yes sir!!!!! no arguments there!!!

Mando breathes a sign of relief when you settle back with no qualms

finally

peace

you expect him to sit— rest, perhaps, but no

he just stands in front of you expectantly

you crane your neck to meet his visor with your own

um hi?? he’s invading your bubble

“firewood.”

for the love of-

you sigh, suppressing a groan and stand, quite cooperatively

someone has to take the first step

it takes hours, all your remaining energy and patience to fill your arms with enough bark that isn’t soggy from the snow

the mandalorian takes mercy when you return to the site and takes it upon himself to start the fire

not long later you sit beside the flickering flames as you toss the kid slivers of meat from the pack Mando handed you

the kid is curled up on your lap, his face buried beneath his robes

his green nose has taken on a red tint and you tap it with a chuckle

the kid snatches up the remaining meat in your grasp and waddles closer towards the fire

ouch

“You know, Mando,” you sigh, regarding the mandalorian across the fire

he doesn’t seem to notice the cold

that beskar must really be cost-effective

“if we’re going to work together, we have to trust each other.”

his helmet tilts and the man shifts his weight

someone’s antsy

you know he’s hesitating 

the gears spinning in his head are loud

“For the kid?” You murmur, lowering your gaze to the bundle sat at your feet

Mando’s line of sight follows and his stony resolve cracks

“Okay,” he says, so soft you barely hear it over the crackle of the fire

success

you’re rather satisfied with yourself

your gloves come up to remove your helmet

it’s been a long day

when the mask comes off, you blink to adjust to seeing without the barrier

wow was it stuffY in there

you immediately notice Mando has averted his eyes

his helmet is tilted all the way away from you

then you realise that even on the Crest, he’s never come across you without your helmet on

the smile that reaches your face isn’t snarky, for once

it’s gentle and something flares in your chest

honour, maybe? though you don’t have much experience with thaT

“It’s okay,” you say, “you can look.”

he hesitates once more, but eventually he does

stars, you’re pretty

you don’t look at all like any of the bounty hunters he’s come across

not sure whether that’s a good thing or not

even your puck had been a holo of your helmet

you definitely don’t look how he had pictured

“I’m not a Mandalorian,” you state quite plainly, “this thing does nothing more than hide my face and give me a headache.”

he stays unmoving, visor trained intently on your now-exposed eyes

ah, a man of so many words

“is,,,, is there something on my face?” your eyes widen a smidge, fingers brushing across your cheeks

then, Mando clears his throat and shakes his head

“No. No, you’re good.”

your face falls and with a shrug, you go back to eating

meanwhile your heart’s going eeeEEEEeeeeEEEE

you doze off soon after you finish your portion

when you stir, you notice the fire’s gone out

that’s why it’s fucking freezing

you defeatedly pull your parka tighter around your shoulders and nuzzle your face deeper into the woolen scarf

heat eludes you

in your bleary state, you barely notice Mando shifting around the charred logs and settling beside you

your eyelids flutter

sleep does not elude you

the cold from his beskar makes you recoil

then, the last thing you register before you go under once more is something draping across your front

the next morning, you wake to thawed snow and a heavy cape tucked under your chin

well, shit

you’re not cold anymore

[teddy06writes]

Do You Permit it?

{*wakes up in cold sweat* Failed L’manburg revolution Les Mis/Les Amis au}

Wilbur Soot x reader

Trigger warnings: yelling, swearing, character death, mentions of alcoholism

Premise: Wilbur, the marble lover of liberty wants nothing more than to gain freedom from the Dream SMP, You, the lowly drunk cynic want nothing more than to be by Wilbur’s side. When Wilbur becomes insistent that the only way to gain freedom is to barricade the few revolutionaries into the walls of what would one day hopefully become L’manburg you see all the flaws in the plan, but unwilling to leave your friends, nor you love that was never meant to be you stick with the foolhardy men, resigning yourself to your fate

{aka I wanted to make les mis content and this was the only way I could think of. also Wilbur = Enjolras but brunet and his revolution didn’t fail}

{Also Tommy/Tubbo as Gavroches but I can’t fully figure out this au, someone help}

{I had to dig out my copy of the brick for this one boys}

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“We will stand our ground! Fight for the freedom we deserve!” Wilbur yelled. 

The men spread around the backroom of Niki’s café cheered in agreement, causing you to sigh, and tip down a portion of your drink, “You do realize Dream will never let you be free right?” 

Wilbur glared at you, “(y/n) if we can fight, and we can prove to him that we deserve our freedom then we can have it.”

“Well sure, if you can fight,” You chuckled looking around the room at the men gathered, “I’ve never seen Jack Manifold pick up a musket. Fundy’s never had the chance to learn to shoot more than birds out in the forest. Tubbo shouldn’t be throwing his life away for something as foolish as this. Tommy just- Tommy just shouldn’t be given a weapon- period.” 

“They know how to fight well enough,” Wilbur spat, venom lining his voice, “If your not going to be a part of this cause then I suggest you leave.”

You glanced around the back room again, “Well this is a free public space innit? I shouldn’t think I could be kicked out of a public place.”

Wilbur's glare was burning, yet you reveled in the heat, watching as he crossed his arms, “(y/n) if you don’t believe in this cause why do you bother to come here night after night? Do you find satisfaction in poking holes in our plans?” 

“Perhaps I find more satisfaction in spending a night with my friends than drinking alone,” You challenged, taking another sip from your drink, “Perhaps I enjoy listening to your fantasies Apollo.” 

“These are not just fantasies, (y/n)! This is our tomorrow! This is the future that we are shaping!” He yelled. 

“This is your tomorrow?” You bellowed, standing up and gesturing around, “This plan of dying like a martyr? You are planning a future you will never see! You do see that this won’t work right? This revolution is doomed! Throwing your lives away for some stupid cause may not be a fantasy, but believing it will work sure as hell is!” 

“You know nothing of belief,” He spat, “You believe in nothing.” 

“I believe in you.” With that you plopped back down into your seat, having said your piece. 

Wilbur sighed, turning back to rest of the group, beginning to give instructions to his men, making plans for the coming days, discussing how they would smuggle the weapons and munitions into the city. 

Niki sat down next to you as she entered from the main part of the café, “Why do you do that? He could like you more if you didn’t always disagree with him.” 

“There's no other way I can get his attention. Nothing else gets through to him.” You muttered. 

“Have you ever tried agreeing with him? I know you dreamed of freedom once.” 

“That was a long, long time ago.” You sighed. 

~~

As days went on Wilbur’s plans grew bigger, the day of reckoning grew closer, and your nightmares of fire and blood became more and more frequent; no matter how much you tried to warn your friends, or drink your fears away they still lurked in the shadows of your mind. 

You watched as their plans continued to take form, never, no matter how much you urged, drifting from Wilbur’s plan of a barricade. 

Many a night found you in the back room of Niki’s café, arguing against everything that they said.

Tonight, as you entered, the café was a flurry of activity, people running excitedly to and from the back room, some not even bothering to hide the muskets or cartage packets they were carrying. 

You grabbed Tubbo’s shoulder as he started to dash past again, “Woah woah woah, what the hells going on here?” 

“Wilbur says that this is it! Tomorrow it begins!” He said excitedly.

“Tubbo! Quit standing around we’ve got work to do!” Tommy yelled thundering out of the back room. 

Tubbo smiled at you apologetically, “Well, I’ve got to go!” 

As the two boys ran off you quickly made to move into the back room, immediately coming face to face with Wilbur, who grinned wildly, “Come to join the festivities (y/n)? I’d’ve thought you’d be off away from here by now.” 

“Its happening then.” You murmured, slightly shocked. 

“Of course it’s happening,” Wilbur spat back, “You come here to try and shut us down again? You gonna try and sabotage our victory?” 

You sighed, starting to turn to leave, “Only a fool celebrates before the war is won Apollo.” 

“Are you suggesting I am a fool (y/n)?” 

You glanced back at him, looking around at the confident men and women around the café, at the people who were surely preparing to march to there deaths, “Never, but maybe, my Apollo, just this once.” 

~~

You had spent the rest of that night wandering around outside, skirting around Wilbur’s men, and moving through the gap in the walls where Wilbur would build a barricade come dawn, all with a bottle in hand. 

Just before dawn came you returned to your lodgings, gazing around at the mess just long enough to make up your mind. 

Somehow you found yourself going to your wardrobe, reaching far into the back, to where Niki and Eret had convinced you to stash your old flint locked pistol once you had figured to keep it, pulling it out and tucking it into your waist band. 

Soon you were back on your way, cartages knocking together in your pockets as you strode down the streets, absorbing the all too calm energy of the city, a storm clearly brewing. 

The time until Wilbur’s plan was to begin seemed to stretched on forever, and yet all the same you soon enough found yourself in a hive of activity, Fundy shouting at people to throw down their furniture, Tommy and Tubbo helping Eret, Niki and the others drag said furniture to form a barricade across the gap in the wall, Wilbur shouting orders and directing everything from the center of the storm. 

Distantly you could hear Sapnap’s yelling, slowly retreating as the barricade rose higher and higher. 

People began to cheer as it was finished, and Wilbur hoisted the L’manburg flag up to sit atop the structure. 

“I need someone to go find out there plans!” He yelled, climbing back down, “Someone they wouldn’t except to be with us!” 

“I’ll go!” Eret offered, “George trusts me.”

Wilbur nodded, “Good man, get going, and come back quickly, this is imperative to our success.” 

Eret tucked their carbine into his jacket, nodding to Niki before heading off. 

“(y/n).” Wilbur said, finally having seen your presence. 

“Apollo.” You nodded. 

“What are you doing here?” 

You gestured around, at the Barricade, and the barrels of gunpowder being rolled out of the stores, “I am here to help.” 

“Help?” Wilbur questioned. 

“Something like that.” You nodded. 

Wilbur's stare cut into you, “Are you good for anything?” 

You leaned back against the wall of the café, “I have a vague ambition that direction.” 

“What could you even do to help? You’ve hardly done anything in your life.” 

You scoffed, “I wasn’t always a drunk. Used to have lofty aspirations and the like.” 

“Be serious.” Wilbur demanded. 

“I am wild.” You argued. 

~~ The day wore on, and the barricade held some semblance of peace, even as Eret returned, quietly announcing herself to Wilbur. 

“What have you learned?” He asked. 

“They aren’t moving forward with any attacks tonight,” Eret reported, glancing around the barricade, “Dream has the badlands on his side, but they’re holding off until tomorrow, getting ready to attack from the right.” 

Wilbur sighed, looking to his men and then back at Eret, “We will take the hits as they come. We can win this.” 

Off to the side you watched as Niki bit her lip, standing up abruptly, “He’s lying!” 

Eret opened his mouth, both in shock and to object, when Wilbur held up a hand to cut them off, “Niki?”

She took a shaky breath, “Eret has been spying for the enemy. Feeding them information.” 

“That's not true!” Eret yelled. 

“I’m sorry,” Niki took a shaky breath, “Check their pockets, Dream probably gave them extra cartages, or a better carbine.” 

Wilbur turned to Eret expectantly. 

Slowly, relucantly, Eret began to pull extra cartages from their pockets, letting them fall to the ground as Fundy and Tommy quickly grabbed his arms, pinning them behind her back.

Wilbur stared at them, disappointment in his voice as he said, “Put them in the café. We can deal with them later.”

Almost on que the sound of boots slapping the earth grew closer, and you quietly began to load your pistol as Dreams voice echoed up the barricade, “What the hell is this?”

Wilbur carefully scaled a part of the barricade , just enough to peak over the top, “L’manburg revolution!”

Dream audibly groaned, then turned to his men, “Open fire!”

Almost immediately all hell broke loose, and shots were exchanged over the top of the barricade as you rushed forward to drag Tubbo back, hissing, “Stay down.”

He frowned, but stayed put as you hurried back forward to rejoin the fighting, shoving George, who’d been attempting to climb the barricade, back down to the ground.

“Get back!” You heard Wilbur yell distantly, “Get back or I blow the barricade!”

Whipping your head around you found that the marble man had grabbed one of the smaller legs of gunpowder, and was now slowly lowering a torch toward the barrel.

“Wilbur no!” Tommy yelled, already trying to get to him to wrestle the torch away.

“And yourself with it?” Dream challenged.

Wilbur took a shaky breath, “And myself with it.”

Behind the mask, Dream wavered, slowly turning back to Sapnap, who shook his head, “Fall back!”

Tommy’s face changed as he jumped off the barricade, whooping as Wilbur laughed, slowly climbing down as various people scolded or congratulated him.

“My life is not yours to gamble Wil!” Niki yelled.

Wilbur waved her away, still looking somewhat relived that his plan had even worked as he started to address everyone again, “They may be regrouping! Hold yourselves in readiness, if we’ve made it this far we can take this victory!” 

Tommy was still grinning and jumping around, grabbing your shoulder, “Did you see how they turned and ran! Ha! Cowards!” 

“And so the war was won.” You scoffed, still looking to Wilbur. 

Tommy rolled his eyes, muttering, “Cynic.” as he went to find Tubbo. 

~~

When night began to fall, and the barricade was still standing, you found yourself sitting next to Niki on the edge of the barricade, sharing yet another bottle of wine from the café. 

“Should I have ratted him out?” She asked, craning her neck to look at where Eret was slumped against the wall of the café. 

“If you didn’t we might’ve died sooner.” You mumbled, taking a swig before handing the bottle back to her.

“Well- I just- I guess you’re right.” Niki tipped the bottle back, taking a long drink. 

Wilbur came out of the cafe, arms loaded with bottles that he began to pass out, Tubbo following behind, passing out bread, before taking his spot next to Tommy at the base of the barricade. 

“Fundy! Take the watch. They won’t attack until it’s light,” Wilbur called, offering out the last bottle, “We’ll use this time to rest.” 

Jack Manifold chuckled, holding up the bottle he’d been given, “Well, lets drink!” 

“Yeah!” Tommy yelled, a little too enthusiastically, “To all the women I’ve had!” 

Tubbo laughed, elbowing him, “You haven’t had anyone!”

Niki chuckled, “To the life that used to be!”

“To the life that is to come!” Wilbur added. 

You rolled your eyes, the liquor you’d consumed that day coursing through your veins as you stood, scoffing, “Yeah, sure, to days gone by. Could it be you fear to actually die Apollo?” 

You shuffled forward, reaching out toward Wilbur, “You think that they’re gonna remember you when you fall? Is your death going to mean anything?”

His attention was back on you, and even if he seemed pissed you lived for that attention so you pushed on, grabbing onto his coat, “Is your life just one more lie?” 

Wilbur seized your hands, throwing you off of him, “(Y/n) that is enough!” 

You stumbled away, blindly grabbing the bottle from Niki, who simply grabbed your arm, leading you back toward the café. 

“What the hell was that?” She hissed. 

“This is gonna fail, I know its gonna fail. How can they not see that Niki? How can they not see that?” You rambled.

Niki pulled you past Eret and up the stairs to the storage room, “Stay up here, I’ll come get you once we’ve won.” 

“Not gonna win.” You mumbled, “Hey- you got anything to drink?” 

“Wine cabinet’s over there, don’t hurt yourself.” 

With that she was gone leaving you to your wine and your thoughts.

~~

It was a warm day, and you watched as Wilbur and the rest gathered around the gap in L’manburgs wall, cheering as Tommy held his musket high. 

Cheers of ‘we won’ fill the air, as your friends gathered around, cheering as the last of Dreams men fled, leaving L’manburg its freedom. 

‘I guess I was wrong.’ Still, you smiled as you moved to stand next to Wilbur and the others moved away.

‘I suppose you were.’ Wilbur smiled.

You looked up at the pale blue sky, ‘it is nice to see freedom, I do have to admit.’ 

‘i knew you’d come around (y/n).’

Sighing you looked at him again, ‘what now, Apollo?’

Wilbur’s hand grabbed yours, ‘we dance.’ 

You froze, ‘d- d- dance? you want to dance- with me?’ 

‘why not?’ he chuckled, ‘i know you can.’ 

Slowly you took his other hand. 

The day was warm, L’manburg was free, and you and Wilbur danced. 

Distantly you heard a yell, “He’s the leader!” 

‘Wil? what was that?’ you mumbled. 

‘whats what?’ 

“Wilbur was the one who nearly killed George!”

You looked around frantically before turning back to Wilbur, whos face seemed to change, looking beyond you, “Shoot me!” 

‘wha-’

Suddenly the day was cold, and not yet begun, as you bolted upright in the storage room of Niki’s café. 

L’manburg was not free, and Wilbur was stood proudly, his back to the wall, barley visible beyond Dream, Sapnap and Sam, who all had the barrels of there rifles aimed at his chest. 

Distantly, you felt yourself standing, “Long live L’manburg! I am one of them.” 

Wilbur’s face fell to shock, “(y/n) what are you-” 

The enemy still stood, frozen as you moved between there ranks, repeating, “Long live L’manburg! Take us both with one blow.” 

Wilbur was still staring at you in shock as you turned to him, “Do you permit it?” 

He smiled, understanding finally in his eyes, and then his hand was in yours as he turned back to face Dream, proud even in his last moments. 

The day was cold and not yet begun, Wilbur’s hand was in yours, and you could not feel the bullets enter your chest.

All you could feel was his hand in yours, his smile still warming your face, until there was nothing more.

[thedevillionaire]

Four Days, Mostly

A supernatural soap opera instalment. Cerberus and Kia, one of those domestic-couple moments kind of thing. Any questions, as always, please do ask me to explain myself! Thanks for spending some time in my ridiculous world. I heart you.

---

Kia feels like she’s practically been living in the Vampirism archives, when she hasn’t been on the mortal plane, that is. She’s sure the last four days have actually taken a week, such was the amount of things to do that had somehow been crammed into them, and she sighs quietly.

And she’s hardly seen her beloved for more than five minutes over those days; she’s not been the only one with scarcely a moment to take for herself. What with the disastrous destruction of the Lightning chambers and the resultant seemingly endless fallout from that pouring demand upon demand on Cerberus, they’ve barely crossed paths, let alone managed any quality time together. Any time at all, come to that.

But she’s been assured he’ll be home tonight, and a small smile crosses her face as she reaches the front door at last. She’ll be glad to get into the guaranteed warmth of the manor too – the windwhipped, winterchilled walk home has been…brisk, to say the least.

Whoa.

Warmth is one thing, inferno another. An intense, practically visible heatwave encompasses her the moment she crosses the threshold, and she closes the door behind her, removing her coat posthaste.

Well, he’s definitely home. She shakes her head, a faint smile on her face as she unlaces and removes her blouse and bodice also, untucking her chemise for good measure. Damn, it was hot. “Hon, think you could dial it back a bit to, I don’t know, something maybe a bit less…I don’t know, diabolic?” she calls out as she walks through the foyer into the loungeroom, where she expects to find him, but…apparently not. Hm, okay. She pulls her hair into a makeshift ponytail, twists it upon itself to hold it in place, wonders whether she should Mindsend him a greeting or just wander about the house until she finds him, when her attention is dramatically redirected by a sudden, powerful sneeze.

Ah. She smiles a little self-indulgently, turns. Answers that question.

With a Mindsent blessing, she continues down the hallway, making her way over to where Cerberus sits at the library desk, his face buried in a tissue…which, as she gets closer, she recognises as being far from the first time he’s done this today. “Oh, honey, you’re not well?”

More of an observation than a question – the tiredness apparent in her nonetheless stunning bonded’s eyes as he smiles at her somewhat wanly despite his clear pleasure at her return, not to mention the telltale hint of red to his nose, providing more than enough of an answer. He neither confirms nor denies it – not verbally, at any rate – and for now she chooses not to press.

Explains the extra heat, too.

With a soft sound of sympathy, Kia moves to stand behind him, placing a tender kiss on the top of his head and gently massaging his shoulders. “Hey there, you. How long’s it been since you took a break?”

Cerberus murmurs a quiet hum of pleasure, closing his eyes briefly and leaning back into her touch as Kia drapes her arms around him. “Gods, I’ve missed you, love.” He sniffles again, takes another tissue, wipes his nose, and looks up at her apologetically. “Sorry about all the damn sniffling. The week’s catching up to me a bit, I think.”

“Aw, sweetheart.” Kia says, adding a Mindsent :Stop avoiding the question: with a quiet, slightly dark laugh. She moves to push some papers aside and sit on the desk, facing him, and leans forward to kiss him, softsensual, lingering. :I’ve missed you too.: She leans back again, looks at him in gently insistent challenge. “Your last break was…?”

“Nowhere near as beautiful as this one, I’m sure.” Another determined sniffle, and Cerberus presses the tissue underneath his nose as he regards Kia’s state of dishevelled semi-undress, a playful approval evident as he does so, and raises an eyebrow. “If you want to convince me to lower the temperature, darkling, I’m not sure *snf!* that this is the best way to go about it.”

“Okay, I know these four days have felt like forever but you do remember I’m happy to strip for you without being practically on fire, right?” Kia laughs. “Babe, it’s a sauna in here!” With a look of good-natured admonishment, she holds his gaze and smoothly slips out of her skirt, lets it fall to the floor, runs a tapered fingernail along the angular contours of his jawline, and purrs, almost a whisper, deliberately teasing, “What if I didn’t let you touch, though? Because, I mean…I’m just too…hot.”

Cerberus chuckles quietly, sardonically. “Harsh terms, love.” He accedes with a wave of his hand, the atmosphere settles to a more generally comfortable ambient heat, and he gives his nose another firm wipe before vaporising the tissue, making a small but unmissable sound of irritation as he does so.

“And how long has this been going on for?” Kia lightly traces a finger down the length of her bonded’s nose, gives him a brief yet knowing look as he takes a sharp breath in response, his expression crumbling to a mixture of mildly panicked betrayal and helplessness.

Cerberus turns from her rapidly, not enough time to claim a new tissue, and brings his elbow to his face in surrender. “Huh-AHSSCHuu! *SNF!*” Crushing a firm hand against his nose, he frowns at Kia in gentle reprimand, and shakes his head wryly. “Gods, love.” He sniffles again, wetly and repeatedly. “Pardon me.”

“Aw, sorry, sweetheart,” Kia, not particularly sorry at all, confirms a suspected sensitivity notably greater than usual and offers him a softsmiled semblance of penitence regardless. “Bless you.” She passes him a tissue, pauses a moment as he blows his nose, touches a hand to his forearm. “Seriously, though, hon – how are you doing?”

He sighs. “Ah, darkling, I’m alright.” Well aware she was unlikely to accept that, he continues without leaving her enough time to interject. “Mostly. It’s just that it’s all been…rather nonstop of late.” He sniffles strongly and wipes his nose again, which seems increasingly determined to not give him a moment’s peace. “Gods. Excuse me.” Clearing his throat, he refocuses. “This ridiculous weather we’ve been having doesn’t agree with me terribly well.” Another sniffle brings timely emphasis to his words, and he notes the dubious look in Kia’s eyes. “It’s just a slight chill, love. It’ll pass soon enough. And anyway—” He pushes the chair back from the desk, stands, curls a strong arm around Kia’s waist, toys with the strap of her chemise, his voice deep velvet and desire. "—my irresistible supervisor seems to believe I ought to take a break…and that is not a directive I can refuse.”

He tilts her head towards him, pulls her close, kisses her with an urgency his beloved cannot miss, an urgency she fully reciprocates. They’ve not been apart for this long since they first became a couple, almost three years ago now, and it feels like an aeon, it feels volcanic.

“Mmm…” Kia, still seated on the desk, wraps her legs around him and returns his kiss with rich promise, weaving a hand through his hair. :Babe, want to move this to th…:

Cerberus completes the teleport to the bedroom before Kia completes her Mindsend, and she laughs upon their arrival. “I’ll take that as a…” she begins but she’s interrupted again, Cerberus raising a finger and managing a hurried, breathless “Sorry, love, I’m g…” and turns from her mere seconds before he’s possessed by unstoppable need.

“Huh-HH… Huh-hhAHTSSCHhuu!”

Heavy, absolute, and not enough; he gives a brief shake of his head, blinks rapidly, moves to claim several tissues from the box on the bedside table in expectant preparation, inhaling deeply, entirely surrendered, and after a tremulous pause, on the edge, he gives over and sneezes again, powerful, ferocious.

“AAHHTSSCHHUU!” He sniffles fiercely and rubs his nose with determination, repeatedly, in an all-too-brief recovery he already knows is only temporary, his breath still catching and brow creased, and takes another series of tissues, his eyes watering. “Hhh… hh-TSSCHH-uu!”

Kia’s breath catches also, though differently. “Oh, bless y…”

“HAHH-TSSCHUU! Uhh…” The demanding strength behind the sneezes taking a level of energy he really doesn’t have, a soft groan escapes him as he pushes newly disordered ebony chaos from his eyes and glances upwards in silent entreaty but no respite is granted; he inhales in fragmented and escalating anticipatory need for release; desperate, encouraging. “Hh… h-hh… Hh-HH!” He buries his face in the tissues once more. “Huh-AAHTSSCHHuu!! Ah, gods.”

The last sneeze comes followed by an unexpected, searing sharp sting in the back of his throat and a wave of foggy disorientation, and his gaze snaps across to Kia in alarm, his previous belief that this was just a passing overreaction to exposure and stress categorically destroyed in one stark moment of recognition. “Fuck,” he mutters, scrubbing first the tissues then a rough hand under his nose. He touches a hand to his throat and swallows with difficulty. Fuck. “Pardon me. *SNFF!*”

She remembers to exhale. “Bless you, honey.”

Cerberus sighs heavily, murmurs, “Thanks, love,” and presses his index finger under his nose in a willfully firm refutation of any more of this nonsense, though he isn’t exactly full of confidence in that regard, and sniffles again. “Excuse me.” He blows his nose, another series of sniffles ensuing in short order, and takes a further few moments to gather himself before eventually looking over to his bonded, somewhat chagrined. He clears his throat. “I, um…think there’s a chance I may have lied to you about being alright.” The congestion now dulling his consonants tells a similar tale.

“Mostly alright.” Kia gives Cerberus a gentle smile. “Thought you might have.” She arranges herself amongst the bedsheets and lightly pats the space beside her in invitation. “Aw, sweetheart,” she says, noting his expression of faint confusion that she’d have had reason to doubt him, “I know you didn’t deliberately lie to me. It’s not your fault you’re a hopeless optimist.”

She laughs softly as faint confusion now combines with a flash of indignance. “How am I…” he begins, and this time it’s Kia’s turn to interrupt.

“It’s alright, babe, I actually love that in you. You just never think you might, you know, fail.” Blowing him a kiss, she adds a Mindsent :Not that this needs to count as a fail:, beckoning him to her with crooked finger. “Come here,” she insists in a satin whisper, fluidly removing her chemise as she does so.

Cerberus, suddenly and thoroughly spectacularly reminded of just how long four days can feel, takes up Kia’s invitation to join her on the bed, though with a measure of forced reluctance that he thinks perhaps, in good conscience, he should…probably have. His will to obey that conscience, however, is far from assured, despite the returning itch that he can do even less about, and he turns quickly to stifle another sneeze against his forearm. “HXTchu! Uhh…” It’s not enough and he hurries another apology, internally curses the manifestly ridiculous timing of it all, inhales deeply and sneezes again.

“hh-AHH… Ah-TSSCHHhuu! Ah, gods, sorry. *SNFF!*”

“Bless you,” Kia murmurs, surface nonchalant, heartbeat wild, and moves to unbutton his shirt.

His resolve already verging on the nonexistent, Cerberus tries not to think about how very much he’s missed his beautiful bonded, how very much he just wants to immerse in her company right now, and makes what he knows is likely a last-ditch effort. “I don’t want to get you sick, love. I’m not sure if I can…”

“You certainly feel like you can.” Kia gives him a sultry, wicked grin.

Cerberus chuckles quietly, curls his fingers through her hair, sniffles lightly. “Alright, well, I’m not sure that I should.”

“Oh…no, I think you’re pretty sure.” Kia presses herself against him, kissing him with exquisite, slow intimacy, removing his belt with deft touch as she does so, and Cerberus gives up his last tenuous hold on resistance, returning her kiss with incendiary passion, undeniable need.

Kia hums a languid sound of delectation. :That’s more like it.: With a soft, indulgent purr, she moves astride him and wraps her arms around his neck, murmuring in a gently teasing undertone, “And I thought for a second there you were actually going to deny me.”

Cerberus pulls her closer again in strong, warm embrace, desire for her eclipsing all else, and claims her mouth with his own as he takes her smoothly, deeply, deliciously, Mindsending with a rising heat suffusing every word, :What kind of self-control do you think I have?:

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