#one could argue the whole thing is...heavy with implication

[wingfooted]

Kuroshitsuji -Public School Arc- OP ➺The Parade of Battlers, 音羽-otoha-

[drabblesandimagines]

Crash

Leon Kennedy x female reader, established relationship

The sidewalk feels cold beneath your thighs as you stare blankly into your lap, your breaths heavy, struggling through a tight chest. You’re sat cross-legged, like a child - the nice, elderly lady had encouraged you to sit down, said you were looking pale. She’d definitely meant for you to take a seat on the bench a few steps away, but you’d just dropped, seemingly forgetting how to get from standing to sitting in any sort of graceful manner.

She’d smiled sympathetically then, offered you some candy from the bottom of her purse – kept a stash in there for her grandchildren - said you needed sugar for the shock. But you’d shook your head, feeling sick at the notion of eating anything. She asked if there was anyone she could call whilst waiting for the first responders.

You’d put your hand in your jacket pocket for your phone at her question – relieved it’s in one piece, not smashed up like the hunk of metal just out of eyeshot. You don’t remember calling Leon’s number, but you must have because now your phone’s up against your ear.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He answers after only four rings, though his voice is hushed - maybe ducked out of the room to answer. “Can I call you back in 20? Just wrapping up something here.”

“I-crashed-the-car.” You blurt out, the words running into one another. It’s not technically true, you were crashed into but this seems easier for now.

“What?” His volume amps way up and your stomach twists with the change, unsure of the implications – is he mad? Upset?

You were borrowing his car. Yours was in the garage, the brake discs needed replaced and would take a couple of days to get the parts in. You’d planned to take city transport but Leon insisted you take his car - arguing it was winter, that it gets dark so early and the idea of you walking to and from the bus stop on your own isn’t one he wants to entertain. You don’t live in a terrible neighbourhood, but you don’t have to be for monsters to be roaming the streets, after all. Plus, it made sense for him to ride his bike to HQ whilst you borrowed his SUV and he wouldn’t have to worry, have one less thing on his plate… ..or so had been the idea. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m so sorry,” you don’t even take in his questions, really. “They came out of nowhere and…“ Your breath hitches in your throat, a sob building up and threatening to overflow.

“Baby,” his tone is firm, “are you hurt?”

You can hear his shoes slapping against the floor as he begins to run, though it sounds too hard a sole for his boots... No, that’s right, he went out in a suit this morning – leather jacket on top, motorcycle helmet tucked under his arm, still made the whole ensemble look good albeit it being mismatched.

“No…” That’s not true - there’s blood, and it has to be yours, but you feel numb of any sort of pain. “I don’t know.“ Your voice cracks again. “That’s okay,” he soothes, barging through a door with his shoulder. “We’ll work it out.” Nearly takes a woman out the other side with how hard the door slams against the wall, mutters half an apology as he darts around her. “Are you still in the car?” You turn to look at Leon’s black SUV laying on its side, the under carriage on full display – not the way a car should be. The driver’s side is against the concrete. You’d climbed out the passenger side, somehow, having to fight gravity itself to get the door to open, clambered up and over the leather seats. Should you have done that, or should you have stayed put? You’d just wanted out from the metal box – the windscreen was a spiderweb of cracks, creaking like it would explode in shards at any moment. “N-no, I’m on the sidewalk.”

“Okay, good. Ambulance on its way?” He’s reached the elevator, mashes the down button like it will make it accelerate to his floor any faster than usual. He feels awful that he’s interrogating you, but his training has kicked in - gather as much intel as possible – and he needs the facts.

“Yeah. Police too.” A few cars had stopped after. Someone said they were calling 911, another saying they got some of the license plate, the old lady and her purse full of candy. The other car drove off, tyres burnt with how fast they fled the scene.

“Good. That’s good, sweetheart. You’re going to be okay. Can you tell me where you are? What street you’re on?”

“Erm…” You look round, but in the shock nothing looks familiar, though it must be a route you’d driven down hundreds of times before. “I was on the way home from work, so, I’m, erm…”

“That’s all right.” He can hear the tightness in your voice, knows you’re not thinking clearly and so he changes tact. “Is anyone nearby that you could ask?” He hits the elevator button again, swears it’s been on floor 12 for far longer than necessary. Come on.

The elderly lady comes back to mind – she must’ve stepped back to give you privacy when you’d pulled your phone out. “There’s someone.”

“Great. Can you ask them where you are?”

“Yeah…” You pull the phone down from your ear, looking around to find she’s not gone far at all, hovering a few metres away. “Excuse me, where are we? Sorry.” The apology slips out, feeling more of a nuisance to her than you’d already been.

“16th Street, dearie.” She smiles, keeps her tone gentle. “Just near Jack’s Groceries.”

The elevator finally arrives – empty - and Leon positions himself between the doors, aware that his reception might drop when he starts to head down to the garage and he can’t leave you on a dial tone.

“Thank you.” You force a smile in return, hold the phone back up to your ear. “16th Street, near the grocery store, Jack’s - it’s the one with those chips you like?”

He smiles at that – it’s not your usual place to shop, but you go there sometimes to pick them up for him ‘just cos’. “I’m on my way, sweetheart. Can you call or text me if you go anywhere else?”

“Y-yeah.” You take another shuddering breath, dig your nails into the palm of your hand. “Thank you. I’m so sorry.”

He steps into the elevator fully, double taps the button for the garage before assaulting another to close the doors. He hopes no-one tries to grab it on the way down, cos he won’t be able to hide his irritation.

“Nothing to apologize for. Everything’s going to be okay. I love you, baby.”

“Love you too.”

“See you soon.”

He hears the beep, signaling the call is cut off and takes a grounding breath, though his foot taps impatiently as the elevator continues to descend. He scrolls down his contacts, thumb poised to dial as soon as the doors open again.

“Leon,” Hunnigan sounds surprised to receive his call, probably cos he’s in the same building as her and usually swung by the office if he was after something. “To wha-“

“I need a car.” He cuts across her, heading over to where the company vehicles are kept. “Any car - I’m in the garage already.”

“Right. Why?” He feels a smidge of relief when he hears her begin to type.

“Please - just give me anything. I don’t care what, I just need to go.”

There’s the clunk of a lock down the line of vehicles, a black estate vehicle’s lights flashing. “Bay C3. Keys in the sun visor as usual. Tell me later.”

“I will. Thank you.”

 --

Leon drives a little faster than he should, but it still feels like hours until he reaches his destination. There’s a couple of cop cars blocking one of the lanes, red and blues flashing, an officer stood diverting traffic around the closure and another manning the perimeter. He pulls up behind the cars and hops out, scanning for you.

There’s an ambulance parked up in the lane and his heart skips a beat when he sees you sat on the steps, a cop on one side, a paramedic waiting behind in the wings. There’s one of those silver foil emergency blankets draped around your shoulders and you look so goddamn small.

He starts to jog over, intent on getting to your side as soon as possible, when the cop manning the perimeter sidesteps in front of him, holding his hands up to get him to stop.

“Sir, I need you to stay ba-“

Leon flashes his ID in his face – it’s not something he likes to do and so he rarely does it, but he doesn’t have time to put on the charm. “Agent Leon Kennedy. That’s my girlfriend over there – I need to get through.”

The cop steps back and Leon feels weirdly grateful for once for the DSO.

As he gets closer, his eyes narrow at the fact that they’re making you blow into a breathalyzer. He clenches his fist then - you’re bleeding and they’re accusing you of drink-driving?! He wants to give them what for, but then he sees the way you’re shaking and knows him storming into the scene ready to blow is not going to help, especially with how apologetic you’d been on the phone.

He forces himself to stop a moment and breathes deeply again. You’re shook up, but you’re in one piece, conscious and that’s the most important thing.

“Thank you, ma’am.” The officer nods, noting down the reading as Leon walks over, catching the tail-end of the conversation. “Nothing to worry about there. I’ll just go update the control room – it won’t be long.”

“Leon,” you stand abruptly at the sight of him as the cop steps off to the side and the foil blanket slips off your shoulders, gauze taped on multiple parts of your arms. You’re trembling. “I’m so sorry.”

“Come here,” Leon wraps his arms around you, coaxing you into his chest. He wants to squeeze tight, to confirm what he’s seen with his eyes, that you’re real and whole, but he doesn’t want to aggravate any injuries so he’s careful, pressing a kiss to your crown. “Don’t apologise, sweetheart. I’m just so glad you’re okay.”

“Y-yeah, I’m fine.” You’re not, but maybe if you say it to Leon it’ll make it real. There’s a horrible burning sensation in your chest. You want to cry, but not here, not in front of everyone.

“Sorry, ma’am, can I get you to take a seat again?” The paramedic interrupts, emergency blanket back in hand. “I won’t be long, sir. I just need to check a couple more things.”

“No, of course.” He presses another kiss to your forehead and guides you back to the steps, encouraging you to sit and takes the blanket from the paramedic’s hand to drape back over you. “I’ll be right over there, okay? I’m just gonna go have a word with the officer.”

“Okay, yeah.”

He steps aside so the paramedic can move in and waits for the officer to come off the radio, approaching and offering his hand. “Leon Kennedy. I’m her boyfriend.”

“I gathered.” He shakes it. “Officer Jacobs. It was your car she was driving?”

“Mm-hm.” He keeps half an eye on you as he sees the paramedic shine a flashlight in your eyes, getting you to follow his finger. “What happened?”

The cop consults his notepad, flipping through his notes. “A witness stated another SUV-type vehicle went through the red light at some speed. Said it had been driving erratically for a while, so I’m figuring drunk-driver. T-boned, sent your SUV spinning and flipped onto its side after it collided with the lamp-post. The other vehicle stopped for five seconds or so, then gunned it. I’ve got dispatch sending a description out for the highway patrols. Partial registration but it’s gonna have damage, I’m sure, so should be easy to spot if it’s still in transit.”

Leon swallows, taking all the information in.

“How lucky do you think she was?”

“Truthfully,” the cop scratches his day-old stubble, looking between the SUV and you, “I think if she’d been in a different car than that, we’d be having a very different and difficult conversation right now.”

Leon’s fists clench. He’s encountered unspeakable horrors too often in his time, but the idea that some drunken jerk could just get behind the wheel and end your life is more terrifying than anything he’s ever faced. His thoughts swirl down a dangerous drain - wonders if Hunnigan can grab the partial registration from the cops, run it through her software and find the culprit, or trawl the CCTV cameras for a screengrab. He’d show up at their door, or maybe wait for them in the parking lot, revving his own engine, scare them the way they’ve traumatized you and-

“Sir?”

The thought extinguishes as he realizes the cop is offering him a slip of paper.

“Case number. We’ve got her details and we’ll be in touch if we hear anything, but just in case either of you want to follow anything up.”

“Got it.” He nods, taking it and popping it into his wallet. “Thanks.”

--

Leon wants to take you straight home – he’s got a substantial first aid kit there that’ll do the trick on the cuts that need stitching – but, honestly, you need a proper check-up and only the emergency room will do.

You’d required a few stitches from where you’d been caught by the glass from the driver’s window and bruises had started to develop, specially from where the seatbelt had jerked at the impact, but the overall prognosis was positive – you’d be sore for a few weeks, that was for sure, but armed with some painkillers and some rest, you’d be fine.

Leon doesn’t think he’s ever driven quite so carefully the way he drove to and from the emergency room. Not that will help against other assholes on the road, but he’ll be damned if he does anything that means he has to slam on the brakes and give you a fright. You’ve been silent most of the time – silent on the drive, silent in the waiting room, answering the doctor’s questions in a quiet, unsure voice, and then silent again on the drive home. He’d placed a cautious hand on your knee, squeezing it in reassurance, meaning to draw it away but you’d placed your hand on top of it, looping your fingers through his.

He pulls into the parking lot, gives your hand one last squeeze and hops out, dashing around so he can help you out the vehicle. Leon can read you like a book, he knows you’re holding it together until you get inside – you know you are too.

The elevator is mercifully sat on the ground floor when the two of you enter the lobby and Leon keeps you close as you ride up to the 12th floor and the safety of the apartment.

“Can we sit?”

“Of course, sweetheart. Whatever you want.” He sits down on the sofa first and you drop yourself down onto his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. It’s only a second before you burrow your head under his chin and, with a heaving breath, finally let out a proper sob - releasing everything you’ve held in for the last few hours. You feel stupid, annoyed, frightened, sore, relieved – too many emotions to keep track of.

He wraps his arms around you in turn, pressing a long kiss to your temple, tears burning at his own eyes.

In that moment, it hits Leon in the gut that he doesn’t know what he’d do without you, what he would have done if you hadn’t come home that night. If he’d have to come back to the apartment and not find your shoes kicked off at the door at the end of the long day, the glass with the lipstick smear on the rim near the sink from the water you’d gulp down greedily whilst making dinner.  It’s not like he takes you for granted by any means. He feels lucky every morning when he gets to wake up next to you in bed, and every night when he climbs back in, wrapping his arms around you. He’ll never let the two of you go to sleep or part ways if you’ve had harsh words or a full blown argument as all couples do, not with the risk his line of work brings, the threat that he could be called away in the middle of the night and have to bid goodbye to a turned back.

He rubs his hand gently up and down your back then, tears silently rolling down his face as he takes you all in, relishes your warmth as he cradles you in his lap.

“I’m so sorry.” You hiccup, your sobs eventually ceasing into sniffles, but still you kept your face pressed into his chest, seeking the comfort of his smell – the faint cologne and natural musk that was so uniquely Leon.

“You did nothing wrong, you hear me?” He mumbles into your crown. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Is the car a complete write-off?”

“Don’t know, don’t care.” He gently lifts your left hand, presses a kiss across your knuckles. “I love you, baby. So much.”

“Love you too.”  

The day after the next – he negotiated a personal day to spend doting on you, breakfast in bed, cuddles on the sofa, takeaway for dinner – Leon goes out and buys a ring.

--

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

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[somnambulic-thing]

Scar Tissue

Eddie Munson x afab!reader

1k

||post-S4 post-apocalyptic, new relationship, angst, fluff, mentioning of scars on reader and Eddie, implications of severe injuries, nothing runny though||

read on ao3

“I don’t want you to go.”

A confession born a whisper at the sight of his bare back that’s turned to you. It’s the sight of nearing departure and your throat feels so tight like the neck of an hourglass and twice as fragile as the seconds trickle away and you’re still so hungry for more time.

Time with him.

Sat on the edge of your bed, busy lacing up his heavy boots, Eddie halts and sits upright. He doesn’t turn around though.

The space between you is filled with the scent of a night spent fused into one – sandalwood incense, weed and sex - but void of the promise to be bridged again.

At the end of the world, promises like that felt like lies in waiting.

The rustling of sheets and the dip of the mattress prepare him for the impact of your touch and he tilts his head to the right to make room for your lips. They press against his shoulder, warm and wet and a little rough where they are chapped at the bottom and it’s all consuming, how they move up and up while your arms wrap around him. Fingers splayed on the scarscape of his chest, holding him tight against the impossible bliss of your body.

“I don’t want you to leave,” you breathe just beneath his ear before your tongue traces along the pink mangled skin that forms a ragged ring around his neck and the sensation makes him choke on a confession of his own.

Leaving you feels like dying. Every time.

He would know. He’d been there.

“I don’t want to leave either, sweetheart.”

Feeling his resolve start to crack and crumble he holds onto your arms, finding that one thick, gnarly scar running from the palm of your hand along the soft skin of your forearm and traces it with his thumb. You had been there too.

Three months and he could read every inch of you with his fingertips, knew the story to each and every mark scattered across the battlefield that held you within.

He would die for you. But he’d rather live for you. With you.

“Then stay,” you say, tearing into him with a voice so soft he can’t but turn his head to follow the sound to the source.

You know it’s not fair, not much is anymore but it is bearable when his lips slide against yours like this; hot and sticky and eager.

“Wayne needs me down at the plant,” he mutters before he sucks your lower lip into his mouth, then twists out of your grip to push you back into the sheets. “Gotta keep the lights on.”

And the fences charged.

There’s no conviction in his voice but so much desire in his eyes as he crawls over you and you know he is right but he’s here and it’s hard to think beyond that. After years of endless night and surviving with monsters under your bed, Eddie’s presence felt like the dawn.

And then he grins at you, lopsided, motion restrained by tough scar tissue along the edge of his jaw and it’s the most beautiful thing in the world, makes your skin tingle and your breath hitch and your heart pick up the pace. His head dips down, gentle lips trace tender kisses along your sternum. You know what comes next.

His knees part yours and you welcome his weight as he slowly settles on top of you. Rough hands slide below your shoulder blades and the tips of his messy hair drag up your skin with a tickle that soon envelops you whole when his ear finds the sound of your heartbeat and rests against it.

Eddie sighs and listens.

Maybe this is the most beautiful thing in the world. Sometimes, it's hard to choose.

“Ten minutes,” he says and you don’t argue. You embrace him.

Thirty minutes later, your fingertips are wet with one or two stray tears you brushed from his cheek. With your back pressed against the door, you lick the salt of your skin.

You start to count—

one two three four

and swallow the filthy rabid rodent of anxiety that’s crawling up your throat—

nine ten eleven twelve

spilling some salt of your own—

nineteen twenty twenty-one

allowing yourself those eighty-six seconds it took Eddie to get from the third floor of what once was a hotel and is now a village to reach the exit—

fifty-five fifty-six fifty-seven

pushing yourself off the door, you put one foot in front of the other on your way to the window, plucking the rifle from its place on the wall—

sixty-eight sixty-nine seventy seventy-one

The square in front of the hotel is a maze of chainlink fences separating the streets from open space with deadly doses of electricity. The gates scattered across the world were slowly slowly slowly closing like infected wounds in a weak and drained body. Democreatures had grown less and less over the years but to let down your guard was never an option—

eighty eighty-one eighty-two eighty-three

You hear the sharp buzzer of the door, the heavy clink clink of the iron gates and you let your gaze wander across the scene, the same as several unseen guards ready and armed to the teeth with special ammunition. You wonder if Hopper is on shift today—

eighty-six

Eddie is so small from up here, shrinking more and more with each step he takes toward the parking lot and it almost breaks your mind because inside you the Eddie-shaped space just keeps expanding.

Just before he’s about to vanish around a corner he stops and turns and even from here, you can see his big bright smile. He waves and throws you one two three kisses.

And then he’s gone.

general tag list:

@bettyfrommars @dr-aculaaa @deathbecomesthem @songforeddiemunson @potthealien2423 @raccoonboywrites @eveybitch @jo-harrington @lunatictardis @skrzydlak @moonbeamsandmayhem @slutforstabbings @eddieslooneymoonie

[braxiatel]

Goodtimeswithscar is a sexyman and I will prove it to you

If you are still on the fence I encourage you to look at the sexypedia - a wikipedia dedicated to tumblr sexymen - and checking out their tropes page. Scar meets 35/62 on a list where recent winner of the tumblr sexyman poll Cecil Palmer of WTNW fame only has 8 listed on his character page!

35!

Scar is Textbook, and if you need proof I have gone through all the tropes and explained why they apply to him!

VOTE SCAR!

4th Wall Blurring: This one is arguable due to the nature of the medium but I’ll include it

Animal Theming: See: animal hybrid headcanons and designs. Cat Scar, panda Scar, hyena Scar, avian Scar - they’re everywhere!

Angst: That cactus ring… magic mountain. need I say more? This boy has angst. 

Bait: *gestures at the shirtless skins*

Capitalist: she sells sea shells on the sea shore but the value of these shells will fall due to the laws of supply and demand no one wants to buy shells cause there’s loads on the sand step one you must create a sense of scarcity 

Chaoslord: HotGuy! [snipes you for no good reason]

Criminal: shells will sell much better if the people think they’re rare you see bear with me take as many shells as you can find and hide them on an island stockpile them high until they’re rarer than the price of diamond

Con Artist: step two gotta make the people think that they want them really fucking want them hit ‘em like Bronson influencers product placement if you haven’t got a shell then you’re just a fucking waste man

Dealmaker: three it’s monopoly invest inside some property start a corporation make a logo do it properly shells must sell that will be your new philosophy swallow all your morals they’re a poor man’s quality

Distinctive Voice: I do not need to make any arguments here. Have you heard him???

Quotable Catchphrase(s): well hello there, scarred for life, “a-ma-zing”, etc.

Distinctive Laugh: I think I autism stole Scar’s laughter (whoops) so I’m giving him this one too, but also that gigle is just very good and we all know it, right?

Dominating: from the trope description: “Characters who assert their power over others. Could be through manipulation, magic, smugness, or force of personality.” Yes. 

Duality: Convex did not put their whole entire vexussies into that possession storyline for us to forget about it. 

Egotistical: This one is arguable and a question of characterisation, but I think that we can all agree that on some levels, yes. 

Eldritch: From the trope description: “Since the typical sexyman is a tall mostly human looking pale twink, in a vast majority of the cases the eldritch is a heavy implication lying just under the surface.” Hello? Vex Scar?? 

Gay: See subsection: 

LGBTQ+ Coded: That cactus ring. Mumbo “eye candy” Jumbo. The season 7 mayoral race. Concorp. His jolly rancher arc. This man has so many boyfriends. 

Girlboss: listen I think a lot of characters who aren’t traditional girlbosses get called so, but with Scar I think it’s accurate okay. Did Scar utilize girl power effectively when he and Cub were blatant war profetiers during the season 6 civil war? yes. Absolutely. Girlboss. 

Glowing Neon: vex blue anyone?

Hot-headed: Don’t let his calm exterior fool you. Remember. Scar when someone steals his horse: *sets their whole entire house on fire*. 

Intelligence: yes but also see subsection

Smartdumb: Okay listen. Scar is Smart. Scar is very smart. And I specifically have to make sure you know I am talking character only here because cc!Scar seems to me to be a Very intelligent person with a wide field of knowledge. But uhm. c!Scar dies so much and so often in ways that are completely unavoidable. He does silly things without thinking of the consequences. I have seen enough people calling him a himbo (beloathed term) enough times that I do not need to argue this point. He is smart but also babygirl Why are you like this.

Johnlocked: “When two characters are shipped extensively by fans despite the pairing not necessarily being canon (or even present) in the original work.” it started out with a cactus ring how did it end up like this, it was only a cactus ring, it was only a cactus ring

Knifemurder: Hotguy! [snipes you a second time] 

Magnificent Bastard: This Is The Whole Point. Scar oozes charisma even when he is the villain and that’s why he is so beloved. He is smart, he is stylish, he is charming, even while he is killng you. This is the point. 

Marked Canon/Fanon Divergence: “Sexymen with a large gap between how they are in the original work (Canon) and how they are commonly portrayed in fanworks (Fanon)” see : the fake crystals vs Scar actually having magic, the abs being painted on vs shirtless Scar everywhere, etc.

Monster Features: vex scar vex scar vex scar

Nonhuman: like the vex thing is literally canon it’s not fanon those cons sure did vex 

Pale Twink: We could have done many things with this collection of blocks people, and yet my dash is full of shirtless twinks/twunks every day ending with a y. Curious. 

Perpetual Smiler: Okay listen this is partially the nature of the medium but also 1) that is a distinctive smile and 2) have you see the fanworks? 

Power: This man tried to sell fake magic crystals and we all just decided he can do magic. He was an elf once and now fae/elf Scar headcanons are everywhere. 

Scars: I- I’m not explaining myself here. yes??? 

Tall: I can think of one, maybe two portrayals of Scar that have made him short. 

Theme Song: four expand, expand, expand clear forest make land fresh blood on hands five why just shells why limit yourself she sells seashells sell oil as well six guns sell stocks sell diamonds sell rocks sell water to a fish sell the time to a clock seven press on the gas take your foot off the brakes then run to be the president of the united states eight big smile mate big wave that's great now the truth is overrated tell lies out the gate nine polarise the people controversy is the game it don't matter if they hate you if they all say your name ten the world is yours step out on a stage to a round of applause uou're a liar a cheat a devil a whore and you sell seashells on the seashore

Unkempt: so those rugged life series Scars, huh? 

Villain: Scar has been the villain several times and has a Long list of crimes to his name

Technically Antagonist: see 3rd life

Villain Protagonist: unreliable narrator Scar my beloved. I love how he just *does terrible things edited to make him look like he’s just a silly little guy having some harmless fun*

Well-Dressed: Hmmm I wonder why waggon/tycoon Scar routinely wins every Scar skin poll. Also he has enough outfits to include these sub categories too: 

Suitguy: “Characters who typically wear formalwear, specifically suits. Often includes waistcoats, top hats, bowties, and pinstripes. Other neckwear may also be worn.” Again. The tycoon skin really lives rent free in all out minds, huh?

Long Coat/Cape/Robe/Etc: bathrobe wizard Scar my beloved but also do you know how many thirst trap last life Scars I’ve seen?? 

White Twink Humanization: He is made out of blocks in canon. We did not need to make him like this and yet we did. 

White Hair: last life Scar beloved by many <3

VOTE SCAR!

[giuliettacapuleti]

No but the way Júlia and Tybalt (In Rómeó és Júlia especially but in every adaption actually) perfectly mirror each other in the way they are being stifled by the role they play due to their gender and how it fucks them up, as well as the way they completely reject their roles (specifically in Rómeó és Júlia)? We have Tybalt, who was forced to be as violent and protective of his family as possible despite the heavy implication that he was a sensitive and dreamy child, not to mention the way his views of sex and love were shaped by social conventions (and specifically his father).

I’m going by the Italian Renaissance societal mores here, even though resj presumably takes place in a quasi-dystopian or post-dystopian future/Alternate Universe. During the Italian Renaissance, male children spent very little time with a nurse because that was considered ‘feminine’, and were sent off to school at a very young age. Although family was still considered the most important thing, actual familial relationships were hard to cultivate presuming that child was away at school. Now, it could be that I’m looking way too much into this and no one even thought about Tybalt’s childhood regarding him going away to school or being taught by a tutor at home, so I could be way off, BUT my point is that the emotions regarding family were strictly based on the masculine ‘protector and provider’ aspect rather than tenderness and actually spending time with family.

You can even see this in modern western society! It is only within the past few decades that men started to spend more time with their children, and do traditionally ‘feminine’ things for their kids like changing diapers, feeding etc. The idea of a Father being a provider rather than a caregiver has even carried over to society today - men are still praised for running errands with their children and doing activities with them without the mother present. These men are just seen as being ‘babysitters’ ‘helping out mom’ when they should simply be seen as parents doing their job as parents. It’s unnecessary to go into the negative impact this has had on both men and women, but my point is that this ‘nuture vs provide and protect’ view is still prevalent today, and was 100x worse in the Itaian Renaissance Era (and presumably society in resj).

So Tybalt is burdened with the duty to protect his family, but we see he, unlike his father, actually wants to be close emotionally to his family. The best evidence for this is his relationships to women in his family. I’ve made another post about this, but basically Tybalt’s father has taught him that women are literally ‘objects’, and the goal is to sleep with as many women as possible with absolutely no emotional attachment or respect for the women they sleep with. Tybalt, per his own admission in Ez A Kéz Utolér, mentions sleeping with many women indiscriminately, and not being emotionally attached to any of them. But as the song goes on we realize that he doesn’t want that. He is in love with Júlia, and clearly does not see her as an object. He doesn’t believe any man is good enough for her (least of all him).

Now, I’ve seen it argued that he doesn’t actually see Júlia as her own person, only the ideal of her, and even has the whole ‘Madonna/Whore Complex’ going on, which is certainly a valid argument, but I’m not sure I agree with it.

I think he sees himself in Júlia - the sensitive and loving child he never got to be. It’s possible a part of him does not want to see Júlia lose her innocence (not necessarily in a creepy way), and become like him.

Don’t get me wrong, his love for Júlia is definitely creepy and a good amount of his rage comes from romantic (and presumably sexual) jealousy. He mentions that he never loved any of the women he slept with, and has only ever loved Júlia. According to his father, love is just a weakness and women are just for sex, but clearly Tybalt doesn’t agree.

Possibly the ONLY healthy relationship he has (err, had) in his life is with the Nurse - he is seen holding her hand at the ball and she embraces his body after he dies, and has to be pulled away by a servant. I believe this is possibly a nod to when the Nurse calls him the “best friend she had” in Shakespeare (another reason I love resj is the Shakespearen nods while doing its own thing).

Lady Capulet obviously loves Tybalt (judging by her reaction to his death), though his uncomfortable attraction does not seem to be reciprocated. The inclusion of his attraction to her could be another nod to Shakespeare - though it is not actually in the text, a fairly popular theory is that Tybalt and Lady Capulet were lovers (it’s possibly worth noting that Lady Capulet was likely closer in age to Tybalt than Lord Capulet). Personally I don’t think there was any inappropriate relationship in Shakespeare, but in a way it works specifically for the Capulets in resj - the relationships they have are not healthy at all: they lack boundaries, can’t communicate, and can’t express their (familial) love until it’s too late.

Obviously, Tybalt doesn’t have a healthy relationship with his aunt and has some kind of weird attraction to her, possibly as a result of only caring (in general) about the Capulets. Yet he seems to listen to Lady Capulet in a way he doesn’t to Lord Capulet - Lady Capulet orders him to find Rómeó, and later presumably to kill him (when she talks to him in his room).

So, my point is that Tybalt, despite claiming that women are just objects, has the most important (and possibly only important) relationships with women.

Anyway Tybalt is messed up and complex and the Capulets are even more dysfunctional than in romeó et juliette send tweet.

[lunarblazes]

Grian’s been keeping a log since the Rift did that—that weird thing with his wings when he first looked at it a little too long. He’d figured it was probably the best option, if he was going to spend all this time around it. Might as well make it scientific and all that.

He’s not really closer to understanding what exactly it’s doing to him, but whatever. He’s pretty sure it’s some kind of radioactivity, but that’s honestly the tamest explanation for something like this on Hermitcraft. Hermits have a way of attaching themselves to their bases, and their bases attach right back—hence why Grian is now wrestling with a very cool-looking but annoyingly vision-impairing sculk infection—and that’s just how it is; last season, Grian’s wings had decided to turn dark with the night sky of Midnight Alley, a bit of thematic aesthetic that had only become more relevant once the more cosmic implications of the seasons had made themselves known.

The void wings had faded soon after their landing, leaving flightless, mossy-green feathers in their wake, and Grian’d been content to just leave them like that until they decided to pick up a new change. It wasn’t really his fault that the Rift was what stuck itself to his wings’ feathers this time; he didn’t make the Rift, and surely it wasn’t his fault for staying down there long enough to sprout a second pair after the whole beacon fiasco.

The third pair might have been his fault though. Just a bit. Though, really, if you thought about it, that had been in the name of scientific experimentation. He now had another pair of sleek wings grafted to his lower back and a third pair plastered to the sides of his hips. Which was fine, honestly. He thought they looked cool and they probably wouldn’t be permanent once he shifted gears to the next season, so all it really demanded from him was a modification to his wardrobe and he was good as new. The tail, too, could probably be attributed to the Rift; it seemed like it had appeared overnight to help him with flight balance, and Grian certainly wasn’t going to complain about anything that helped him fly better. His ears were starting to itch at the tips, which was annoying, and probably meant he might get a fourth pair soon, but hey. In the name of science.

He really didn’t mean to spend the whole night down there. For all his faults, Grian wasn’t a half-bad scientist. He understood the necessity of control groups and only changing one variable at a time in order to get unbiased, measured results. One could argue that a kindergartner probably grasped those concepts as well, but he was rather proud of them, and did well to keep them present in his own experiments. So Grian would only spend controlled intervals of time down with the Rift, mostly making sure Grumbot Prime was still operating, that his machine was all set, and tightening the bolts on the heavy girders that supported the overhead rock in the cavern. He was careful never to touch or draw too close to the Rift, for fear its cloying energy would accelerate or ruin his experiments with background radiation.

Grian knew he’d fallen asleep on top of the girders, because that was the last thing he remembered working on. He didn’t really know how he hadn’t taken any fall damage by the time he woke up, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth, and there were far more pressing matters at hand. Namely, that he was about mouth-deep in the Rift, and that its energy was currently trying to tear him apart like a laundry machine set to high.

The Rift’s energy was all movement and light. He could feel it permeate the half of his body stuck inside it as soon as he was conscious enough to think about where he was. Grian tried his best to suck in a breath of air and wiggle his way out of the fissure like he was swimming up through the ocean, and eventually this strategy worked. He broke free of the tide with a soft schlucking noise, which would have been mildly worrying if not for everything else going on at the moment.

Grian panted slightly, staring at his limbs, making sure he still had all his fingers and everything. Five fingers on each hand, though each of his fingernails looked sharper than they had before. He made a mental note to write that down in his log, even if the experiment’s integrity was shattered now. All seemed well at first glance, which was fortunate; he wouldn’t put it past the Rift to try and eat one of his arms. Or steal his hair, or something weird like that.

His arm felt funny, a kind of pins and needles situation at work along the muscles. Grian shook it out, massaging his hand to return its feeling, but to his surprise, it just… started glowing. Same purple as the Rift and everything. He shook it again, experimentally, and it kept glowing.

Grian frowned. “Hm. That’s unexpected.”

The log would hear all about this later. He’d definitely have to run some more tests (tests required thinking really hard about doing magic things with his laser hand—things like killing Scar, sorting his shulkers—impossible stuff like that).

He stared at the Rift, his hands on his hips. “Couldn’t you have waited just a few more days for me to see some more background stuff happen? God, this is probably gonna accelerate the process by loads!”

The Rift, rather impolitely, did not respond. Grian stuck his tongue out at it. Rude.

[kerubimcrepin]

Episode 31 - The Break

It will be so refreshing to liveblog an episode that isn't heavy on characterization or analysis, oh god, I am tired of typing words.

He is so sad and for no reason... I just want to wrap him in a heated blanket.

World's most serious case of Sads, finished off with an evil little glare.

I can imagine adult Joris doing the same thing to Kerubim even by Wakfu times. Just a cunty, unamused little gaze. I can see it so clearly. This will happen in season 4, mark my words.

Also, inside me are two wolves. One of them wants to say "perhaps it's unusual for Joris to not go hook line and sinker for whatever ideas Keke proposes", and the other wants to say "Joris and Kerubim having psychic vibe battles moment #5"

He is so unserious.

Joris loses this round in the game of mutual psychological manipulations.

(Guy who notices landmarks in this show voice) (Also, guy who, for some reason, has developed a parasocial relationship with this setpiece in a kids show voice) THE TOWER. THE FUCKING TOWER

I've already spoken on this topic, but Kerubim already being known to sell stuff and have strong opinions on the ethics of museums makes me so unwell. Especially with implications of the Crepin family being salespeople.

I am not going to elaborate. You've read my other posts. Just... yeah.

Can I get some love for non-Cra archers in this universe? The degree of unemployment must be hellish.

Also Lou has two swords, and Nella has two quivers. They are so normal.

Some may think that Kerubim is out of shape, but I will argue that this is his Farm Boy shape. His "not constantly on the road and fighting monsters while worrying about travelling supplies" shape.

He's still muscular, because Herding Animals is Serious Business, but he's got a bit of a gut going on, because there's no food insecurity, and the food he has is mostly meat and milk.

Considering old Kerubim also has the gut, — and is, notably, still very agile, — I think that this is just, like, Kerubim's natural shape when he's eating well and living like a normal person.

Sorry for overanalysing his body. I just wanted to talk about my "adventuring should be deconstructed as a concept and examined more closely, considering the multiple characters who had been ready to die "to become legends" about it. Like is all the trauma, food insecurity, and violence worth it, when the only way for people to truly respect you in this career, is to die in a cool way?" agenda.

The resemblance between young Keke in this episode and his older self is actually scary.

Say NO to alcohol, say YES to being a calcium-based lifeform.

I've never mentioned this before on this blog, but it's very likely that Kerubim is kind-of-sort-of accidentally implied to have an underbite.

It varies, whether he has his teeth in a normal bite, or an underbite, — and it is an art style choice, it happens to some other characters, albeit nowhere near as often as it does to Kerubim, — but, once you see it, and know what I'm talking about, you can't unsee it. Hell, it's on half the screenshots in this episode already!

Underbites are something that goes in families, which fits really well.

Because, like... yeah. That sure does seem like a family thing.

Together with the "pale-ish brown pigmentation around an eye or both eyes" thing, and the triangle-ish shape of their heads and snouts, Keke and Atch are the Bouba and Kiki of siblinghood.

Anyway, for transparency's sake, despite the underbite being one of Atcham's very notable character features, he is also sometimes drawn with a normal bite. Which might point towards Kerubim's underbite also being a genuine part of his character design, — instead of it being a case of animators liking the look of it a lot.

Personally, I like to think that both of them had been trying to fix his underbite his whole life by simply willing it away, and it's Not working.

If they actually realized they care about one another, and could be chill about it instead of immediately starting a Doomed Toxic Cottagecore Farm, Pangaea would reform.

Oh? You like Kerubim and Lou? Well, then, do you think Lou and Kerubim efficiently utilized girl power when they, Bontarians, went to their oh-so-hated Sidimote Moors and Brakmar, to conduct what they call a "slaughter-safari"?

This is not a Divorce Theory I usually subscribe to, but my funny crack theory is that she left him to go adventure around the world because he wanted to settle down and adopt a kid or whatever.

Truly, the possibilities of kerulou divorce theories are endless.

If they formed a polycule, Pangaea would explode.

I like to think that whatever Julith has going on is a cloak with a similar, but more complex enchantment.

This item is real, but I can't really find the sword mentioned by Lou moments prior.

I need to inject this image inside, intravenously.

...Anyway, you will never guess what my newest addition to the desktop wallpaper rotation is.

[luckystarchild]

Sometimes I get a little... frustrated... by the reactions to Lucky Child.

(No one is doing anything wrong. This isn't a callout post.)

Fiction that is serialized one chapter/installment at a time over a long period of time suffers from "No Instant Answers Disease." In a book, if you have a question about something that occurs midway through the narrative, you can read to the end and (most of the time) get your answer unless the author forgets the plot thread or something. But with serial fiction that is incomplete, you can't keep reading. You just have to sit with whatever the plot point is, wondering.

Sometimes LC (and most ongoing work probably) gets comments that express frustration over something that I, the author, know will get resolved eventually. But on a few specific topics, folk consistently will write comments that accidentally imply I'm like... writing about pointless stuff?? And I KNOW they don't mean to imply that, and that they're just giving an emotional response to the drama I MYSELF CREATED, which means it's impacting them emotionally and that means my writing of the subject was successful, BUT it's still a little frustrating on my part when people seem to imply that I'm wasting time/words/story on something "useless" or "pointless" or something that "doesn't matter." FRUSTRATING that they think I'm just wasting words!

But it's not frustrating in a "they're wrong" kind of way, mind you. It's frustrating in a "I can't give them any assurances without dropping massive spoilers and now I'm caught between a rock and a spoilery place" kind of way!

Big LC spoilers if you haven't read past chapter 110 or so. Click to keep reading.

Specifically I'm talking about the "None of this is real" plotline. For those who need a refresher, Hiruko implied that the world/people around NQK may not be "Real" by some obscure definition, and NQK spends a lot of time agonizing over what that means in both a practical and philosophical sense, and if it means anything at all.

In chapter 109, NQKagome reacts super emotionally to this whole idea, insisting that the people around her MUST be real. She loves them, and she feels they love her, so the idea that they're "philosophical zombies" that are basically just really good fake people makes her have an anxiety attack. And a lot of readers SWIFTLY sided with NQKagome, and/or they argued "It doesn't actually matter if they're real or not."

It's that last argument I find really frustrating. The implication that "this topic they're spending time on doesn't matter and they shouldn't even worry about it" is, unintentionally, kind of implying that the time we're spending talking about the concept itself doesn't matter, which is in turn an implication that it has no bearing on the plot/story/characters, which is kind of a sideways comment about my writing/storycraft itself. It's implying I'm spinning my wheels on useless crap.

And I know that's not what's intended by those comments, which are instead likely just emotional reactions to a heavy concept, but like... "Hey author, this thing you've devoted thousands of words to doesn't actually matter or have a point, I think it's useless for the characters to care about it" is a frustrating thing to hear.

Because it does matter.

I wouldn't be writing about it at such length and in such detail if it didn't matter.

But I can't like... explain why it matters, or even the DEGREE to which it does or doesn't matters, because even hinting at how big (or small) of a deal it may be could be SUPER spoilery if you're even a LITTLE good at deducing metanarrative. So I just have to sit here nervously laughing to myself going, "Heheh, yeah, uh, it toooootally doesn't matter at all, noooo... (*nervous fidgeting*)" and feeling frustrated that the reader doesn't trust me to write about things that "matter."

Oh god, this is a trust issue. I just figured that out now while writing this.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that if LC were complete, you could just read to the end and figure out why/how it matters instead of implying it's a useless waste of time, but LC isn't complete, so...you can't. BUT I also know that the impassioned responses to the "Is this Real?" question show just how deeply the topic gets under people's skin, and that's great for me as a writer, because it shows me where I can focus to get people emotionally invested. Even the most hostile "this sucks and this topic shouldn't matter" responses show me I've struck a nerve, which is a GOOD thing in the end. I should take those comments as compliments.

But all in all, I GUESS those frustrating responses and my reactions to them indicate how much I need to finish the damn story, so maybe this frustration is a good thing in the end... but please, for the love of fanfic, please TRY and trust that if I spend a long time talking about something in the story, it's probably because I'm laying the groundwork for plot later. Don't fall prey to "No Instant Answers Disease."

"Just trust the process and let me cook." That's the moral (antidote?) here.

And that's my rant. Thanks for reading.

[styleslistic]

How it Turned Out - Part 11: Harry and Y/N try to write a song

Masterlist

Y/N’s doorbell rang, which could only mean one thing, Harry was here. 

This was the first time either of them had been to the other’s house so it was kind of a massive deal. A whole day and night together with no one to interrupt them and no prying eyes to hide from. It was an absolute treat.

Of course, officially he was there to write a song with her. That was how they’d managed to get the time off during such a busy period for them both. 

Y/N opened her front door to find him stood there in a soft looking jumper with a guitar case slung over his back. 

“Morning,” he grinned. Y/N stepped aside to let him in and closed the door behind him. She pulled him in for a short, sweet kiss. 

She considered whether to offer him a tour of her flat. Pros: it'd be nice to let him see a few more snippets of her life. Cons: having to get through the heavy implications of showing him her bedroom without it being suggestive enough that they'd risk distraction before they'd really had time to catch up.

So no, no house tour for Harry. Instead, Y/N led him to the kitchen and put the kettle on.

She clattered around with mugs and teabags and milk, allowing them a few moments of light chatter. How was Harry's journey, how had her morning been, she liked his outfit, he liked hers. Just enough to warm them back up to each other a slip back into their usual, easy dynamic.

The kettle pinged, and Y/N set about assembly theirbsteaming mugs of tea, letting them fall into a conversational lull that was just as easy.

Y/N turned around with the 2 mugs to find Harry staring fondly at her from where he was leant against the doorway. It felt nice, him being there.

She set the mugs on the kitchen table and indicated for him to sit down on the cushy bench against the wall, scooching in next to him.

“So I reckon, we do a bit of song writing now, and have a bit of fun later?" Harry said.

"Oh I can certainly get behind having some fun later," Y/N laughed, leaning into the innuendo.

"...that's not actually what I meant, but I'm not gonna argue," said Harry with a grin. "I guess it's time to get to work then, huh?"

"I guess so."

"What are we gonna write about?” Harry asked. 

“Well, for our own sakes and to avoid people reading more into this than necessary let's not make it too obvious we're together, yeah?"

"So avoiding anything about being similar, being famous, tackling rumours..."

"The list goes on," Y/N chuckled. "Don't forget we've got to avoid talking about long distance."

"That'd just be depressing anyway."

"So what actually can we write a song together about?"

"Hmm... shall we just have a play around and see?"

___

Hours later, they had written roughly one and a half lines, a sequence of four notes and had their first, second and third fights.

“This isn’t really working, is it,” Harry finally admitted.

“You’re right."

"I dunno, I guess I spent so long having to write and sing fake shit when I was in the band. I can't really stomach it anymore," he sighed. "And god, you're like the most famously reactionary songwriter I know. Remember when you wrote that song about Howard Stern?"

Y/N let out a huff of laughter. "I sure do remember that, my manager won't let me forget it!"

"It was amazing."

____

They made efforts to try and overcome the collective writers block for another... five or minutes, before truly admitting defeat.

Y/N dragged Harry out of her little music studio and towards the fridge where she had a bottle of wine chilling. It had been intended for slightly later in the day... with the assumption that they'd be working for a bit longer than they had, but now seemed as good a time as any for it.

In the few short hours he'd been there, Harry had already began to make him self comfortable in the flat. So, while Y/N clattered around looking for the corkscrew, he made himself useful grabbing a pair of glasses down the shelf and setting them on the counter.

Then Y/N's phone began to ring.

"Shit," she said. "The only person whose number rings out loud on my phone in my manager, I'm gonna have to take this."

"No worries," said Harry with an easy smile.

There was no attempt at small talk from her manager, just a clipped order.

“Turn on the news." It was a tone of voice Y/N has heard reserved only for the most serious of situations.

Y/N didn't even bother asking further, she just went into the living room, picked up the TV remote and turned it on. There were a couple of tense seconds as she clicked on to the right channel.

The newsreader spoke.

“The UK is going into lock-down, everyone is required to stay at home apart from for essential outings such as food shopping.”

“Shit,” Y/N said. “Harry, get in here.”

Harry walked back into the room. The easy smile on his face dropped when he saw the frown Y/N wore, and the phone still pressed against her ear.

“What’s going on?” he said. Y/N silently gestured towards the TV.

Harry listened to the newsreader for a minute. “Jesus, I can’t believe this is actually happening." He ran a hand through his hair. "I’m supposed to be back in LA tomorrow, what am I gonna do?”

Y/N’s manager, still on the other end of the phone answered his question. “Tell him they’re pretty much cancelling all flights. They’re letting people get back to their own countries but he’s British, so it looks like he’s stuck there.” Y/N repeated it to Harry, who grimaced. He sat down on the sofa, head falling into his hands. 

“I can’t go back to my flat in London, its a complete building site at the moment, I’m having the kitchen redone,” he said. “I could go to my mum’s maybe, but I don’t know if I’m even allowed to travel that far, plus she’s not really got the room. Shit,” he cursed.

The solution seemed to be staring Y/N right in the face, and Harry was being either too polite to ask or it hadn’t quite occurred to him yet that it was option. She let him run through a few more options - friends he could stay with, maybe he could rent a place - but ultimately none of them seemed quite right.

“Harry,” Y/N interrupted. “You can stay with me.” 

He looked up, surprised. 

“Are you- are you sure?” he said.

“Yeah I’m sure,” she nodded. “It’s no trouble I’ve got the space. And hey when else are we gonna be able to have a few weeks together like this. Might as well make the most of it.”

“Thank you, yeah that would be amazing. You’re right it’d be nice to have the time together.”

“Can’t wait to dress you up in my clothes,” Y/N laughed.

“I hadn’t even thought of that, I’ve only got like a weeks worth of underwear with me!” Harry said. 

“Well, I’m sure it’ll only be for a few weeks, you’ll be okay.”

Famous last words.

___

Hello, I've returned from the dead! This is the final part of How it Turned Out. The sequel Play House is about Y/N and Harry in lock-down together where they co-write an album about their relationship! It’s gonna be quite a different format - each chapter will give backstory on one of the songs they write together! I’m really excited about it :)

Taglist: @theekyliepage @sleutherclaw @b-reads-things @mxltifxnd0m @lovurryy @golden-hoax @spinningoutwaiting4ya @gothmingguk

[willowdied]

it was not something she was going to tell pete about- how could she when they hardly talked about it when the both of them are actively trying their best to dance around the events of that night that so clearly bothered them- she knew that some of the nights that he had stayed over he was not oblivious to the way that she would wake with a start or in general not sleep, she knew he was not blind to the way the bags under her eyes, nor the way that she continuously had to miss school in the past few weeks after her father's body had been found to plan a funeral, to learn about her fathers will and arrange his affairs and realtors to prepare her to sell a house, just as she was not blind to pete's panic attacks and the way that the both of them would flinch at loud noises and seemed to try and find each other as soon as classes ended. things were bad, to the point that she's been worried that teachers were beginning to notice, but even if they were not talking about it and sometimes there was this heavy weight of what was left , they were still there for each other, they still supported each other, they loved each other, that much was abundantly clear and repeated. and steph knows that his invitation to the spankoffski family thanksgiving is something out of love, and it's love that has her accepting, but that does not provide any comfort for her to shake her complete and utter nerves about attending.

it's the one other thing that she has not talked to pete about, it is the one other thing that she has made an effort to not talk about, mainly because she did not think that it would be a issue till she thought on the implications of what being around pete's family would be other than the very brief meeting she had had with them when they were at the hospital ( which her interaction was simply explaining that they had gotten in a wreck with the detective on the way to the station and were lost in the middle of nowhere for awhile - a lie, before she gave miss spankoffski her number if they needed anything and left to get rest )- that had given her the same fear, but she had chalked that up to exhaustion and a lack of sleep. it struck her in the middle of last night, though, both that she had no idea what thanksgiving called for, how to the do the whole meet the family thing, and, stronger than anything, she had no idea how she was going to be able to properly look any of them in the eye without falling to apology.

--- steph's been doing okay so far, at least she thinks she is doing okay, the fact that she got little to no sleep the night before covered by an astronomical amount of make-up and the charismatic grin she was taught to use at a young age so to not let people see when she is shaken along with a store bought apple pie in hand after the one that she tried to make the night before burned in the over. she's trying to be.... not herself, but not noticeably not herself that pete would be concerned. she smiles, she makes conversation, she tells a... light version of how she met pete, talks about her plans for next year, ... tries not to talk about her dad but answer questions, all the while trying to lend a hand in the kitchen, though mamma spankoffski is far more concerned about steph being comfortable- and she does not have the heart to argue, even as her mind tells her that she does not to deserve to be here.

what finally sets her off, is simple, a comment said to her while pete is out and it's just them in the kitchen and a compliment about how she is doing well, about how happy pete seems and how she is doing so much for him at this hard time, and more that simply cannot settle in her ears that is flattering and half way fills her with ease, she is not used to any praise from adults, but as she looks the mom in the eye, she is struck with this pang of guilt that feels like it stops her heart and seizes her lungs, reminding her of the boy on his knees--- ' please. steph just do it. please. ' --- BANG --- she didn't even argue... why didn't she argue? why didn't she protest? shouldn't it have been her? it should have been her --- she almost robbed her of this. she could have robbed her from this. and pete is not good, he is far from good, it is all her fault. it's all her fault-

steph can only hope that whatever excuse that she had used to get out of there had been somewhat coherent as she quickly makes her way out the back door, eyes shutting as she quietly closes the door and leans against the wall out of sight of the glass, trying to do the exact same breathing that she had looked up to help pete if ever needed- she has to go in there. she has to go back. she has to focus. she has to get a fucking grip... in for four. hold for seven. out for eight. repeat-

@snaptwice

[macgyvertape]

D2 Season of the Deep thoughts

Gameplay:

The seasonal bonuses seem to be the start of the pivot to weekly challenges and no pinnacle grind. I'm glad the power cap wasn’t raised this season and won’t be again next season.

What’s the point with creating a hidden mechanic that requires the whole team to initiate it in a matchmade activity?! I never ended up doing a Tier 7 pressure trial, because matchmade with random people it never worked out and doing it with LFG or friends we never got past tier 5. 

Deep dives with ingame matchmade were toxic af after the release of the exotic quest and a waste of time, because there was often someone trying to do the exotic mission then leaving when no one else joins them. It really bad design to have the matchmaking mode set like this when people are trying to do it 3 different ways, and I don’t know why it was designed to not have backfill from the beginning. 

I like specific exotic armor focusing, new fun form of gambling and the stats are very generous. At the same time getting new seasonal exotics still feels like you waste a lot of time.

Being able to buy past season Iron banner armor makes me actually want to grind Iron Banner more in the future. 

Should be easier to get focused fishing, I never ended up finishing all the fishing challenges. Overall I thought fishing was fun at the beginning of the season when I could do it and chill with my friends, but I found the lack of obvious audio cues meant it wasn’t fun to grind out by myself when watching a show.

Deeply appreciate how you could skip so many seasonal challenges this season, that way I’m not grinding out hours spent in playlist activities and then burning out on the game. At this point I’m one of the people burned out on the seasonal model, the less I have to play things I don’t want to do to get my pile of bright dust. the more I like Destiny.

Speaking of not spending time in playlist activities, I didn’t reset any vendor rank twice and Vanguard I only reset once because I farmed Sepiks GM during double loot week. Deeply ironic that Gambit is officially not a dev priority considering that I find it the least aggravating playlist to grind. 

I knew I didn’t play as much this season but wow “27 minutes underwater” 

Story:

Opening mission: Fun to watch Saint lose his shit when Xivu-Arath mocked Sagira’s death. Her line about being the hand around my throat, I hope all those who are into the Hive enjoyed this season

I’ll really be upset if Sloane dies this season, I never really cared that much about her until Arrivals and when she stayed behind so I’m enjoying she gets to be the focus of a season (glad she didn’t die making it 3/3 focus characters dying)

Really appreciate Zavala, Drifter, Sloane, and Saint as a cast of characters who haven’t really interacted much onscreen but who have history getting to interact.

Drifter’s radio message about The Nine and Gambit felt more like pre-WQ Drifter, I have a lot of thoughts about this has been some of my favorite onscreen Drifter writing since Arrivals & Beyond Light and feels like the missing arc he should have gotten in Beyond Light to reconcile his views in Arrivals vs Plunder 

Week 2: Saladin and Saint arguing about who is being overbearing to Sloane was great; a sense of how do these characters get along, how do they react to a circumstances, both voice actors seemed to be having fun with it

Week 3: I feel very much like a floating camera but the cutscene with Drifter and Saladin was fun and is the pinnacle of what I’m enjoying about this season in terms of “these two people are some of the oldest guardians and have kept crossing paths in lore” so we finally see them in a scenario in game

Week 3 Drifter: enjoying the heavy implication that Drifter’s ears are doing the Hive are whispering at me bleeding thing.

Week 4 Drifter: “they didn’t go so quite not until I shut them up” … “I did what it took to get offworld now I’m here” …”somethings you carry with you forever” DAMN where was this writing for Drifter in Season 18 vs wacky woohoo gambit man

This season really cements that while I might not have the plot around why Saladin became Valus Forge, I really like him being in the story with fresh things to do other than rehashing the Iron Lords Legacy yet again

As Immaru’s #1 fan excited to see Saladin mention him by name, hope next season is Immauru vs Saladin as rival tacticians

[dishtothedeath]

all the choirs in my head say, no || trial 3.2 || yukari || re: bonbon, jun'ya / attn: morgan, bonbon

Yukari could feel the different lines in her head running over each other as they tried to map out a clear cut conclusion. It was easier to think when she didn’t have to pay attention to the other voices in room waiting for a hitch or a slip to make the picture clearer. At this point, almost anything was a possibility and that made her doubt what she really knew. 

When Bonbon speaks, she catches something. The last line had her turn her attention to him. Fergus is the first to speak and defend himself which is good! It helped calm her since her hands were holding onto her skirt for dear life, trying to keep everything beneath the surface. She was angry but Yukari wasn’t the type to show it. Instead she keeps her smile before taking a breath and raising her hand to speak.

“I think you are purposefully trying to overcomplicate things. If you’ll allow me, may I propose an idea?" 

She doesn’t wait for a response. 

"The person who set the trap is experienced in such convoluted set. They either understand how a live stunt scene works or how traps work. I’ve seen sets but I’ve never operated one. I’m not an action star or some type of comedian that relies on cheap slapstick, physical humor, so my knowledge on such traps is very limited." 

Yukari sets her hand down on the table.

"So let’s just go with what we do know about the killer. They would have to be strong enough to successfully cut an alive Emil’s head off as well as set the stage. After all, the box that crushed Emil looks incredibly heavy. In addition to their strength, the killer has enough precision to take out multiple cameras with just one pool ball. That takes aim and a well practiced hand, wouldn’t you say?”

Her attention turns back to Bonbon and someone else just briefly before she’s addressing the group as a whole. 

“I am beginning to doubt that there was an accomplice. Only because then the accomplice would have been the one to find the body. Judging but Alfie’s reaction, could we say that he was the one who participated in Emil’s demise? Granted he could be lying. Any one of us could be… But I will choose to believe him.” Just for now. Just this once.

She has to pause to think carefully.

“Emil’s death was only thirty-five minutes before their discovery. In those thirty-five minutes, the killer would have had to drain the blood from his head, set the head on the cake, and then disposed of their clothes along with their very shi— shoddy attempt to frame someone. They had to have been wearing the clothes found but… Did they need to wear the wig as well? Could it not just be enough that the clothes they were wearing were just what they had on? They could have just cut the wig and thrown its fibers in. After all, the strands did not get destroyed alongside the clothes and were fairly easy to reach and test… If the clothes were part of a disguise, why bother destroying them?”

This is… upsetting. Not for the usual reason but also because she couldn’t flat out call a killer. Not while there were multiple possibilities… 

“I can say with great certainty that both Fergus and Jun'ya would not implicate themselves in something like this… Alfie is cleared through his being the discoverer. I clearly could not have set up something like this given my lack of physical strength. I would argue that Giselle and Yuzuki share in that weakness. Sunako is too softhearted to kill in a gruesome way such as this. Same with Castella. Haruki and Manqian would have somehow messed up their own plans and don’t possess the nerve required to do something to this scale."  

Which only left them with two possible names. If her own predictions were right. Yukari’s head is hurting but she can ignore that for now. She can ignore the cameras as well to focus on the task at hand. She’ll throw the audience a bone later but when she’s not trying to find out which person at the table will be condemned to death. 

”Morgan. Bonbon. Or anyone else who wishes to speak for them. Why is it the other and not you?“

[plush-rabbit]

Protecting Mammon - Headcanons

Request: Hc for Mammon with a s/o that is usually very laid back and calm,, but whenever one of Mammons brother's mock him, reader gets super defensive of him, they're somewhat of a guard dog for him? And reader goes out of their way to compliment and be affectionate towards him in his brothers presence? (Also could you do Male reader? Thank you, i love your writing!!)

A/N: Let MC say fuck!! Please, i wrote a similar one, sort of,, like a while ago but i really want MC to stand up for him, please (aso i left this gn i hope you don’t mind!!) (one too many insults breaks my heart, like if my mc were there id make them all give away their possessions to him)

-

It isn’t easy to hear the brothers argue. Their voices boom that you think that the walls are going to collapse onto themselves, but you grow accustomed to it as you have with everything else about them. However, something doesn't come as easy. While they all insult each other, there’s always a playful toone attached to their words,a gentle shove and a wicked smile as they laugh when the other bites back. It’s different with mammon. It’s always been different with him. At first you assumed that was how they talked with each other- every sibling fights, lovingly known as the Cain Instinct in the Human Realm, not that you’d ever mention it to them. But, their words hold venom, they hit where it hurts for him, they tease and treat him horribly and it leaves a horrible taste on your tongue- it reminds you when you were small and you were forced to swallow that awful purple medicine that no matter what you drank, the taste just lingered. You wonder how long Mammon has had to hear those words.

You can always tell when the insults get taken too far, when they start to get personal and the words aren’t jokingly said or even in a teasing way, but they’re said out of anger and like the brothers that they are, they all start to gang up on the second eldest. The brothers joke and you can tell that it bothers Mammon by the way his jaw tightens and the roll of his eyes, the way that he starts to get quiet. You can only do the one thing you can think of- you hold his hand. He looks at you quickly, his brows raising and eyes glancing down to your interlocked hands as his lips quirk upwards. During that time, you pull him away, asking in a very loud voice that you need him to accompany you to your room or to a store. When the other brothers try to intervene, stating that they’ll walk you, you shut them down, pulling Mammon close to you, standing in front of him acting as a shield to protect him from his brothers. You want to protect him, to take him away from the insults and the mean words of his brothers.

Perhaps you’ll never know how much the words truly affect Mammon, everytime that you ask him, he just gives you a tight smile, shaking his head and squeezing your hand- a subtle hint to drop the subject. It makes you lay awake at night, wondering how a demon could be hurt by words. Everything about the words and brothers starts to leave a horrible taste in your mouth. A part of you even blames yourself- you know how he was teased mercilessly when he was tricked into forging a pact with you, but the thought of not having a pact with him makes your heart ache in a way that you didn’t know it could. He’ll like in your bed, a loose t-shirt on him as he lets out deep breaths, his chest rising and dipping with an arm over your stomach. Soon it becomes when there’s a snide comment, you give a curl of your lip and look of disgust.

The lack of sleep that you gain from overthinking about the pact and the brothers leaves you in an irritable mood. You start to resent the brothers, frowning and pulling away from them and even if Beelzebub isn’t involved in the teasing, he isn’t too bothered by it unless the insults really start to hurt. Leviathan and Asmodeus are perhaps the worst, Satan a close second- or third- if were to tattle on Mammon, but the two aforementioned brothers remain the cruel ones, insulting him and spewing filthy words that makes your face burn with anger that you wonder if Satan could feel it stewing deep in you. It hurts to pull away from the brothers but you don’t like how they treat your demon.

At a certain point, pulling him away from the brothers isn’t enough. Holding his hand is something you enjoy, and it must be a sort of release for him because you take notice of how he remains staring at you despite the onslaught of words thrown his way. With a careful glance given to the third eldest who rants on about how Mammon had stolen something- which you were sure he hadn’t, you’d been with him during the time frame that Leviathan accuses- you lift his hand and kiss his knuckles, letting your lips ghost over them. When you feel his breath hitch, your smile, turning his hand over and placing a kiss to his palm, moving to let his palm cradle your cheek as you lean into him. The arguing stops and you can feel eyes on you, but you can also feel the way that mammon’s heart echoes softly against your ear, how his hand slowly moves to hold yours once more.

No matter the amount of times that you’ve complimented him, he always reacts the same, as if it were the first time you told him something nice. His cheeks are tinted in a dark color, his face burning and heart beating erratically despite you telling him sweet things. You sit on his lap, pulling him close as you play with his hand, each line traced over carefully with a touch that tickles his palm. He jokes at first, telling you that of course you’d compliment him, he is after all The Great Mammon, but there’s a smile that lingers, stretched wide across his face as he leans back and keeps a hand on you, taking great pleasure in hearing you say something nice.

Every insult is refuted with a compliment. He’s called a scumbag, you call him your protector. He’s called greedy, he’s reassured that his sin is something that is difficult to control. He’s told to never come home, you cup his face in your hands and tell him that you’d follow him anywhere- a heavy implication that stays on your tongue and when he nods slowly, you hold him tight, grateful that he understood what you wanted to tell him. You hold him close, his door locked as the movie plays, the colors flashing across his room until they fade. The desperate part of you needs to tell him everything, to repeat every compliment until they drown out the insults. You need him to smile.

They’re brothers and you know that, but it doesn’t lessen the blow. You make sure you spend more time with him, to show that he’s your number one and your favorite. It might be cruel, but they’ve been cruel to him. You want to keep him safe. When the insults start to worsen, you bite back. You scowl and tense your shoulders, your hands fisted tightly leaving crescent shaped marks against your skin. The words might not be cruel- you don’t think that you would want them to feel that sort of pain, nor would it do any good towards Mammon- but you tell them to be quiet, glaring at them and looking away immediately.

Sooner rather than later, the brothers catch on. Every insult is met with a kiss, your lips pressed against his cheek or your hand pulling him away, locked behind a door where they cannot enter. They sulk and pout, they try to pull you away, but you can’t leave Mammon’s side. Not that you would ever choose to do so. You stick by him, pulling him close and sitting beside him, your attention stuck on him. He’s your demon, why would you ever want to be pulled away from him? You keep him close, hugging on his arm and telling him how he’s been so much help to you. Mammon keeps you in his arms, you smile shining at him, and you pay attention to him. You kiss at his wounds and run your hands through his hair. You pull him close to your chest, your words soft as you tell him how warm he is. He loves the attention, the kindness that you give to him, the way that such a small and delicate human can stand up against demons and fight back all to protect one. He lays against you, sinking into your own warmth and taking it greedily, loving the way that you feel pressed against him.

Greed personified is not easy to please- he wants it all, craves it and yet, he can’t have it. It sits on his palm but he is unable to close his fist to truly claim it. Yet, you sit beside him, eating a meal at the dinner table as the ruckus continues on, your hand clasped tightly around him and when he turns to look at you, he squeezes your hand. He holds it tightly, feeling your hand tighten a moment later as you turn to him, your cheeks puffed with food still your mouth as you smile at him. You remain in his hand- whole and ever beating with a smile that is forever etched in the demon’s mind.

[beccascribbles]

can you please do an omegaverse fic with inarizaki having an omega manager that goes into heat during a game and she tries to leave but some guys from another team stop her and harass her but the bois pull up and protect her <3

a/n - right, just a warning, i’m a big atsumu simp and this became abundantly clear to me when i was writing this... it’s less inarizaki and more miya twins (with the addition of kita). whoops

warnings - harassment (unwanted touching, sexual implications)

In hindsight, leaving the house without packing heat suppressants, or at least being aware of your own condition, was reckless of you. It wasn't your fault you had woken up late and had to rush to ensure you looked presentable by the time the twins came by to collect you. Though you would have loved to make the twins late (considering it was their fault - they didn’t have to get you hooked on a new TV show and leave the call midway through the season finale), you weren’t so keen on having any of Kita’s disappointment directed towards you. Therefore, when the twins arrived, Atsumu with a wide smirk at your slightly dishevelled self, you settled on directing a swift punch to their stomachs as revenge.

“Ouch,” whined Atsumu, rubbing his stomach with a pout. “What was that for, stupid?”

“Obviously she’s pissed off that we let her stay up late,” Osamu grumbled, also rubbing his stomach, though, instead of a pout, his lips were tugged downwards in a frown. “Although I don’t see how her terrible sleep schedule is our problem.”

“Don’t get me hooked on a new show next time,” you muttered, looping an arm through Osamu’s and beginning to pull him down the road. In your other hand, you held a cool bag with some snacks for the team. The only reason you had grabbed Osamu with your free arm was to prevent him from peeking into the bag. If he had hands free to look, he had hands free to eat the food within. Atsumu was less likely to eat the food, though that didn’t stop him from unzipping the bag and peeking inside.

“Oh, tasty!” he exclaimed, zipping up the bag and making eye contact with Osamu, whose head had turned in his direction once the words left his mouth. He was clearly pleading with his twin to reveal what was in the bag. Atsumu simply stuck his tongue out. “Why don’t ya use your nose to figure it out? You always boast about having a better sense of smell than me anyway.”

“Because I do,” snapped back Osamu, quickly becoming irritated, muscles tensing as he prepared himself to leap towards his twin. Your arm tightened around his, and you shot him a look, eyes holding a warning. With care, you let your scent wind through the air around the three of you, the twin alphas calming at the subtle shift in the air.

Atsumu looped an arm over your shoulder, pulling you closer to him, the bag you were carrying bumping awkwardly against his legs in the process. This action almost caused your arm to slip from Osamu’s, but he quickly tightened his hold. Atsumu was not going to pull you away from him. Almost in sync, they both turned towards you, noses nuzzling into the crook of your neck. You let out a slightly frustrated sigh, but let them continue scenting you. After all, when they were able to do this, they were at their calmest, and you still had a long bus journey ahead of you where keeping arguments to a minimum was preferable.

When you began to approach the school gates, you pulled out of their grasp, walking ahead of them. You began to walk faster, shooting a look over your shoulder to see the pair of them watching you with confused expressions. It was when you finally broke into a sprint, hefting the bag holding the food at a weird angle, that they realised what you had in mind. Letting out a laugh, Atsumu took off after you; Osamu quickly followed. If you had managed to get a bigger head start, you might have won. However, on this occasion, both twins pulled ahead of you, darting around a bewildered Kita and launching forward to touch the bus with their fingers.

“I won!” they declared in unison, an argument breaking out between them that you tuned out in favour of focusing your attention on Kita. Aran had already walked over to the twins, grabbing them by the backs of their jackets and hauling them away. It was this sudden movement that jerked them from their argument.

“Hey,” you greeted, giving Kita a weary smile as he reached forward to take the food from you. Together, you walked towards the bus. Kita, having arrived ridiculously early, had already packed away everything that the team would need. The only thing not within the bus was most of the team, their individual athletic bags, and whatever you had brought with you. You climbed in, reaching up to place the bag on the overhang above you. Once you had finished, you turned to face Kita. “I think we’re going to win for sure. I did some research on this team and they’ve put forward a series of underwhelming performances in official games, as well as practice matches. They’re no match for Inarizaki, especially with our captain ready to step in if the second years on court get too excited or lazy.”

The latter comment was directed towards Suna, whose head poked up from behind a seat near the back of the bus. He raised his middle finger up in response before refocusing on the phone he was holding in his other hand. You yelled over at him, “Good morning to you too.”

“Whatever, y/n,” he sighed, looking up at you once again. “Just sit down somewhere, preferably a place where the two idiots can argue over who gets to sit next to you.”

You just rolled your eyes, taking the seat you were planning on claiming originally. Kita stood in the aisle, giving you a small smile. “I’m glad you’re confident we’re going to win, especially with all the practice everybody has been putting in.”

“I know,” you grinned. While continuing with the conversation, you motioned towards the seat beside you, indicating for Kita to take it. You’d rather sit next to Kita than have to deal with the twins for the journey anyway. “Everybody has been putting in so much more effort. I swear I’ve had to physically drag Atsumu out of the gym most days.”

“He just doesn’t listen,” sighed Kita, resting his head against the headrest. “I keep telling him practicing too much is bad for his health. He even got a fever because he was practicing too hard.”

“He’s stupid like that,” you shrugged, a yawn cutting through whatever you were about to say next.

“You better be talkin’ about Samu,” interrupted Atsumu, taking the seat in front of you and turning around to face you. Osamu collapsed into the seat beside him, flicking him in the forehead.

“She was obviously talking about you, dumbass,” he quipped.

Osamu turned to you for confirmation, only to see your head resting against the captain’s shoulder. He questioned, “y/n?”

“Of course she’s asleep,” laughed Atsumu, nudging Osamu with his shoulder, previous comment forgotten in favour of teasing you. “She can’t take the late nights.”

“Keep it down,” Kita said, adjusting your head so that it was rested against him more comfortably. In response, you moved closer to him, an arm sliding around his waist to hug him as you mumbled something incoherent in your sleep. A furious blush spread along his cheeks, and he ducked his head to hide from the twins. Luckily, their attention was fixed elsewhere, on a video Suna had sent to Osamu, too lazy to get up to walk down the coach to show him. Kita let out a sigh, dropping his head to rest atop of yours. He chided, not that you could hear him in your slumber, “You should really try to sleep earlier.”

It was fortunate for you that you slept for most of the journey. You missed Osamu moaning about being hungry, and then proceeding to search up pictures of food to drool over. Consequently, you also missed Atsumu hitting his twin and being scolded by Kita, something that always made you laugh. However, Suna had got up to draw on your face, which would have been an unfortunate consequence. Luckily, it was only to shuffle back to his seat sheepishly, the sight of Kita beside you a deterrent.

“You had to fall asleep on Kita,” grumbled Suna, walking along beside you as you entered the gymnasium. You trailed behind the rest of the team, your footsteps unusually sluggish. You blamed it on your late night. “Why couldn’t you have fallen asleep on Atsumu? He would’ve let me draw on your face.”

“Yeah, well, I’m glad you didn’t,” you responded, transferring the food bag to your other hand. The weight, though it wasn’t abnormally heavy, was beginning to make your arm ache. In fact, your whole body ached. Eyebrows furrowed, you continued switching the bag from hand to hand. It made no difference. You still ached.

“You look constipated,” observed Suna, though he took the food from your grip. You gave him a thankful smile, which he waved off. “I’m not being nice. I just don’t like walking beside someone with such a stupid expression on their face.”

“I didn’t ask you to walk beside me,” you snapped, crossing your arms over your chest. They still ached, even without the bag. All you wanted to do was collapse on the bench at the sidelines.

“It’s not my fault you decided to walk so slowly today,” replied Suna, glancing over at you briefly. Something about you was off, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. It was probably a consequence of your late night, but even when you had stayed up late before, you were never this sluggish. Usually, you walked at the front beside Kita, or with the coaches. It was rare for you to be at the back unless you wanted to annoy him, which evidently was not the case this time. “I didn’t voluntarily choose to accompany you.”

“Leave me then,” you snapped, eyes narrowing in a glare, your scent suddenly spiking. He let out a grumble, releasing some of his pheromones in the air to soothe you. Suna hated being on omega duty, one of the reasons why he was glad you usually opted to walk at the front.

“You know I can’t just leave you,” he sighed, placing a hand on the small of your back to urge you forward. “The sooner we get to the gym, the sooner you can leave me and sit on the bench.”

That caused you to perk up somewhat, which also had the effect of pulling your scent back to its’ ordinary level. Your scent may have regulated, but the ache in your body persisted, each movement making you fight back a wince. It was with gritted teeth that you sat on the bench, and pulled your clipboard towards you. Suna gave you one last assessing look before beginning to warm up.

Your gaze was unfocused as you stared down at the words you had written on the page. They swam in front of your gaze, coming apart and then joining again in dizzying confusion. As you stared, you found your mind wandering, nose twitching as you found yourself seeking out any scent that felt comforting, felt familiar. Your head snapped up from the clipboard, falling on a pile of discarded jackets. From the pile, and wafting towards you in the air, was Atsumu’s rich scent that made you recall moments where you were held in his arms and shielded from the rain, Osamu’s that brought forward memories of laughing in the kitchen and collaborating on random food creations, and Kita’s that filled you with comfort, reminding you of his quite support.

Before you could process what you were doing, you were moving towards the pile, hand clutching the first jacket you found. You buried your nose into the material, breathing in Atsumu’s scent, a soft whine escaping your lips. Your own team, too engrossed in warming up, missed the sound. It did, however, attract the attention of the team on the other side of the net.

You were unaware of the sudden, and unwanted, attention, shrugging off your jacket and pulling on Atsumu’s. You turned your head into the collar, taking in a deep breath. Though the scent satisfied you emotionally, the joy at being wrapped in Atsumu’s scent, caused you to release your own pheromones, made you feel slightly dizzy. A sudden spiking heat rushed through you, and a quiet ‘shit’ slipped from your lips. Hurriedly, you began to head towards the exit, keeping your head ducked and trying desperately to stop sending pulse after pulse of pheromones into the gym. You figured that, once you were safely in the confines of the bus, you could send a message to one of the coaches, apologising for having to leave and explaining that your heat had suddenly started.

A large hand wrapped around your wrist, causing you to come to a jolting stop. The owner of the hand yanked you back into his chest and you let out a surprised squeak. His arm wrapped around your waist, holding you close to him as he let out a pleased hum. His nose ran along the scent gland at your neck, making you stiffen suddenly. Fear made you kick out, knocking against one of his teammates who was standing beside him.

“Get off me,” you panted, weakly thrashing in his grip, a sharp and bitter scent escaping from you. Across the gym, Atsumu and Osamu’s heads snapped in your direction. “Just want to leave. Need to leave.”

Twin growls ripped through the gym, sending shivers down the spines of many people in attendance, including the male currently holding you. All you could feel was relief. He looked over his shoulder, making eye contact with the furious twins. Their fury had caught the attention of the rest of Inarizaki, who all suddenly stood to attention.

“No need to be aggressive,” chuckled the male, though he made no move to release you. “I was just going to take care of this omega.”

“Like fuck ya are,” spat Atsumu, lunging forward and grabbing the male by the back of his shirt. His eyes were dark, expression twisted as another growl ripped from his throat.

“Get the fuck away from her,” growled Osamu, who had taken the distraction Atsumu provided to step in front of the male. The rest of his teammates had wisely backed off. One who had been about to pull Atsumu away had been stopped by Kita, his grip tight as he had pulled the man away by his shoulder. Despite the warning, the male’s arm remained around you. Despite Atsumu at his back and Osmau at his front, he had the nerve to push his nose against your scent gland and breathe you in deeply. A nervous whimper escaped your mouth, all Osamu and Atsumu needed for any last bit of restraint they had to evaporate. He muttered darkly, “I gave you a warning.”

Osamu’s hand curled around the male’s wrist, yanking it upwards harshly and twisting. His other arm went to catch you, pulling you away as Atsumu finally snapped. His arm wrapped around the male’s throat, his muscles prominent as he tightened his grip, crushing his windpipe. It was clear Osamu was frustrated too, eager to leap at the male. Yet, you were beside him, looking up at him with fear, and his first instinct was to protect you. He pulled his gaze away from the scene in front of him, scanning the gym until he finally found Kita. Kita was already walking towards you, anger prominent in the lines of his body. He took you from Osamu, letting you wrap your legs around his waist and snuggle your head into the crook of his neck as he held you. Kita left Osamu with a nod, giving permission the other man had not needed, but appreciated, to attack the male who had harassed you. He would let the coaches break it apart. Right now, you were his concern.

Kita walked from the gym, heading towards the bus. It was fortunate he was always prepared. Though he was certain you would be responsible enough to bring your own, he had packed heat suppressors in the buses emergency kit just in case. You let out a soft whine, hands curling into the material of his shirt.

“Atsumu… Osamu… Are they okay?” you questioned, needing to know. Kita let out a comforting purr, coupled with a release of soothing pheromones. The scent wafted around you, easing your racing heart, though it did little to cut through the haze of your heat.

“They’re fine,” he reassured, hand rubbing a soothing circle into your back before he placed you gently on a seat in the bus. You wrapped your arms around yourself, nose immediately pressing against the inside collar of the jacket, breathing in Atsumu’s scent deeply.

“Want the twins,” you whimpered. It was normal for you to want to be close to them. You had been with them since you were born, the three of you inseparable as soon as you were able to toddle. It was their scents that made up the majority of your nest, with the occasional addition of something Kita or Suna or another member of the team had scented.

Kita ignored your comment in favour of grabbing the heat suppressants from the bag. He turned towards you, grabbing a water bottle from where the spares were kept. Deciding it might be better for you, more peaceful and less painful, he also decided to include a sleeping pill. Kita handed them to you. “Have these. It’s heat suppressants and a sleeping pill.”

He watched as you took the medicine, carding his fingers through your hair affectionately. He gave your fingers a reassuring squeeze, “I’ll be back, along with the twins, when the match is finished.”

You nodded, barely registering his words as you let sleep overtake you.

When you woke up, strong arms were wrapped around you, holding you against a chest. You snuggled into the warmth, letting the distinct scent of Atsumu wash over you. Fingers stroked your hand softly, tracing its shape before sliding between your own. Your hand was lifted up, soft lips pressed against it before a face nuzzled into your palm. Sleepily, you looked up, blinking up at the twins. Even in your half-awake state, you could see the slight bruising that peppered their skin. Despite it being two-against-one, the male had landed a few solid hits before the coaches got involved.

“You’re awake,” cheered Atsumu, brushing a kiss to the top of your head as his fingers ran up and down your back, sliding beneath his jacket and your t-shirt to rest against your bare skin. Osamu gave a small cheer as well, a warm smile overtaking his features as he gazed down at you. That warm smile didn’t stop him from scolding you, something you were expecting from Kita and not him.

“And an idiot for not realising you were starting your heat,” he said, reaching over to give your hair an affection ruffle.

“We always know when our ruts are so you should know when your heats are,” chimed in Atsumu, ignoring the weak punch to his chest that you gave him with the hand not being held in Osamu’s.

“That’s because I always remind you,” you grumbled in response, though your anger was short-lived. The pheromones they were pumping out were so distracting any emotion but bliss was hard to feel, let alone hold onto.

“Considering how long you’ve known each other,” said Suna, deciding to add his two pence to the conversation, “I would’ve thought you two dumbasses would know what her pre-heat symptoms are.”

“You’re her friend too,” protested Atsumu, the only thing stopping him from engaging in a fall-blown argument was you in his lap. “Maybe you should have realised.”

“I did realise,” smirked Suna. In a quieter voice, he continued, “I just thought she was tired.”

“Can you all shut up?” snapped Aran, to which Kita was quick to agree, explaining that you would appreciate the peace and quiet.

That put a stop to any argument that could have broken out, both of the twins refocusing on you. Osamu resumed lazily playing with your fingers, while Atsumu nuzzled into your neck, rubbing his face against your scent gland. You let out a content sigh, finding comfort in their touch and the scents of the team wafting around you.

[wkemeup]

Sunrise (10)

summary: After an explosion takes his arm and his only sense of belonging, Bucky is content to live out the rest of his days in the hollow comfort of the dark. This is, until Sam drags him down to the local VA and he meets you. (Modern AU) pairings: bucky x reader chapter word count: 6.9k warnings: smut (18+), angsty angst, this time I dont leave you with a cliff hanger 😉 🧡 series masterlist / series playlist

“Come on, Bucky! I know you’re in there!” 

You hit your fist on the door again. Perhaps you would have been more mindful of the the hour, but you’d heard glass shattering as you raced up the stairway just moments ago. You’d heard him shouting himself hoarse and heavy footsteps as he paced inside his apartment. You’d heard the cracks in his voice – the consumption of grief and fury and shame swallowing him whole.  

One of Bucky’s neighbors had rung Sam the first time Bucky’s screams could be heard through the thin apartment walls. It was the fifth time in as many nights and Sam promised Bucky would get it under control before they went to the landlord with noise complaints. He made no such promises that he would be the one to do it. 

An elderly woman in a nightgown peeped her head out into the hallway, scowling at you as you continued pounding on the door. Her beady eyes narrowed and you only spared her a moment’s glance before you returned to the door. 

“I’ll wake up the whole building! I swear to—” 

The door was pulled from under your fist. In its frame, stood a ghostly version of the man you knew. Dark circles hung heavy under his eyes. His hair was disheveled, blood dripped from a cut in his palm. Behind him, furniture was turned on its side, glass on the floor, magazines and unopened mail littering every surface. He'd torn his place apart.  

“What are you doing here?” 

You swallowed, forcing your voice stronger than you felt. “Sam called me.” 

Bucky’s grip on the doorknob tightened. “Of course, he did.”  

He paused only for a moment before he turned his back to you and walked inside the apartment. The door was left open in his wake and you took it as permission to enter. 

Cautiously, you took your first steps into his apartment. You tried to ignore the dust lining the curtains and the fleeting thought wondering when the last time he’d allowed the sun to touch his skin. The latch clicked behind you and you winced at the intrusion to the silence.  

Bucky meanwhile was staring out into the mess of his living room. His gaze rested on the couch turned on its side, then to the box of trinkets spilled on the floor by the mantel, then the broken glass by the window. His shoulders sagged; his expression unreadable. Slowly, he knelt down to the edge of the couch to flip it back on its legs.  

You watched him carefully, not uttering a word or daring to move closer until he finished. Once the couch was right side up again, he exhaled a tired breath and leaned against the edge. Exhaustion flickering through his eyes, though you suspected it had little to do with the exertion of moving furniture.  

As Bucky moved to throw the cushions back to the frame, you realized suddenly how he was dressed. Plaid blue pajama pants hung low on his waist. Bare feet prodding over hardwood floors too close to where broken shards of glass waited. His chest was exposed; skin glazed in the dim glow of moonlight as it peered through the small slit between the curtains.  

You could see his shoulder blades move along his back as he tensed. The lines of his spine and the dips along his hipbones. When he turned to face you again, your eyes were drawn to his shoulder and the frayed mess of scar tissue and burns. It was mesmerizing, the intricate patterns and the markings on his skin. Pink and red and faded with time. You wondered if it still hurt, if he could feel the nerve endings there or— 

Your gaze flickered back to Bucky’s. He was watching you, barely taking a breath. So vulnerable as he stood in front of you and he had no time to prepare for it. He probably didn’t realize how exposed he was until he noticed you staring. You’d imposed on his home, on his space. He couldn’t have known he’d be confronted with this tonight. 

All the effort it took for him to simply remove his jacket and now he was left standing before you without a single layer to protect him.  

You could see the doubt swimming behind his eyes. No matter how hard he tried to pretend like this connection between you was something he could easily push away, like he could let go of it without much of a second thought or a single word in his own defense, you could tell he was ripping himself apart at the seams, wondering whether you found him as repulsive as he saw himself to be. 

He shook his head, his features hardening over again. He gripped at the side of the couch until his knuckles turned white.  

“You should go home,” he said, breaking the silence. His voice was thick as gravel. “Sam shouldn’t have bothered you.” 

“Shouldn’t have—?” You scoffed, stunned. “Bucky, look at this place!” 

“I’m fine,” he replied flatly and you almost laughed if it weren’t for the deadpanned look upon his face.  

“You’re clearly not fine!” You dared to take a step closer, aching to remind him of the lightness he carried weeks earlier, only for him to retreat. He rejected the contact on instinct – a flinch throughout his whole body. Your heart clenched as if a hand had slipped in past your ribs and squeezed until it burst.  

Your breath was tight in your lungs as you tried again, a little softer this time, “you’re not fine, Bucky. You’ve kept yourself held up – alone – in this apartment for days on end. You’re pushing away the people who care about you. You’re not sleeping. You... You look like you’ve been through hell.” 

Bucky’s jaw was clenched so tight, you wondered if it might shatter. His gaze was unfocused, staring down at the floor by your feet.  

“You don’t have to put yourself thought this,” you eased, though the tension would not fade from his muscles. They remained locked as stone. You inched forward, a hand extending to him, an anchor to ground him. “Bucky, please... let me help you.” 

Something snapped – as sudden as a rubber band pulled taunt until its breaking point – and Bucky’s cold eyes met yours.  

"There is NO helping me!” he roared, startling you enough to flinched back a few paces, your hand curling back against your chest protectively. He curled his shaking hand to a fist. “I can't escape this shit! Even when I thought I could—when things were finally bearable again and I had a reason to get out of bed in the morning and I actually wanted to live through the fucking day— it all came back anyway! One word and I’m right back to where I started! I’m a fucking nightmare to be around! Don’t you get that?!” 

His breaths were coming in ragged, too quick. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes red. He hit his knuckles against the edge of the couch, on the wooden frame under the spine. Bucky barely took in a full breath.

“I can’t keep my shit together and I’m -- I’m only going to hurt you, okay? You shouldn’t want anything to do with this. I—I mean, look around you!” He kicked at the glass near his exposed feet, angry tears burning on his cheeks. “This is what my life looks like! Is this—is this what you want for yourself? You really want to sign up for this? This—this fucking endless parade of night terrors and panic attacks and anxiety? Huh?” 

He was brimming with pain. It was spilling over the surface and coating the floor. You were drowning in it and all you wanted to do was cross the room to him, to hold him, to soothe even an ounce of that suffering away because it would consume him whole if he let it.  

Bucky’s right hand was shaking so badly, tremors wouldn’t cease even as he clenched his fist. His body betrayed the stone he etched into his features. It was crumbling under the weight.  

“You really want to throw away your life for that? For me?” he spat as if the very idea itself carried venom in its implication, as if it were nothing more than a fool’s errand to spend a lifetime by his side, as if choosing him would be choosing to tie a noose around your neck.  

You’d never seen the evidence of his self-loathing before—not in full view and smothering the man you adored. He was expecting you to recoil, to run, to fight and argue and ultimately accept that you could never love a man so broken. It was a reaction he could wait a century for and still never find even a glimpse of hesitancy on your features.  

You steadied your breathing. Focused on the heart of the man standing in front of you, determined to push past the destructive fog he’d surrounded himself in. You took a step toward him, and this time, he did not run.  

“You’re not going to scare me away, Bucky.” 

Shame quickly spread through his body, replacing the threads of anger with something much crueler. His eyes fell to the floor, his chest rising unsteady and he stumbled back a few paces to give you space from the rage he wasn’t able to control. He looked about a decade younger as his features softened again, cowering back into the shadows. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” you eased, daring another step. 

Bucky shook his head, reflective lines along his cheeks. His lower lip was chewed raw.  

“You don’t deserve this mess. You should—You should be with someone whole. Someone who can give you a better life than I can.” He could barely choke out the words.

“I don’t want someone else.” You took another step closer, determined to close the space between you. “I want you.” 

The tips of your fingers brushed against Bucky’s hand and a shiver cast up his spine. His eyes were transfixed on your touch as you slowly encased his hand in your own, easing the tension through his body and crumbling the stones in his chest with a gentle slide of your thumb against his palm. He started to sink against it, his whole body caving in to the very thing he’d been keeping at an arm’s length. He was suffering withdrawal.  

“You don’t know what I’ve done,” Bucky whimpered, tears slipping past his eyes as he shut them tight, as if he could cast away his demons if he were blind to their shadows over his shoulder.  

You tugged gently on his hand, pulling him down to the couch. He followed you easily, his body moving of your accord as if he were made of clay. When you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, you felt the slight tremble along his spine, the shakiness in his bones. His head laid against your heartbeat, his right arm snaking around your waist in fear of letting go.   

“I don’t need to know what happened. I don’t need the details,” you sighed against his ear. “I know you. I know you’re a good man, Bucky.” 

Bucky was quiet for a minute. The silence hung thick in the air. 

“What if I’m not?” 

You tried to ignore the twist in your chest. “Oh honey, please don’t say that.” 

“I lost eight people, Y/n,” he muttered out, holding onto you a little tighter. You could feel his heart pounding as you raked your fingers through his hair, hoping to ease him if only a little. “Eight of my unit. My friends. If I... If I had said something sooner... We were sitting ducks and... and...” 

It was impossible to draw the pieces together. You couldn’t see the vivid image he held in his mind, but the details of that day weren’t necessary. He trusted you enough to outline the frame, to provide glimpses into the worst day of his life, even if they were messy and blurred. His body shook as he spoke, like maybe it was the first time he was saying the words aloud.  

You ran your fingers along his spine, drawing patterns along his shoulder blades. He shivered. 

The gentle glow of the moonlight caught the reflective edge of something on the floor. A medal. A Bronze Star. You pressed a kiss to his forehead, remembering what Natasha had told you about its merit for exceptional bravery.  

“Were there any survivors?” 

Bucky held his breath and slowly he nodded. “He was... He was just a kid when it happened. Peter. I think... I think if it wasn’t for him, I would have died out there. I would have given up. Woulda been easy enough. My arm would have bled out pretty quick and the sky... the sky was so beautiful that day. I don’t know why I remember that. Not a cloud for miles. It would have been a nice last thing to see, you know? I would have been okay with that. But Peter... Peter was so young and I... I wanted to bring him home.” 

Tears were openly streaming down your face and you were thankful Bucky couldn’t see them as he laid against your chest. You tried to stifle the sob as it broke through. You kissed at his hairline again, holding him as tight as you could manage. 

“You saved his life,” you stressed, hoping he might be able to hear it.  

Bucky swallowed, tears brushing against the thin fabric of your t-shirt. “I lost eight others.” 

“Yes, you did.” There was no disputing that. Eight lives had been lost and he was grieving his friends, his team, blaming himself for each life he didn’t save. His body tensed and you were mindful to draw pressured lines along his back to ease the rigidity there.  

“You did everything you could, honey.” 

Bucky shook his head. “No, I could have... I—I should have...” 

“Some things are just outside of your control.” 

“But I—” 

“It wasn’t your fault.” 

Bucky froze, the recognition present in his body as he slowly lifted his head from your chest. “That’s....” He blinked a few times. “That’s what Sam always said. Those exact words.” 

You smiled, brushing the hair from his eyes. You wiped your thumb along his cheekbone, drawing away the tracks of tears on his face. “Sam’s a smart guy.” 

Bucky searched your eyes and you could tell he was wondering how you’d come to know Sam’s mantras, how they’d become words you often repeated to yourself in your darkest moments, but he couldn’t quite find a way to ask. He pulled himself from your lap and propped himself up beside you, your hands intertwined. He squeezed it lightly and an aching smile pulled at your lips.  

"Sam used to have to write it on paper for me,” you admitted at the bittersweet memory. “I couldn’t say it to myself and he figured if I could read it in his writing, maybe I’d believe it if it were coming from him. After a while I started to say them out loud and hearing it my own voice... I don’t know. Sam kind of tricked me into healing, I guess.” 

You laughed under your breath and you felt Bucky ease slightly beside you. He squeezed your hand again, a silent reminder that he was there. You focused on the feel of his grip, the callouses on his palms and the warmth of his skin. Real and tangible. Your Bucky.  

“Sometimes I think Sam’s the only reason I survived after I lost Riley.” 

A slight pinch formed at Bucky’s brows, his eyes narrowing—a subtle sort of curiosity, though he waited patiently for you to continue. The silence didn’t seem to frighten him as much as he focused on you, his eyes darted to your lip as you dug in your teeth.  

You hadn’t let yourself be vulnerable next to Bucky before, afraid to take away from his own suffering in favor of your own. But you had known pain of a different kind. 

You knew what it was to crave comfort, to silently beg to be held. You knew how it felt to be rejected by a man too shattered to offer any piece of himself away without breaking apart entirely.  

The way Bucky was watching you, even through the dark circles under his eyes, the exhaustion pulling him in... it settled the twists of nerves in your stomach. His thumb traced at the edges of your palms, gentle sweeps to ease the tension away. His back straightened, a determination returning to his features, a sense of belonging – of purpose – in his comfort of you.  

“He was a pararescue in the Air Force,” you continued after a moment and a flash of realization crossed over Bucky’s features. You pressed out a sad sort of smile as you said, “you remind me of him a little.” 

You thought of the t-shirt you’d lent Bucky the evening you’d gotten caught in the storm together, how it clung to his chest. Bucky’s shoulders where broader than Riley’s had been. It was slightly bigger on your frame the next night you wore it. The logo had faded with constant washing, the soft green of the fabric muted to a grey. You’d worn it to sleep nearly every night for weeks after Riley left for his final tour, longer after he’d been killed.  

It was the most cherished thing you owned. Lending it to Bucky that night had taken a strength you hadn’t allowed for yourself in years. It brought back memories you’d left untouched and an ache in your chest you’d forgotten. But somewhere, under it all, it had released you. 

Riley would have liked Bucky, you thought, might have considered him a friend. You hoped he wouldn’t mind being the bridge that allowed you to move onto a new sense of peace, a new comfort. Even in Riley’s darkest moments, he only ever wanted you to be happy. You desperately hoped he meant that.  

“I loved him so much,” you told Bucky, your mouth feeling suddenly dry at the admission, “but the war had hurt him beyond the scars on his body. Most nights, he woke up screaming. I tried... I tried to comfort him, to ground him back to what was real, but Riley was always so stubborn. He insisted he was fine, as if I didn’t notice the dark circles under his eyes or that he started drinking coffee in the evening before bed. He never told me what happened. I know he wasn’t trying to hurt me, that he was just doing what he could to hold himself together, but... the truth was, I lost Riley long before the officers showed up at his parents’ house.” 

Bucky nodded, watching you intently, though he didn’t say a word. You could feel his eyes on you as you kept your stare ahead, focusing on the imperfections laced into the brick of the fireplace across the room. You studied the curve of the cement, the nicks in the mantel, the divots of the stone. It was the first time you’d uttered Riley’s name in years. 

“I know you think I can’t handle this stuff, that it’s too much for me, but this isn’t the first time I’ve been around someone with nightmares, Bucky, or panic attacks,” you said, memories flashing over Riley sinking to the floor with his hands pressed to his ears, tears streaming down his face, images of him turning his back on you and disappearing for days on end. You had hoped he’d open up in enough time, but he never did. He couldn’t, he’d said, or it would consume him whole. Even years later, you still wondered whether it was under the weight of his pain that he suffocated, not in the prospect of its release.  

“Riley struggled after his first tour,” you continued, a lump burning in your throat. “He... He came back different. He couldn’t adjust to civilian life. I could tell from the second he got home that he was itching to go back. Despite all the pain he endured, all the nightmares and the guilt, all he wanted to do was go back.” 

You glanced over at Bucky to find his jaw clenched in understanding. It wasn’t an uncommon feeling, for soldiers who waited so tirelessly to be reunited with family and friends to feel isolated and insignificant when they returned home, to want to return to the one place they felt like they belonged.  

“I tried to stop him,” you continued, wiping your eyes as unshed tears started to blur your vision. “I begged him to stay. He was out of his contract. He didn’t need to go back but...” You sighed. Bucky’s hand gripped yours and you drew on the ounce of strength he was offering. “The worst part was that he was better when he was over there. He was smiling again and laughing and making jokes like he used to. He was promising things for our future I hadn’t even allowed myself to consider before then. Being over there... it offered him something I never could and I was... I was glad for that. I was thankful he’d gone. I was... relieved. I’d missed him so much and I was just happy he was himself again, even if he was a world away, even if it broke my heart. Seeing him happy again... it was enough.” 

You brushed at your eyes, the calloused touch of Bucky’s palm sliding along your jaw to gently wipe the wet from your cheek. His breathing was even again, the shakiness in his hands subsided. He waited for you to gather your thoughts again, not uttering a word in favor of the crickets chirping outside the window – unparalleled kindness in his patience.  

You swallowed back the lump in your throat, urging yourself to continue. Your eyes met Bucky’s, finding comfort in the warm shades of blue and the encouraging glimpse of a smile that barely rose at the edges of his mouth.  

“When Riley died, I blamed myself for a long time,” you said. “I told myself I could have stopped him from going back. I could have done more to convince him to stay, to get him the help he needed. I could have fought harder for him—for... for us. But Riley was his own person. He made his own choices and I couldn’t have done a damn thing to stand in his way. Sam helped convince me of that.” 

Bucky’s face slacked. “That’s why you started volunteering at the VA.” 

You nodded. “Sam and Riley were partners. They had some sort of pact to take care of the other’s family if something happened. Sam held up his side of the bargain whether I liked it or not. He dragged me to the open house that year and I haven’t left since. I do it for Riley, but... I don’t know... I think I do it for myself, too.” 

You exhaled a heavy breath, turning away from the fireplace to face Bucky. His eyes weren’t as red as they had been, a frown no longer etched into his features. His gaze full, though heavy, and he watched you as if you carried the entire world in the palm of your hands.  

“So, you have to understand... I can’t lose you to this war, too,” you choked out, squeezing at his hand to feel the firmness of it, to remind yourself that he was real and sitting right beside you and not an ocean away. “I won’t survive losing you, Bucky. I need you, okay? Please.” 

He looked as though he was about to argue, but he quickly held his tongue as he watched the tears slip down over your cheeks. Reflective in the dim light from the window.  

You took in a long breath, straightening your spine as you met his eye, your voice stronger than it had been since you started. “Not everyone comes home, but you did. You survived and you wandered into my life and somehow, you made me believe in love again. Even on your worst days, just being near you is the best part of mine.” 

Bucky’s lips parted, a semblance of shock flashing over his eyes. You smiled at him through your tears, a hand sliding along the side of his cheek. He sighed against the touch of it, sinking into your embrace as if hadn’t ever expected to be held like that again. Your sweet Bucky, still so surprised that you could adore him as much as you did.  

“So, I will take your nightmares and your panic attacks,” you told him, smiling through the trembling in your lips. “I’ll take your bad days and share the weight you carry on your shoulders. I’ll take every ounce of shame and self-loathing you have until the day comes you can hardly feel it at all. I’ll take the empty side streets with you and we’ll drive so far out into the country side we’ll never hear a firework again.” 

Bucky chuckled at that, a smile pressing up along his cheek until you felt it under your palm.  

“I will take anything you throw at me,” you sighed, your thumb brushing over his lips, “as long as you’re mine. As long as I’m yours. That’s all I want, Bucky. It’s all I ask. Just you.” 

Bucky stared at you, a strange mixture of awe and disbelief on his features. You could see the hope burning behind his eyes, how badly he wanted to believe you, but doubt crept in and sunk its talons into his spine.  

His smile sank. “You’ve... you’ve already been through so much. I don’t know if I’m worth all that.” 

“You are.” You slid both hands along his cheeks, holding his gaze, until you leaned in closer, inch by inch, and pressed your lips to his forehead. Slow, lingering, you kissed his temples, his cheekbones, the tip of his nose, his jawline, pausing only when you found yourself a breath away from his lips.  

“You are, Bucky,” you said again, brushing your thumbs along his cheeks and catching a tear in its path. He bowed his head, a slight trembling in his jawline. It took everything you had not to collapse into him.  

“Honey, I promise you, it won’t always feel like this and I’ll convince you every day that you are enough, if you need me to,” you told him, your voice shaking as you held back tears. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? You’re not alone. Not now. Not ever again.” 

You leaned forward to kiss the crown of his head and his whole body seemed to sink in response, lightening, as if he’d let go of a boulder strapped upon his shoulders. His muscles softened, the tension slipping from his spine, until slowly, he began to lift his head, hair parting away from his eyes. Though they were strained and red, a crystalized ocean current stared back at you.  

You could feel the ease in his body taking over, a realization and a determination present in his stare, in his body.  

His lips parted, a steady breath in. “I love you.” 

*** 

It was the easiest thing he’d ever said; slipped from his lips as if the words had simply tumbled out on their own. Lost in how tenderly you touched him, how your hands never once left his body even as he held himself firm as stone, how you entrusted him with the most painful parts of yourself, how you gently coaxed him away from the shadows threatening to drag him back into a darkness he’d never recover from – he’d never been so certain of anything in his life.  

“I love you,” he said again, just wanting to hear it one more time. His voice was stronger this time, steadier, and he could feel his cheeks curving up into a smile. It ached from disuse, but it was a pleasant feeling. A kind one.  

He slipped his hand to rest on yours as it laid against his face and gently pulled it back just enough to kiss at your palm. It wasn’t often he found you at a loss for words, but it he didn’t mind the silence, not like he did before. He could still hear the slight hitch of surprise in your breath, the nervous laughter carrying in your exhale. You were smiling so wide, he wondered if it were even possible to love you more than he did in that moment.  

“Really?”  

God, you were so beautiful when you looked at him like that. Starry eyed and so full of hope.  

He nodded. “Yeah. I do.” 

You kissed him then, full on his mouth, arms thrown around his neck, and he had to stifle a laugh against your lips. He could feel the smile growing against him, laughing in between every kiss as the tears dried on your cheeks.  

“I love you, too, Bucky,” you beamed, drawing him in to kiss him again. 

He shouldn’t be surprised after all you’d said to him tonight, but it still fluttered in his chest, still caused butterflies to swarm in his stomach, still cast a blinding light deep into his heart that pushed out the remaining darkness lingering behind. His arm snaked around your back, holding you as tight against him as he could manage. He was breathless by the time you pulled away.  

“Will you stay?” he asked, suddenly feeling nervous as his eyes flickered over to the bedroom door. “I know it’s a mess out here, but—” 

Your lips were on his again and he swore he’d never talk again as long as you kept kissing him like that. Slowly, you began to stand from the couch, tugging him along with you. He pulled away from your lips just long enough to navigate his way to the bedroom, stepping over broken glass and the remnants of his nightmare on the living room floor.  

His bedroom was untouched, at least. The sheets were thrown haphazardly off the bed, but other than that, it was pristine in comparison to the damage he’d done out there. A shame tried to work its way deep into his chest, but he felt your hand slip into his, carefully drawing him close to the bed, and it released him to your care.  

His back bounced against the mattress in tune with the sweet sound of your laughter as you crawled over him. Thighs caging his hips, you straddled his waist and he looked up at you, certain he’d find a glimmering shine of a halo behind your head. The moonlight touched over your shoulders as you leaned down against him, kissing his lips. 

He’d missed you so much. Those two weeks left him in a hole he couldn’t possibly dig himself out of on his own. He was scraping at the bottom, nails filled with dirt, digging himself deeper and deeper until he could no longer see the sunlight as it touched over the surface. It wasn’t until you jumped down into the pit with him that he noticed there were notches in a wall once perfectly smooth, allowing him to crawl his way back up to the top.  

You leaned back a little, breathless, as your hands slid along his chest. It was the first time he’d been so exposed in front of you, the scars and burns on full display, and he was surprised that there was no hesitancy in your touch, no reluctance as you brushed your fingertips over the corners of the damage to his skin. But you paused, eyes flickering to him.  

“Can I?” 

Bucky sighed, his heart aching. You knew how difficult it was for him, for you to see this part of him. He hadn't even taken off his jacket once in the first few weeks of knowing you. But now, he nodded eagerly, wanting to feel the tenderness with which you handled him upon the broken remains of his left side.  

Your hands slid up over his shoulder, brushing along the bumps and ridges in his skin. Hardened tissue and raised edges. The way you touched him, like he was something beautiful and adored, made his heart swell. It wasn’t until you leaned down to press a feathered kiss to his shoulder, just over the burn marks and the glimpse of what he’d lost, that he choked back tears.  

“Is it too much?” you asked, noticing the trembling in his lower lip, but he quickly shook his head. 

“It’s perfect,” he replied breathily, drawing you back to his lips. “You’re perfect. I don’t deserve—” 

“Hush,” you warned, kissing him to cut him off, “don’t talk about the man I love like that. You deserve every ounce of love I can give you, you hear me?” 

He stared at you for a moment, studying the sincerity on your features until the gravity of what you said sank in, and slowly, he nodded. It would take time to believe that, but he hoped the more you said it, the easier it would come. He’d believe just about anything if it came from your voice.  

“Let me show you.” 

Bucky stilled; his throat suddenly dry.

“Let me show you, Bucky,” you asked again, your lips against his neck. He shivered. You sucked at his skin, drawing a map along his collarbone. You tongue licked at the indent by his neck. “Please.” 

When you met his eyes again, Bucky wondered if maybe you saw him with the same wonder and enchantment with which he saw you. It only took the slight tilt of a nod before you crossed your arms over your waist and slowly pulled your shirt up over your head. Your bra came next and Bucky shifted uncomfortably, realizing you were still straddling him, his hardening length prominent against your thigh. 

He stared up at you, studying over the curves of your breasts, the dips in your hips, untouched and exposed – so incredibly beautiful.  

He stopped himself as the thought entered his mind, the wondering whether he deserved such beauty in his life, wondering how he’d managed to trick the cruel twist of karma to allow him to love a woman like this – to love you like this. 

He cast away the doubt, forcing it back to the shadows where it belonged. It was easier to do that when you smiled at him like that, like he was truly worth something.  

You laid down against his chest as his hand slid up along your spine, feeling for the slight dip in your back and the goosebumps following in his wake. You shivered under his touch and for the first time, Bucky remembered what it felt like to be wanted.  

He couldn’t stop kissing you, even as your hands slipped to his waistband. It was like you breathed new life back into him; reviving him with every touch.  

He helped you push down the band of his pants until you could easily drag it down his legs and drop it to the floor by his bed. It had been a long time since he was so vulnerable in front of a woman, but he didn’t mind when you looked at him the way you did. There was no ounce of judgement in your eyes, no cautious glance to his shoulder and the absence there. There was only love.  

You slipped the remaining clothes from your body and Bucky held his breath as you climbed over him again, straddling his waist, bare. 

Bucky was trembling as he reached for the drawer at his bedside. Blindly digging around for a box in the back of the drawer, he felt for the edge of foil wrapping. He brought it to his teeth, careful to rip the packaging, though as he held it in one hand, he let out a heavy sigh.  

“Would you...?” he asked, a blush creeping up into his cheeks.  

He didn’t know why he was so embarrassed, given that you were both naked, but this was one of those things he couldn’t do for himself. It would have felt emasculating if it weren’t for how eagerly you nodded and how good it felt as you placed the condom on his tip and slowly rolled it down his base. He closed his eyes, sinking back into the pillow at the feeling, wondering how he was going to survive this. 

“You alright there, honey?” you called, giggling under your breath and, damn, if it wasn’t the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.  

“I won’t last long,” he admitted, his hand sliding up along your waist, thumb brushing over your breast. He tried to catch the whimper as it left his lips to no avail.  

You smirked. “I think we’ve waited long enough. Don’t you think?”  

You sank down on him and he choked back a moan, embarrassingly loud, but it only seemed to spur you on as you rolled your hips, giving him little time to adjust. You were so tight, squeezing around him, and – holy shit – when you dragged yourself against him, using him as you sought out the angle you were looking for, he’d never felt anything like it. 

He held his breath, focusing on the ceiling as he listened to the sweet sounds you made as your hands curled against his chest, hair falling down into your face. He knew he wouldn’t last as long as he wanted— hell, he would have stayed in you like this for hours if he could have – and it was taking near everything he had to hold out long enough for you to finish.  

Thankfully, you were just as riled up as he was – high on missing him, aching in the distance – and Bucky gasped as he felt your walls clench around him with the rushed circles between your legs. You picked up in pace and Bucky found himself meeting you half way, thrusting up into you as he braced himself on the headboard.  

“Oh God – Bucky,” you whimpered, your chest falling down to his, unable to hold yourself up. He kissed your neck, his hand sliding from around the wooden of the baseboard to grip your hips.  

If he could, he would have had a hand on your breast, teasing at the nipple, the other sliding down to the space between your bodies, rubbing circles on the nerves that left you so breathless you could hardly hold yourself up. But he was learning again, getting used to his body and his limits, and all he could focus on was holding you, guiding your hips, giving him leverage to fill you whole.  

Judging from the sounds you were making, your body molding like puddy against him, you didn’t mind at all. 

“I’m close,” you gasped, breath hot against his neck. “Ah, God, Bucky... I’m-- I’m--” 

He could feel it before the words left your lips, the clench in your walls, the spasms in your muscles that left you weak against him, overstimulated as you pulled your hand away from your clit. Your cries gave him the permission he needed to let go, only a few more thrusts was all it took, and he shuttered as he came.  

Breathless, hardly able to control the laugh as it bubbled in his chest, Bucky could hardly believe that he started this night in the darkest place he’d been in months, only to end up lying here with you, so full of light and love he could hardly stand it.  

He didn’t let you go at first, just wanting to hold you a little longer. He felt the sweet touch of your lips as they trailed along his neck, smile brimming against his ear. Then slowly, you rolled off of him, gently removing the condom and tossing it to the bin. A shiver slipped up his spine at the touch.  

“I’m sorry I pushed you away,” Bucky confessed as you laid against his chest, curling up to his side. He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. “Don’t let me do that again, okay? I can’t stand to go another day without you.” 

You smiled against his chest, your fingers tracing along the lines on his shoulder, touching over old scars and burns. You traced them as if they were simply lines on his body, just another piece of him worth loving, worth memorizing. He wondered if the next time he saw them in the mirror, he might remember this moment and see them for something more than the evidence of his loss that day. Maybe, he might see them the way you did – as evidence of his survival.  

“I love you,” you sighed and Bucky felt his heart swell; it grew and expanded so wide inside his chest, he wondered if his bones might bend to make room as it split him so lovely at the seams.  

“I love you, too.” He curled his arm tighter around your shoulders, drawing you close to his side. Over your shoulder, a cast of moonlight seeped in through the windows, touching over your skin, illuminating the room in a gentle glow. He closed his eyes as sleep drew him near, comforted by the patterns you drew against his shoulder. 

When he fell asleep, he fell willingly – protected in your embrace, safe, from the nightmares laying in wake.

[songmingisthighs]

Hooked

introduction pt. i | pt. ii | pt. iii

ch. lxiv - cowards

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??? × reader, ateez × reader

A freshman hookup rekindled into something new. With an incentive, of course. But what would happen if your 'relationship' led you somewhere you never thought would happen to you ?

After sending the last text, Mingi and Jongho didn't waste time and immediately rush to (Y/N)'s room. When they arrived, the door was ajar with Seonghwa standing inside. He was staring blankly around, seemingly confused.

"Hyung, have you been here?" Jongho asked, breaking Seonghwa's trance.

"Y-yeah, I did- she left? Just like that ??" Seonghwa asked, still not believing anything that just happened.

Maybe it was Seonghwa's guilt. The fact that his last interaction with you was him accusing you of being a whore didn't sit right with him. There was a lump in his throat and a heavy feeling on his chest. It felt like he was suffocating.

The three of them stood silently, not knowing what to answer.

As they stood silently, the other boys walked in one by one. Wooyoung walked in first with San in tow, they both immediately took note of the silence and just stared at each other with guilt.

One by one everyone else filled the room, staring blankly at the emptiness and letting sorrow and regret fill them.

"S-so that's it? She left us yet AGAIN after having just came back last night?" Hongjoong asked in disbelief. There was no malice in his tone, there were no ill intentions. He was shocked, surprised at the sudden tension.

Mingi turned to look at the eldest with much disdain, "After what happened to her last night, could you really give her blame?"

inking that Hongjoong felt wronged, as he thought his assumption was justified. To be singled out as such was a little bit too much. "Are you trying to be a hero here?" he asked the taller guy. Mingi scoffed at him, "Hero? You think I have some sort of a complex?" "I don't know, do you? I don't think it's a hero complex, but there must be some sort of a messed up complex in you. Because you've been all over the place and overreacting, acting like a mess when you can't find (Y/N) and yet not saying anything when she was here, letting Yeosang ran his mouth at her, driving her off,"

At the mention of his name, Yeosang spoke up from the corner of the room. "I drove her off? Are you fucking serious?" to which San, who was by his side scoffed, "Weren't you the one who verbally attacked her last night? Calling her out on leaving without any explanation was one thing, but to call her a wandering tramp?" "Okay, I was looking out for all of us. YOU especially, San! You don't know how much it affected me seeing you all broken down and you even fell into depression! As your friend, I was fucking worried!" Yeosang defended himself.

Wooyoung chimed in, scoffing at his long-time friend, "Looking out for us? From what? From who? The woman we love? If you wanna go off on her, that's one hundred percent your choice, but don't use us as your excuse. That's just pathetic, man," he told Yeosang whilst glaring at him.

Seonghwa got in between the two, preventing them both from going at it even further. "Okay, enough with you two, you both can't be fighting during this time. Yeosang might've said some... unnecessary things to (Y/N) last night, but things aren't completely his fault," he reasoned.

Surprisingly, Yunho chimed in, smirking at the older man, "You got that right," he muttered. Yunho's voice was intentionally loud enough for everyone to hear, but still low enough for it to seem snarky.

At his chime, Seonghwa furrowed his eyebrows at Yunho, "what's that supposed to mean?" Yunho stepped to Seonghwa while tilting his head as if challenging him, "Don't play dumb, hyung, I heard you last night. Here, you mentioned Yeosang calling (Y/N) names when you basically called her the same thing,"

Whilst the others were left confused, Seonghwa visibly froze. His demeanour changed to a nervous one.

"Yunho, what the fuck are you talking about?" Hongjoong asked.

Yunho looked to the side at Hongjoong casually, "I walked by when I was about to get water last night when I heard yelling from inside her room. Whatever they were talking about, I heard Seonghwa hyung yelling something about (Y/N) staying with guys other than her cousin. The implication was bad, I even heard (Y/N) crying,"

All eyes suddenly shifted to Seonghwa. "Hyung, you made her cry?" San asked, not able to completely believe that Seonghwa was capable of doing that to (Y/N).

Tension rose in the room and suddenly everyone was arguing with each other. All but Jongho who stayed by the sideline, watching the whole thing unfold between his older friends with disappointment in his eyes.

"What happened?" you asked him, appearing by his side out of nowhere.

Jongho sighed before crossing his arms, "They're blaming each other because you left again," he muttered. You frowned and furrowed your eyebrows, "But, I haven't left yet?"

At that, Jongho finally looked at you properly. His eyes widened as wide as they could go, "Oh, hey! You're still here!" He exclaimed loudly, capturing the attention of everyone who was bickering inside.

You stared at them weirdly, "Yeah? Why is that so surprising?"

Mingi stepped out towards you slowly, his hands reached out to grab yours in his softly, "W-we thought you had really left again," he told you, his voice broke from how glad he was.

But that relieved feeling was soon crushed when he heard your answer.

"Well, now I am. I was making sure of something and waiting for Haknyeon to come to pick me up. Since he's here now, I'm... Gonna go," you smiled at them gently. Despite that, there were clear indications that the smile you wore was one of a broken heart.

Seonghwa couldn't help but let his words slip without thinking properly, "You're going back with him and his friends?" to which Yunho immediately nudged him hard on his stomach.

You turn to look at Seonghwa directly. You shook your head at him before answering, "No, I'm not going back to his apartment. Wouldn't be right for me and wouldn't be fair to him. He's just escorting me to my old dorm where I will be staying," you told him. Seonghwa immediately gulped after hearing your answer. He felt bad for jumping to that conclusion, especially after you told him where you were going.

At this point, San had tears brimming in his eyes, blurring his vision, "Wh-why are you going again, (Y/N)? You just got back," he asked as he walked closer to you.

Seeing his tears, you couldn't help but get emotional as well. you let one hand off of Mingi's grasp to cup San's cheek, rubbing it gently with your thumb, "I just have to, Sannie, I'm sorry. I... Just came back up here to tell Mingi and Jongho directly that I'm gonna go now,"

Wooyoung pushed people away to charge directly at you, "Only Mingi and Jongho? That's it? The rest of us didn't even deserve your goodbyes?" there was no resentment in his voice, you noticed. His eyes, however, showed much sorrow.

You sighed and shrugged at him, "With how things went last night, I don't even know if you all wanted to see me again, that's why I tried making my escape as quickly and silently as possible,"

Hongjoong suddenly spoke up, "See, I don't think you wanna leave at all, because if you do, you wouldn't tell us at all and just leave,"

The way he said it set something off in you. Your previous calm demeanour switched within mere milliseconds as you answered Hongjoong bitterly, "of course I don't wanna leave. You think this is easy on me?"

Without realizing it, you slipped your hands off of Mingi's grasp and San's cheek. The others who were in the way moved to the side to let you face Hongjoong directly, slightly afraid of you, "You really think that I came back here just to leave the next day? If so, then not only that you're dead wrong, but you're also an asshole. Every single one of you is acting like I've only been playing around with you all, going back and forth as I please because I don't know what I want. You don't even know why I left. Maybe most of it was because I didn't tell you guys, but part of it was because neither of you even gave me the chance to even explain last night. All of you just turned your backs on me and walked away," you laughed bitterly.

Your words struck them deep. Because they were all true. You might have been the one who started the fight, but they were the ones who delivered the final blow. Not to mention they're male adults who should've been able to communicate and made better decisions. Lastly, there were eight of them and one of you, how was that fair?

The silence and the expression on their faces said a lot, you realized if you were to tell them everything, that was your chance.

So you took a deep breath and spilt everything to them.

You told them about the threat Sunhee gave you, the proof they had, and how they planned on ruining their futures. You told them about how you felt like you didn't have any choice and how you didn't want to make things worse so you just listen to them until you were able to think of something, you wanted to protect them. You also told them how paranoid they made you and how you almost went crazy from worrying over them whilst having to be worried over what those crazy bitches might do.

When you finished talking, you realized that the boys had had tears streaming down their faces. You could see their resolves wilting away and being replaced by regret and shame.

Without even saying anything, Wooyoung pulled you into his arms tightly. He cried, saying how sorry he was for how he acted last night and how he should've trusted you more. Yunho and San wrapped their arms around you too, despite the tears streaming down, they managed to utter how sorry they were for not doing anything. Soon, Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Mingi, and Jongho attached themselves to the growing group hug as well, wordlessly showing their remorse. Despite their lack of words, you understood them just fine.

At that moment, you felt safe, you felt relieved that you were finally able to tell them everything. Things finally seem like they will go back to normal.

Maybe except for one thing.

You lifted your face from where it was nestled in the crook of Wooyoung's neck to meet eyes with the one person who was still rooted in his position.

Yeosang immediately looked away, an attempt you assume was to cover up his own tears.

Though heartbroken that he seemed to still resent you, you took the current win and let yourself bask in the warmth the guys were giving you.

You promised yourself then and there that you wouldn't act so carelessly anymore.

At least not without letting them know.

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